Chapter 81
Chapter 81:
Brinley fell silent for a moment, realizing he always knew exactly what to say to unsettle her.
She avoided his eyes and turned toward the staircase. “I’m tired. I’m going to sleep p>
Austin’s laughter followed her, and just as she reached the bend in the stairs, he called out, “Goodnight p>
His voice was soft, but it seemed to echo right inside Brinley’s ears.
She hesitated for a brief moment, then hurried upstairs without looking back, retreating into her room.
That night, she turned beneath the covers again and again before finally slipping into a deep, heavy sleep.
𝖩𝗼i𝘯 ou𝗿 𝖼𝘰m𝗺u𝗻і𝗍𝘆 𝗼n
Over the next few days, Brinley kept her distance with quiet care. She avoided spending too long in the same space as Austin.
Yet he behaved as if nothing had changed—casually calling her to meals and speaking to her only when necessary.
Little by little, the routine eased the tension in her chest, and a sense of calm began to return.
Late one night, around eleven, light still spilled from the study.
Brinley paused at the doorway with a cup of warm milk in her hand. The steady clatter of Austin’s keyboard told her he was still buried in work.
She drew a slow breath and gently pushed the half-open door wider.
The air inside carried a faint blend of ink and coffee.
Austin sat in a dark gray set of loungewear, his collar loose with two buttons undone. The soft glow of the desk lamp bathed his face, softening its usual sharpness.
A pile of thick documents lay in front of him, and he was so absorbed in them that he didn’t even notice her enter.
Brinley stepped closer and set the milk on the desk. “Still busy?” she asked softly.
Only then did he look up. His eyes were tired, but the moment he saw her, they softened at once. “Almost finished. Why aren’t you asleep yet p>
“I tried. I couldn’t,” she said, pulling a chair closer to sit beside him. “So I brought you some milk p>
Austin closed his laptop and leaned back. He took a slow sip, letting the warmth slide down his throat and ease some of the exhaustion.
As he lowered the cup, his elbow bumped the desk drawer. A soft click sounded, and the half-open drawer slid fully out, exposing the neatly arranged contents inside.
Brinley’s gaze fell there instinctively, and she gasped at what she saw.
Inside the drawer wasn’t paperwork or personal items, but a carefully organized collection of detailed racing models. Each one gleamed, clearly handled with care.
They were all 1:18 scale replicas, crafted with intricate detail and obviously kept as prized collectibles.
At the center sat the most striking one of all—a bright red car, boldly marked with the word “Rosara p>
On its plate, a small engraving read, “2020 Sriarrough Grand Prix Champion Car p>
That had been Brinley’s final championship before she retired—the race that became the highlight of her career.
In the world of racing, she had been known as “Rosara p>