Chapter 132
Chapter 132:
The digital clock on the desk ticked softly, flipping to seven-thirty. Startled, she snapped the book shut, tucked it under her arm, and hurried out of the study.
She needed to be at the project site by eight. The supervisor was waiting.
Passing through the kitchen, she noticed a white porcelain bowl set neatly on the table, filled with warm porridge. A small dish of sliced pickles sat beside it. A servant approached and said politely, “Mrs. Moore, Mr. Moore asked me to prepare breakfast for you. He reminded me to tell you not to skip it p>
“Alright,” Brinley replied softly.
It seemed the supervisor would have to wait a little longer.
𝗜ո𝗌𝘁𝗮𝘯𝘵 аcc𝘦𝘀𝘴 𝗈ո
Brinley sat down, picked up a spoon, and began to enjoy her breakfast.
Afterward, she headed to the project site for the morning. Later that afternoon, Brinley drove to the private racetrack tucked away in the mountains outside the city.
With the exhibition race drawing closer, she needed to get a feel for the track in advance.
She had arranged the trip discreetly, telling Austin she would be spending the entire day at the project site and using that as cover to hide her real intentions. The track lay hidden among the hills, reachable only by a narrow cement road.
The place was closed to the public, open only to a select few. Yet within racing circles, it was well known as a training ground for professionals looking to escape the spotlight.
Brinley parked her car, slipped on oversized sunglasses and a mask, and retrieved a black suitcase from the trunk.
Unzipping it, she changed quickly.
Her newly tailored fireproof suit was a deep red, patterned with subtle roses woven into the fabric. It fit snugly and comfortably, molding to her figure.
Once she fastened the helmet over her head, the world’s noise dulled at once, leaving only the sound of her steady breathing.
In the repair area beneath the canopy, several mechanics in uniform were working on a silver race car.
When Brinley appeared, a bearded man broke into a grin. “Rosara! I can’t believe you actually came p>
Brinley smiled beneath her helmet. “Jensen, is the car ready p>
“Of course.” Jensen Rayne—her longtime friend and mechanic—nodded toward the corner. “The red one, modified just like your old setup p>
Before coming, Brinley had reached out to a few people she trusted completely. They knew her only by her helmet, having never seen her face.
She didn’t want her identity revealed, and they understood not to ask questions.
Walking over, Brinley ran her fingertips lightly along the hood of the red car. Its sleek contours gleamed under the light, and the small rose emblem on the side—the mark she’d once carried on the track—still looked as sharp as ever.
Though years had passed, the cold feel of the metal stirred her muscle memory, sending a rush of heat through her fingertips.
“Thank you, Jensen,” she murmured, her voice soft with emotion.
“The voice changer’s set up,” Jensen said, handing her a Bluetooth earpiece.