Chapter 424
Dallas hurled the remote across the room, shattering it against the far wall. “He’s mocking us. He’s painting her as a victim and himself as her savior.”
Before the plastic fragments even settled, Dallas’s cell phone buzzed. He snatched it up, and as he read the message, the muscles in his jaw feathered. The temperature in the room seemed to plummet.
“What is it?” I asked, my pulse spiking.
“A challenge,” Dallas growled softly. “Tomorrow night. The Midnight Run. His GTR against my Ferrari.”
“A street race? Dallas, it’s a trap. He just wants a photo op of you looking unhinged. What is the wager?”
Dallas looked up, his eyes locking onto mine with a mixture of fury and profound regret. “Your mother’s physical diary. The one with the White Wolf lineage records. He somehow got his hands on it.”
My breath caught in my throat. My mother’s legacy. My roots.
Dallas crushed the phone in his grip. “He added a note. Hope your leg can handle the clutch, old king.”
The insult to his injury was a calculated, venomous strike. Braydon knew Dallas’s pride would never allow him to back down from a public humiliation — especially not when my mother’s secrets were on the line.
Dallas stared at his ruined leg, frustration radiating off him in waves. He was ready to walk straight into the serpent’s jaws just to prove he wasn’t broken.
“Stop.” I stepped directly in front of his wheelchair, blocking his path.
Dallas glared up at me, his presence heavy and imposing, but I anchored my feet. I wouldn’t let him destroy his healing leg over pride. I wouldn’t let Braydon desecrate my mother’s memory.
“I’m driving,” I said, my voice leaving no room for argument.
Dallas froze, absolute shock washing over his features. “Adella, absolutely not. You are human. That car is a death trap —”
“He forced me to drive on those mountain roads for years, Dallas,” I interrupted, the dark, unspoken history between Braydon and me finally surfacing in the quiet room. The memories flashed behind my eyes — white-knuckled grips on icy turns, Braydon screaming instructions and insults from the passenger seat, the terror of sliding toward cliffs. “I know every turn. I know how he drives. I learned to survive his games.”
I looked down at the man who had fought so hard to keep me safe.
“It’s time I showed him the last lesson.”
The zipper of the white, fireproof racing suit hissed as Azalea pulled it up my spine. We stood in the massive walk-in closet of the penthouse, the morning light doing nothing to dispel the nervous energy crackling in the air. The suit hugged every curve, feeling less like armor and more like a target painted on my back.
“It fits perfectly,” Azalea said, though her voice was tight with worry. She handed me the sleek black helmet. “Adella, you don’t have to do this. The Ferrari is a beast. If you misjudge the corners at The Midnight Run…”