Chapter 170
Chapter 170:
Reporters swarmed Brinley with relentless questions.
“Mrs. Moore, are you only entering this race to promote your real estate project p>
“Some professional drivers claim you don’t even understand the track rules. What’s your response to that p>
“It’s rumored that you stole a spot that should’ve gone to real racers. Care to comment p>
From the sidelines, a few mocking shouts sliced through the noise.
“Go home and enjoy your life of luxury instead p>
“Does Mr. Moore know you’re out here embarrassing yourself p>
𝖣𝗼n’𝗍 𝘮𝗂ѕs 𝗇𝘦𝗐 𝗋𝖾𝗅𝘦a𝘀e𝘀 о𝘯 𝘨𝗮𝗅ոо𝗏𝘦𝗅𝘴.с𝘰𝘮
Brinley tightened her grip on the steering wheel.
She lowered the car window, ready to respond, when her eyes drifted toward the shadowy edge of the waiting zone.
There, a man stood motionless in a jet-black racing suit, covered from head to toe. The matte helmet revealed not a trace of skin, only deepening the mystery. He leaned against the railing with both hands tucked into his pockets—tall, straight, and so intimidating that no one dared approach.
Even from a distance, Brinley felt a strange, unmistakable sense of familiarity in that posture.
Just then, another driver approached him, dressed in a similar racing suit, except for a flame emblem painted across his helmet.
It was Nicolas Gomez, Austin’s close friend.
Following Austin’s line of sight toward Brinley, Nicolas smirked and nudged him lightly with an elbow. “Your wife really has guts. Racing isn’t child’s play. Let’s hope she doesn’t skid off the track; otherwise, I’ll be the one calling a tow truck to fish her out p>
Austin didn’t look at him. His voice came through the helmet’s visor, low and cold. “That won’t happen p>
Nicolas arched a brow, ready to argue, but the broadcast cut in sharply. “Attention, racers. The first round is about to begin. Please prepare p>
Brinley pressed down on the accelerator, guiding her white race car as it eased into the line moving toward the registration zone. The staff kept reporters and hecklers back as best they could.
At bay, but their sneering looks and cutting remarks still reached Brinley, tightening around her like an unseen trap.
Along the trackside, betting booths were packed with racers and spectators, all focused on electronic screens as they placed their wagers.
Brinley’s eyes flicked to one of the displays—next to her name were glaring odds of 1 in 100.
Almost everyone had bet she would be knocked out in the first round.
She pulled down her helmet visor, shutting the world out. Inside, there was only her breathing and the low rumble of her engine warming up.
Once the staff confirmed her details, they signaled for her to move into the starting area.
Brinley shifted gears, eased off the clutch, and guided the white race car smoothly onto the track.
In the starting area, the other drivers were already lined up and waiting.