Chapter 177
Chapter 177:
“What do you have to say about Brinley’s run? Not long ago you claimed she couldn’t even drift p>
Ballard’s lips parted, but no sound came. His throat bobbed as he struggled, sweat glinting at his temples. At last, he forced out in a strangled tone, “She… she just got lucky p>
“Lucky?” a reporter pressed, voice sharp, lens zooming in on his flushed face. “Was it luck that let her break through every block you threw at her? Was it luck that put her neck-and-neck with Nightblade at the finish line p>
Dominik opened his mouth to speak, but a sharp tug at his sleeve held him back.
The same racers who had mocked Brinley earlier now stared at the ground, their bravado drained, letting the reporters’ pointed questions sting like open-handed slaps.
Y𝗈𝘂𝘳 ոеx𝘵 f𝗮𝘷𝗈𝗋іtе 𝗋𝘦a𝖽 𝘪𝘴 о𝘯
Up in the VIP seats, Milly’s knuckles whitened around her phone as she scrolled.
The smear campaign she’d orchestrated against Brinley was spilling into the open—screenshots of burner accounts and comment threads plastered across the live feed.
Watching Brinley’s performance, online users who had mocked her earlier began switching sides.
Even worse, mainstream outlets blasted real-time headlines that flipped the narrative on its head, suffocating Milly with every update.
The headlines that had once taunted Brinley now praised her professional-level racing skill. Photos captured her in the driver’s seat, helmet snug, eyes gleaming with razor-sharp focus.
From the edge of the stage, Colin couldn’t tear his gaze away as Brinley and Nightblade lifted the gleaming trophy together. The spotlight washed across her face, revealing a smile stripped of its usual restraint—shining instead with unshakable confidence.
In that instant, he understood. The woman he’d lost had never been a substitute for Milly. What he had let slip through his fingers was Brinley herself—singular and irreplaceable.
When the ceremony drew to a close, reporters surged toward Brinley in a tide of flashing lights and microphones.
“Mrs. Moore, were you and Nightblade acquainted before today p>
“Mrs. Moore, your style behind the wheel resembles that of a retired legend. Did you ever receive formal training p>
Just as Brinley drew breath to respond, Austin appeared—already out of his racing suit—and moved naturally to her side, placing himself between her and the crowd. His voice was calm yet authoritative.
“Interviews will be held in the lounge. Please head there p>
His eyes swept across the gathering before settling on Brinley, the corners of his mouth lifting in a private smile that spoke volumes meant only for her.
She met his look, a faint spark of amusement and understanding passing between them. Some truths didn’t need to be spoken—at least not yet.
The spotlights followed Brinley as she stepped into the conference room. She had traded her racing suit for a crisp white blouse and fitted jeans, her hair casually tied back. Without makeup, she looked effortlessly luminous—more striking than any polished appearance.
“Mrs. Moore, your cornering technique looks professionally trained. Which driver did you study under?” The first reporter leaned in so close with the microphone it nearly brushed her lips.
Her smile stayed composed as she answered, her voice steady. “I never received professional training. Cars have fascinated me since I was a kid. In my free time, I studied routes, analyzed techniques, and practiced wherever I could. It’s always been a personal passion p>
Another journalist refused to relent. “But that aggressive dive bomb move you pulled—even professionals hesitate to attempt it. That can’t just be chalked up to personal passion, can it p>