Chapter 250
Chapter 250:
The black sedan tore down the congested street, Brinley gripping the wheel so tightly her knuckles blanched. She didn’t glance at the trembling speedometer even once, though it had already climbed past the point of reason.
All she cared about was seeing Austin immediately. The route to the Moore family’s private hospital was etched into her memory.
But every red light mocked her with its unhurried glow.
By the time she reached the final intersection, her pulse hammered louder than the engine. That was when it happened—a flash of yellow.
A sports car shot out from the side, bright as a warning flare. Brinley jerked the wheel, tires screeching, but metal still kissed metal with a violent clang.
The jolt hurled her forward, her forehead nearly colliding with the steering wheel.
She exhaled sharply, pushed the door open, and stepped out into the rush of traffic and curious stares.
From the gleaming sports car emerged a young man dressed like he’d stepped straight off a magazine cover. His silver-white hair caught the sunlight, gaudy against the blacktop. His eyes darted straight to the scuffed paint on his bumper, and his temper detonated.
“What the hell is wrong with you? How could you drive like that?” he barked.
𝖳𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗌𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝗈𝗇
Brinley didn’t so much as flinch. Her gaze skimmed the damage to both vehicles, cool and clinical.
His car was clearly worse for wear, while hers bore nothing but a scratch.
The fault was obvious. He had blasted through the red light.
Before she could speak, the man circled her car with easy arrogance, then stopped in front of her and looked her up and down. His eyes lit with recognition, and a mocking smile curled at his lips.
“Oh, you’re Brinley Moore, right p>
She looked up, brow furrowing. His face meant nothing to her, but the hostility in his tone was unmistakable.
“You’re the CEO of VantagePath Realty,” he continued, clicking his tongue twice for effect, “and Austin Moore’s wife—as well as the renowned international racing champion.” He raked her with a glance, his voice dripping with derision. “Funny, isn’t it? A champion who can’t even dodge a simple lane cut in a clunker like this p>
The blatant mockery pricked under her skin, but Brinley locked her temper down. “Sir, you ran the red light. Responsibility lies with you. I have urgent matters to attend to. Either we go through insurance, or you settle it privately p>
“Urgent matters?” He raised a brow, stepping deliberately into her path. “What is it? Off to race again? Or is it another one of those little site inspections p>
Her eyes iced over. “My business is none of yours p>
He let out a low, contemptuous laugh. “Please. Everyone knows how you got that racing title. With just a word from Austin, anyone could walk away a champion. Do you really think you’ve got skill? Today’s little crash says otherwise p>
Soon, a ring of onlookers began to close in—phones raised, voices murmuring.
Brinley glanced at her watch. Time was bleeding away. Enough was enough.
“Looks like you don’t want this settled privately.” With that, she pulled out her phone, her tone clipped and professional as she reported the collision and their location to the police.
Then she ended the call and strode straight up to the man, her eyes glinting with cold fire. “When the police determine liability, I’ll pay every cent I owe. Now tell me your name. I’ll find you later p>
For a moment, the man faltered, startled by the blade-sharp calm in her gaze. Then he squared his shoulders, his pride scrambling to recover.
“I’m Preston Armstrong! What do you plan to do? You planning to sic Austin on me p>