Chapter 17
Valeria’s finger hovered over the screen for a fleeting moment before she tapped the link, her breath catching as the video flickered to life. Her eyes narrowed, tracing the fluid arc of her car slicing through the racetrack earlier that day, the Butterfly Drift unfurling like a whisper of silk against the wind. The footage shifted seamlessly, weaving in echoes of her past—clips from her days as Sierra, the racing prodigy whose name once thundered through the stands. Side by side, the moves mirrored each other with haunting precision: the tilt of the wheel, the daring grace of the drift, captured from every angle until the truth shimmered undeniable in the frame. Her heart pulsed with a quiet ache as she closed the page and opened Twitter, the screen igniting with a storm of trending topics about the race.
The digital world buzzed with fevered speculation, threads of wonder and disbelief tangling together. Was Valeria truly Sierra, the legendary racer who’d vanished three years ago like a comet swallowed by the night? No one else could wield the Butterfly Drift with such flawless artistry, a move that had once set her apart as untouchable. The comments spilled across her screen like a tide, each one a burst of raw emotion from fans she’d left behind.
—“As a die-hard Sierra fan, I’d stake my life on it—she’s her! That voice, that commanding tone, that move no one else could dream of pulling off!”
—“Three years gone, and now we see her face. Sierra’s beauty takes my breath away—she’s a goddess, as radiant as any silver-screen star!”
—“I always knew she’d never abandon racing forever. I’ve been sobbing with joy all day!”
—“Is our racing goddess staging a comeback? Pinch me—I must be dreaming!”
—“Sierra, come back to us. The track’s a hollow shell without you!”
Diego leaned over his own phone, scrolling through the cascade of adoration, a tender smile tugging at his lips as the fans’ voices washed over him. He glanced up at Valeria, his eyes soft with a bittersweet glow. “Valeria,” he began, his voice trembling with a fragile hope, “when you retired at the height of your glory, you shattered so many hearts—mine included. Now that you’re breaking free from Dominic’s shadow, maybe it’s time to reclaim the track. The world would roar for you again.”
Valeria met his gaze, her expression a calm sea belying the storm of memories beneath. She switched off her phone with a deliberate flick, the screen fading to black as she shook her head. “Racing was a fire that burned bright in my youth,” she said, her tone steady yet laced with a wistful edge. “It’s a thrill to dip back into now and then, like revisiting an old love. But I don’t want it to define me again—not anymore.”
Her words fell like a gentle rain, dousing the spark of excitement in Diego’s chest. He deflated, shoulders slumping as a pang of regret flickered through him. It felt like a quiet tragedy—to him, Valeria was a star dimmed too soon. For years, she’d buried her brilliance to tend to Dominic, that unworthy leech who’d sapped her light. Once, she’d been the queen of the racetrack, a name chanted in reverence, a goddess whose every move was a hymn to speed and daring. She was the dream that slipped through the fingers of every racer who dared to chase her, and Diego silently cursed Dominic for stealing her from the world that adored her.
“No worries,” he said at last, forcing a grin to mask the ache in his heart. “If you don’t want to race again, that’s fine by me. I’ll stand by whatever you choose, Valeria.” He swallowed his frustration and pivoted with a brighter tone. “Anyway, you won the championship today! As your most devoted fan, I owe you a celebration. How about I treat you to a feast? Star Whisper Restaurant sound good?”
“Sure,” she replied, her smile soft but genuine, a flicker of warmth piercing the evening’s quiet.
Across town, beneath the chandeliered glow of Star Whisper Restaurant, Adriana sat poised across from Dominic, her voice bubbling with playful delight. “We finally pulled it off—a candlelight dinner!” she chirped, her eyes dancing with pride. “This spot at a five-star gem like this? It took some serious maneuvering to snag. What do you think, Dominic?”
She’d transformed herself after the racetrack, a vision crafted with meticulous care. Her makeup was a masterpiece—flawless strokes accentuating her doe-like eyes and rose-kissed cheeks—while her strapless dress, a deep crimson like twilight roses, clung to her curves with elegant allure. Her thick, wavy hair tumbled over her shoulders in a cascade of midnight silk, lending her an enchanting air that masked the cunning beneath her innocent smile. As they’d walked to the restaurant, heads had turned, whispers of envy and admiration trailing in her wake. She’d hoped to dazzle Dominic, to see his eyes light up with the same awe she’d inspired in strangers. But he barely lifted his gaze from his phone, offering only a distracted, “I like it,” before retreating back to his screen.
Adriana’s smile wavered, a crack in her polished facade, though she quickly smoothed it over with practiced grace. She reached for her fork, delicately placing a tender slice of beef on his plate, her voice a soft coax. “This is their signature dish—melt-in-your-mouth perfection. Try it, Dominic, you’ll love it.”
“Okay,” he muttered, taking a bite with mechanical indifference, his focus still tethered to the glowing rectangle in his hand. The clink of his fork against the plate was a lonely sound in the hum of the restaurant.
Adriana’s lips pressed into a thin line, a flicker of frustration igniting in her chest. “Dominic,” she said, her tone sharpening with an edge of hurt, “what’s so important that you can’t even look at me?”
“Nothing, just work,” he replied, his voice a flat murmur, his eyes never straying from the phone.
Disappointment shadowed her gaze, a quiet wound she buried beneath determination. She reached for the wine bottle, her movements fluid yet deliberate, the crystal catching the light as she poured a ruby stream into his glass. “Come on, Dominic,” she urged, her voice lilting with forced cheer. “We’re out for dinner—let’s leave work behind and enjoy this moment—”
Her words faltered, snagging on a sudden jolt as her eyes caught the screen of his phone. A racing video played, the roar of engines faint but unmistakable, paired with a headline that blazed like a flare: “Butterfly Drift Reappears, Sierra May Return to the Track.” Her breath hitched, and her hand trembled, the bottle slipping from her grasp. It struck the table’s edge, sending the wine glass tumbling with a piercing crack. Crimson liquid splashed across the pristine cloth, shards of glass scattering like fallen stars across the floor. The sound reverberated through the restaurant, a sharp note of chaos cutting through the murmurs of elegance, and Adriana stood frozen, her heart pounding against the cage of her ribs.
