Born to Rule, Destined to Destroy Novel 8

Chapter 8
A staff member hurried over, drawn by the commotion. “Mr. Barnett, what’s the problem?”
Dominic jabbed a finger at Valeria, voice glacial. “She doesn’t belong—likely sneaked in. Call security, get her out now!”
The staffer hesitated, eyes flickering between them. Valeria stepped forward, confidence radiating as she handed over her race form. “I’m here to compete—verified registration. Check it.”
He scanned it, nodding. “It’s valid, Mr. Barnett. We can’t remove her without cause—sorry.” Turning to Valeria, he added, “You’re clear to proceed.”
Dominic’s face darkened, a storm brewing in his silence. Valeria met his glare with a faint, sardonic smile. “May I go now?”
Her sarcasm cut; his entourage shifted, discomfort a palpable shroud. Dominic’s pride stung. “You’re just causing trouble for my attention,” he snapped. “You’d better—”
“Overrating yourself again,” she interrupted, dismissive, striding toward the waiting area.
Dominic called after her, desperate to save face before Adriana and his clique. “Even if you race, my team’s the best—victory’s ours!”
Valeria didn’t flinch, her back a wall of indifference.
Half an hour later, the crowd settled, engines growling in anticipation. Drivers emerged, the air thick with revving power. Dominic briefed his team when a shout jolted him—his friends’ voices, sharp with disbelief. He whirled to see Valeria step out, a vision in a sleek racing suit, helmet dangling, her high ponytail swaying like a banner of defiance. Gone was the muted housekeeper; confidence blazed, setting her apart.
His brow furrowed as she approached a modified racer, gleaming and lethal. Was she racing herself? Panic surged—he darted over. “Are you insane? No pro to pair with? Withdraw—why risk it? You’re no driver, and even if you were, you can’t beat my talent!”
She ignored him, securing her helmet with fluid grace, sliding into the cockpit like it was home. A staffer intervened, polite but firm. “Mr. Barnett, race time—only staff and racers on the track.”
Dominic retreated, eyes locked on her car, unease gnawing. Adriana whispered, “I thought she couldn’t drive? Making a fool of us is one thing—what if she crashes?”
“She asked for it,” he growled, frustration laced with dread. “Let’s see her strut when she can’t even start!”
The signal blared—engines thundered, cars lunging forward. Dominic held his breath, braced for her failure. Yet Valeria’s car roared to life, surging with the leaders, seamless and bold.
How? His mind reeled, shock scattering his thoughts. He rallied—driving didn’t mean winning. Sierra’s reign three years ago was a fluke; no woman had topped since. His funded pros would crush her.
A roar erupted from the stands, yanking him back. The track blurred, but the screen blazed—Valeria’s car, slicing through a curve, claimed first, a streak of audacity leading the pack.