Born to Rule, Destined to Destroy Novel 9

Chapter 9
Dominic’s eyes flared wide, disbelief a jagged pulse as he tracked the racers, seeking his team’s driver. Spotting Rafael in second, relief flickered—then snuffed out as a black car erupted from the pack, its tail-whip a deft lash, slingshotting past Rafael to chase Valeria’s lead.
Inside her cockpit, Valeria glimpsed the aggressor in her mirror, a glint of amusement sparking her gaze. She shifted gears, posture sharpening from ease to steel resolve, her foot slamming the pedal. The black and white cars locked in a furious ballet, neck-and-neck, while Rafael’s yellow trailed, fading fast.
Dominic’s frustration boiled, urgency seizing him. He snatched the interphone, voice a whip-crack. “Rafael, pass that white car—whatever it takes—or you’re off the team!”
Rafael’s jaw clenched, Dominic’s ultimatum a vise around his chest. Anxiety surged, but he gritted his teeth, pushing his car to its screaming edge, closing on the dueling pair. Around a curve, he slotted in tight, a hair’s breadth from Valeria—then faltered, veering too close in his zeal.
The crowd gasped, breath held as disaster loomed. Yet Valeria’s white car danced aside with liquid grace—the Butterfly Drift—evading calamity and surging ahead, leaving jaws slack. A hush gripped the stands, then shattered with cries. “The Butterfly Drift! Sierra’s move!” “No one’s nailed that since she retired—who’s in that car?”
Shock rippled; Rafael’s heart pounded—he’d seen it up close. No time to marvel, he pressed on, desperation clawing. But Valeria’s lead held, his prodigy’s pride crumbling against her unrelenting pace. Losing to an unknown could end him—he couldn’t falter.
As the finish loomed, resolve hardened his gaze. He edged perilously near, inches from her flank, the crowd gasping at the risk. Valeria tensed, mirror flashing Rafael’s intent—a crash over defeat. He lunged to ram her; she drifted with surgical precision, then floored it, stretching a fifteen-foot lead, eclipsing the black car too.
Rafael, off-balance from his miss, dogged her trail, poised for another strike. Then the black car braked hard, swerving into him with a bone-jarring crash, shoving his yellow beast into the barrier. Modified steel held, but time bled out—Valeria’s lead soared beyond reach.
Her car sliced the finish line first, victory igniting a thunderous cheer. The black and yellow trailed, spent. She knew the black car’s driver had clinched her win—without that clash, Rafael might’ve forced a wreck.
Stepping from her cockpit, she strode to the black car, tapping its window. It slid down, revealing a helmeted man—features obscured, yet his frame, his poise, tugged at memory’s edge. She sifted her past, finding no match, and let it go. With a nod, she offered, “Thank you,” her gratitude a quiet, earnest thread.