Chapter 2 – A Name That Isn’t Mine

The hospital hallway was too bright. The overhead lights buzzed faintly, and the scent of antiseptic clung to the air. Each step she took felt too heavy, too solid, a weight that wasn't hers.

But she kept walking.

A nurse guided her toward the exit, her voice light and cheerful. "Your team arranged for a car to pick you up. No racing for a while, though. Doctor's orders."

She gave a tight nod. "Got it."

Her voice still startled her. Low. Firm. Not hers.

She had spent the past day adjusting, staring at her reflection, memorizing Emilio Reyes' face, his voice, his movements. Everything about him was unfamiliar, but she had no choice but to wear his skin.

The hospital doors slid open, and a gust of cool evening air greeted her.

A black SUV idled near the curb. The driver, a younger man in a team jacket, perked up as soon as he saw her. He jogged over, a wide grin on his face.

"Damn, man, you gave us a scare," he said, clapping her shoulder. "Good to see you on your feet, Emilio."

She forced a small smile. Emilio. That's me now.

The driver gestured to the SUV. "Come on. Coach is waiting at the hotel."

She climbed into the passenger seat, mind still reeling.

As the car pulled away from the hospital, she gazed out the window. The city streets were familiar, yet distant like a dream she had only half remembered.

Her past life still felt close, lingering in the edges of her thoughts. The betrayal. The crash. The people she left behind.

Did they mourn her?

Did they know it wasn't an accident?

Her hands curled into fists.

No. She couldn't think about that now. She wasn't that person anymore.

She had to figure out how to live as Emilio

The car ride was quiet. The driver, someone she should probably know, kept glancing at her, like he wanted to say something but wasn't sure how.

She kept her eyes on the city outside. The neon lights of Manila flickered across the windshield, and for a moment, she imagined herself behind the wheel. The hum of an engine beneath her hands, the sharp turns, the familiar thrill of speed.

Racing had been her life.

And now, it was his life too.

But how much of it did she know?

"Coach is gonna be pissed," the driver finally said, breaking the silence. He laughed, but there was tension in his voice. "He told you to take it easy after the last crash, but did you listen? Nope."

She turned to him, keeping her expression neutral. What last crash?

He must have noticed something in her silence because his smile faltered. "You really don't remember, huh?"

Her fingers twitched. Play it safe.

"Not everything," she admitted. "Still a bit blurry."

The driver sighed. "Well, don't tell Coach that. He'll make you sit out the season."

Her stomach twisted.

Season. Racing season. That meant competitive racing.

Emilio Reyes wasn't just a racer, he was a professional.

The realization hit her like a punch. Racing in a professional circuit wasn't just about speed. It was about skill, experience, instinct. The kind of instincts that took years to develop.

And she had none of them.

"Hey," the driver nudged her arm. "You good?"

She swallowed, forcing a smirk. "Yeah. Just… trying to remember how bad I messed up."

The driver grinned. "Bad, man. Real bad. But you always bounce back."

She hoped he was right.

Because Emilio Reyes was supposed to be a racer.

And she had no idea if she could keep up.

The SUV moved smoothly through the streets of Manila, but inside, her mind was anything but calm.

She wasn't just Emilio Reyes. She was Emilio Reyes, a professional racer. A man who had built his life around a sport she only understood as a spectator.

And the worst part? She had no idea if she could actually drive like him.

The weight of that realization sat heavy in her chest.

She glanced at the driver beside her. He had relaxed a little, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel to the beat of a song playing softly through the radio. Who was he to Emilio? A teammate? A friend?

She needed information badly.

"What's the damage?" she asked, keeping her tone casual.

The driver snorted. "You mean the car or you?"

"Both."

"Well, your car's totaled, obviously. Front suspension snapped, engine's probably a mess, and..." He gave her a sideways glance. "You don't remember this?"

She hesitated. What would Emilio say?

"Bits and pieces," she said. "Trying to fill in the gaps."

The driver sighed. "Damn. Alright, well… it was a hard crash. You spun out on the final turn. Fastest lap of the qualifiers, but you lost control, hit the wall hard."

She nodded slowly, absorbing his words. Final turn. Fastest lap. Lost control.

"Must've looked bad," she muttered.

"Scary as hell," he corrected. "Coach nearly had a heart attack. The medics pulled you out, and we weren't even sure if you were..." He stopped himself. "Well, you're here now."

She could hear the worry in his voice, even if he tried to cover it up. Whoever Emilio had been, he wasn't just another racer. People cared about him.

That only made it harder.

She needed to act like him. Be him. But how the hell was she supposed to do that when she didn't even know who Emilio Reyes really was?

The car slowed as they neared a high-end hotel. She recognized the name, one of the places where teams stayed during the racing season.

As they pulled into the driveway, a familiar voice made her tense.

"There you are, you reckless bastard."

A stocky man in his late forties stood near the entrance, arms crossed. Coach.

She quickly schooled her expression. No hesitation. No uncertainty. Emilio Reyes wouldn't act confused.

She pushed the car door open and stepped out.

Coach Reyes, she assumed that was his name, walked up, looking her over like he was checking for cracks. "Well, you're standing, so that's something."

"I'm fine," she said.

He snorted. "Bullshit. Get inside."

She followed him through the hotel lobby, past polished floors and towering glass windows. Everything smelled like expensive cologne and coffee.

Coach led her to a private meeting room where a group of men were already waiting. Team members. Mechanics. Maybe even sponsors.

Every pair of eyes turned to her as she stepped inside.

One of them, a tall man in a suit leaned forward. "Emilio. Glad to see you up."

She nodded, staying silent.

The man continued, "We have a lot to discuss, but first how much do you remember?"

Her heartbeat quickened.

Was this a test?

She glanced at Coach Reyes, whose expression was unreadable.

Then she looked back at the suited man. What answer would buy her the most time?

"…Enough."

The man raised an eyebrow. "Enough?"

She forced a small smirk. "Enough to know I hate meetings."

A beat of silence, then laughter broke the tension. The man chuckled, shaking his head. "Same old Reyes."

She let out a slow breath. Passed. For now.

But as she took a seat at the table, one thought echoed in her mind:

How long can I keep this up?

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!more info!

Coach Fernando Reyes and Emilio Reyes share the same surname, but they are not related by blood.

In the Philippines and other Spanish-speaking cultures, Reyes is a common surname, so it's not unusual for unrelated people to have it. However, because of their long history, some people assume they are family. In the racing world, Coach Reyes has often been called Emilio's "racing father" because he discovered Emilio when he was young and trained him from the start. So even though they aren't actually related, their bond is strong making it even harder for it to fool him.