CHAPTER 24: The Crimson Reign Returns

Victor Blackwood had been to boardrooms, battlefields, and back-alley deals across the globe.

But nothing prepared him for the underground.

Beneath the city, buried behind a maze of abandoned train tunnels, was the Neon Vale—the illegal street racing circuit whispered about in elite circles but denied by all who'd ever seen it.

Tonight, he wasn't Victor Blackwood, CEO.

He was just a man chasing a ghost.

And she had just stepped back into the flames.

It began with a whisper.

A name, passed along by a drunk investor. A side bet. A private invitation with a red stamp and a time—1:00 AM.

Victor didn't expect it to be real.

Until he saw the crowd.

Hundreds. Maybe thousands. Hidden in shadows, surrounding a glowing racetrack etched in spray paint and oil. Engines roared like thunder beneath flashing lights. Neon graffiti lit the walls with names only legends wore.

And at the center of the pit, pulling off her helmet and stepping from a crimson-black superbike…

Was her.

She was dressed in sleek black riding gear, helmet tucked under one arm. Her braid clung to her neck, damp from the heat. Grease marked her cheek, her lip was slightly bruised.

And still—she looked untouchable.

Unreal.

Unapologetic.

"Crimson Reign!" someone shouted.

The crowd chanted her alias, stomping their feet.

Victor stood frozen in the shadows.

Isabella Lin—his fiancée, the miracle doctor, the anonymous investor—was also this.

The undefeated queen of the underground.

The racer who had vanished months ago.

And now, she had returned.

Victor moved closer, eyes locked on her.

She didn't notice him—too focused as she checked her bike, whispered to a man who looked like a mechanic and not much else. Her body moved with ease. Confidence. Precision.

She wasn't performing.

She was breathing.

This wasn't an escape.

This was her home.

Minutes later, the announcer's voice rang out:

"Tonight—Crimson Reign returns to defend her title. Challenger: King X."

The crowd howled.

Victor's jaw tensed.

King X was a brutal racer known for dirty tactics. He'd totaled bikes. Broken bones. He didn't race to win—he raced to destroy.

And Isabella was stepping onto the track like it was just another Tuesday.

Engines screamed to life.

Victor's heart pounded with them.

She raced like death was just a rumor—fast, clean, and cruel. She swerved past flames, dodged oil slicks, and leaned into turns like the laws of physics bent for her alone.

King X tried to run her off the track twice.

Failed.

The third time—he clipped her back wheel.

She spun.

The crowd screamed.

Victor surged forward instinctively.

But she didn't fall.

She recovered in seconds, burning rubber, flying past him in the final stretch, and—

Won.

The crowd exploded.

Victor exhaled only when he saw her safe, pulling into the garage bay, heart thudding visibly beneath her gear.

He approached quietly.

And this time—she saw him first.

Eyes wide.

A flicker of something raw—panic, defiance, maybe even shame.

"Victor," she said flatly. "What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same," he replied, voice low.

"You followed me?"

"No," he said. "I hunted you."

A tense silence.

Then she turned away, pulling off her gloves. "I'm not apologizing."

"I didn't ask you to."

"Then why are you here?"

He stepped closer. "Because you're a hurricane wearing a human face. And I think I'm already inside the storm."

She didn't reply.

But when she finally looked at him—helmet in hand, sweat glistening on her neck—Victor knew something for certain.

She wasn't hiding who she was anymore.

She was daring him to stay.

And God help him, he would.

Next Chapter Teaser: Isabella confronts Victor about why he came—and learns just how deep his obsession runs. But he wants something from her now: her truth… or something even more dangerous.