CHAPTER 25: The Price of Watching Her Burn

The garage behind the Neon Vale track was loud—metal clanging, engines cooling, fans cheering outside the gates.

But between them, it was silent.

Victor stood a breath away from Isabella, shadows carving the sharp lines of his jaw.

She stood with her helmet tucked beneath one arm, grease on her glove, blood trickling from a cut on her collarbone.

Neither spoke.

Not yet.

Because this—this moment—wasn't about words.

It was about what they'd both seen.

What Victor now knew.

"You race underground," he finally said.

"I used to," Isabella replied coolly. "Tonight was an exception."

"I doubt that."

She didn't answer.

His eyes trailed to the wound on her skin. "You're bleeding."

"It's shallow."

"You could've died."

"I've died before," she murmured. "Just not in ways that leave a body."

That silenced him.

And that silence broke something in her.

She turned on her heel, marching toward the row of lockers in the back, pulling open a rusted door and tossing her helmet inside.

Victor followed.

"You were going to keep this from me."

"Of course," she snapped. "Why wouldn't I?"

"You saved my grandmother. You work with global investors. You own half the labs in the upper city. And now I find you almost dying on a racetrack you supposedly left."

"I told you before," she said, her voice colder now, "I don't owe you answers."

"You're my fiancée."

"That was arranged, not chosen."

His eyes darkened. "Do you want it cancelled?"

The question hung between them like a blade.

She turned slowly.

Met his gaze.

And said nothing.

Which was worse than a yes.

Victor stepped closer. "I came tonight to find out what else you were hiding."

"And did you?"

"No."

She blinked. "No?"

He stepped closer still, heat rolling off him. "Because now I just have more questions."

Her breath caught. She didn't move. Not even when he lifted a hand and brushed his fingers lightly—just once—over the wound on her collarbone.

"I should be angry," he whispered. "But all I can think about is how much I want you to trust me."

"Trust is earned, Victor."

"I'm trying."

"By stalking me?"

"By not walking away."

Her lips parted—but the words didn't come.

Because the look in his eyes wasn't about power, or control, or performance.

It was hunger.

Not just for her body.

For all of her.

The truths.

The secrets.

The pain.

The fire.

She was terrified of how much of her he already saw.

So she did what she always did when she felt the ground shift.

She threw up her walls.

"Go home, Victor," she said, turning away.

But this time—he didn't listen.

He caught her wrist.

Spun her around.

And kissed her.

It wasn't like last time—reckless and fast.

It was worse.

Because it was slow.

Burning.

Almost reverent.

And when he finally pulled away, his voice was a rasp against her skin.

"I'm not walking away, Isabella."

And she, for once, didn't push him.

That night, long after the city quieted and the lights faded, her phone buzzed.

[AshenWolf]: "Sometimes watching you is like watching a fire I can't look away from—even if I know it might burn me alive."

[SkyeEcho]: "Then don't get too close."

[AshenWolf]: "Too late."

Next Chapter Teaser: Isabella's emotions are stirred—just as her adoptive family returns, scheming, and demanding to be repaid for years of "raising" her… unaware that Victor has begun watching her every move.