Chapter 155
“Thank you,” I said once we were inside, feeling a mix of gratitude and amusement.
He shrugged, like it was nothing. ”
the heir to the Silvermoon Pack, I’ve dealt with attention like this my whole life. I’ve had warriors guarding me from crowds like these since I was a kid. This is the first time I’ve been the one blocking cameras–and the first time they weren’t for me.”
I laughed. “That’s because here, you’re not the Alpha of Silvermoon. You’re just the husband of Cheryl, the racer.”
His eyes lit up with pride at my words, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Not just your husband. Your most loyal fan.”
He
watched as I changed into my racing suit, his eyes filled with curiosity. “Have you figured out how you’re going to respond to the rumors?”
I slipped on my helmet, giving him a confident grin. “You’ll see out on the track.”
The roar of the crowd echoed through the arena as I made my way toward the track. The energy in the air was almost palpable–some cheers, others taunts, but all of it was directed at me. My heart pounded with excitement, and I soaked in the moment. For once, all eyes were on me, not out of curiosity, but because they genuinely wanted to see what I was capable of.
As I stepped onto the track, I could see highlights from my previous races playing on the large screen overhead. The footage showed me weaving through tight packs of racers, the wheels of my car spinning as I overtook one after another. Some of the stunts I had pulled off were now infamous, and seeing them again fueled the fire within me. The cheers became louder, but so did the murmurs
of skepticism.
I scanned the audience, giving them a confident wave before turning to greet my opponent. He walked toward me with a broad smile, a seasoned racer and an old rival. We’d faced each other
countless times before.
Meryl,” he said warmly, extending his hand. “It’s good to be fighting on the same stage
been too long.”
I smiled and shook his hand firmly. “Likewise. Let’s make this a race to remember.”
again. It’s
With that, we headed to our cars. My hands tightened around the steering wheel as I took my position on the track. I could feel the tension rising. The moment the flag waved, I launched forward, the engine of my car roaring in response.
After | Let Go My Alpha. He Knelt in Regret
77.36.
My first trick came at the approach to the first sharp corner–trail braking*. As I sped toward the | bend, I waited for the last possible moment before pressing down on the brakes. The timing had to
be perfect; too soon, and I’d lose speed, too late, and I’d overshoot the turn. My foot gently eased off the accelerator while applying just enough pressure to the brakes, allowing me to glide smoothly. into the corner at just the right speed.
“Hey, who’s still saying she’s not the real Cheryl!”
Someone in the crowd shouted, “A perfect turn like that is Cheryl’s only skill!”
I could hear the crowd’s gasps as I executed the maneuver flawlessly, skimming past the edge of the curve. From the corner of my eye, I saw my opponent struggling to keep up.
urther down the track. I focused on maintaining the “precision line“. My eyes scanned ahead, calculating the exact position my car needed to be in to hug the racing line. This required absolute concentration and precise control. I leaned into the steering wheel, pushing my car to stay as close as possible to the ideal path while maintaining maximum speed.
The final stretch was a blur of adrenaline, my opponent hot on my heels, but he was no match for the rhythm I had fallen into. I crossed the finish line with a roar from the crowd, my chest heaving with exhilaration. I had won–the championship was mine.
As I climbed out of the car, dripping with sweat, I was soon surrounded by people cheering and
reporters.
Some young, lively spectators, unable to contain their excitement, braced their hands mouths in the shape of a trumpet and shouted, “Who says she’s faking her identity?”
or their
“I’m a fan of Cheryl’s, and her driving habits are exactly the same as they were a few years ago!”
“Rumor mongers come out! Come out!” The crowd responded with a call, “Yes, yes, yes, yes, we’ve got thousands of pairs of eyes watching, this can’t be faked! Shame on you!”
At this time, a piercing voice rang out, “What’s wrong with winning the competition, it doesn’t prove
that she’s Cheryl.”
A reporter raised a microphone to my face, “You may have some skills, but that doesn’t mean you’re the same person you were back then, how are you going to prove it?”
3
After 11 at Ga Me Aluha. He Eneli in Regret
