Page 13 of Knot So Fast (Speedverse #1)
SHATTERED ILLUSIONS
~ A UREN~
I walk into the kitchen with a towel wrapped around my hair, still working to dry the wet strands while my mind processes the strange dynamic I just witnessed between Luke and Kieran. There's clearly history there—complicated, messy history that involves more people than just the two of them.
But before I can ask any questions about what I missed, my attention is immediately captured by the television screen.
"...no Formula One team will be allowed to compete without an Omega partner," the announcer is saying, and I stop dead in my tracks.
The words strike, even though I can't quite understand why they should matter to me personally.
I'm not involved in Formula One racing. I'm just some Omega with amnesia who apparently used to have opinions about cars with a bit of riding experience before her accident. But something deep in my chest clenches at the announcement, like my body knows something my conscious mind has forgotten.
Kieran and Luke are both staring at the screen in complete shock, their faces reflecting a mixture of disbelief and something that looks almost like hope.
Neither of them seems to be breathing properly.
The camera cuts to a woman in an impeccably tailored business suit, and the name banner beneath her identifies her as the chairman of some organization with an incredibly long, fancy name that I can't process fast enough.
What I do catch is that she's apparently the top sponsor of Formula One activities worldwide.
She's an Omega—I can tell immediately from her posture and the way she carries herself, that particular combination of grace and steel that we're taught from childhood.
But there's something else about her, a level of authority and confidence that makes it clear she's not someone who gets told 'no' very often.
"It's been years of constant scrutiny toward Omegas across the world," she begins, her voice carrying the kind of crisp authority that makes even Alphas sit up and pay attention.
"In the most common places of workplace harassment to high-stakes sports like racing, the treatment of Omegas has become absolutely atrocious. "
She pauses, and I find myself leaning forward despite not fully understanding why this matters to me.
"The constant outcasting and bullying of Omegas continues to run rampant through our organization, and despite many Alphas claiming to encourage diversity in this field of competition, we leaders and founders are over it."
Another pause, and I can feel the tension building not just in the broadcast, but in the kitchen around me. Luke has gone completely still, while Kieran looks like he's watching his entire world shift on its axis.
"Over half of the Formula One sponsorships in the last five years were funded by Omegas and their elite packs," she continues, and there's something almost predatory in her smile now.
"And guess what? As of this year, all of those sponsors have pulled their support unless fundamental rule changes are implemented. "
The screen splits to show footage of the announcement being displayed on massive screens throughout the world—Times Square, Piccadilly Circus, massive displays in Tokyo and Dubai.
This isn't just a racing announcement; this is a global declaration of war.
"Some of the most wealthy and influential individuals of our time are Omegas," the woman continues, her voice growing stronger with each word.
"But because of big-ego men with significantly smaller net worths consistently undermining and diminishing Omega contributions, we've lost oversight of who really controls the strings in the fields of automotive innovation and racing excellence. "
She stares directly into the camera, and even through the television screen, her gaze feels penetrating and absolute.
"That changes today."
The pause that follows feels eternal, like the entire world is holding its breath.
"An Omega MUST be participating as a driver on each Formula One team. We don't give a damn about their previous qualifications or traditional career paths. As long as they're skilled enough to race competitively and have the potential to win, they're eligible."
My heart starts pounding so hard I can hear it in my ears, though I still can't understand why this announcement is affecting me so viscerally.
"This will NOT be segregated Omega-versus-Omega racing," she emphasizes, her tone brooking no argument. "They will participate as full team members alongside their Alpha partners. If any team cannot support this requirement, they're welcome to withdraw their applications entirely."
She straightens her shoulders, and something about the gesture feels familiar in a way that makes my chest ache.
"Application submissions are now open and will close in exactly two weeks."
She starts to turn away from the podium, clearly considering the announcement complete, when one of the broadcast journalists calls out a question.
"What about the current world champion? What if he can't find an Omega partner willing to race with him?"
The woman pauses, and when she turns back to face the cameras, her smile is sharp enough to cut glass.
"Whether you're the current champion or a rookie driver fresh out of the junior leagues, the deal is the same.
No Omega partner, no access to the track, no championship eligibility.
" Her voice drops to a tone that somehow manages to be both conversational and absolutely terrifying.
"So I suggest all these Alphas climb down from their high horses and find the Omega who will ride alongside them to victory. "
She dismisses herself without taking any other questions, leaving the regular news broadcasters to scramble for commentary that suddenly seems completely irrelevant compared to what just happened.
The three of us stand in complete silence as the broadcast shifts to talking heads discussing the "unprecedented development" and "revolutionary changes to motorsport.
" But their words feel like background noise compared to the ringing in my ears and the strange, hollow sensation spreading through my chest.
I slowly walk to the kitchen island and sink onto one of the stools, my legs suddenly feeling unreliable. My mind is trying to process what I just witnessed, but it's like trying to solve a puzzle when half the pieces are missing.
Why does this matter? I'm not involved in Formula One racing.
I'm not going to be competing… again —I can't even remember why I would want to.
Or if I even had? But my heart is pounding like I've just received life-changing news, and there's something deep in my blood that feels like recognition, like coming home.
I don't realize I've been staring blankly at the marble countertop until a hand starts waving in front of my face, and I hear Kieran calling my name with increasing urgency.
"What?" I ask, blinking up at him in confusion.
He's frowning at me with the kind of concerned expression that suggests I've been unresponsive for longer than I realized.
"Did you eat anything today?"
It takes me far too long to process that simple question, my brain feeling sluggish and disconnected.
Luke notices my delayed response and frowns as well.
"She hasn't," Luke answers for me, "unless you count those dumb energy gel things that runners drink while they're exercising."
I blink and pout, feeling defensive about my nutritional choices.
"It's good stuff! Quality fuel. What's wrong with that?"
But even as I say it, I can tell something is off.
My words feel slurred around the edges, and there's a strange tingling sensation in my fingertips that's getting stronger by the minute.
Kieran is frowning more deeply now, and before I can ask what's wrong, my head is tilted back and his lips are pressing against mine in one smooth motion.
I'm completely confused by the sudden kiss until I taste the sweet orange juice flowing from his mouth to mine.
He's literally feeding me, forcing me to swallow the liquid while our lips are connected.
It should feel invasive or weird, but instead, there's something comforting about it, like muscle memory my conscious brain can't access.
When he breaks the kiss, his face is still close to mine.
"When was the last time you checked your blood sugar?"
I blink at him, trying to understand why he would ask such a random question.
"Why would I need to do that?"
Luke and Kieran exchange a look that makes my stomach drop, and they speak in unison:
"Because you have diabetes, Auren."
I'm about to argue, to insist that they're wrong, when something clicks in my brain like a lock turning.
They're right.
I do have diabetes, which means I should be monitoring my blood sugar levels and definitely not allowing them to drop dangerously low, like they apparently just did.
"Oh. Yeah," I say quietly, feeling stupid for forgetting something so fundamental about my own health.
Kieran looks at Luke, who immediately puts his hands up in surrender.
"I'm going to make breakfast ASAP," Luke announces, moving toward the refrigerator with purpose.
Kieran holds up the bottle of orange juice he apparently retrieved from somewhere. "Should I go the direct route for the rest of this?"
The implication of what he means— more mouth-to-mouth liquid transfer —makes me blush furiously.
"Fuck no," I grumble, snatching the bottle from his hands. "You suck at kissing anyway."
His smirk is immediate and devastating.
"Your pussy would disagree with that assessment."
"Ewww," I groan, making exaggerated gagging sounds even as my traitorous body responds to his words with a flood of slick that I pray my towel is covering. "You're disgusting."
God…I don’t even want to think of that scenario.
"I'm going to go change," I announce, desperate to escape this conversation before my body betrays me further. "I need to put on underwear for the sake of my sanity."