Page 220 of Knot So Lucky

I increase my speed, my eyes laser-focused on the car ahead.

Dante Moretti.

Second place.

Between me and the lead position that will secure critical championship points.

My mind is racing faster than the car, trying to stay calm and centered despite the image burned into my brain—Auroracollapsing in my arms, her storm-green eyes going unfocused and terrified before consciousness left her completely.

I'd speed-dialed Roran immediately. Barely managed to get words out through my panic, but he'd understood.

"Hospital. Private facility. Now." Then I'd made the split-second decision that's currently putting my life at risk.

I'm racing in her place.

Driving her car. Wearing her helmet and jumpsuit, maintaining radio silence that's already making people suspicious.

But I had no time to tell Elias or Cale what happened.

No time to coordinate or plan or think through consequences. Just Aurora unconscious and a race starting in fifteen minutes and the horrible realization that someone had finally made their winning move.

Checkmate.

The word haunts me as I take Turn Seven with aggressive precision, cutting the apex closer than is strictly safe. The car responds beautifully—Aurora's custom calibrations making it feel like an extension of my body rather than a separate machine.

Dante is just ahead, his driving aggressive and unpredictable. He doesn't know I'm not Aurora. Doesn't know that the person he's been competing against, trying to intimidate and undermine, is actually someone who walked away from professional racing three years ago after one catastrophic mistake.

The memory threatens to overwhelm me, but I push it down. Focus on the track. On the racing line. On extracting every possible tenth of a second from this car.

Because Aurora worked so hard for this.

Fought through discrimination and threats and sabotage to prove she belonged in Formula One. And I'll be damned if I let some poisoning bastard steal this race from her.

We were set up.Iwas set up, specifically. And the mere idea of Aurora waking up and thinking I was the one who drugged her—that I hurt her deliberately—makes my heart clench with dismay while anger bubbles inside like acid.

I press harder on the accelerator, feeling the engine respond with a surge of power that pins me back in the seat.

The memory of my past mechanical failure weighs heavy. Three years ago, different team, different driver. I'd missed a data anomaly—one tiny fluctuation in the telemetry that suggested a mounting bolt was working loose.

The crash that resulted had been spectacular and nearly fatal.

The racing world had made me the ultimate mockery.

"Castellanos can't be trusted with safety checks."

"Silver spoon kid playing at being an engineer."

"Stick to spending daddy's money instead of pretending to understand racing."

I'd paused my entire driving career despite all the hard work and skill. Stepped back from behind the wheel and focused on supporting others from the sidelines, convinced I didn't deserve to race after such a catastrophic failure.

But Aurora needs me now.

The pack needs me.

And maybe this is my final shot at redemption.

I'm in second place now, having overtaken Dante through a combination of better line choice and sheer determination. The announcing team is going crazy, their voices overlapping with excitement.