Chapter 8 Kneel

A woman was brought in not long after. Without a hint of emotion, Sebastian gave a cold order. "Come here." The woman sashayed in with sultry confidence, every move dripping with seduction. One glance at him and she nearly lost her breath. Even pale and weakened from illness, his face was devastatingly handsome. His presence was overwhelming, like a god who had descended to earth. Swaying her hips, she practically threw herself at him. "Sir, let me take care of you tonight..." The closer she came, the stronger the scent of that cheap, nauseating perfume became. Sebastian frowned in irritation. The moment before she landed in his arms, he shouted, "Get out!" Bulging veins stood out on his forehead, his eyes bloodshot as angry welts spread across his skin. The woman shrieked and scrambled out of the room in terror. Taylor rushed forward, pressing medicine into his hand and pleading, "Mr. Gates, if your body can't handle women, stay away from them. No woman is worth your life—" "Get out!" Sebastian snarled, shoving him aside and snatching up his phone. He dialed Nancy's number repeatedly, but every call was declined. "Damn woman!" he cursed. Nancy had no intention of answering him. She stormed out of the hospital, rage boiling in her chest, with nowhere to go. Then it hit her—down in the underground garage sat a sports car she hadn't touched in years. The night was dead silent, except for the roar of engines tearing across the empty stretch of highway. Her scarlet sports car cut through the darkness like a streak of lightning, the wind howling past the windows in a deafening rush. "Holy shit! Look at that! Isn't that Y's sports car? The world champion from five years ago?" "Damn! You're right! She disappeared for years, and now she's back? Quick! Let's run with the champ!" "Haha! If I beat her, I'll be the new king of the circuit!" In an instant, the pack of late-night racers swarmed after Nancy's crimson car, engines roaring as if the highway itself were a battlefield. It had been far too long since she felt this rush—the adrenaline, teetering on the edge of life and death with every turn. The engine howled when she floored the gas, and her car shot up the winding mountain road. A whole string of headlights followed, but one in particular caught her eye. It was Hansel. Her gaze sharpened, and with a sudden screech of tires, she spun the car sideways in a perfect drift, blocking the road. Rolling down the window, she lifted a loudspeaker and called out, voice crisp and mocking, "How about we make this interesting? Since ten cars are tailing me, whoever comes in last kneels to the winner and calls them 'Master.' How's that sound?" A round of cheers erupted. Spoiled heirs loved nothing more than dirty dares. And going head-to-head with the legendary Y? None of them could resist. Her gaze drifted over the crowd and landed squarely on Hansel, lips curving in a razor-thin smile. On the other side, Hansel's chest swelled with pride. He had always believed his driving skills were uncontested. He had only missed the last championship because of "other matters." Otherwise, who would even remember the name Y? Besides, he had heard that the last champion came from the Sullivan family. If he let Y win on purpose tonight, stroked her ego a little, maybe he could use her to dig deeper into the Sullivan family's pockets. And Y was a woman, after all… He fixed his gaze on Y's sports car, certain that tonight would bring him both glory and profit. After a round of racing, Hansel stood outside, his face dark as he glared at her with barely contained fury. "You did that on purpose!" From the first lap, she hadn't cared about anyone else on the track—every move she made was aimed straight at him. Nancy's lips curved in a cold smile. Of course, it was deliberate. What could he do about it? With one hand draped lazily over the wheel, she said mockingly, "The race is over. Mr. Graham, don't tell me that you can't handle losing?" Hansel froze. Something about her tone struck a chord deep in his memory. That voice and mocking cadence… Why did it sound exactly like that damn woman, Nancy? The thought flashed in his mind for a split second before he shoved it away. The famed racing champion Y could never be that useless Nancy, a woman who, in his eyes, survived only by clinging to men. He told himself it had to be the lingering anger from that woman messing with his head, making him imagine such nonsense. He was definitely overthinking it.