Lucas raised an eyebrow at Shawn, his tone even but dangerous. "Take good care of her. If she comes back missing even one hair, I’ll come for you." "Got it!" Shawn grinned and made a goofy salute. Lucas gently nudged Sloane’s hand. "Go on. Think of it as a little break." Sloane hesitated, then smiled. "Fine. Just rest and don’t move around too much—I’ll be back soon." "I will." Lucas’s smile softened. "You two really love to drag out goodbyes," Shawn muttered, grabbing Sloane’s hand and leading her out the door. His sports car roared down the winding coastal highway of Mirevia, the engine’s growl blending with the crash of distant waves. "How’s that for excitement?" Shawn asked, eyes sparkling with adrenaline as the wind whipped Sloane’s hair around her face. "It’s… incredible!" she said, her eyes bright with thrill.Just then, several modified supercars thundered past them. A silver Lamborghini swerved ahead, performing a sharp drift that blocked their lane completely. "Well, if it isn’t Shawn," came a mocking voice. The window rolled down to reveal a handsome, mixed-race man with a smirk carved into his face. "Taking such a gorgeous woman out for a joyride?" Shawn’s expression darkened. "Victor. Move your damn car." Victor Robinson—son of one of Mirevia’s biggest financiers, notorious for his arrogance and love of danger. His eyes swept over Sloane, filled with smug amusement. "Beauty, riding with this guy must be boring. Come with me instead. I’ll show you what real speed feels like." Sloane gave him a cold glance. "Not interested." "Oh, don’t be so icy." Victor leaned on the door, smirking. "Tell you what—let’s race. If I win, you come with me to the yacht party tonight. If I lose, this Lamborghini’s yours." "Victor, you—" Shawn started, furious. "Deal," Sloane interrupted calmly. "But I have one condition. If you lose, you stay out of our way. From now on, you back off whenever you see us." Victor whistled, amused. "Deal. Ten minutes from now—meet me at the lighthouse. May the best driver win, gorgeous." His convoy of cars sped off, leaving dust swirling in their wake. Shawn wiped the sweat off his brow. "Sloane, are you insane? Victor’s a professional racer! He could drive that mountain road blindfolded!" Sloane fastened her seat belt with calm precision. "Then let me drive." "What?" "Trust me." Her tone was steady, her eyes unwavering. "We’re not going to lose." Though hesitant, Shawn slid into the passenger seat. The moment Sloane gripped the wheel, her entire presence shifted—cool, focused, unshakable. The engine roared to life, and the car shot forward like an arrow loosed from a bow. At the first seaside curve, Sloane executed a flawless drift, tires screaming as sparks danced across the asphalt. Blue smoke curled behind them, and Shawn clutched the handrail for dear life. "Holy hell!" he shouted, eyes wide. "You’re crazier than Victor!" A confident smile tugged at Sloane’s lips. "This is just the warm-up." Corner after corner, she pushed the car to its limits, overtaking with razor precision. In Victor’s rearview mirror, her car grew larger and larger until it filled the frame completely. His smugness faltered. At the final S-curve, seeing her about to pass, Victor’s eyes hardened. He jerked the wheel sharply, his silver Lamborghini veering toward her car in a ruthless attempt to cut her off. "Watch out!" Shawn yelled. Sloane’s gaze sharpened. In a split-second decision, she slammed the accelerator to the floor. The car shot forward, narrowly slipping past. The two vehicles grazed mirrors as they flew by, and Victor’s rear end fishtailed dangerously close to the cliff’s edge, leaving a jagged skid mark right at the precipice.