Leland had grown used to Kaelyn bending to his will, a quiet obedience he'd never questioned.

Yet in the blink of an eye, she shoved his arm away.

A cool sweep of contempt crossed her face. "Back when we were married, I never stepped out on you. Once those papers were signed, I earned my freedom. Why should I skulk around? If you're feeling ashamed, stay inside."

The bluntness nearly knocked the breath out of him.

Somewhere in the crowd, a muffled snort slipped through before being hastily swallowed.

Everyone understood the jab—she was calling him the one who cheated.

And as if summoned by the accusation, a honeyed voice drifted over the noise. "Leland."

Davina glided toward them with a slow, practiced sway, the racing team manager trailing behind her.

Wrapped in a sleek, all-white motorcycle suit that hugged every line of her body, she wore Leland's jacket over her shoulders like a trophy.

Once she reached his side, she lifted a delicate hand toward Kaelyn, her smile polished and sweet. "Hey Kaelyn, long time no see."

Cold amusement flickered across her mouth as Kaelyn let a thin smile appear.

When Morgan Group finally found its footing, Leland drifted from one shiny distraction to the next—funding a flashy racing team, sponsoring over-the-top gaming tournaments, and even sinking money into a private flower estate whispered to keep rare, exotic creatures.

Not once had he invited her to see a single part of that world.

Leland's favorite excuse had always been the same. "You wouldn't understand!"

All of those things suddenly looked intended for Davina.

By their second year of marriage, the shift had already begun. The divorce had clearly been mapped out long before the papers appeared.

Yet in those same years, he had tackled brutal projects at her side, shoulder to shoulder, as if they were an unbreakable team. The contradiction stung with a bitter sort of irony.

Kaelyn lifted her gaze, her stunning eyes catching the light, and a relaxed, almost careless smile curved across her lips.

Watching her glow with that calm confidence made Davina's lips jerk in a tight, annoyed twitch.

"Kaelyn, I already heard about what happened between you and Leland," Davina began, smoothing her expression with practiced gentleness. "His grandfather forced that marriage on you for three years. Honestly, Leland owes you far more than what he's offering. If you're unhappy with the settlement, we can take it up in private. There's no need to follow us here and…"

She let her gaze sweep over Kaelyn from head to toe, irritation curling in her chest when she couldn't spot a single flaw.

Kaelyn's sculpted figure and endlessly long legs were enough to spark a stab of envy.

Damn it!

Fighting the sour twist in her stomach, Davina pulled Leland's jacket tighter around her shoulders, as if bracing herself.

"Your motorcycle suit shows half your waist," she remarked coolly, her tone dipped in condescension. "If a reporter snaps a photo, it'll be embarrassing for Morgan Group. Kaelyn, you keep trying to squeeze into circles that don't want you. There's no need to force your way in."

The dismissal flattened Kaelyn like she wasn't worth a second thought.

Kaelyn brushed her palm along the sleek bike beside her, tapping the fairing with an easy, confident motion.

"Don't you recognize this motorcycle?" she queried, her drawl dripping with quiet challenge.

Davina offered a bored glance, barely sparing it any attention. "Renting some cheap ride dressed up like a racing model might fool people who've never stepped on a track, but anyone who actually races would laugh their heads off."

A ripple of muffled snickering rolled through the rich ladies clustered behind her.

"I've never seen that thing at any official event. Looks like scrap metal pretending to be relevant."

"I should snap a picture and send it to my cousin. He owns a motorcycle repair shop—he'll confirm whether it's a knockoff."

"Davina holds an international racing license, you know. If her health hadn't forced her to step back, she'd already be the 'racing legend' people worship in the circuit."

The smug chatter only made Leland's cheeks burn hotter.

"Kaelyn, please—just head home. I'll throw in another five million, alright? Stop turning this into a spectacle." He rubbed his forehead, sounding desperate.

The team manager, who had been quietly circling the motorcycle, finally cleared his throat and lifted his hand. "Mr. Morgan… Miss Hayes… this appears to be a limited-edition Harley. Market value is over fifty million."

"What?" Davina's expression snapped, all color draining from her face.

A sharp possibility flickered through her mind—had Leland actually bought this for Kaelyn?

Leland cut that thought apart with a cold snort. "She's nothing but an orphan. Without me, how would she ever afford something like this?"

No one knew Kaelyn's finances better than he did, and that certainty curled in his voice like a cutting edge.

The team manager, finally piecing together the implication, shut his mouth without protest.

A ripple of mocking laughter rolled through the gathered riders.

"I really thought we had a VIP here. So she's just a pretty doll after all."

While the crowd jeered, Davina lifted her chin, smugness sliding across her shoulders in a slow, indulgent wave.

"Kaelyn, do yourself a favor and leave. I'd hate to watch you embarrass yourself even more than you already have," she remarked, letting a thin, mocking smile tug at her lips. "And don't ride something that fake again. Roads like these aren't forgiving. If you end up crippled, Leland won't be responsible for cleaning up the mess."

Beneath her syrupy concern lurked a poisonous insinuation—Kaelyn was chasing pity, staging a pathetic scene to claw her way back into Leland's arms.

Kaelyn had been ready to leave their petty show behind, practically done with the whole scene.

Still, the contempt in their eyes jabbed something sharp in her chest.

"You sure sound like you know what you're doing," she remarked, easing a step closer to Davina, her voice smooth and cold. "How about we test that ego on the track? One hundred million. Think you can keep up?"

"Kaelyn!" Leland's voice cut through the air, firm enough to pin anyone in place. His stare carried the harsh weight of command as he snapped out his warning. "Davina can't ride right now. She's been unwell for a long time. How could you be so cruel, dragging her into something like this?"

Cruel?

The accusation scorched through Kaelyn's patience, a spark of fury so sudden she almost swung on him.

Davina chimed in with a soft, fragile cough, her fingers curling around his arm as if she needed his support just to stand. "Leland, you shouldn't take it out on Kaelyn. She gave you three years, never earned your love, and walked away with nothing. That would push anyone over the edge."

Kaelyn refused to give her the satisfaction of a reaction. Tilting her chin with cool defiance, she gestured toward the polished lineup of motorcycles, her fingers slicing through the air like a challenge.

"Didn't you bankroll this entire team for Davina? With fifty million poured into these motorcycles and riders, shouldn't at least one of them actually measure up? You can pick one of them to take Davina's place and race me."

Davina jolted upright, fury flushing her cheeks as she blinked through the sting of offended pride. "You don't get to insult Leland in front of me! If you're this determined to be reckless, then don't expect me to sit back quietly."

She shifted her gaze to the team manager and instructed, "Choose someone to race her. I refuse to let Leland lose."

The team manager was equally determined to ensure Leland's victory. After all, he had just negotiated with Leland for a new investment.

With future funding on the line, he barked orders without hesitation and pointed out their strongest rider.

Kaelyn tipped the helmet in her hand, ready to slip it over her head.

Davina's voice cut in, cool and self-satisfied. "If you lose, you obviously can't pay a hundred million. I want you gone from Leland's life for good—and you'll issue a public apology for causing trouble today."

A bright, almost taunting smile curved across Kaelyn's lips.

"Going for brutal terms now, huh? Alright then. Let's raise it another hundred million. Leland, hope that's not too much for you."

Kaelyn knew Morgan Group's capital was jammed in ongoing projects, their fresh returns still weeks away. At best, Leland could free up two hundred million in cash.

As expected, a flicker of unease crossed his expression.

Kaelyn let out a low, taunting whistle. "Guess Davina isn't worth two hundred million to you after all, huh?"

The jab hit him squarely. No man with an ego like his could swallow that. He snatched up the checkbook, scribbled his signature with stiff determination, and smacked the check onto the table.

"The wager stands. Once you sign this liability waiver, there'll be no turning back, Kaelyn—hope you know what you're doing," he said.

Kaelyn reached for the pen with calm, unhurried confidence and added her signature, never once bothering to glance in his direction.

Moonlight washed across the mountain road, turning every curve into a shimmering silver arc.

A sharp whistle sliced through the stillness, and the black Harley exploded forward, punching through the night with a throaty growl.

The course they'd picked twisted nine brutal times along the cliffside, a route even veteran riders hesitated to tackle at full speed.

Drone cameras tracked every daring maneuver, leaving the crowd breathless.

"She's already hitting the sixth turn without easing up. Think she'll survive the last two bends?"

"Incredible, absolutely incredible. That kind of stunt is the sort of thing only Moon, the myth of the racing world, could do."

"Could she really be Moon? Nobody knows what Moon looks like, but people say the legend's a woman."

Whispers from the crowd drifted to Leland, and a hard, rapid thrum hammered through his chest as he stared at the Harley slicing through the night like a streak of silver fire.

Moon… was that really Kaelyn?

The thought slammed into him with dizzying force.

Beside him, Davina simmered, forcing out two frail coughs as if she were moments from collapsing. When she lifted her lashes, she caught him still fixated on Kaelyn—so absorbed he might as well have forgotten Davina existed.

Nothing like this had ever happened.

Her fingers curled into a trembling fist.

Just then, Kaelyn carved through the final curve in a seamless drift, gliding across the finish line while her opponent lagged a full hundred yards behind.

The crowd broke into instinctive applause, the sound rolling across the track like a sudden wave.

Leland found his hands lifting before he even noticed, drawn in by the sight of Kaelyn's effortless control.

Davina's restraint finally snapped. She clamped onto his arm, nails digging through his sleeve as her glare sliced upward.

"Is it really that fascinating to you?" she demanded, her voice trembling with jealousy.

Only then did the slip hit him, a flicker of guilt passing over his features.

He opened his mouth, reaching for a soothing explanation—but the words stalled when a subtle, airy scent drifted close. Something light and familiar brushed past him, cool as a breeze skimming across water, pulling his attention in a new direction.

Leland lifted his head without thinking when Kaelyn slid off her helmet. The face he remembered—usually soft, almost serene—now burned with a wild, unrestrained edge that hit him square in the chest. His pulse kicked hard, completely out of his control.

Kaelyn let her gaze drift across Davina and Leland, cold and unbothered.

"Some people keep squeezing into circles that don't want them," she said, her voice smooth but cutting. "Forcing it only makes everyone uncomfortable."

She tossed their own line back at them with a razor-sharp twist, delivering it like a slap.

Between two elegant fingers, she flicked the two-hundred-million check as if it were nothing more than a scrap of paper. "I've actually got plans tonight. I appreciate the financial support, Mr. Morgan."

She slipped the check into her leather jacket with an easy flick of her wrist, pulled on her helmet, and swung onto the motorcycle. The engine thundered to life before she shot down the road in a streak of steel and smoke.

Far up on the ridge, Caleb stood in his hiking gear, peering through a high-end telescope as the scene unraveled below.

A crooked, amused smile crept across his face.

"She's hardly fragile," he murmured, the words drifting out with a low chuckle. "That timid routine of hers is just a mask. This is about to get very interesting."

Meanwhile, chatter buzzed through the racing team as everyone gushed about the elusive racing legend, Moon.

Even losing to someone like Moon, they said, felt like bragging rights.

Amid the excitement, not a single person paid attention to the way Davina's expression kept tightening, a storm gathering behind her eyes.

Then a rich lady jolted upright, waving her phone with breathless urgency. "My cousin just messaged me. That motorcycle she drove? It's the real deal—a racing model worth tens of millions. Someone actually bought that monster for her. Who do you think it was? Mr. Morgan?"

A voice from the crowd cut in, sharp with gossip. "Davina, the team Mr. Morgan built for you isn't even worth Kaelyn's motorcycle."

The jab landed hard. Humiliation burned through Davina until she trembled, one hand pressed to her chest as her tear-rimmed eyes clung to Leland like she'd been wronged beyond repair.

Leland faltered at the sight of her.

Pushing down the emotion stirred by Kaelyn, he folded Davina against him, murmuring rushed promises meant to steady her shaking breath.

In the midst of his attempts to soothe her, his phone suddenly vibrated, splitting the moment in two.

The call turned out to be from his assistant, Richard Quimby.

"Mr. Morgan, we've hit a snag with the Cradle Project," Richard reported, voice tight with urgency. "The hidden owner of Fletcher Group wants to take direct control. They just tripled their investment, but they're not satisfied with our current proposal. They're giving us three days to overhaul everything, or they'll pass the project to another team. But Kaelyn already resigned…"

Leland barely spared the warning a thought.

In his mind, Kaelyn's outburst earlier was nothing more than a jealous spectacle—a dramatic stunt for attention.

Whenever he crooked a finger, she always came back. He saw no reason today would be any different.

He cut the call short and dialed Kaelyn without hesitation.

News of Fletcher Group's expanded backing still pulsed through his veins—an organization so powerful and opaque it could go toe-to-toe with an entire nation, now tripling their investment for the Cradle Project.

Landing this deal wouldn't just bring in a billion-plus windfall; it could secure a long, lucrative alliance with the elusive Fletcher Group.

That rush of ambition sparked in his eyes—right until the line answered with a flat, icy recording. "The number you're trying to reach is no longer in service…" The words droned on, metallic and indifferent.

Kaelyn had cut him off completely.

Incredulity tightened his jaw as he pulled up the chat app, only to discover her profile had vanished entirely—she had deleted him without hesitation.

The audacity of it sent heat crawling up his neck.

Davina, catching the shift in his expression, brushed her fingers lightly along his sleeve and asked in a soft, cautious voice what had happened.

Leland, barely listening, murmured a few hollow reassurances before waving the team manager over and telling him to escort her home.

Once the last person stepped out, he snatched up his phone and rang Richard again, his voice sinking to a cold, murky growl. "Track Kaelyn down. Now."

...

At midnight, Juahset's most extravagant club finally unlocked their most exclusive private room that had sat untouched for years.

The manager slipped in with a gleaming tray of rare liquor and fresh fruit, bowed quickly, and hurried out.

He understood only one thing—the figure hidden inside that room was the club's true owner.

Kaelyn rolled the crystal stem between her fingers, letting the million-dollar wine glide across her tongue in a velvety sweep.

Its sweetness lingered, warm and indulgent, yet it stirred a hollow ache beneath the surface.

A careless glance at the check lying on the table tugged a wry smile from her. She gave a small shake of her head, amusement and bitterness tangled together.

Thoughts of Cassie's breathless description of the club's remarkable man drifted back to her, hazy and reckless under the influence of alcohol. Emboldened by the burn in her veins, she pushed herself upright and wandered toward the door to request the manager to bring that man over.

Warm light pooled across the corridor as she lifted her gaze. A man lounged against the wall opposite her, phone tucked to his ear, his posture loose and confident.

The badge clipped to his chest caught the glow and threw back a sharp glint, hiding whatever name it carried.

A few undone buttons on his black shirt exposed a teasing sweep of collarbone and a firm line of chest, the faint rise and fall drawing her eye before she could stop herself.

Long legs, sheathed in impeccably cut black trousers, gave him a sleek, dangerous elegance that balanced discipline with temptation.

It was the kind of look straight out of a handbook on how a nightclub promoter was expected to dress—crafted, provocative, and designed to unsettle.