Chapter 172 Racing
Corrine’s keen intuition picked up on the calculated evasiveness in Nate’s words.
His reluctance to volunteer information hung heavy in the air, leaving a bitter taste of frustration settling deep within her heart.
The sensation of being deliberately kept in the dark while others seemed privy to secrets gnawed at her consciousness.
After ending the call, she sprawled across her bed, her eyes fixed on the ceiling’s blank
canvas.
The sudden crash of the door jolting open startled her upright, revealing Jules striding into the room. Her words tumbled out before she could stop them. “What brings you
here?”
Jules settled into a chair with casual grace. “How about we clear that troubled mind of
yours with an outing?”
Corrine studied him, her irritation seeking an escape valve.
After a moment’s consideration, she ventured, “Our usual routine?”
“Sure,” Jules affirmed.
As they stepped into the hallway, Carl emerged from his bedroom, his scrutinizing gaze traveling over Corrine’s attire before landing disapprovingly on Jules. “Taking Corrine out for another adventure, are you?”
“Grandpa, it’s just a simple ride,” Corrine soothed, linking her arm through his as she helped him navigate the stairs. “I’m staying at Uncle Waldo’s apartment tonight, but I’ll be back this weekend for dinner with you.”
Carl found himself speechless, looking at Corrine, whose features bore a striking resemblance to Kiley’s. With a resigned sigh, he murmured, “Be safe.
“She’s in good hands with me,” Jules assured him. “No harm will come to her.
Carl’s derisive snort spoke volumes. “That’s precisely what concerns me. She’s picked up all these unladylike habits from you.”
“Time to go!” Jules exclaimed, a headache brewing from Carl’s criticism. He grasped Corrine’s wrist, guiding her swiftly toward the exit.
As Carl watched her disappear into the distance, concern etched deeper lines into his
face.
The butler observed his expression, asking, “Worried about Miss Holland’s matrimonial prospects, Mr. Ford?”
Carl turned to him with a weary sigh. “What’s your take on this?”
A knowing smile played across the butler’s features. “Each generation charts its own course, Mr. Ford. Why burden yourself with worry?”
Carl fell silent, his gaze drawn to the birds soaring against the horizon, melancholy. shadowing his eyes as he grappled with the truth in those words.
Jules and Corrine pulled into SS Racing Club.
After changing into their racing gear, the staff brought forward two magnificent vehicles: a dark purple Lykan for Corrine and a black Shelby for Jules.
Jules sat in the driver’s seat, one arm draped across the lowered window. “Try not to
cry when you lose, Corrine,” he taunted.
“Less talk!” Corrine shot back, her attention laser–focused on the countdown display.
The moment it expired, she unleashed the engine’s power, her vehicle launching forward like lightning.
Jules had anticipated rust in Corrine’s skills after years away from racing. Instead, he witnessed a masterclass in precision driving as she executed two consecutive turns flawlessly, maximizing her acceleration with expert timing.
His playful demeanor evaporated as she threatened to overtake him at the bend.
Their vehicles danced neck and neck around the track, neither yielding an inch.
The intensity of their competition drew a growing crowd of spectators, all eager to witness this unexpected display of skill.
