My Substitute Bride Wasn't Supposed to Bite

Chapter 6 Speed racing

　　"Let's get to the starting line," Chloe said.

　　This was no game. Once the countdown began, there was no room for hesitation. A single mistake on Velmont's wide, empty highways wouldn't just mean losing—it could be fatal.

　　Clarice pressed the accelerator and shifted gears in one smooth, practiced motion. Her hands were steady, her focus absolute.

　　The roads surrounding Velmont were deserted at this hour. The route was a circuit of the entire city—a brutal mix of narrow backstreets, dense downtown traffic, tunnels, and treacherous mountain passes. Brutal, but the prize made it worth the gamble.

　　The moment the race began, Clarice left Leo eating her dust. She pushed the car hard through downtown Velmont, building an early lead.

　　As they entered a long tunnel—a known hazard—she eased off slightly. Only one car was ahead, a Porsche that looked faintly familiar. Before she could place it, the screech of tires echoed behind her—Leo was closing in. Refocusing, she surged forward and overtook the Porsche.

　　Inside the Porsche, Theodore kept his eyes on the road ahead. He'd been outside the city all morning and was returning with Ethan Lewis.

　　"What's the rush? Eager to get back to your young wife?"

　　Theodore didn't react, his expression unreadable.

　　Ethan, undeterred, smirked. "I have to say, ever since you met her, you've been... different. Going soft, Theo?"

　　Theodore said nothing, but a muscle tightened in his jaw. Ethan's words, however irritating, held an uncomfortable grain of truth.

　　Then his gaze flicked to the glovebox, where the jewelry he'd bought for her sat.

　　"So the infamous Mr. Ice has finally fallen," Ethan pressed on, a teasing smile spreading across his face. "Let me guess—that jewelry in the glovebox is for her?"

　　Theodore's knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. "You talk too much."

　　Just then, a car flew past them. The window was cracked open and the wind slammed against the passenger door, making Ethan jump.

　　"Jesus!"

　　"Seriously, who drives like that?"

　　A second car whizzed by.

　　"They're racing," Ethan said, eyes tracking them. He looked back at Theodore and grinned.

　　"Come on, man—show them how it's done."

　　Theodore used to be a legend on the track. No one dared challenge him.

　　But he ignored Ethan, keeping his pace steady.

　　"Theo! What, you scared now? You or your car not up to it?"

　　"Step on it!" Ethan shouted, clearly frustrated.

　　"If you won't do it, pull over—I'll drive!"

　　"Shut up," Theodore growled.

　　He slammed the accelerator. The engine roared to life, and in seconds, they were flying toward the tunnel exit.

　　Ethan quickly checked his seatbelt. As much as he wanted to see Theo race again, he wasn't exactly eager to die for it.

　　"Faster! Come on—leave them in the dust!"

　　—

　　"Clarice, look! That Porsche's catching up!" Chloe shouted, watching the mirror.

　　The Porsche had just passed Leo like he was standing still.

　　"That car wasn't at the starting line," she added, suspicious.

　　Clarice knew it wasn't. That Porsche wasn't part of the race—they'd run into it in the tunnel.

　　She glanced back. Now the Porsche was riding right beside them.

　　The passenger window was cracked open, revealing half a man's face. He was grinning—smug and full of himself—like he was saying, "You think you can beat me?"

　　Clarice hated that look. After a day of simmering frustration, this was the spark that lit the fuse.

　　She slammed the gas, the speedometer jumping to 180 mph.

　　A sharp turn was coming up—tight enough that only one car could make it through cleanly.

　　Either her, or the Porsche.

　　She smiled coldly, calmly, and turned to Chloe. "Buckle up. Hold on."

　　She didn't just yank the wheel. She positioned her car with surgical precision, claiming the only viable racing line into the sharp turn. There was no way she'd let him pass.

　　"Clarice!" Chloe yelped.

　　Then came a loud crash—but it wasn't their car.

　　It was the Porsche.

　　Clarice had pulled up so close, she forced him to swerve hard. He hadn't expected it—panicked, jerked the wheel, and—bam—right into the guardrail.

　　Clarice drifted through the curve like she was dancing, her car spinning once before coming to a stop—perfectly—right in front of the Porsche's hood.

　　She rolled down her window, stuck her hand out…

　　…and gave him the finger.

　　Then flipped it upside down, smirking with pure, icy mockery.

　　Ethan stared, dumbfounded.

　　"She's insane," he muttered.

　　She'd practically forced them to crash. If Theodore hadn't reacted in time, they'd be wrecked too. Or maybe… maybe she knew he'd avoid it.

　　What the hell was going on? She'd just flipped him off—Theodore Grant—right to his face.

　　Who the hell had the guts to do that?

　　Theodore's expression darkened.

　　He stared at the girl with the long purple hair and night-vision goggles, brows furrowed deeply. Clearly, he didn't find her little stunt amusing.

　　It had been a long time since a woman pissed him off like that.

　　But he didn't chase her.

　　Instead, he killed the engine, pulled out a cigarette, and lit it with calm precision.

　　"You're not going after them?" Ethan asked, stunned.

　　"Not interested," Theodore said flatly, exhaling a plume of smoke. His eyes, however, remained locked on the road ahead where the purple-haired vixen had disappeared, memorizing every curve of her retreat.