Death Race For Love

The first rays of sunlight stretched across the quiet streets of Todu, painting the town in soft shades of gold. Birds chirped from the old oak trees lining the sidewalks, and shopkeepers rolled up their shutters, preparing for another ordinary day. To everyone else, it was a beautiful morning. To Bill Thompson, it was just another day he wished he could escape. He stood on the balcony of the Thompson mansion, dressed neatly in a white shirt and black trousers. From where he stood, he could see almost the entire neighborhood. The luxurious houses, the expensive cars parked in driveways, and the perfectly trimmed gardens all screamed one thing— Perfection. But Bill had learned years ago that perfection was often the prettiest disguise for misery. "Breakfast is ready," Monica Thompson called gently from downstairs. Bill took one last breath before turning away from the view. Inside, the dining room looked as polished as ever. The long mahogany table gleamed beneath a crystal chandelier. Fresh fruit, toast, eggs, and coffee had already been arranged by the house staff. His father was already seated. Gerald Thompson never looked relaxed. Even in his own home, he carried himself like he was presiding over a board meeting. Without looking up from the morning newspaper, he said, "You're two minutes late." Bill pulled out his chair. "I'm here now." Gerald folded the newspaper carefully. "That attitude won't get you anywhere." Monica quickly poured coffee into Bill's cup, trying to soften the tension before it grew. "Let him eat first," she said with a warm smile. Gerald ignored her. "I've arranged for you to attend tonight's charity gala." Bill sighed quietly. "I already told you I don't like those events." "It wasn't a suggestion." Silence settled over the table. Bill stared at the untouched food in front of him. Every conversation with his father felt like a negotiation he was destined to lose. Gerald continued, "Anthony Lopez and his family will be there." Bill already knew what that meant. Clara. She had been appearing at every family gathering for years. Kind. Beautiful. Elegant. Everything his father considered the perfect future wife. Everything Bill felt nothing for. "I'm not interested," Bill said calmly. Gerald's expression hardened. "You don't have to be interested." Monica lowered her eyes. She had heard this argument too many times before. Bill pushed his chair back. "I'm done." "You haven't eaten." "I've lost my appetite." Without another word, he walked out. Outside, the cool morning air felt far more welcoming than the mansion behind him. He climbed into his silver sedan and started the engine. Instead of driving toward the business district like his father expected, Bill turned onto a quieter road that wound through the older parts of Todu. He didn't know why. He only knew he wanted to breathe. A few miles away... Maya Carter balanced two paper bags in her arms as she hurried along the sidewalk. "Morning, Mrs. Wilson!" she called cheerfully to the elderly woman arranging flowers outside her shop. "Morning, dear." "You look lovely today." Mrs. Wilson laughed. "You say that every morning." "Because it's always true." The old woman shook her head with a smile. "If only everyone your age carried that much sunshine." Maya laughed before continuing toward the bakery where she worked part-time. Her phone buzzed. Gladys. "You're late already," her friend teased the moment Maya answered. "I'm not late." "You've got exactly four minutes." "I'll make it." "You always say that." "I always do." They laughed together before ending the call. Maya quickened her pace. She wasn't watching where she was going. At the same moment, Bill rounded the corner in his car. A gust of wind swept across the street. One of Maya's paper bags slipped from her grasp. Fresh oranges rolled across the road. Bill hit the brakes. The tires screeched. Everything seemed to stop. One orange rolled gently until it rested against the front tire of Bill's car. Maya froze. Bill stared through the windshield. For a long second, neither of them moved. Neither spoke.