Neon Skies & Forbidden Flames

PAGE 1: "THE NIGHT RACER" The neon lights of Barcelona’s underground race track painted the night in streaks of pink, blue, and green colors that felt more like home to Elara Vidal de la Cruz than the gilded halls of the royal palace. At 18, she stood 5’7” with long, wavy auburn hair that fell to her lower back, olive skin that glowed under the streetlights, and eyes the color of amber that could cut through steel. She wore black leather pants, a crop top that showed off her toned midriff, and combat boots nothing like the ball gowns her mother forced her into for state dinners. “Elara, you’re up next!” yelled Rico, her race crew chief, his voice drowned out by the roar of engines. She grinned, running a hand through her hair as she climbed into her modified Porsche 911stolen from her father’s garage, though he’d never notice until morning. “Let’s show these losers what a ‘princess’ can do,” she muttered, slamming the door shut. The crowd cheered as she pulled up to the starting line, facing off against a tall, tattooed guy in a red Ferrari. He leaned out his window, smirking. “Hey, baby, why don’t you just pull over now? I’ll take you out for a drink instead of embarrassing yourself.” Elara’s amber eyes flashed with anger. She rolled down her window, flipping him off. “Why don’t you go f**k yourself with your overpriced toy? I’ll leave you in my dust so fast, you’ll think you’re standing still.” The guy’s face turned red, but before he could reply, the starting flag dropped. Elara slammed her foot on the gas, and the Porsche shot forward, leaving the Ferrari in a cloud of smoke. She weaved through the narrow streets, her hands steady on the wheel, her heart racing with adrenaline. This was her escape from the throne, from her parents’ expectations, from the life that felt like a cage. Twenty minutes later, she crossed the finish line first, the crowd erupting in cheers. She climbed out of the car, accepting high-fives from her crew, when her phone buzzed. It was her mother. She sighed, answering it. “Elara, where are you? The king is asking for you we have a dinner with the French ambassador in an hour.” “Tell him I’m sick,” Elara said, her voice sharp. “I can’t make it.” “Elara, don’t you dare. You are the heir to the throne you have duties. Your father will be furious if you miss this.” “I don’t care,” she snapped, hanging up. She tossed her phone into her car, turning to Rico. “Let’s go get a drink. I need to forget about all this royal bullshit.” They drove to a hidden club in the outskirts of the city, a place where no one knew who she was. Elara ordered a tequila shot, downing it in one go. She felt the burn travel down her throat, loosening the tight knot in her stomach. As she ordered another, she noticed a man sitting at the bar tall, with dark hair that fell over his forehead, and eyes the color of storm clouds. He wore a tailored black suit that hugged his muscular frame, and even from across the room, she could feel his presence powerful, confident, and dangerous. He turned, catching her gaze. Elara held it, raising her glass in a mock toast before looking away. She didn’t need another man in her life especially not one who looked like he could buy her entire country. An hour later, she was drunk, her head spinning as she stumbled out of the club. She’d lost Rico in the crowd, so she decided to drive home alone. The rain was pouring now, making the roads slippery. She turned onto a side street leading to the airport, her eyes focused on the road ahead, when a sleek black Lamborghini pulled out in front of her. She slammed on the brakes, but it was too late her Porsche skidded into the back of the Lamborghini, leaving a dent in the bumper. “f**k!” Elara yelled, climbing out of the car. The driver of the Lamborghini got out too, and she froze it was the man from the bar. He walked over, his storm-gray eyes scanning the damage. “That’s going to cost a fortune,” he said, his voice deep and smooth. Elara’s anger flared. “Cost a fortune? You pulled out in front of me, asshole! It’s your fault.” The man raised an eyebrow, a small smirk playing on his lips. “Is that so? Let me check the surveillance camera on the building over there. I’m pretty sure it will show you driving way over the speed limit in the rain.” Elara’s face turned red. She had been speeding. “So what? It’s just a dent. I’ll pay for it.” The man looked her up and down, his gaze lingering on her toned legs and exposed midriff. “I don’t want your money. I want an apology.” “An apology?” Elara laughed, a harsh, bitter sound. “You must be out of your mind. I’m not apologizing to anyone especially not a rich prick who thinks he owns the road.” She turned to walk back to her car, but the man grabbed her arm, his grip firm but not painful. “You have a terrible attitude, you know that?” Elara pulled her arm away, glaring at him. “And you have a terrible personality. Now leave me alone before I call the police and tell them you assaulted me.” The man smirked again, pulling out a business card and handing it to her. “My name is Kael Thorn. If you change your mind about that apology or if you want to pay for the damage—call me.” Elara took the card, tearing it in half and throwing it on the ground. “I’ll never call you. Go to hell.” She climbed into her car and drove away, her hands shaking with anger. But as she pulled up to the palace, she couldn’t help but think about Kael his storm-gray eyes, his chiseled jaw, the way his hand felt on her arm. She pushed the thought away, slamming the car door shut. She didn’t have time for men. She had a throne to run from. Inside the palace, her father was waiting for her in the throne room tall, with gray hair and a face that looked like it was carved from stone. He was the King of Spain, and he ruled with an iron fist. “Elara,” he said, his voice cold. “Where have you been? You missed the dinner with the French ambassador.” “I was sick,” she said, not meeting his eyes. The king walked over, slapping her across the face. Elara stumbled back, her hand flying to her cheek. “Don’t lie to me,” he said, his voice booming. “I had my security follow you. I know you were racing cars again.” Elara looked up, her amber eyes filled with hatred. “So what? It’s my life. I can do whatever I want.” “No,” the king said, his voice sharp. “You are my daughter. You are the heir to the throne. You will act like it. One more mistake, Elara and I will punish you in a way you will never forget.” He turned and walked away, leaving Elara standing alone in the throne room. Tears of anger streamed down her face. She wasn’t going to let him control her. She was going to escape again tonight. She changed into a short black dress and heels, sneaking out of the palace through a secret door. She drove back to the club, ordering tequila shots one after another until the pain in her cheek and the anger in her heart faded away. As she stumbled to the dance floor, she felt a hand on her waist. She turned, and her heart skipped a beat it was Kael. “Fancy seeing you here,” he said, his voice low in her ear. Elara should have pushed him away. She should have yelled at him. But she was drunk, and he was handsome, and she needed something someone to make her forget. “What do you want, Kael Thorn?” He pulled her closer, his body pressing against hers. “I want to show you what happens to girls with terrible attitudes.” Elara grinned, her amber eyes flashing with desire. “Then show me.” He took her hand, leading her out of the club and to his hotel room. She didn’t ask questions. She didn’t care who he was. All she cared about was the feeling of his hands on her body, the way his lips felt on hers, the way he made her forget everything her father, the throne, the life that was slowly suffocating her. That night, they made love until the sun came up. And when Elara left his room in the morning, she didn’t look back. She didn’t know his last name. She didn’t know he was a triple-billionaire. She didn’t know he was a pilot. She just knew that for one night, she had been free. She had no idea that this one night would change her life forever.