That night, he didn’t co ho again.
For the next few days, he didn’t even bother to return at all. She was his secretary—and his wife. She should have been the one who knew his every move, yet now she had no idea where he was staying. Another villa? A hotel?
Janet’s mind replayed the image of him with Ivanka that day. The bitterness twisted in her chest. At the office, he put on his usual businesslike facade, and even the tasks that once belonged to her were handed over to Novia. She wanted to find a chance to explain herself, but he never gave her the ti.
"What is this proposal? Redo it!" The big boss’s fury had flared up countless tis that week. Even Giles, Charles’s chief assistant, was struggling to keep up with his erratic moods. The woman who occupied his heart was right outside, yet he acted indifferent, dragging Giles into the ss—dealing not only with company issues but also every little internal crisis personally.
"Yes, I understand!" Giles answered cautiously. As he bent to pick up the scattered design drafts Charles had thrown down, he saw Janet walking toward the office. Charles’s anger was because of her—and only she could calm him.
Giles made a subtle gesture to Janet. She hesitated, unsure whether to enter. Suddenly, the office door swung open, a cold breeze sending a shiver down her spine. A shadow enveloped her petite fra. Janet looked up at the worn, handso face and quietly asked, "Are you going out? Where are you headed?"
Charles glanced at her hesitantly. In just a few days, she seed thinner—the waist he could barely wrap his hand around now looked even more fragile. His deep eyes overflowed with pain, but his face showed no emotion. Without answering, he bypassed her and headed straight for the elevator, leaving the company.
The mont he left, Janet hurried after him and hailed a taxi. She wasn’t sure where he was going, but her gut told her she had to follow him—just to know his whereabouts.
The black Bugatti slithered like a massive dragon weaving through traffic. Ordinary cars couldn’t keep up. Only when Janet saw the taillights disappear did she realize the direction he was heading—toward the underground racing circuit... The Death Squad?
What was he doing there?
Charles wasn’t the type to race. Janet knew that. Although he drove fast, he never participated in such dangerous amateur races. She’d heard about those deadly races before—where blood was spilled to decide the winner.
"Please hurry, driver!" Janet urged the taxi driver anxiously. Why would Charles suddenly go there? Who was he eting? The face of Manfred flashed through her mind—she rembered hearing he was a racing expert. Could Manfred have invited Charles?
Janet imdiately dialed Manfred’s phone. He answered quickly, still at the Shang family’s place. After hearing her story, he received an urgent ssage—from August!
"Don’t worry, I’m on my way!" Manfred practically ran out of his house. August had told him strange things that day—betting with his life—and now, looking back, Manfred realized he had ant it seriously.
Manfred sped off in his supercar toward the underground racing pit of Death City. Janet sat restless, heading to the sa destination.
August’s phone was unreachable. Charles’s phone was dead. Now she was one hundred percent certain—the mont Derrick had been waiting for was finally here. And she hadn’t stopped them in ti.
The secret... was about to be exposed.
If this temporary pain could buy them both peace, Janet knew she could no longer hide the truth...
The massive underground garage—over a thousand pings—had been completely cleared out. August had made thorough preparations before coming here. Manfred’s expertise in Arica had always been high-stakes racing; he was experienced, though never put it into practice.
Today, it was about to be put to use.
Two high-performance supercars were parked 500 ters apart. Leaning against the hoods, the two figures mirrored the graceful arc of drifting cars cutting through the cold wind that swept under their collars.
August was the first to speak. "What do you want?"
"Your legs." Charles’s cold gaze followed August’s steady approach. Those dark eyes, filled with challenge, t his as August ca face to face with him.
"Fine! I want the ZT Group."
His life was essentially ruined. Manfred had sacrificed so much for him; he owed him nothing more. His legs were owed to Philip—but Derrick owed him two lives.
Derrick’s life would be paid back by his son, Charles. If either of them walked out alive today, their hatred would be settled once and for all. But only one would survive. Charles wanted August’s legs; August wanted Charles’s life.
"Alright. Let’s begin." Charles’s icy eyes swept over August’s legs, a victorious smirk curling his lips. Losing wasn’t in Charles’s vocabulary—not in any way, shape, or form. Even if it ant risking everything, he’d fight to the end.
August said nothing more. Turning calmly against the wind, he walked toward his car, opened the door, and settled inside with asured composure.
What happened next, Charles was prepared for the worst. When the two cars crashed through the barrier between them, it could very well be mutual destruction. But Charles’s overconfidence was sothing August despised.
Even if it ant losing his legs, Charles would never admit defeat.
This ti, it all ca down to fate—who would the heavens favor?
As the engines of the two cars roared to life, their gazes converged on a single point. The only sound left was the howling wind rushing past their ears. When Janet arrived at the underground garage, she was t with a heart-stopping scene.
Two identical black supercars—like raging hurricanes—scread as they shifted gears and hurtled toward each other at breakneck speeds. Suddenly, Janet caught a chilling scent of death in the air.
Without a mont’s hesitation, her mind blank and without making a sound, she dashed forward. In the nick of ti, she threw her body between the two speeding cars, standing as the fragile barrier between them...
Almost at the sa mont, Manfred arrived, speeding his Maybach into the underground lot. Before he could even stop, a graceful figure flashed past his eyes like petals scattering in the wind—an ethereal bloom unfolding silently.
His eyes widened as he watched the two cars crashing toward that one point. His blood seed to reverse course, and with every ounce of strength in his body, he shouted desperately toward the collision, "No—!"
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