The Promise Broken

Their overlapping reflections wavered on the car window, the glass left open by a finger's width.

Darren pinned Alyssa against the driver's seat, his fingertips brushing across her forehead. "Still hurts?"

Alyssa tilted her head up and pressed her lips to his, her eyes gleaming with a coaxing smile. "No. I shouldn't have come to bother you and your wife. I deserved that hit."

He frowned and gave her cheek a light, teasing bite. "Nonsense. You're both my darlings."

At that, he squeezed her waist, his tone turning rough. "Still got the nerve to joke, huh? Guess that knock wasn't hard enough."

Before she could answer, he caught her jaw in one hand and gripped her waist with the other, kissing her hard. Alyssa struggled for a moment, then pushed him away, her voice edged with jealousy. "This is the car you gave her. I don't want to do this here… Besides, Jeanne's still waiting for you in the lounge. You said you'd be back in a few minutes."

Darren caught her wrist and pressed it above her head. His other hand slid down the curve of her waist as his voice dropped low and hoarse. "Still thinking about someone else? Don't worry, a few minutes is all I need to deal with you."

It didn't take long before Alyssa's breath turned soft and uneven, her arms twining weakly around his shoulders. The sound of their bodies and muffled gasps drifted out into the night air.

Jeanne stood frozen where she was, her blood running cold. Her knees nearly buckled, and it felt as though someone had carved open her chest with a blunt knife—so sharp and deep that her vision went dark.

She suddenly remembered the day the racing club had been founded. Darren had waited for her praise like a child hoping for candy, but she'd been too overwhelmed, crying instead of speaking.

In the end, he had pulled her into the backseat of a race car, his breath hot as he tugged at her clothes. She had wanted him too—but even then, she'd clenched her teeth and pushed him away. "Darren, racing is sacred to me. I want to keep it pure."

He had gone still at her words. She thought he'd be angry, but instead, he straightened their clothes and sat upright, a solemn spark in his eyes. "I swear, from now on, it's my dream too. For the rest of my life, I'll treat racing with reverence. I'll never defile a racecar."

He'd whispered the suggestive words against her ear, and they had burned into her skin. It was that promise that convinced her he was the one she'd spend her life with. But now, he was desecrating that very vow—with another woman—in her car.

Jeanne's legs gave out beneath her, and the car key slipped from her trembling hand, clattering onto the ground. She snapped back to herself, ready to run, but the couple inside hadn't even noticed. A broken laugh tore from her throat, twisted and soundless. She bit down on her knuckles to stifle the sob rising inside her.

That was when the rain began to fall. The narrow crack in the window clicked shut. Jeanne looked one last time at the car, its body rocking faintly, then bent down to pick up the key and hurled it into the nearby drain.

Inside, Alyssa happened to glance up. Through the rearview mirror, she caught sight of Jeanne's departing figure—and smiled, smug and satisfied.

The rain came and went quickly.

…

When Darren pushed open the lounge door, Jeanne was still sitting exactly as before. He let out a sigh of relief, tugged at his collar, and crouched in front of her. "Jeanne, come on. Let's go home."

She lowered her head and caught a glimpse of the fresh red mark on his neck. Strangely, she didn't feel a thing.

She didn't let him carry her. Leaning against the wall, she limped toward the car. But when she opened the passenger door, she froze—Alyssa was sitting in the driver's seat. Darren hurried over, trying to explain. "Alyssa signed up for a small race. I thought she could practice a little on this stretch of road. Could you help guide her, Jeanne?"

Jeanne hesitated, then nodded. As much as she disliked Alyssa, she still respected anyone who truly loved racing. However, if she had known Alyssa didn't even have a basic driver's license, she would never have opened that door.

The car suddenly lurched forward, veering off course. Jeanne's heart leaped into her throat. She reached for the steering wheel, but Alyssa shoved her away hard.

"Let go if you don't want to die!" Jeanne's eyes burned red as she shouted, but Alyssa didn't loosen her grip. Her foot stayed crushed down on the gas pedal.

A thunderous crash came at the same moment Darren's voice rang out behind them. "Jeanne!"

The Moment Her Heart Died

Jeanne fought through the stabbing pain in her leg, forcing herself to answer the voice that had called her name. "Darren… I'm here…"

But no one replied.

She jerked her eyes open. Blood blurred her vision, painting the world in red. The car interior was empty—completely still. She was alone. The man who had just shouted her name hadn't saved her.

As her consciousness sank, Jeanne slipped into a dream. She dreamed of that year when Darren had chased her all the way to Los Cielos.

Her racing club had refused to release her from her contract, and he—eyes bloodshot—had challenged them to a race. If he won, he would take her away. He had just earned his professional racing license for her at the time, and that was the first time he had ever driven a race car. Yet he dared to take on the twisting mountain road.

Jeanne had sat in the passenger seat, guiding him through the turns, but disaster struck anyway. He misjudged a drift; the car skidded, broke through the guardrail, and tumbled down the cliff.

In the chaos, he had thrown himself over her, shielding her with his body. Blood poured from his head, but he never loosened his grip. At the last moment, he had summoned the last of his strength to lift her onto a jagged outcrop of rock above the wreck. His voice had been hoarse as he shouted, "Hold on tight!"

Then, the car's twisted frame dragged him down, half his body dangling off the edge, seconds away from falling to his death.

When rescuers finally pulled them up, he had lain weakly in her arms, his mind foggy, yet still worried about her future. "Jeanne… they only want you to make money. I just want you safe… No matter how dangerous it gets, I'll protect you. Come with me, okay?"

She had been about to say yes—until the image faded to black and she was yanked back to the present.

This time, he hadn't protected her.

…

Jeanne's lashes trembled as she opened her eyes. A tear slid down her cheek and soaked into the pillow. The man at her bedside immediately straightened up, eyes bright. "Jeanne, you're awake!"

The nurse, changing her bandages, smiled, too. "Finally! Dr. Walsh has been sitting here for a whole day and night. His eyes are bloodshot. Makes me wish I were his sister just to get that kind of care."

Still dazed, Jeanne blinked. "His sister?"

"Yeah! Aren't you Dr. Walsh's sister?" The nurse chatted as she packed up her supplies. "His wife, Alyssa, came by this morning to see you—poor thing cried her eyes out and told me to call her the moment you woke up."

A sharp crack split the air. Darren's glass slipped from his hand and shattered on the floor. The nurse flinched and went silent, scurrying away to fetch the janitor.

The noise snapped Jeanne completely awake. Fragments of memory crashed back into place—the sight of Darren walking away with Alyssa in his arms, her own desperate hand reaching out for help, and the hollow despair when he turned away.

She looked up at him. Panic flickered in his eyes, impossible to hide. Her lips curved faintly, though there was no warmth in her voice. "Explain."

Darren froze for a second before grabbing her hand, words tumbling out in a rush. "They've got it all wrong! It's a misunderstanding. They must've seen us together and assumed you were my sister—"

"Alright. I believe you." Jeanne cut him off, her tone flat and emotionless, causing Darren's following words to die in his throat.

'No. This isn't right. Jeanne isn't supposed to be like this. She should be crying, screaming, demanding to know why I saved Alyssa first. She should be angry that I let others mistake our relationship. But she isn't—she was calm. Too calm. Like still water after death,' Darren thought.

Fear crawled up Darren's spine. He opened his mouth to speak again, but Jeanne had already closed her eyes. "I'm tired."

Guilt clawed at him, leaving nowhere to hide. "Jeanne, it's my fault. I shouldn't have let Alyssa drive. I already scolded her. If you're angry, hit me, yell at me—just don't hold it in."

Jeanne pulled her hand from his grasp. When she opened her eyes again, all light had vanished from them. "I really am tired."

'Something's terribly wrong.' Panic flooded Darren's chest, a black hole of loss threatening to swallow him whole. But before he could find the words for an apology, the attending doctor came in to check on Jeanne, calling him out of the room.

The moment Darren turned away, Jeanne's eyes reddened. But no matter how much it hurt, not a single tear would fall. Her heart had already died the instant he walked out that door.

She wiped the dryness from her eyes and only wanted to sleep—to rest, and then leave this man behind for good. But just as she drifted off, noise from the next bed cut through the quiet.

"Stop crying!" a woman scolded sharply. "The racer next to you just broke her leg—she can't compete ever again. She's not crying, and here you are, wailing over a sprained ankle?!"

"I don't want my leg broken! I don't want to!"

The boy's cries filled the ward, piercing through the walls—and into Jeanne's ears.

'Broken leg?!'

A deafening roar went off inside her head, like something had exploded.

The End of the Race

Jeanne's hand flew instinctively to her leg, her fingertips brushing over the hard surface of the cast. 'My leg's still here.'

But the next second, her heart clenched tight. When she pressed down—softly at first, then harder—there was nothing. No feeling. Her leg lay there like a foreign piece of machinery bolted onto her body.

"No… No, it can't be…" Her voice trembled as she braced against the sheets, trying to sit up. The moment she lifted herself half a foot, her right leg gave way, and she crashed heavily to the floor.

Just then, Darren's anxious voice came from outside the door. "Zach, are you sure there's no other way? She's a racer—"

"That depends on her recovery," the doctor, who was called Zach, replied, his tone weary. "But I wouldn't advise it. With her kind of injury, if she pushes herself too soon, a second trauma could be irreversible."

A brief silence fell before Darren's voice came again, low and hoarse. "Alright. Thank you."

Each word hit like a hammer, shattering Jeanne's last bit of hope. She had been born for racing. From the moment she first touched a steering wheel, she had known her life was bound to the roar of an engine. And now someone was telling her she would never race again.

The thought was worse than death.

When Darren pushed open the door, he found her sprawled on the floor. He rushed forward to help, but froze when he saw her tear-streaked face. "You heard everything?"

Jeanne didn't look at him. She shook off his hand and asked, her voice trembling, "Where's Alyssa Carver?"

His eyes flickered—like he was afraid she might do something reckless—and he rushed to explain. "Alyssa's young, she didn't know any better. She drove without a license, and I've already scolded her for it. She's hurt too, Jeanne. Please, don't be mad at her anymore, okay?"

Jeanne's head snapped up, her eyes bloodshot. So he knew. He knew Alyssa didn't have a license and still let her drive. Still signed her up for a race.

This was the fourth time. Four crashes. Four hospital stays. And every time, Alyssa hadn't even offered a proper apology.

A bitter laugh rose in Jeanne's throat, but the tears came faster than she could hold them back, spilling down her face in heavy drops. Even now, he was still protecting her.

"What about me?" Jeanne's voice was barely a whisper. "If she's not to blame, then who is? Me? Is it my fault my leg might never stand again? Because it's not her leg that's broken, Darren—it's mine! And you're still defending her!"

Darren's brow furrowed, irritation creeping into his tone. "Jeanne, I told you she didn't mean it. Why can't you just let it go?"

He hesitated, then added something that sliced straight through her chest. "Besides, if you hadn't grabbed the wheel, maybe none of this would've happened. Did you ever think about that?"

The words hit colder than the blizzard in the North Pole. Jeanne's whole body went numb, and for a heartbeat, she couldn't breathe. Then she smiled—an empty, broken smile that hurt to look at.

Whenever Alyssa was involved, she was always the one in the wrong.

Her heart, already dead, felt as if it had been pried open again only to be crushed into dust. She closed her eyes, her voice flat and lifeless. "I'm tired. Leave."

When Darren saw the lifeless gray on her face, his chest tightened in panic. He finally realized how cruel his words had been. He opened his mouth to apologize, but couldn't form a single word. In the end, he turned and left, his steps unsteady.

For the next three days, Darren barely left her side. He fed her bitter medicine with his own hands, cooked all her favorite dishes, and even set up a folding bed beside hers, waking at every sound.

But Jeanne was like a hollow puppet—opening her mouth when he offered a spoon, standing when he helped her up, never speaking, never looking at him, until the day he said the words that broke the silence. "I'm going to hold a fake wedding with Alyssa."

Jeanne finally reacted. "Alright. I'll be there." Her voice was calm, detached.

Darren's stomach dropped. He had imagined tears, anger, demands for answers—but not this emptiness. Panic edged his words. "Jeanne, listen. The Fosters have their eyes on Alyssa. They're trying to force her into marriage.

"I'm her brother—I can't just watch her walk into that trap. So I'm going to announce our divorce publicly, then marry her in name only. But you have to trust me—it's all fake. The divorce, the wedding. Once the issue is resolved, everything will go back to the way it was."

Jeanne's lips curved, and this time she laughed—not in bitterness, not in irony, but in pure, unshackled relief—Theo was finally making his move.

Darren had called the Fosters a den of monsters. But to Jeanne, they were the only lifeline left that could pull her out of the cage she'd been trapped in.