I am a professional race car driver. Unfortunately. On my twenty-fifth birthday, a horrific crash nearly claimed my life. And all because I went behind everyone's back, secretly entering a high-stakes illegal street race to win a cash prize for my boyfriend—who had recently declared bankruptcy.

Based on my years of racing experience, I was confident I could take first place. The prize? Three million dollars. More than enough to help him get back on his feet and recover from his financial disaster. But I never expected what happened on the final turn of the last lap.

As I sped toward the finish line, something on the massive LED screen of the luxury hotel perched atop a nearby hill caught my eye. A marriage proposal video. My boyfriend was in it. And he wasn’t proposing to me.

My sister had orchestrated an extravagant display—hundreds of drones painting vibrant fireworks across the daytime sky—to propose to him.

I had risked my life for him, but he was up there, basking in my sister’s love.

For a split second, my grip on the steering wheel faltered. My heart, my mind, my very soul shattered. And in that moment of distraction, my car skidded off the track and hurtled off the cliff’s edge.

As I plummeted, everything made sense. The whispers in his sleep, the soft name he always murmured—Quinn. I had believed he was calling for me. But in truth, he had been dreaming of her all along.

And the bankruptcy? It was a lie. A carefully crafted deception to push me away. Now Luke Mason, you got what you wanted—I’m gone. So why won’t you let me go?

——

The impact was devastating. It felt as though my organs had rearranged themselves. My bones screamed in protest. Pain, excruciating and unrelenting, engulfed me. But none of it compared to the agony that twisted my heart when I saw that proposal video.

Blood soaked my racing suit. My calf bone had shattered, its jagged edge piercing through my skin. Gritting my teeth, I forced myself to endure. With sheer willpower, I yanked the broken piece free, the fresh wave of pain nearly knocking me unconscious.

Behind me, flames roared, devouring what was left of my car. Fingers trembling, nails torn and bloodied, I clawed my way out of the wreckage. Then, everything went dark.

***

Memories flickered through my mind like scenes from a cruel movie. The dazzling display of fireworks. Luke’s gentle smile. My sister’s tearful joy. And that name—Quinn. My surname. But not meant for me.

I had been nothing but a stand-in. A poor imitation of the woman he truly loved. I had risked everything for him—entered a deadly race, put my life on the line—all while he stood atop that hill, proposing to someone else in the grandest way possible. I was nothing to him.

I don’t know how long I lay there. Maybe hours. Maybe days. But eventually, I forced myself to move. Limping. Crawling. Using every ounce of strength I had left. For half a month, I struggled to make my way back home.

When I finally stood in front of my apartment, my body was battered, but my heart felt emptier than ever.

Taking a deep breath, I pushed open the door. A thick wave of dust greeted me. Silence. The place was abandoned.

Once, this had been our little haven. Every piece of furniture, every decoration—we had chosen together. A framed photograph still hung on the wall. In it, we were smiling, our faces filled with love and promise. Now, the room felt lifeless. Cold. Devoid of warmth.

My chest tightened as I turned away. I ran downstairs, searching for a public phone booth. With shaking hands, I dialed Luke’s number.

“Duu—duu—”

The waiting tone stretched endlessly, each ring carving into me like a dull blade. No answer. I hung up. Dialed again. Still nothing. A familiar voice broke through my haze of despair.

“Ah, you’re back!” Aunt Wendy, my elderly neighbor, greeted me cheerfully as she returned from the market.

Desperate, I turned to her. “Auntie, have you seen Luke recently?”

She frowned, shaking her head. “Luke? No, dear. He hasn’t been around for quite some time.”

A cold, bitter laugh bubbled in my throat. He had already moved on. Disappeared. I had survived. Dragged myself from the brink of death. And for what? Clutching the last few bills in my pocket, I bought a new phone and a SIM card. Because one thing was clear—I wasn’t done yet.

Logging into the social media platform, I braced myself, expecting to see countless messages from Luke. He would ask where I had been, worry about my well-being, beg me to come back. But there was nothing. Not a single message.

Even if I had died, I doubted he would have cared. Like a madwoman, I scrolled through my feed, desperate for anything, any sign that he still thought of me. And then—I found it.

A post from my sister. A photo. The backdrop was breathtaking—the majestic, golden glow of the Snowy Mountains at sunrise. And beside her stood a familiar figure, his back turned to the camera. Luke.

The caption read.

[Thank you for remembering my original wish after so many years!]

My heart shattered into a million jagged pieces. I had told him—countless times—that I wanted him to take me to see the Snowy Mountains. He would always brush it off, saying he was too busy with work, that he didn’t have time.

Turns out, it wasn’t about time. It was about who he wanted to see the Snowy Mountains with. And that person had never been me.

With trembling fingers, I typed out a message to him. Accusations, pain, betrayal—I poured my heart into it. Every word a wound. Every sentence a cry for the love he had so easily cast aside. Then, one by one, I deleted them all. What was the point?

In the end, only one line remained:

[Let's break up. Where should I leave your things?]

Almost instantly, he replied.

[Are you sure you want to break up? Then as you wish.]

No hesitation. No explanation. Just cold, indifferent words. Not even the slightest attempt to make me stay. Because his true love had returned and I was nothing more than an unwanted afterthought.

My phone buzzed with new messages. This time, it wasn’t him. It was my racing team.

[Lyra Quinn, where have you been?]

[Why haven’t we been able to reach you?]

[Are you alright? Please reply!]

I stared at the messages through blurred vision, my tears threatening to spill over again. Their concern, their worry—it was like a ray of sunlight in the middle of winter.But the one person I had needed it from the most had been too stingy to give me even a shred of warmth. I let out a bitter laugh.

Once, we had been happy. He would hold me close and call me baby over and over again. He would cook for me, even if it was just a simple plate of scrambled eggs and tomatoes. When I got hurt during training, he would cradle me in his arms, kissing my wounds as if he could take the pain away.

“Baby, don’t push yourself so hard. I can’t bear to see you hurt.” His eyes back then had been full of love. Or so I thought.

Now, I realized that love had never been for me. He had been looking through me. Seeing her. Loving her. And I had been too young, too naive to understand. Later, things changed. He got busier. He started his own business. He left early in the morning and came home late at night. Our conversations grew shorter, our time together dwindled. He stopped calling me baby. He started calling me by my full name—Lyra Quinn. So, I adapted. I worked harder. I trained more. I competed, won races, earned money.

I wanted to make his life easier. I wanted to support him so he wouldn’t have to bear everything alone.

But the harder I worked, the more impatient he became. He didn’t like me racing. Said it was too dangerous. Said he didn’t want me to get hurt. Said he would take care of me, that I didn’t need to push myself so hard. But he forgot something important. Racing wasn’t just a job to me. It was my dream. The dream I had cherished since I was a child. I loved him, but I also loved racing.

The final argument between us came without warning. He came home late, exhausted. He tossed a bank card onto the table in front of me.

“Lyra, I’m broke. We have no money. Stop racing. I can’t afford to support you anymore.”

I froze. Stared at him. And for the first time, something inside me went cold. He had forgotten that I made money from racing. That I had never once asked him for anything. He had never been the one supporting me. I had been the one supporting him.

Even more painful than his lies was the truth he refused to see— I never wanted his money. I only ever wanted his support. I hadn’t told him that I secretly entered that private racing competition. I wanted to win. I wanted to prove that I was strong enough, that I could take care of myself and him.