I told myself i didn't care.
If Lorenzo wanted to act cold, fine.
I could be colder.
If he could look at me like i didn't mean a thing, I could learn how to look through him, like he wasn't even there.
That was the agreement now, wasn't it? We don't talk unless it's about racing.
We don't touch. We don't look back.
So i trained. Hard. Day in and day out.
My fingers ached from gripping the wheel, my ears rang from the roar of the engine, my shoulders stiffened from the weight of every turn.
I wanted to burn out every ounce of hesitation from my body.
I wanted to be steel.
No more feelings. No more him.
But it wasn't that easy.
Not when his scent still clung to the passenger seat.
Not when his voice, sharp and indifferent, echoed in my head every time I closed my eyes.
"That's too wide, Miss Gutierrez. You brake too soon. You drive like you're scared."
I wasn't scared. I was furious.
And maybe that was worse.
Every insult he threw at me, I swallowed. Every passive-aggressive remark, I took like a badge.
He didn't have to know that each word scraped something deep inside me. I kept my face blank, expressionless, a mirror of his own.
I wanted him to see that he didn't have the power to undo me anymore.
But i was wrong.
Race day came like a storm cloud i wasn't ready for.
My stomach twisted the moment i suited up, but i ignored it.
I had trained for this. I knew the track, the gears, the shifts, the timing. I had run the course over and over again in my head. This was my moment. My first win for car racing, my redemption.
The crowd was loud, but my head was louder. I could hear my own heartbeat pounding against my chest like a war drum.
You've got this, I whispered to myself. You've done harder things.
The flag dropped.
I surged forward.
First lap, tight grip. Clean turns.
I was fourth. Not bad.
Second lap, I gained momentum, overtook two cars.
I could see first place ahead of me.
He was fast, but i was faster.
My hands were steady.
My focus razor sharp.
Then came the last lap.
The final bend and I don't know what happened.
I turned too hard.
Overcompensated.
The car spun out for a second, just a second but it was enough.
Two cars flew past me.
I pushed.
I floored it.
I tried to catch up, but the space was gone.
I crossed the finish line in fourth.
Fourth.
Not even third.
I just sat there, engine humming beneath me, staring at the red lights of the scoreboard. I couldn't hear the announcers.
I couldn't hear the applause.
All i could hear was the deafening silence inside my helmet.
You lost.
You lost.
You lost.
I didn't cry.
I climbed out of the car like nothing mattered.
Lorenzo walked toward me, and for one delusional second, I thought maybe…., just maybe, he'd soften.
Maybe he'd reach out, pull off my helmet for me, tell me i did okay.
That i almost had it.
That even in losing, I wasn't a disappointment.
But he didn't.
He stopped a few feet away.
Hands in his pockets.
Eyes unreadable.
And then he said, "You downshifted too late. That's why you lost your edge on the final turn."
My chest clenched.
I was still catching my breath from the adrenaline, my palms raw under the gloves, my arms aching from the grip.
And that's all he had to say?
"Thanks, coach," I muttered, tearing off the helmet.
My hair stuck to the sides of my face, drenched in sweat.
He didn't reply.
Just turned around and walked away.
I stood there, the air thick with burnt rubber and the sting of humiliation.
I could still hear the crowd behind the barriers, their cheers now fading, drowned by the pounding in my chest.
I kept my chin up, kept my steps steady as i walked past the other racers, past the crew, past the girl who beat me her smile so damn radiant it made me want to punch a wall.
No one came to me.
No pat on the back.
No "you'll get 'em next time."
Nothing.
Not from Lorenzo.
Not from anyone.
And even though he didn't say it outright, I felt it in my bones: I had failed him.
—
The ride home was unbearable.
I sat in the backseat of the black SUV, my helmet on my lap, still clinging to it like a shield.
The city lights blurred through the tinted windows, but i didn't look up.
I kept my eyes on my shoes.
I could still hear his voice in my head.
"You downshifted too late."
Cold. Calculated. Like i was just a project gone wrong.
If he could be cold, I could be colder.
If he didn't care, then i'd stop trying to make him.
Maybe i was stupid to think we were something more.
That beneath his sharp edges, he actually gave a damn.
That night, I didn't wait for dinner. I went straight to my room.
But the peace didn't last.
The moment i dropped my bag on the floor, my door burst open.
"Anastasia Isabela!" Mom's voice cut through the air like glass. "Do you think we wouldn't find out?! A car race? Are you insane?!"
Dad appeared behind her, jaw clenched. "You're grounded. Effective now. I don't care if you're twenty-two—under this roof, you follow our rules."
I didn't answer.
I pulled off my gloves, tossed them on the bed, and calmly met their eyes.
"You've been lying to us for months," Mom snapped. "We thought you were at the stables."
"You assumed," I corrected.
Dad's voice was louder now. "What the hell were you thinking? Do you want to end up in a hospital? Or in some tabloid headline?! You're lucky no one from the press was there—"
"I was thinking maybe i'd finally win something that mattered!" I shouted.
And there it was.
The silence that followed was different. Charged. Terrifying.
"I'm tired," I said, voice breaking. "Tired of chasing things you'd never notice. I tried. I trained. I risked everything. But all you see is shame. You go to every single one of Sebastian's concerts. You clear your calendars for his shows. He sneezes in Busan and you send a team of doctors. But me? I graduate top of my class, I win competitions in US, I pour everything into something i finally chose for myself—and all i get is a lecture?"
My mom's eyes flashed. "Don't compare yourself to your brother."
"Why not? Because he's the golden child and i'm the hidden one? Because he became famous and I just became… inconvenient?"
My father stepped forward. "You don't get to talk to us like this. We gave you everything."
"No," I said quietly, "you gave me expectations and ignored me when i met them."
Mom looked like she'd been slapped. "Is this how you repay us?"
"This isn't repayment," I said. "This is me reaching my limit."
I couldn't stay another second.
I couldn't breathe in that house.
My hands trembled as i stuffed a few clothes into a bag.
My vision was blurry but i didn't stop.
I packed like someone escaping a fire.
Because i was.
I didn't wait for anyone to follow me. I left before they could stop me. Before i changed my mind.
-
I didn't cry on the flight.
I didn't sleep either.
I just sat there, staring blankly at the clouds outside, replaying everything.
The race. Lorenzo's voice.
My mother's disappointment.
My father's silence.
And somewhere beneath all that noise, I found something i didn't expect to find.
Clarity.
Not peace. Not yet.
But something close to it.
-
I arrived before dawn.
The driver helped me with my bag, but i waved him off quickly.
I don't want conversation.
I didn't want anyone to ask me why i looked like i'd been through hell and back.
The doorman recognized me—barely. I had grown since the last time i was here.
I keyed in the code.
The door clicked open.
It was quiet inside.
Still.
The city was starting to wake outside, but here, everything was calm.
The warmth of the condo wrapped around me, familiar and distant all at once.
Sebastian wasn't here. I knew that the moment i stepped in.
His jacket wasn't on the hook.
His shoes weren't by the door.
Good.
I dropped my things by the couch and walked straight to the balcony.
The same one i stood on as a teenager when i visited during summer breaks.
Back then, the world felt too big.
Now it just felt far away.
I leaned on the railing, staring at the Seoul skyline.
I didn't know how long i stood there.
But for the first time in years… I wasn't performing.
I wasn't racing toward someone's approval.
I was just… still.
And maybe that was enough.