After my divorce, I became a racing queen

I walked into the law firm still wearing my wedding dress.

After eight years of marriage, I’d finally decided to divorce my race-car-driver husband.

The lawyer didn’t even look up from his paperwork.

“If you want to file for divorce, both parties need to sign the papers. Is your husband not here today?”

I forced a dry smile. “He’ll sign them,” I said quietly but firmly.

Liam and I had been legally married for eight years—yet he had canceled our wedding ceremony fifty-two times.

The first time, one of his young trainees needed gas for her car, so he left me stranded in my gown on the outskirts of town. I walked home, barefoot and bleeding, my feet covered in blisters.

The second time, that same trainee had a stomachache and wanted a certain cake from across the city. Liam drove three hours to get it, while I stayed behind, bowing and apologizing to guests, drinking until my stomach burned.

Every time we were supposed to get married, that girl somehow needed him.

And every single time, he left me to stand alone before the altar.

“She’s scared of the dark, Clara. She needs company when she trains.”

“You’re just a housewife—you don’t get the thrill of the track. Vanessa and I share the same passion. We’re soulmates.”

Today was the fifty-second time.

And just like every other time, a video of Vanessa arrived right on cue.

In it, she and Liam were tangled together on his prized race car—the one he’d never even let me touch. Her blouse was half-open, her fingers in his hair as she pressed his face into her chest, and then she looked straight into the camera with a smirk—a deliberate, mocking challenge.

I knew them too well.

For eight years, she was the reason every wedding was ruined.

Eight years ago, my family had tricked me home from the track—told me there’d been an accident. By the time I got there, they had locked my car, taken my keys, and forced me to marry my dead sister’s fiancé in her place.

They handed me a crying infant and a wounded man.

And that was it—my career, my freedom, my dream—gone.

I raised the child. I took care of the man.

Eight years of my life, traded for a home that was never mine.

I even forced myself to love them. All I ever wanted in return was the wedding he’d promised.

But to Liam, my devotion was nothing more than manipulation. A trap.

And from that moment on, he despised me.

The wedding that should’ve happened eight years ago still never came.

Now the contract of our marriage—eight years long—had finally expired.

My sister’s son didn’t need me anymore.

It was time to start living for myself.

---

When I got back to the villa, divorce papers in hand, the moment I opened the door, a piece of cake smashed into my face.

A maid hurried forward with a towel.

“Don’t you dare let her wipe that off!”

Then came the sharp crack of an ashtray—

it hit my forehead so hard I saw stars.

“You filthy woman! Who said you could wear my mother’s favorite necklace?”

Warm blood slid down my face. The maid froze, trembling.

Noah—eight years old, the boy I’d raised—stood there glaring at me.

“Useless! You can’t do anything but cook. You’re not even half as good as Aunt Vanessa!”

I stared at him, dazed.

This was the child I’d given up everything for.

He took a step back, afraid of something he couldn’t name.

“You better not touch me! You’ll never be my mom! You’re not even fit to be our maid! Aunt Vanessa and Dad belong together. You killed my real mom—and you’ll try to hurt Aunt Vanessa next! When I grow up, I’ll throw you out!”

I let out a soft, broken laugh. “No need. I’ll go myself.”

I reached out, wanting to touch his face one last time—but before I could, a door slammed.

Liam’s voice cut through the tension.

“What the hell’s going on? Look at this mess! You couldn’t clean it up? What if Noah stepped on this glass? Of course—you don’t care, do you? He’s not your real son.”

Noah ran into his arms. “Dad, she yelled at me! She even tried to hit me!”

Liam’s face darkened. “Clara, who gave you the nerve? Do you really think you’re the mistress of this house?”

I lowered my head, hiding my trembling lips. “I’m sorry. I’ll clean it up.”

He looked ready to scold me again—but when he saw my blood-stained wedding gown, he froze.

He rushed forward. “What happened to your head? You’re bleeding—why didn’t you take care of it?”

For a second, I thought I heard real concern in his voice.

Maybe I was just lightheaded from the blood loss, because I almost believed it.

I opened my mouth to answer, but the world tilted—and I collapsed.

---

When I woke up, Liam was beside me, holding a bowl of porridge.

“I didn’t mean to leave the ceremony yesterday,” he said softly. “Something came up at the track. I couldn’t get away. The wedding’s set again for three days from now. I swear I won’t leave this time.”

I looked away, letting my hair fall between us.

If I hadn’t seen Vanessa’s post that night, maybe I’d have believed him.

She had uploaded a photo: two shadows kissing beneath a ferris wheel.

Caption: Eternal Love.

How could he lie so smoothly—without a flicker of guilt?

Seeing me silent, Liam’s tone hardened.

“Stop sulking already. And we still need to talk about what happened earlier—you tried to hit Noah? He’s just a kid, Clara. How could you be so petty? He threw something at you, and you wanted to hit him for it?”

My nails dug into my palms. I felt nothing.

“You’re sure that’s what happened? Did you even ask me?”

He froze for half a second.

“He’s a child. Children don’t lie.”

I almost laughed.

“Right. You’re right. Vanessa doesn’t lie. Noah doesn’t lie. So I guess the liar must be me.”

I remembered the last time—when I brought him soup I’d spent hours making.

Vanessa intercepted me halfway, took the bowl, and dumped it in the trash.

When I tried to stop her, she splashed the soup on herself.

Liam arrived just in time to see that—

and believed her.

When I’d asked him why he didn’t even ask me what happened,

he’d said the same thing:

“She’s just a young girl, Clara. She wouldn’t lie.”

That was the day something in me finally broke.

I reached for the divorce papers and turned to the last page.

“Noah’s school enrollment form. You need to sign here.”

He frowned. “You spend all day worrying about that kid. Why can’t you be more like Vanessa—have your own life?”

He was just about to sign when his phone rang.

His expression shifted immediately—worry flashed across his face.

“Something came up. I need to go.”

I laughed softly. “Let me guess. Vanessa?”

He shot me a warning glare. “She’s hardworking. Practicing this late at night. It’s only right I go check on her. Don’t start your nonsense again.”

I watched him leave—without hesitation, without a single look back.

Then I picked up my phone and sent a message to the one man who had always beaten Liam on the track:

Still taking new racers? Want to go for the championship?

The reply came instantly:

Welcome back. Three days. I’ll come pick you up myself.