My Ex-lover Begged for My Love after He Abandoned me

Alina flinched. Creed looked like he wanted to speak, but then the roar of engines filled the air, signaling the start of the race. I walked off without a second thought, my heels clicking against the asphalt like a countdown. I wasn’t here for showy distractions—I was here to win.

Engines screamed under the city’s concrete veins.

The pit smelled like burnt rubber, gasoline, and testosterone. Floodlights cracked the dark like lightning, blinding and electric. Spectators lined the barricades—gang leaders, tech billionaires, washed-up models and criminal royalty. But the only thing that mattered tonight was the final race.

Me. And her.

Scarlet Royce. Alina Royce.

Sisters in blood. Enemies in everything else.

I adjusted my gloves. The matte-black beast I was driving snarled like it was caged too long. Custom V12. Illegal modifications. It could’ve outrun death itself—if not for the sabotaged engine. I’d discovered it too late. Just enough power left for one run… maybe.

Across the track, Alina leaned against a candy-apple red hypercar like it was her throne. Too glossy. Too clean. She’d never driven a street race in her life, but that didn’t matter anymore.

Because Winston Salerno aka Creed made sure his perfect little Alina would win. I know already. Winston and Creed are one.

“Big money’s on Royce,” someone muttered behind me.

“Not money,” someone else hissed. “Salerno bet the whole goddamn Falcone block on Alina. If she wins, she becomes the face of his Eastside expansion.”

“She’s his new muse.”

That word. Muse. Like she was art. Like I was scrap metal.

A thunderous voice broke over the speakers. “Tonight, the crown is claimed not by blood—but by fire. Two racers. One title. Eastside Muse.”

The phrase echoed like prophecy. I locked eyes with Alina. She winked. And then—on every massive screen hanging above the crowd—her face lit up. A live feed. Soft filters, flawless angles, eyes glistening with gratitude.

“I’d like to thank Mr. Salerno,” she said sweetly, voice trembling just right. “For believing in me when no one else did.”

The crowd roared.

Creed stood beside her pit. Not mine. His gaze was fixed on her like she was the goddamn moon. Salerno’s men flanked her like she was royalty. She was dripping in his favor. She hadn’t even raced yet, and she’d already won the kingdom.

The red light ticked down.

Three.

Two.

One.

GO.

We launched like hell unchained. I took the first bend sharp, tires kissing the edge of ruin. Alina followed, slower, hesitant—but her car was newer. Faster. Fed by Salerno’s endless coffers.

Straightaway. I gunned it. Engine screamed. The dashboard flickered—a warning. My baby was bleeding under the hood. But I didn’t stop.

I clipped the overpass, slid around a neon-soaked corner, sparks kissing the concrete. The city blurred. My pulse synced with every gearshift. I was gaining. Alina swerved in my peripheral. Her car glinted under streetlamps—perfect, untouched, undeserved.

Half a block left.

I was going to win.

And then I saw it.

Her face. On the screen above the finish line. Alina, laughing in slow motion. Bathed in Salerno’s spotlight. Crowned without a coronation.

And beside her—Creed.

His hand on her back. His eyes soft.

Not for me.

The wheel slipped. Just a fraction. Someone shot my wheel from a distance, I felt it. My engine coughed. Alina did something dirty again. Alina surged forward, her scream swallowed by the crowd’s explosion.

She crossed first.

By less than a breath.

The finish line vanished behind her. Fireworks erupted like mockery. Salerno’s men clapped. Reporters swarmed. Cameras swiveled. Alina stepped out, flushed, victorious, arms raised like she just inherited Rome.

And me?

I rolled to a stop in the shadows.

Smoke hissed from my hood. I didn’t move. Just stared at the screen as Alina smiled and the world smiled back. Alina did the cheat code, but it's okay. She can have all the basking and glory while I will have the last laugh.

Alina stepped out of her car, the victory glowing on her face. She was practically glowing, basking in the attention. I forced myself to keep my cool as she gave me that fake, sugar-coated smile.

Creed, of course, was all praise, backing her up. “You’ve earned it,” he said, his voice too soft, too warm. Alina’s eyes lit up, thrilled by his words.

“Winston’s been so generous. Why does he invest in me so much?” she asked, giddy.

Creed didn’t miss a beat. “Because he worships you.”

I clenched my teeth. “Yeah, we all know why you win. Dirty play.”

Her smile faltered, but she recovered too quickly. I turned to my car, pretending to check the wheel. But I knew. There it was. A hole. Sabotage.

I glanced back at Alina. Her face went pale. She knew I knew.

Without another word, I walked away, the cold air biting at my skin. Creed was right behind me, asking, “Why act like that? You embarrassed her.”

I didn’t stop, didn’t even look back. “She did it to herself.”

Creed’s voice trailed behind me, softer now, but I didn’t care. “Say sorry to her.”

Me? What the fuck.

I didn’t reply. I was already out the door, the tension in the air thick enough to slice. Fuck them both to hell.

Creed called me but I gave him my middle finger while the crowd celebrating Alina's win.