Alaric
The air left my lungs as if I'd been punched. The hope that I had felt in my chest moments ago died instantly, replaced by a cold, numbing dread.
"Bas, it wasn't… I tried to—"
"You tried what?" Bastien screamed suddenly.
His voice was terrifying, filled with hate, and it resounded in the quiet room. He gripped the armrests of his wheelchair so hard the leather groaned.
"You ruined my life! Look at me! Everything that happened—the crash, the fire, the funeral—it's because of you! And you survived it and get to go back to racing but I am stuck on this wheelchair because you ruined me! You ruined me!"
He continued to yell and didn't even stop when he started coughing.
"Bastien…" I tried to speak but he wouldn't listen.
The door burst open, and my mother rushed in, her face pale with terror. Close behind her was my younger sister, Catherine, whose eyes widened as she took in the scene of Bastien shaking with rage and me standing there, frozen like a statue.
"Get out!" Bastien shrieked, pointing a trembling finger at the door. "Get out of this room, Alaric! Get out before I drag myself to that window and jump! I can't look at you! I can't breathe while you're in here! You disgust me!" His screams grew louder and then he started pushing himself towards the window.
"Alaric, please," my mother whispered, her eyes pleading as she moved to comfort Bastien. "Just go. I'll call you later, son."
I heaved a deep sigh and nodded in response. I had no choice but to leave. Once I was out, my ears started ringing with my brother's screams and it didn't stop even when I got to the front door.
"Alaric!" Catherine shouted as she ran after me.
I stopped at the door and then turned around to face her with a smile on my face.
"Are you alright, Alaric?" she asked and I nodded in response even though deep down that wasn't entirely the truth.
I was still recovering from what Bastien had said to me.
Catherine rested her slender hand gently on my arm and opened the door, escorting me to the driveway where the limousine was parked.
"He doesn't mean it, Alaric," Catherine said softly once we were outside in the cool night air. "The doctors say once he starts talking, we should expect the worst because it's his frustration talking, but I believe everything is going to be fine. You shouldn't worry yourself before the race."
I stared into my sister's brown eyes then pulled her into my arms for a hug. "I know," I managed to say.
Catherine changed the topic immediately, talking about the gossip going around Monaco and using that to distract me from the tragedy I had experienced.
I pretended that it was funny just to make it seem like I was over it, and finally after a few minutes, we hugged one last time before I climbed back into the car.
As the limousine drove away from the estate, I rested my head against the seat and closed my eyes, but not for long. The silence was starting to get suffocating and so, I decided to call the one person I trusted to always help me.
Harold.
"It was a disaster," Those were the first words I spoke to him the moment he picked up my call. "He hated me, Harold, so much and I… I just want to make everything right. I…"
"Alaric, listen to me," Harold's voice was calm over the phone. "Guilt is a heavy passenger, but you can't let it drive the car. Bastien is hurting, but that doesn't make his words the truth. I know you blame yourself for what happened but it's not your fault. Focus on the season. I am sure everything will be fine once you are back on the track."
I wanted to believe him. I really did. But I knew that everything that had happened was because of me. If I wasn't driving so fast that night, maybe Bastien would have joined this season. Maybe my father wouldn't be dead and he would be alive now.
"Thank you, Harold," I told him and ended the call.
By the time I reached The Sapphire Spire, one of the tallest and most exclusive residential towers in Monte Carlo, the adrenaline had faded into a dull ache.
The limousine dropped me off in the private garage. I thanked the chauffeur for the night and headed toward the lobby.
The night security guard, a man I'd known for years, stood up as I approached. "Good evening, Mr. De Villier. I hope the gala was a success?"
"It was… eventful, Pierre," I muttered. "Thank you."
"Ah. Well, you have a package, Monsieur," he said, gesturing toward a large, wooden crate sitting near the concierge desk. "It arrived just an hour ago. The delivery crew said it was urgent and handled with extreme care."
I frowned, looking at the massive dimensions of the crate. I hadn't ordered anything.
Could it be one of my fans? I shook my head at that thought. My fans wouldn't send something like this.
"Did they say who it was from?"
Pierre looked at the digital manifest. "A Mr. Nicholas Park. There's a note attached to the front."
My blood turned to ice at the mention of the name. Nico. It couldn't be.
I walked over to the crate, my heart hammering against my ribs as I looked down at the package.
Taped to the wood was a small, elegant envelope.
I ripped it open, and the handwriting inside was bold and screamed of arrogance.
'For the yeppeuni who needs a reminder of who owns the track. See you in your dreams, darling.'
"This bastard," I muttered under my breath, my fingers trembling slightly as I took the delivery manifest from Pierre. "Thank you for holding it," I smiled at him.
"Anytime, Monsieur."
I had the crate wheeled into my private elevator and up to the penthouse of The Sapphire Spire.
The silence of the apartment usually felt like a sanctuary, but tonight, with that massive wooden box sitting in the middle of my marble foyer, it felt like an intrusion.
I grabbed a crowbar from the utility closet and pried the wood open.
The screech of the nails sounded like Bastien's voice echoing in my ears. I couldn't stop thinking about it.
When the last board fell away, I scoffed because right in front of me was The Crimson Tide.