Silver Lining ❥ daerin

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟕: 𝐁𝐥𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐋𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬

ℭ𝔞𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱𝔞

The sun hung low in the sky, casting a golden glow over the racetrack as I pulled up in my Pagani. The sleek lines of the car shimmered under the fading light, like a predator ready to hunt. I could feel the familiar adrenaline rush pulsing through my veins, the one that came right before the race, the one that made me feel

alive.

It wasn't an official race today—just me against the clock. Me against myself. A battle I knew all too well.

I parked near the entrance, stepping out of the car and taking a deep breath. The air smelled of burnt rubber and gasoline—my kind of perfume. The engine of my car still hummed faintly behind me, but my focus was already ahead. The track stretched out before me, a series of sharp turns and long straights that promised both freedom and challenge.

As I adjusted my gloves, I saw Hiraya waiting by the side, her arms crossed, a small grin on her face. She'd always been my number one supporter—whether it was a casual test run like today or the real thing. Even though she didn't race herself, she understood the thrill, the pressure, and, more importantly, the high of pushing the limits.

"Back to beat your time, huh?" Hiraya called out, walking toward me as I grabbed my helmet from the car's trunk.

"Always," I replied, smirking. "You know I can't leave a time like that sitting there."

She shook her head, her grin widening. "You're relentless, Cal. But that's what makes you the best."

I chuckled, though inside, I felt that familiar edge creeping in. It wasn't enough to just be fast—it never was. I needed to be better than fast. I needed to be

perfect.

We walked toward the track, the roar of engines and the screech of tires filling the background. A few other drivers were running their laps, but none of them were my competition today. Today, it was just me.

I stopped at the edge of the track, looking over at Hiraya. "I need to break two minutes on this lap," I said, my tone serious. "I'm this close."

"You'll get it," she said confidently, her eyes shining with belief. "You always do."

Her unwavering support meant everything, but I knew better than anyone that it wasn't a guarantee. Racing wasn't just about skill—it was about precision, timing, and sometimes, luck. And today, I needed everything to align.

I pulled on my helmet, the world narrowing into the visor's view, and got into the car. The second the door closed, it was like flipping a switch. Everything outside faded. There was no track, no sun setting in the distance—just me and the machine beneath me.

The engine roared to life with a thunderous growl, vibrating through my entire body as I revved it, testing the response. I eased the car forward, lining up at the start of the track. My pulse quickened, the world outside the car a blur of motion and noise. This was where I belonged.

The green light flashed, and I hit the gas, my foot pressing hard against the pedal as the car lurched forward. The Pagani responded like a beast unchained, the engine's roar intensifying as I shot down the first straight. My hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, guiding the car into the first turn with practiced precision.

The tires screeched as I drifted around the corner, the G-forces pressing me into the seat, but I kept control. It was all about balance—finding that perfect point where speed met control, where I could push the car to its limit without losing myself in the process.

As I flew down the next straight, the wind whipping past the windows, I could feel the pressure building. Each second counted. Each turn had to be perfect.