The Prestige club#11: A legacy of love (The final book)

Chapter 1

Rayaan pressed the accelerator, feeling the powerful engine surge beneath him. The sleek black car hugged the track's sharp curves with the precision only years of racing could master. The world outside blurred into streaks of green and gray, the wind roaring through the open windows.

"This is it," he muttered, lips curling into a grin. His pulse raced as he neared the final turn. The finish line glimmered in the distance like a promise he was born to chase.

As the car roared across the line, a small crowd of friends and family broke into applause. Rayaan slowed, pulling off his helmet and stepping out, his dark hair damp with sweat. His father, Awais, stood at the edge of the track, arms crossed, a proud smile lighting up his weathered face.

"You're getting cocky," Awais teased as Rayaan walked over.

"Getting?" Rayaan laughed, slinging an arm over his father's shoulder. "Come on, old man, admit it. I've officially outdone you."

Awais chuckled, his laugh deep and full of love. "Don't forget, I taught you everything you know."

"But not everything you knew," Rayaan quipped. "I'll figure that out myself."

Behind them, his mother, Laila, waved enthusiastically, her coat billowing in the chilly December wind. "You boys are always late!" she called, her voice laced with affection. "If we don't get home soon, I'm leaving you both without dinner."

Rayaan strode over to her and planted a kiss on her cheek. "Mum, you'd never starve your favorite child."

"You're only my favorite when you remember to wash up before sitting at my table," Laila replied, swatting him lightly on the arm.

Rayaan's world was one of joy and ease—a loving family, a thriving car showroom, and the thrill of a life lived at full speed. He had never known real loss or hardship, only the heady rush of winning.

Across town, Layla Ahmed trudged home after a grueling twelve-hour shift at the hospital. The wind whipped against her as she balanced a bag of groceries in one hand and her satchel in the other. Her mother had sent a message earlier, reminding her to pick up essentials after work.

The front door creaked as she stepped into her family's modest home. Her mother's sharp voice greeted her. "Layla, you're late again! Did you get the rice? What about the milk?"

"I got everything, Mama," she replied softly, setting the bag down in the kitchen.

Her older sister, Saira, lounged in the living room, scrolling through her phone. "You missed Khala's call. Mama told you to call her days ago."

"I'll call her tomorrow," Layla said, too tired to argue.

"You always say that," her mother snapped. "You're so unreliable, Layla. If I didn't remind you constantly, nothing would get done."

Layla's hands tightened into fists at her sides, but she said nothing. Second-born and stuck between her family's expectations and their constant criticism, she had learned long ago that arguing was futile.

After a rushed dinner, Layla retreated to her small room, her sanctuary. She leaned against the bedframe, staring at the ceiling. This was her life—working endlessly to care for strangers, only to come home and be treated as if she were a disappointment.

Still, she found solace in her work. At the hospital, she was valued, even admired. Patients thanked her for her kindness, and colleagues praised her dedication. It was enough to keep her going, though some nights—like this one—she wondered how long she could keep pretending to be okay.

Rayaan's day ended differently. At the family dinner table, he cracked jokes, making his parents laugh until their sides hurt. Afterward, he decided to take one of the showroom's latest models for a spin, ignoring his father's protests about the icy roads.

"It's just a test drive," he had said, waving off their concerns. "I'll be back before you know it."

The city streets were quiet as Rayaan merged onto the open highway. The car hummed beneath him, its engine a low, seductive purr. His hands gripped the wheel tightly, his chest swelling with the familiar rush of adrenaline.

"This is what I live for," he thought, a grin spreading across his face. The world felt small, his control over it absolute.

The headlights cut through the darkness as he pushed the car faster. The road stretched out like a ribbon, unspooling endlessly ahead. He barely noticed the frost gathering at the edges of the asphalt, or the way the tires began to slip subtly with each turn.

Out of nowhere, a blur darted into his path—a deer, its eyes wide with panic.

Rayaan's instincts kicked in, and he swerved hard to avoid it. The tires screamed against the icy road, and for a moment, the car seemed to hang in the air, weightless. Then came the impact.

The world spun violently as the car crashed into the guardrail, metal crumpling like paper. Rayaan felt the jarring force of the airbag slamming against his chest, his head snapping back against the seat.

Pain exploded in his leg—a sharp, searing agony that stole his breath.

The car settled, steam rising from the hood, the windshield shattered. Rayaan's hands trembled as he tried to move, but his body refused to obey. Panic clawed at him as he glanced down and saw the blood pooling beneath his leg, his jeans soaked through.

His chest heaved as he gasped for air. "Ya Allah," he whispered, his voice cracking. "Not like this."

The sound of sirens echoed in the distance, growing louder with each passing second. His vision blurred, tears streaming down his face as the pain became unbearable. He gritted his teeth, trying to stay conscious.

This wasn't how his life was supposed to go. He was Rayaan Malik—the undefeated racer, the man who always won. How could everything change in an instant?

As darkness crept in, one final thought crossed his mind: I can't lose this fight. I can't lose myself.

The paramedics arrived moments later, their voices muffled as they worked to free him from the wreckage. Rayaan's world faded into black, his grip on consciousness slipping away.