Chapter 17: Has He Grown Tired of Me?

The afternoon sun streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the rehearsal hall, splashing bright patches of light across the polished floor.

Clara was dressed in a white practice suit, her hair flying as she moved. Every spin and every leap was fluid and powerful, making her look like a spirited white swan.

She had just finished an intense session. Fine beads of sweat covered her forehead, sliding down her cheeks and dripping onto the floor, creating small, damp spots.

In the month since she had secured the lead dancer position, Clara had been like a wound-up clock, throwing herself entirely into her rehearsals.

She pushed for perfection in every movement, determined to present her most flawless self in the upcoming performance.

However, beneath her radiant exterior lay a heart filled with worry.

Alistair Vance had not appeared for an entire month.

At first, Clara comforted herself, thinking he was simply too busy with work to get away.

But as the days passed, Alistair seemed to have vanished into thin air, leaving no trace or message.

Doubt began to creep into Clara’s mind:

Has he already grown tired of me?

Once that thought appeared, it took root like a seed, leaving her restless and uneasy.

"No, I can't let this happen."

Alistair was the most critical piece of her plan.

If he truly walked away from her, her entire mission would crumble, and her family and friends back in Veridia would be in grave danger.

Thinking of this, Clara’s brow furrowed tightly, her eyes betraying a hint of anxiety.

She glanced at the clock on the wall; practice was officially over.

Usually at this time, Julian would arrive punctually to pick her up.

Sure enough, Julian’s silhouette appeared at the doorway of the hall.

He leaned against the frame with his trademark smile, watching Clara. "Clara, you’ve practiced enough for today. Time to go home."

Clara took a deep breath to steady her emotions. She walked over to Julian, acting casually as she packed her things.

"Julian, I haven't seen you go out with Silas or Alistair all month. Are they both very busy lately?"

Julian laughed, not noticing anything unusual in her tone. "They went back to Veridia for some business. I guess things are pretty complicated over there, which is why they haven't come back yet."

Hearing the word "Veridia," the massive weight on Clara’s heart finally lifted.

She nodded slightly, pretending to be indifferent. "Oh, I see. When are they coming back?"

Julian shrugged. "I'm not sure. I suppose once the work is finished."

Clara and Julian walked out of the hall and got into the car.

All the way home, Clara stared at the scenery flying past the window, her mind racing with ideas on how to hook Alistair Vance again.

Meanwhile, in distant Veridia, night had fallen, and the entire city was adorned with vibrant neon lights.

Alistair was behind the wheel of a black supercar, tearing through the bustling streets.

Silas Knight sat in the passenger seat, idly toying with a sleek handgun, his eyes alertly scanning their surroundings.

"Vance, I have a feeling the atmosphere tonight is a bit off," Silas suddenly remarked.

Alistair frowned; he had sensed the anomaly as well.

The street, usually teeming with traffic, was uncharacteristically quiet tonight. The few cars that passed were all driving in a hurried, frantic manner.

Just then, Alistair caught sight of several blinding headlights in his rearview mirror.

His heart tightened as he focused. Several motorcycles and sports cars were revving their engines, charging toward them at full throttle.

"Not good. They're coming for us!"

Alistair’s expression shifted as he made an instant judgment.

He slammed on the accelerator without hesitation. The supercar roared like a predatory beast, surging forward instantly.

"Who are these people? Why are they chasing us?" Silas asked as he chambered a round, preparing for combat.

"Doesn't matter who they are. Let's lose them first!"

Alistair gritted his teeth, his hands gripping the steering wheel tight, his eyes reflecting a lethal determination.

The supercar darted through the streets. Relying on his superior driving skills, Alistair skillfully dodged the repeated attempts by the pursuing vehicles to ram them.

Seeing this, the attackers grew even more frantic, accelerating to try and force Alistair’s car to a halt.

A sharp curve appeared ahead. The corners of Alistair’s mouth curved into a confident smirk.

He whipped the steering wheel around. The supercar carved a beautiful arc through the turn, successfully opening up a gap between them and the pursuers.

However, the opposition clearly had no intention of giving up. A modified sports car suddenly lunged from the side, attempting to ram Alistair off the road.

Alistair’s eyes turned cold. He slammed on the brakes for a split second before flooring the gas again.

In that momentary shift of speed, he expertly avoided the impact and used the car’s momentum to slam into the other vehicle instead.

With a deafening

CRASH

, the modified car was sent spinning out of control, slamming into the roadside barrier.

But the other pursuers didn't back down. Instead, they swarmed in even more aggressively.

Alistair and Silas were locked in a fierce chase. Tires shrieked against the pavement, leaving burnt rubber on the asphalt.

Though Alistair was a master driver, they were outnumbered, and the relentless pursuit was beginning to wear them down.

Suddenly, a motorcycle pulled up alongside them. The rider drew a long blade and slashed toward Alistair’s window.

Alistair reacted instantly, ducking his head as the blade scraped across the glass, leaving a deep, jagged gouge.

Silas seized the opening, leaning out of the window and firing at the motorcycle.

The rider couldn't dodge in time. He was hit in the arm, and the blade clattered to the ground. He groaned in pain as the bike lost control, sliding across the road.

This did nothing to slow the others.

They continued their relentless pursuit, attacking Alistair’s car from multiple angles.

Scratches and dents now covered the supercar's body; some areas were even crushed inward from the impacts.

An overpass appeared ahead. Alistair made a split-second decision to take a gamble.

He floored it. The supercar, like a bolt of black lightning, surged onto the overpass.

The pursuers followed close behind, refusing to give an inch.

On the overpass, Alistair pushed his skills to the limit. He wove through the traffic, using other vehicles as shields to break free from the pursuit time and again.

But the attackers were smart; they split into smaller groups, attempting to box him in from different directions.

Alistair and Silas felt their stamina flagging, and the car was beginning to malfunction from the repeated collisions.

Just as they thought they might break free, a massive truck suddenly swerved from ahead, turning sideways to block the entire road.

Alistair’s face turned pale. He tried to brake, but it was too late.

In that life-or-death moment, he yanked the steering wheel hard. The supercar grazed the side of the truck, stripping a massive sheet of paint from its body.

However, due to the excessive speed, the supercar lost control after passing the truck and slammed headfirst into the guardrail.

The airbags deployed instantly. Alistair and Silas were left dazed and reeling from the impact.

"Vance, you okay?" Silas gasped, struggling to unbuckle his seatbelt.

Alistair wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth, his voice weak but firm. "I'm fine. We need to get out of here. Now."