Chapter 37: Provocation of the Red Ferrari

Alistair Vance was in a terrible mood.

This dark cloud of emotion had lingered for several days, hanging over his head like a persistent fog.

And the source of it all was Clara.

This feeling of losing control left Alistair incredibly irritable. He was a man accustomed to mastering everything, used to everyone acting according to his will.

But Clara’s resistance was like a sharp slap across the face, stinging with every reminder.

He didn't want to go home, and he didn't want to go back to the office.

Instead, he drove his black Lamborghini all the way to the suburban racing track.

The track at night was vast and silent, with only a few dim streetlights swaying in the wind, casting mottled shadows across the asphalt.

Alistair parked at the starting line. The roar of the engine echoed through the empty space, acting as a vent for the suppressed emotions churning within him.

He donned his helmet, gripped the steering wheel, and floored the gas. The car shot forward like an arrow released from a bow.

The wind howled past his ears, and the thrill brought by the sheer speed allowed him to temporarily forget his troubles.

He loved this sensation—as if everything were once again under his command, as if he could outrun every shackle and every pressure.

However, this brief moment of tranquility did not last long.

As he circled back to the start for the third time, a red Ferrari suddenly lunged from the side, swerving directly in front of his car to block his path.

Alistair slammed on the brakes. The tires screeched against the ground, leaving a trail of smoke, and the car came to a halt mere inches from the Ferrari’s nose.

His mood was already at a breaking point; this was fuel added to a raging fire.

He pushed the door open, strode toward the Ferrari, and hammered on the window.

The glass slid down slowly, revealing a young, arrogant face.

the man looked to be in his early twenties, wearing a garish, multicolored jacket and a provocative smirk.

"Nice skills, man. Care for a race?" The stranger arched an eyebrow, his tone dripping with blatant contempt.

Alistair looked at him coldly, his eyes devoid of warmth. "Move."

The man acted as if he hadn't heard a word, continuing to grin. "What, afraid to race? Afraid to lose?"

Alistair’s patience had reached its limit.

He didn't care for further chatter and turned to head back to his car.

However, the man suddenly leaped out of his vehicle and blocked Alistair's path.

"Don't go yet, buddy. I've heard the Eldest Master of the Vance family is a legend behind the wheel. I came here specifically to see it for myself today. You wouldn't want to disappoint me, would you?"

Alistair’s steps faltered. His gaze turned lethally sharp as he turned around, his eyes cutting through the man’s face like blades. "Who are you?"

The man shrugged, his smile remaining casual and indifferent. "Me? Just a nobody. But I’m quite curious to see if the great Alistair Vance is actually as good as the rumors say."

Alistair’s fists tightened at his sides, his knuckles turning white from the pressure.

He knew this person was clearly targeting him and had come prepared.

But his mood was currently at rock bottom; he had no desire to waste time on such mindless provocation.

"I have no interest in playing with you," he said freezing, turning to leave.

However, the man reached out to stop him again. "Don't be such a killjoy. How about this: let's make a bet. If you win, I never show my face in front of you again. If you lose..."

He paused, a meaningful smirk curling his lips. "You have to grant me one condition."

Alistair’s eyes darkened instantly. He stared at the man, his voice as cold as ice. "What makes you think I would agree to that?"

The man shrugged, his smile becoming more brazen.

"Because you're in a rotten mood and you need an outlet. I’m just the guy to give you that chance."

Alistair’s pupils contracted slightly.

He hadn't expected this stranger to read his emotions so easily.

But he quickly regained his composure, a cold sneer forming on his face. "Fine. I agree. But if you lose, I want you vanished from my sight forever."

The man’s smile brightened. "Deal."

The two cars sat side-by-side at the starting line, the roar of their engines vibrating through the night air.

Alistair gripped the wheel, his gaze fixed straight ahead.

His mood was still dark, but now his focus was entirely concentrated on the track before him.

The moment the signal light flashed, both cars surged forward.

Alistair’s driving was indeed exceptional. Every turn was precise and fluid, as if he and the machine were one entity.

However, the red Ferrari stayed glued to his tail, showing no signs of falling behind.

Alistair’s brow furrowed.

He hadn't expected this seemingly superficial punk to have such genuine skill.

But he didn't panic; instead, he manipulated the car with even greater intensity.

By the halfway point, Alistair had managed to pull ahead by half a car's length.

Yet, just as he prepared to accelerate and open the gap, the Ferrari suddenly surged up the inside, swerving back in front of him to block his line.

Alistair’s gaze turned cold. He adjusted his direction, attempting to overtake from the outside, but the man seemed to anticipate his every move, stubbornly blocking him at every turn.

On the final straightaway, the two cars were neck-and-neck.

The finish line was in sight. Alistair floored the accelerator, the car lunging like a lightning bolt.

But just as he was about to cross the line, the Ferrari suddenly jerked sideways, cutting him off completely.

Alistair was forced to slam on his brakes, the car coming to a halt just before the finish.

He flung the door open and strode to the Ferrari, ripping the driver's door open and dragging the man out by his collar.

"Are you looking for death?" His voice was freezing, his eyes burning with fury.

The man merely smiled, acting as if he had no idea what kind of trouble he had just courted.

"Don't be so angry, Master Vance. I just wanted to see exactly how good you were."

Alistair’s fist was already raised, but just before he swung, the man spoke again.

"Though, I didn't expect you’d actually get so worked up over a race like this. It seems the great Alistair Vance is just an ordinary man after all."

Alistair’s movement stalled. His gaze turned icy.

He stared at the man, his voice carrying a dangerous weight.

"What exactly is it that you want?"

The man shrugged, his smile growing even more reckless.

"Nothing. Just wanted to remind you: don't take yourself too seriously. There are plenty of people in this world who are better than you."

Alistair’s fist slowly relaxed, but his gaze remained frozen.

He stared at the man, as if trying to peer into his very soul.

"Who sent you?"

The man smiled but gave no answer. He simply turned and got back into his car.

Before leaving, he glanced back at Alistair, his lips curling into a mysterious grin.

"Think about it, Master Vance. Some things can't be solved by speed alone."

With that, he started the engine and roared away.

Alistair stood there, watching the red Ferrari disappear into the night. His mood was now even worse than before.

He knew that tonight's race was far from being a simple coincidence.

And that challenger hadn't appeared by accident.

He returned to his car, gripping the wheel as his eyes grew deep and brooding.

"Whoever you are, I will find out," he whispered, his voice laced with a lethal chill.

The engine roared to life once more, and the black Lamborghini shot out like a streak of lightning, vanishing into the boundless night.