Scarlett's voice cut through the air. She clearly meant what she said. Charlie clenched his jaw before he threw his arm out.
"Fine. We'll do it! Real men always keep their word!" he said.
He strode onto the court first, launching into the awkward hops.
He was the leader of the group, and his surrender left the others cornered. One by one, despite their reluctance, they followed.
A single man hopping looked foolish enough.
And a dozen pampered heirs bounding across the court together was pure comedy.
The absurd sight tugged at the corners of Scarlett's mouth until a small, satisfied smile finally surfaced.
The tight knot in her chest finally unraveled, leaving behind a weightless calm.
"Phew... I'm done," Charlie gasped, bending over with his hands braced on his knees before dragging himself back to Scarlett's side. A grin, half disbelief and half admiration, stretched across his flushed face. "I'll be damned, Scarlett. You can actually race, and you are incredible at it."
For once, his gaze lingered on her with something new—real respect. The old assumptions about her being a sheltered housewife dissolved like dust in the wind.
He'd spent half his life chasing speed, so he could recognize the precision and grit behind her run.
The others might've seen only the surface, but he knew how skilled she was.
"There's still a lot you don't know about me," Scarlett said with an easy smile, slipping her phone from her pocket and giving it a quick glance before striding toward the ridge, her steps steady, the evening breeze tugging lightly at her hair.
Charlie's voice chased after her. "Where are you going?"
"To watch the sunrise," she replied without turning.
Each step up the slope felt like a quiet goodbye to her past.
The world around her shifted—charcoal clouds melting into pale blue, then igniting into a blaze of crimson as the first light crowned the horizon.
Soon, she would leave this place.
She had braced herself for regret, yet what settled in her chest was a tranquil stillness instead.
A deep, rhythmic thrum broke the silence—rotor blades slicing through the dawn air. Tilting her head toward the sky, Scarlett let a faint smile curve her lips.
Before leaving Asher's place, she'd placed a call to her father, asking him to arrange for people to pick her up.
She just hadn't expected them to come so fast.
After all these years, she suddenly felt the unmistakable tug to return home.
"Long time no see," said Alfred Turner, his voice gentle as Scarlett boarded the helicopter. Time had carved creases into his face, but his eyes still glowed with loyal affection—and a hint of sympathy.
For decades, he'd been the Riley family's steadfast butler, the man who had watched Scarlett grow up.
Scarlett's throat constricted as old memories flickered through her mind. She gave a small nod, voice barely above a whisper. "Alfred, take me home."
The helicopter rose with a thunderous sweep, cutting through the pale dawn. Wind whipped against the windows as the land shrank below them.
Down on the ground, Charlie stood rooted to the spot, gaze fixed on the fading helicopter, a strange feeling stirring inside him.
Scarlett just left like this.
Where was she heading? And she hadn't even bothered to bring the motorcycle back.
It wasn't just any ride; it was Asher's favorite motorcycle.
Charlie tamped down the rising unease in his chest, tossed his own keys to a friend, and swung onto Lightning in one fluid motion. The engine roared as he gunned the throttle and tore down the road toward Asher's place.
"Asher! I brought it back safe and sound—your motorcycle's here!" he shouted the moment he pulled up.
Inside the house, Asher heard the noise outside. With a slight tilt of his chin, he signaled to his sister, Isla Sullivan—standing before him—to stop talking.
Then, he rose, crossed the room, and pulled the door open.
And there it was—Lightning.
A muscle ticked in his jaw. "Who said you could touch it, Charlie?" His voice was low, edged with restrained fury.
He hadn't ridden it in years, yet it still carried too much meaning to him.
So, even though Charlie was family, Asher had no intention of letting this matter slide.
Charlie flinched, hands shooting up in surrender. "Not me! It wasn't me who took it—it was Scarlett!" he said, stumbling over his words before the storm could hit him. "She was the one who took Lightning to the track. And she crushed me out there! Her racing skills—they're unreal. I'm telling you, I've never witnessed anything like that. Yeah, she rubbed it in and made sure I faced punishment for losing, but damn, she was incredible."
The admiration in his words was unmistakable.
Asher stayed silent, but a flash of surprise flickered in his eyes.
Not once in all their years together had he pictured that the gentle, compliant Scarlett as the kind of woman who could tear up a racetrack.
"I'm telling the truth," Charlie added, straightening as if to prove his point. "If you think I'm lying, ask Scarlett yourself about this when she comes back."
Asher nodded. Before he could say anything, Isla jumped in, her voice sharp with disbelief.
"Racing? Charlie, have you completely lost your mind? Scarlett is skilled at racing? Isn't she just a gold digger who latched onto Asher for the money? Aside from taking care of my brother's meals and clothes, what else can she possibly do?"
Isla's words dripped with contempt. She knew all too well how Scarlett had entered the Sullivan family—by saving Asher's life three years ago and then asking him to marry her as repayment. In Isla's mind, Scarlett was nothing more than an opportunist who'd clawed her way into wealth, a woman with no real abilities beyond playing the dutiful wife.
Charlie's jaw tightened as irritation flared across his face. "You really think everyone's like you, Isla? All looks and no depth?" he shot back, voice edged with sarcasm.
Isla's cheeks flushed scarlet. "Excuse me? This is the Sullivan family's residence, not your home. How dare you talk to me like that?" she snapped, hands balling at her sides.
Her grudge against Charlie didn't come from nowhere—her mother had loathed the Masons for as long as she could remember, and that bitterness had seeped into her bones. So when Charlie fired off a comment like that, her temper lit up, and she shot back without hesitation.
But Charlie refused to yield.
He met her glare head-on. "How dare you insult Scarlett! She is your brother's wife—you will show her some respect!"
"She's nothing but a gold-digger!" Isla exclaimed, her voice laced with venom. "She doesn't deserve my respect at all!"
"You—" Charlie started, anger flashing in his eyes.
"Enough!" Asher's voice sliced through the tension, low and glacial.
His gaze locked on Isla, the chill in his eyes enough to freeze her in place.
"What exactly did you come here for?" he asked, tone calm but edged with unmistakable impatience.
Isla's confidence flickered out. Her jaw tightened, and after a hesitant breath, she held out the folder she had brought with both hands.
"Dad asked me to bring the reports to you," she murmured, voice low and restrained.
Asher barely spared her a glance as he took the folder, his expression unreadable.
"You've finished your task," he said coldly. "Now leave."
Charlie's lips curved into a triumphant grin at that, satisfaction lighting his eyes.
It seemed that Asher was on his side after all.
"See? Asher said you can go now," he said to Isla.
Isla's fingers twitched at her sides. The retort on her tongue died quickly. She wasn't intimidated by Charlie, but she was afraid of Asher. After all, he was the head of the Sullivan family.
So, no matter how much bitterness coiled in her chest, she could only lower her head in reluctant submission.
"Of course, Asher. I'll be going now." Her voice was steady as she spoke.
Charlie flashed her an overly bright grin and gave a theatrical wave. "See you!" he called out, his tone dripping with mock cheer.
The moment he turned back, though, he met Asher's cold eyes.
His smile faltered. He stiffened, then scrambled to recover with a nervous chuckle. "Right... I should, uh, get going, too. Wouldn't want to bother you further."
Asher inclined his head in silent approval, eyes softening just a fraction.
At least his cousin knew when to take his leave.
