She was Isabella "The Lightning" Leeves.
That na had been given to her from the mont she’d started racing professionally... a nickna earned because her driving was similar to a flash of lightning that was explosive, unpredictable and impossible to catch once she hit her stride.
She had built herself up from absolutely nothing, not like most of the racers in the circuit who’d had rich, wealthy parents funding their careers from childhood... buying them the best cars, the best coaches and the best opportunities from the mont they could walk.
Isabella’s story was different.
Her father simply fixed engines at a local garage in a working-class neighborhood, coming ho every night with grease under his fingernails and exhaustion in his eyes. Her mother cleaned offices for a living, working night shifts to make ends et, sacrificing sleep so that Isabella and her younger brother could have food on the table and clothes on their backs.
Isabella had done a lot of things... sacrificed a lot of things and fought through a lot of obstacle to get where she was today.
And it wasn’t just participation or lucky breaks. She had real, tangible achievents under her belt that no one could take away from her.
Isabella had won the Volta Crown Championships four consecutive tis and was currently defending her title for a fifth victory.
She was one more win away from an all-ti record that had stood untouched for over a decade, set by a legendary driver who’d dominated an entire era of racing.
She also held the Caldena Circuit lap record that had remained unbroken for three years... a blistering ti of one minute and thirty-two seconds that other drivers still couldn’t match even with newer, more technologically advanced cars and better tire compounds.
She’d won the prestigious Ironspeed Trophy twice, which was awarded to the fastest qualifying driver across an entire season... a testant to her raw speed and ability to push her car to the absolute limit when it mattered most.
And she was currently ranked third in the all-ti Volta Crown standings with forty-two career wins, behind only two retired legends who’d had careers spanning twenty years each and were considered untouchable in the history books.
But above all of these accomplishnts... above every trophy and record and championship, she had won the Dronao Grand Prix last year.
The Dronao Grand Prix was the most prestigious race in the entire world, the one that made careers and the one that separated the good drivers from the legendary ones. The one that every racer dread of winning from the mont they first sat in a go-kart as a child.
That victory had made her a household na overnight. After Dronao, everyone knew who Isabella Leeves was... Her face was on billboards... Her na was in headlines. Brands were throwing sponsorship deals at her and children wore rchandise with her number on it.
Well, almost everyone knew her.
Apparently not the man standing next to her right now.
... She was also dating Marcus Chen, which wasn’t as big as her racing accomplishnts but was notable in its own right. He was a rising star actor with a very large fanbase, currently working on one of the most popular shows in Unitas or rather, the entire world right now. He was being paid one million credits per episode but all of that wasn’t important right now.
What mattered... what Isabella couldn’t wrap her head around was how the hell this blond-haired, handso man next to her didn’t know who she was.
Was it so kind of elaborate prank to get her to say her na? So weird test?
Isabella was genuinely confused, and she wasn’t even trying to be prideful about it. This was just... statistically improbable.
"Isabella Leeves?" Wren said, blinking as if trying to place the na. He tilted his head thoughtfully.
"I think I’ve heard the na before, but I don’t rember from where," Wren admitted. "Though it’s a pretty cute na."
Isabella brought up her finger and poked him in the cheek with mock seriousness.
"Flattery will get you nowhere." Isabella said, though there was no real bite to her words. She pulled back her hand and studied his face, searching for any sign of deception. "But seriously, do you really not know who I am?"
Then she decided to give him more context.
"I’m a famous Formula One driver..." Isabella explained. "Does that ring any bells?"
Wren shook his head apologetically.
"I really don’t pay attention to sports like that," Wren said honestly. "So I wouldn’t know, sorry if that offends you."
Isabella actually chuckled at that... She liked it, she liked it more than she wanted to admit. Soone not knowing who she was felt... refreshing. Freeing, even.
Though she didn’t completely believe it... how could anyone in the modern world NOT know Isabella Leeves? but if it was true, then it made her chest feel warm.
Because that ant he wasn’t treating her like so untouchable celebrity on a pedestal. He was just treating her like a person.
"Whatever," Isabella said with a small smile. "I lost the bet, so you got to see my face and hear my na. Which is totally unfair, by the way."
Wren rubbed the back of his head and chuckled.
"What do you want in return?" Wren asked. Isabella pretended to think about it, tapping her chin.
"I want to hear your na," Isabella said. "And what job you do?"
Wren sighed internally.
This was the last thing he wanted to explain. He didn’t have a problem saying his na, but his job? That was... complicated.
’Nyx, what’s our job status?’ Wren thought.
Imdiately, the blue system interface materialized in front of his face, visible only to him.
[You are currently: Unemployed. There’s no need to lie to soone who can just pay private detectives to find out your identity if she wants. Honesty is the better play here.]
’You’re right,’ Wren thought with resignation. He turned to Isabella, who had an expectant look in her green eyes.
"Right," Wren said. "My na is Wren Langford. And my job?"
He sighed again.
"I’m currently unemployed." Wren finished.
Isabella nodded with her expression completely non-judgntal.
"I’m unemployed too," Isabella said with a grin. "The racing season’s over, so we’re twinning right now."
She leaned back slightly.
"Honestly, you’re very honest and I like that," Isabella continued. "I would never openly admit that I’m jobless, though. Most people would lie and say they’re influencers or content creators or sothing these days."
Isabella honestly didn’t like the whole social dia nonsense.
Not that it was inherently bad... she understood it had value for so people, and plenty of her fellow racers used it successfully to build their brands and connect with fans but when you were a bit too popular, when you crossed that threshold from "well-known" to "celebrity" things got out of hand horrifyingly fast.
She’d opened an Cliffgram account last year at Marcus’s insistence. He’d said it would be good for her brand, good for their relationship’s public image, and it was good for sponsorship opportunities.
The account had gotten verified within minutes of creation as the blue checkmark appeared almost instantaneously.
Millions of followers materialized overnight... a flood of people she’d never t, would never et, all suddenly having access to her life but the ssage requests had been absolutely insane.
Thousands upon thousands of DMs flooding in every single day and while so were genuine fans expressing support or sharing their own racing dreams, a disturbing percentage were... not that.
A lot of people were genuinely sick in the head.
Death threats from rival drivers’ fans, explicit sexual propositions from strangers, creepy declarations of obsessive love, threats to find her address, screenshots of edited photos making her look like she was in compromising situations and also fake accounts pretending to be her, scamming her fans.
It had gotten so bad... so overwhelming and genuinely frightening that she’d had to delete the entire account after only three months.
Marcus had been furious about that decision, but not because of the harassnt. He’d been insecure about all the male attention she was getting, jealous of the comnts from other n calling her beautiful or asking her out.
Now, people could only contact her through her manager’s official channels, which filtered everything through a professional buffer... It was safer and less exhausting.
"Well, I don’t really like dealing with social dia that much either," Wren said. "There are funny videos and stuff, sure. But becoming a content creator or sothing like that? It really isn’t up my alley."
Isabella smiled at that... another point of common ground. Maybe they didn’t have the exact sa experiences, but the sentint was the sa.
"If you ever wanted to, though," Isabella said thoughtfully, "you could probably beco one of those Looksmaxers online."
Wren raised an eyebrow.
"Looksmaxers?" Wren repeated. "That’s the first ti I’ve heard that term."
Isabella explained the concept... people online who focused obsessively on improving their physical appearance, making content about skincare routines, fitness regins, styling tips but she also ntioned the darker side: the edits and videos that put down other people based on their looks, the toxic comparison culture and the cruel rankings too.
"While I don’t mind people trying to improve their appearance," Wren said carefully, "putting down others isn’t an excuse to do so. That’s just bullying dressed up as self-improvent."
Isabella nodded firmly.
"I thought the sa thing," Isabella agreed.
’Though don’t let Marcus or any of his crazy fans hear you say that.’ Isabella thought with a shake of her head then she glanced back at the scoreboard, which had reset after their first ga.
"Why don’t we play so more gas?" Isabella asked with renewed competitive energy. "Or are you scared?"
Wren grabbed a bowling ball from the rack and grinned.
"You’re on."
...
Two hours later, Wren and Isabella walked through the corridor together, heading back toward the main areas of the ship.
There were more people in the hallways now compared to earlier... guests erging from their rooms dressed for dinner with the sound of music drifting up from the lower decks where the formal event was beginning.
Isabella had pulled her hoodie back up over her face, not wanting to risk being recognized as they moved through more populated areas.
"I still can’t believe we played for like two hours..." Isabella said, patting Wren on the back as she grinned beneath her hood.
"And you won against once," Isabella added. "Congrats."
Wren sighed. Out of the dozens of gas they’d played over the past two hours... talking and laughing and competing between each round, he had only managed to beat her a single ti.
"You’re right, I deserve that congrats," Wren said with mock seriousness. "You’re really a monster when it cos to bowling, Isa."
He shortened her na casually, testing the waters and Isabella paused mid-step for just a mont then she smiled beneath her hood.
"I like Isa," Isabella said warmly. "So what should I call you?"
Wren blinked.
"Isn’t my na short enough already?" Wren asked. "Do you need to shorten it even more?"
"Of course!" Isabella said enthusiastically. "You gave a cute nickna, so I want to think of sothing too."
She tapped her finger beneath her chin as they continued walking, clearly deep in thought then her face lit up.
"Ren-Ren!" Isabella declared and Wren stopped walking.
"Ren-Ren, Really?" Wren asked, his tone sowhere between amused and resigned.
"Really..." Isabella confird with absolute certainty. "That’s what I’m going to call you, and you can’t say otherwise."
Wren sighed and accepted his fate.
"Fine. Ren-Ren it is."
Isabella practically bounced with satisfaction.
"So what should we d—"
Imdiately, both of them noticed a pair of eyes staring at them from down the corridor. A woman Wren hadn’t seen before was standing there, frozen in place as her gaze locked onto him and Isabella with wide-eyed recognition then the woman’s expression shifted to panic.
She ran forward at surprising speed and grabbed Isabella by the arm, pulling her away.
"I am NOT letting you get caught in a cheating scandal!" the woman hissed urgently as she practically dragged Isabella down the hallway.
Isabella staggered slightly from the sudden movent but managed to twist around and wave at Wren as she was wheeled away.
Wren waved back.
"So what do I do no—" Wren started to say to himself.
"WREN!"
Leah’s voice rang out from behind him.
Wren turned around to see the woman standing there in one of the elegant dresses he’d helped pick out back at the Harlow Boutique... a flowing erald green dress that complented her features beautifully. Leah ran over to him and her nose scrunched up slightly as she got closer.
"So you skipped spending ti with us to spend ti with another woman?" Leah asked pointedly and Wren raised an eyebrow.
"How did you even know it was a woman?" Wren asked.
"I could sll the difference..." Leah said matter-of-factly.
"Isn’t that just being weird?" Wren said and Leah reached up and pulled his ear.
"Ow! Hey!"
"We’re going to my room," Leah declared while tugging him along.
"For what?" Wren asked, confused.
"To get you changed, of course!" Leah said as if it were obvious. "Dinner starts in less than an hour and you can’t go down there looking like this. Don’t worry, I’ve got you covered..."
...
Diana fiddled with her thumbs at the VIP table that had been reserved specifically for their group.
Her phone was upstairs charging in her room... she’d forgotten to bring it down in her nervousnes so she had nothing to distract herself with.
The grand dining hall was filling up steadily around her, transforming from an empty space into a formal event with live music playing from a string quartet in the corner, elegant floral decorations on every table and impeccably dressed staff moving efficiently between the guests.
People were staring at her.
Not with the usual suspicious or dismissive looks that outsiders sotis received in wealthy spaces... the "you don’t belong here" glares she’d gotten used to over the years. Instead, these were looks of genuine interest but Diana wasn’t paying attention to any of that.
Her focus was entirely on the grand staircase at the entrance to the dining hall, waiting for one specific person to appear.
She was waiting for Wren.
She wondered what could possibly be taking so long, he hadn’t co down for over an hour now, and dinner was supposed to start any minute.
’Is he sick?’ Diana thought as her heart was beating faster with genuine worry. ’Does he need there with him? What if he’s seasick and stuck in his room, too nauseous to move?’
The thought made her want to get up and check on him, but she forced herself to stay seated. She didn’t want to seem overbearing or motherly. Wren was an adult, after all. He could take care of himself.
"Mom," Zoe said from beside her at the table. "When is that fucker getting here?"
"Zoe!" Diana whispered harshly, her eyes darting around to see if anyone had heard. "Keep your voice down and don’t say vulgar things like that at the table! We’re guests here!"
Then Diana’s attention snapped back to the top of the grand staircase as movent finally caught her eye.
Two figures were descending together... silhouetted against the warm lighting from the upper floor. It was Wren and Leah.
Wren was wearing an expensive white suit, the fabric was pristine and perfectly tailored to his fra, with sharp clean lines that emphasized his athletic build without being ostentatious.
The jacket had subtle silver threading along the lapels that caught the light as he moved, creating an almost ethereal shimr.
A deep red rose had been pinned carefully to his breast pocket, providing a striking contrast against the pure white fabric.
His shirt beneath was crisp and unbuttoned just slightly at the collar, giving him an effortlessly elegant look rather than appearing stuffy or overdressed and his blond hair had been styled properly... it was swept back in a way that highlighted his strong features and made him look mature and absolutely handso.
He looked like he’d stepped out of a high-fashion magazine spread and Diana felt imdiate relief flood through her chest.
He was okay... He wasn’t sick... He looked healthy and happy and absolutely perfect and—
Then Diana’s brows furrowed slowly as her eyes tracked downward to where their hands were joined.
Her relief transford into sothing else entirely.
’But... why are they holding hands?’ Diana thought as her chest tightened uncomfortably. She watched them descend the elegant staircase together... Wren in his striking white suit, Leah in her flowing erald dress that complented her complexion beautifully with their fingers interlaced as they both smiled.
Diana felt like she’d been stabbed directly through the heart.
No... it was worse than that. She felt like she’d been cucked.
User Comments
0 comments from readers