Chapter 3
Ophelia
“Ghost-Justin Bieber”
Three years later… present day.
The smell of gasoline, cigarette smoke, and burning rubber fills the air around the empty strip in the middle of nowhere.
Nothing but farmland for miles and no one to bother us. It’s loud here.
Chaotic and wild.
Which is exactly why I love it.
Out here, I’m free.
The chains that hold me in place during the day are unlocked and I get to do what my heart loves most—racing and being around my true friends, not the fake ones from school.
Nobody here knows how broken I truly am… well, except for Bianca. She lived it with me. Losing her twin brother Justin the same day I lost Hayden made us closer.
The trauma bonded us.
She was the only one who was there for me when I tried to take all this pain away. I was so hollowed out by grief I just wanted to be with him and swallowing a bottle of sleeping pills was the only way to do it.
I tighten my gloves and glance down the empty stretch of road waiting for Reid to finally make his dramatic entrance.
He lives for theatrics.
Always has.
Tonight’s race is farther from Brimstone than usual, tucked close to Whitestone Academy territory.
Which means this isn’t about racing.
It’s business.
Reid’s business.
And when Reid says show up, you show up.
I scan the lineup. Stone. Asher. Bianca. All waiting beside their bikes beneath the flickering warehouse lights.
An orange and black Ducati glides in place next to me. The rider cuts his engine but doesn’t acknowledge me. Not even when I nod.
Okay then. Asshole.
Still… something about him feels wrong.
Or maybe right in the most dangerous way possible.
He turns his helmet towards me slowly. I can’t see his eyes behind the tinted visor, but I feel them.
Heavy and intense.
Like he already knows me. A chill flies up my spine, then a roar of another engine cuts through the night.
Reid.
Of course he arrives last.
Cocky bastard.
But my attention catches on the girl riding behind him.
Long black curls whip through the wind behind her helmet. Tight leather pants hug her curves and stitched across the back of her jacket are the words.
Devils Incarnate.
My stomach drops.
Jade Rivers?
Even I know who she is.
Biker royalty wrapped in gasoline and violence. The entire underground practically worships the Rivers family.
Kaira steps in front of us, holding the flag while half the guys here stare at her ass instead of the road.
Typical.
Everyone fires their bikes up.
I pull on the throttle once as my pulse spikes with anticipation. Beside me the Ducati rider still watches me.
Not the race.
But me.
The flag drops, chaos explodes, and the bikes launch forward.
Wind tears through me instantly as I lean low over the tank, flying down the deserted road. The world blurs into streaks of neon and headlights while engines scream around me.
This… this is the only time I feel alive anymore.
No suffocating mansion.
No fake smiles and no Brayden Augustine trying to shove his tongue down my throat while reminding me I should feel honored he agreed to marry me.
No memories choking me from the inside out.
Out here, I’m just another rider. Another adrenaline junkie chasing freedom at a hundred miles an hour.
I take the first corner hard, my knee nearly skimming the pavement. Reid taught me that. He taught me everything.
Three years ago, he found me sitting beside the crash site where Hayden and Justin died.
The memory still cuts deeply through my chest.
The twisted metal.
The dried blood.
The flowers left on the side of the road.
I used to sit there for hours trying to understand how Hayden could’ve died from drunk driving when he didn’t even drink.
He hated alcohol because of his mother. He never would have gotten behind the wheel, and he sure as fuck wouldn’t have let Justin do it either.
None of it ever made sense.
My father made sure I stopped asking questions. He didn’t even let me attend Hayden’s funeral.
That alone broke something inside me permanently. I never got to say goodbye to my forever boy.
The grief swallowed me whole after that. I stopped eating… sleeping, and wanted to stop existing altogether. My father almost had me committed after Maggie found me unconscious beside the empty pill bottle, but Maggie ensured she would keep me safe and, with Bianca’s help, he didn’t lock me away.
The only person who ever truly saw me was ripped away overnight, and everyone wanted me to move on like Hayden was just some phase I’d outgrow.
Then came Brayden.
The golden rich boy with perfect teeth and dead eyes.
My arranged future.
The prison sentence wrapped in expensive cologne.
I grip the handlebars tighter. I hate him. I hate the way he talks to me, the way he treats my body like it's something he owns. The way he sneers and calls me frigid when I refuse to let him touch me.
Hayden was the only boy who ever did. And some twisted part of me still belongs to him completely.
The race ends almost as fast as it started. Reid wins, obviously—before disappearing into the night with Jade clinging to his back.
I slow my bike and circle towards the warehouse lot where everyone gathers afterward. The Ducati rider is already there, watching me as I pull in which causes my skin to prickle with goosebumps.
I park beside the others and pull off my helmet, shaking out my long blonde hair.
Sweat cools against the back of my neck while I head towards Andrew, collecting tonight’s cash. Reid always pays us extra when races are rigged.
I grab my winnings and shove the envelope into my jacket pocket.
The feeling of being watched intensifies, so I glance around casually. Too many people.
Shadows and helmets, but somehow… I know it's him—the Ducati rider, except I just can’t find him.
Reaching inside my pocket, I take out my phone and check the time. 10:24 p.m.
My heart sinks. Shit. I’m going to be late for curfew.
My father thinks I spend my nights studying at the twenty-four hour library like the obedient little trophy daughter he’s manufactured.
If only he knew.
I walk my bike to the back, and Gio buzzes me inside without question.
Twenty minutes later, I’m climbing into the black Audi RSQ8 my father bought me, like expensive gifts somehow erase emotional abuse.
The drive home feels heavier than usual, because home isn’t home.
It’s a fucking museum.
A perfectly polished cage where I perform as a puppet.
At night… I become real.
During the day, I’m just a shell wearing makeup and designer clothes while saying ‘yes, sir’ and ‘no, ma'am’ like a programmed doll.
Nobody sees me.
Nobody except Hayden ever did.
And he’s dead.
I swallow hard against the ache in my throat just thinking about him.
The gated entrance to Hillcreek Bay appears ahead. Security lights glow softly against the massive estates hidden behind manicured trees.
I type in my code and the gates swing open. Larry smiles from the booth, lifting his coffee cup at me.
Sweet old Larry.
Every morning, he leaves a blueberry muffin and a chai latte waiting for me because he says I remind him of his granddaughter. I wave back before driving deeper into the neighborhood.
The Augustine Estate looms somewhere behind the trees. Even here, I can’t escape them.
Pulling into the driveway of our white farmhouse-style mansion, the garage door opens automatically, but I don’t go inside.
Instead, I kill the engine and climb out barefoot.
The second my feet touch the cold grass, I exhale. My backyard is the only place that feels sacred. Two acres of silence, moonlight, and freedom.
The soft grass brushes between my toes while the cold air kisses my skin.
I shrug off my riding jacket and let it fall behind me.
My laughter almost escapes before grief catches it by the throat.
I spin beneath the stars until dizziness crashes over me.
Then I fall into the grass, staring upward.
The sky is crystal clear tonight. One star shines brighter than the others.
My chest caves as I reach up as if I could touch it.
“I miss you, Hayden,” I whisper as tears blur my vision, but I refuse to let them fall.
Crying never brings him back. Nothing does.
Eventually, I drag myself upright and glance towards the house. Every light is off… except mine.
I freeze.
My bedroom light glows softly through the second floor window and it’s cracked open.
My heart jumps. No. No. No.
My father would lose his mind if someone broke in.
I slip through the back entrance near the chef’s kitchen and quietly climb the staff staircase toward my wing of the house.
The hallway feels so quiet and still. Every instinct in my body screams to turn around but I keep walking.
My bedroom door is open slightly, and I stop breathing.
Slowly, I push it wider. Nothing looks disturbed or broken, no sign that anyone was in here—except.
A folded note rests perfectly in the center of my pillow.
My stomach twists violently as I cross the room slowly with trembling hands. I pick it up and flip it open.
My whole world tilts as I read the note.
“I’ve missed you, Firefly. Did you miss me?”
A gasp tears from my throat as tears fall from my eyes. I recognize the handwriting, but beyond that… There’s only one person in this world who ever called me Firefly.
And Hayden Marks is dead… isn’t he?