CHAPTER 52: MARKING HIS TERRITORY

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Chapter Unedited

Unlike Dad’s open affection, Mum’s smile was tight and subtle—more like a mask than a mood. Her eyes skimmed me up and down, lingering just a second too long on my bare shoulders and the old, scuffed backpack slung over one shoulder.

"You look... comfortable," she said smoothly, her voice all silk hiding steel. "Next time, try to dress more like a Kaine. Especially for family photos. This isn’t your high school dorm."

My smile didn’t falter, but a chill traced my spine. The way she said Kaine—like it was a bloodline I’d borrowed instead of one I was born into—cut deeper than I’d ever admit out loud.

Still, I didn’t bite. I never did anymore. Instead, I turned slightly, catching Eryx’s presence beside me. He stood close, protective as ever, jaw clenched the way it always did when Mum decided to dish out one of her signature, sugar-coated slaps.

"I didn’t know there’d be family pictures," I replied lightly, brushing my hand down my shawl like it was some kind of armor. "Otherwise, I’d have worn a tiara."

Behind me, Kaius snorted.

Dad laughed too. "Well, it’s just us, after all. No pressure. You’ll all get something more suitable soon anyway. Come inside. The place is fully set up—we’ve got chefs, a games room, a massage wing—"

"Beach yoga in the morning," Rose cut in proudly, like she’d orchestrated the whole thing herself. "And brunch under the cabana."

I didn’t respond. I was still trying to wrap my head around how this supposed "picnic" had somehow transformed into a full-on luxury retreat with no warning. But of course—Rose knew. Of course she did.

As we stepped into the retreat house, my eyes drifted to the sweeping glass panels overlooking the waves, the wide marble staircase curling up toward the private suites. Everything smelled like salt, citrus, and money. It was beautiful—almost too beautiful. The kind of place that made you feel like a guest, not a daughter.

Eryx brushed past me slightly, his fingers grazing mine in a subtle, silent gesture of comfort before moving ahead.

Rhys had already vanished into one of the rooms—probably to unpack or take a call—and Kaius wandered toward the lounge, arms crossed, scanning the space like he was already looking for exits or distractions.

Rose, of course, stayed near Mum, clinging to her like a shadow, and I could feel her eyes on me, even when I wasn’t looking her way.

It was going to be a long weekend.

But that didn’t mean I had to make it easy for anyone.

I smirked to myself and turned toward the stairs, heading up to find out where I’d be sleeping—if I even had a room of my own.

"Spring," Mum’s voice called, just as my foot hit the first step.

I paused and turned.

"You’ll be staying in the south suite. With Rose. The staff will bring your things up."

My heart sank a few inches. Of course.

Rose clapped her hands like a child unwrapping a gift. "Roomies!"

Eryx, mid-step down the hallway, stopped and turned with a visible frown.

Kaius muttered something I didn’t quite catch.

I nodded slowly, plastering on the sweetest smile I could manage—the kind that could rot teeth if it sat too long. "I’m sure we’ll have so much to catch up on."

Then I turned back to the stairs and started climbing, each step heavier than the last. The sun might’ve been shining outside, but inside this house?

It was about to get real cloudy.

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Kindly wait. Just returning from the hospital, please.

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Cheers erupted from the crowd as the racers came out of the first loop. The pack thinned quickly, Tyrion already pulling ahead of most of them but not without resistance.

A sharp gleam caught my eye. There was someone behind him, on a red and black bike with jagged lightning decals, who veered dangerously close.

"Hey!" I gripped the railing, hoping my voice could be carried through.

The racer bumped his wheel against Tyrion’s rear tire, a dirty move meant to destabilise his opponent.

"Stay the fuck away from him, you psycho!"

But Tyrion didn’t flinch.

Instead, with a flick of his wrist, he slowed, just for a beat, then slipped behind the guy and whipped past on the outer lane, his tires kissing the track’s edge like a dancer flirting with the fall.

The audience screamed. Even Blondie and Pink Braid Girl gasped in disbelief.

"He just countered a brake tap drift with a whip slide," someone said nearby.

"He made that up on the fly," another whispered.

I didn’t need a translator to know what that meant: Tyrion was untouchable.

But just as he passed the red-biker jerk, another racer surged up behind him. This one had a midnight blue, sleek bike that moved like a liquid shadow.

His name, I heard someone say, was Zale—a returning champion from the old circuit.

And he was good.

Too good.

The two went head-to-head for the next two laps, swapping leads at every turn, blazing through tight corners like demons fighting for a crown.

The tension was unbearable. I had to stand near the railing, which was my only support, to prevent myself from jumping into the track.

"Tyrion! You got this! I love you!" I screamed at the top of my voice, making sure he heard me, but where it came from, I don’t know.

I did not know what came over me, but the next second, I felt a change in his driving.

A beat of silence followed my scream.

I earned a few curious and unwelcome envious stares my way.

Then murmurs erupted all around me like wildfire.

"Did she just say she loves him?"

"That’s his girl?"

"No way, that girl? She doesn’t even race."

"Ugh, of course it’s always the quiet ones."

Blondie’s jaw visibly clenched from where she stood with her group. Her eyes, which were coated in thick mascara, snapped to me like she wanted to peel my skin off.

I felt their glares. Every ounce of jealousy and disbelief. It rolled off them like perfume made of vinegar.

But I didn’t care, because in the next breath... I heard it.

"This one’s for you."

Tyrion’s voice. In my head.

It was undeniably his, clear, soft, confident.

I blinked for some seconds, clearly stunned.

"What... how?"

We weren’t marked to each other or even mated, so how could I hear his thoughts through the bond?

Tyrion leaned into the next bend at full throttle, Nyx becoming a blur. And I knew, without a doubt, that Tyrion wasn’t just racing anymore and not just winning, he was answering me.

For the first time since our bond sparked, our connection wasn’t instinct—it was intentional.

He heard me.

And now... he was flying for me.

My hands were clenched so tightly the jacket sleeves had creased around my fists.

It was the final lap.

Tyrion took a shortcut that no one else dared to take, cutting diagonally across a sharp bend using nothing but timing and grip. Zale tried to mimic it and skidded.

That was it.

Tyrion exploded down the final stretch, Nyx roaring beneath him as the finish line lit up ahead.

The crowd screamed. I screamed as excitement bubbled up within me, making me jump on my feet like a young girl who won a class quiz.

Tyrion crossed the finish line first.

It was an absolute victory.

The pit erupted. Cheers echoed. Mechanics ran. Racers dismounted. Spectators flooded toward the barricades.

I jumped down from the platform and rushed toward the crowd, my eyes finding him as he pulled off his helmet, face flushed with exertion but glowing with adrenaline and joy.

"Winner: Tyrion Levi!" the speaker boomed.

A few of the girl racers stood stiffly at the back, clapping with the barest effort.

"Still think I don’t belong?" I called out to them as I passed, unable to resist. Blondie didn’t answer.

I reached Tyrion just as he swung off Nyx, and without hesitation, I threw my arms around him and immediately kissed him.

His arms caught me mid-spin, pulling me flush against him as our lips met in a hungry, heated, and breathless kiss.

The world blurred around us, his hand cradling my jaw, mine clutching his collar. It wasn’t gentle. It was fire, like we’d waited too long and didn’t care who watched.

"That was insane," I whispered into his shoulder.

"I promised you an experience," he murmured back.

"Yeah and you delivered."

"For you, anytime, especially when you screamed ’I love you’ like that, who could ever lose?"

My cheeks turned beet red in realisation that my unplanned confession would yield this effect when I did not know if that was exactly how I felt.

However, before I got the chance to speak or refute him...

Vrooooom.

The crowd quieted.

Another bike pulled in and drove towards us in style and stopped.

Its engine purred like a stalking predator. The body was completely white. From the tires to the helmet, jacket to the clean, high-top sneakers.

The rider pulled up beside Tyrion and killed the engine.

He didn’t say a word as he alighted and walked over to us. Then he just extended his gloved hand.

Tyrion didn’t take it.

"Who are you?" Tyrion’s eyes narrowed warily.

The crowd held their breath as tension returned, sharper than before.

The rider chuckled. "My bad," he said lightly, then reached up and removed the helmet.

A mass of blonde hair fell out, styled back effortlessly. His face emerged beneath the harsh lighting, and for a second, he looked oddly familiar.

My heart skipped, my lips parted.

"...Neil?"

He grinned at me, and then winked.