CHAPTER 79: RUIN HER REPUTATION

Eleanor’s POV

My head was pounding, a relentless drumbeat against my skull. I squeezed my eyes shut against the morning light. Gosh, what happened? Oh, right. The drinks. The club.

I tried to push past the fog, grasping for other memories. I remembered the loud music, the blur of lights. Coming back to the estate. The triplets... their furious faces... but the conversation was a complete blank. What did we even talk about?

Oh, for Moon’s sake, Beatrice’s voice cut through the haze, sharp and exasperated. Shall I remind your dull human brain? You almost got us both killed last night.

What? How?

You declared a formal rejection, she said, her tone dripping with sarcasm. Our heart nearly gave out. It was a spectacularly stupid move, even for you.

Fragments of memory rushed back—the searing pain in my chest, my legs buckling, the world going black.

I remembered the sensation of being lifted, strong arms carrying me. That must be how I ended up back in my room. Right. Note to self: never, ever try that again.

I sat up, the movement making my head swim. I looked down and realized I was wearing a soft, silk nightgown. I didn’t remember changing. A flush of heat crept up my neck. Who...?

Shaking the thought away, I swung my legs out of bed. I needed water and some pain relievers for this hangover. I had never drank before, and I vowed I would never do it again. The alcohol was the only reason I’d been bold enough to agree to those insane terms with the masked men at the club. The whole thing was crazy.

I stepped out of my room and made my way carefully down the grand staircase, holding onto the banister for support.

Sir Alfred was in the foyer, as impeccably composed as ever. "Good morning, Miss Eleanor," he said, his eyes holding a knowing glint. "You must be feeling rather weak after last night’s... exertions."

"Good morning, Sir Alfred," I managed, my voice raspy. "I was wondering if I could possibly get something for my head?"

"Of course, Miss. Right this way."

He led me to the dining room where, to my immense gratitude, a glass of water and two pain relievers were already waiting beside my usual place setting.

I sank into the chair and quickly swallowed the pills. I didn’t understand why he was so kind to me. He barely knew me, and I was just a source of chaos in his perfectly ordered household.

A sudden, mortifying thought struck me. I looked up at him, my cheeks heating. "Sir Alfred... I don’t quite remember last night. Could you... do you know who changed my clothes?"

He looked at me, his expression utterly unreadable. "What do you think, Miss Eleanor?"

My heart plummeted. Oh, no. Had it been one of the brothers? The idea sent a wave of panic and something else, something I refused to name, through me.

Seeing my horrified expression, Alfred’s stern face finally broke into a quiet chuckle. "I apologize for teasing you, Miss. It was two of the female staff who saw to you. You have no need for concern."

I let out a huge sigh of relief, my shoulders slumping. "Thank you."

Why would he scare me like that.

An hour later, after a shower and a change into my work clothes, I felt almost human again. Alfred guided me to a waiting car, and I slid inside, profoundly relieved that I hadn’t run into any of the brothers or Scarlet. The memory of last night’s searing pain was still too fresh.

Rejecting them was officially off the table; I never wanted to feel that again. But if I couldn’t reject them, what was I supposed to do? The question loomed, unanswered and terrifying.

***

The car pulled up to the Serpent’s Kiss paddock. I stepped out, the familiar scent of fuel doing little to calm my nerves. I looked around for Mira and Roxy, but they were nowhere to be seen.

Instead, I spotted Mr. Maxwell huddled with two other men I recognized from the team. I approached them cautiously.

"Eleanor, there you are," Maxwell said, turning to me. His expression was grim. "I was just informing these men here about my discussion with the higher-ups." He gestured to the two men. "After the... incident the other day, with your drive and the appearance of those... warlocks... management is concerned. The theory is that the tracks are somehow leveling up, becoming more dangerous. We don’t know how or why it’s happening, but it won’t stop us."

His phone buzzed loudly, cutting him off. He glanced at the screen and sighed. "I have to take this. Eleanor, your teammates can fill you in on the details. And tell your friends they’ll be doing a run-up later as a penalty for their tardiness." With that, he strode away, phone pressed to his ear.

The two men turned their attention to me. The first one, with close-cropped brown hair and a friendly smile, extended his hand. "Liam Carter," he said.

The other, a taller man with a more reserved demeanor, gave a curt nod. "Ben Jones."

I accepted Liam’s handshake and gave Ben a small, polite smile in return. "Eleanor Moore."

"This is the first time we’re really getting to know one of our new teammates," Liam said, his smile easy. "Ben and I were just saying we should get to know our female colleagues better."

I wasn’t sure if that was a straightforward comment or a clumsy attempt at a compliment, so I just nodded vaguely.

Ben, his arms crossed, cut to the chase. "Maxwell spoke highly of you. Said you handled yourself impressively yesterday."

"I was just lucky," I deflected, the memory of the warlocks’ chilling presence making my skin prickle. "What exactly did Mr. Maxwell tell you?"

Liam’s expression turned serious. "He said we have to be way more prepared from now on. The theory is that the more the tracks are used, the more it evolves. Releasing new creatures."

Ben let out a short, dismissive grunt. "That’s the speculation, anyway. I doubt the higher-ups will ever tell us what’s really happening."

A cold dread washed over me. My connection to the tracks—the way I could control the rogue vehicle, the strange voices promising strength just before the warlocks appeared—can’t just be a coincidence. My Lineage is somehow connected to the shadow cult. Should i not really find out where i came from?

Our somber discussion was shattered by the sound of hurried footsteps and raised voices.

"There you are!" Mira called out, pulling Roxy along as they rushed toward us. Their faces were etched with bit of panic.

"Mr. Maxwell isn’t happy you’re late," I started, but Mira cut me off.

"That’s not the issue right now." Her voice was tight. "It’s your family, Eleanor."

My blood ran cold. "What?"

"Check the news," Roxy said, her tone uncharacteristically grim. "You are trending."

With trembling fingers, I pulled out my phone and checked the news. The screen lit up, and I immediately understood. A video of me, physically dragging a shouting Dickson out of my old apartment building was going viral. Right below it was another video: my sister, Priscilla.

I pressed play. There she was, pale and trembling in a hospital bed she absolutely did not need, her voice a weak whisper as she spun her lies. She spoke of her "incurable illness" and how I had cruelly mistreated her for years.

The climax of her story was how I had publicly humiliated her on her wedding day out of jealousy, because she was marrying the man I was "still desperately in love with"—Dickson, the narcissistic fool I thanked the stars I’d escaped.

My vision blurred with a mix of fury and disbelief. Why were they doing this? I had cut all ties. What did they possibly have to gain?

I kept scrolling. The comments were a cesspool. People were calling me unhinged, violent. And then I saw that someone had connected the dots, stating I’d used "scheming ways" to land a spot as a racer with the prestigious Vexxon Tech Corp.

But the worst was yet to come. My breath hitched as I saw the next viral clip. It was a grainy video from the club, showing the moment the three masked men had danced on me. And right after it, a series of photos, taken from angles that created a terrible illusion. The photos made it look intimate, compromising.

"They don’t understand what happened at the club!" Mira said, her voice rising in frustration as she looked over my shoulder. "How did Priscilla even get these photos?!"

I stared at the screen, the world tilting on its axis. My past and my present were colliding in the most publicly destructive way possible, and I had no idea how to stop it.