Chapter 1 Ella

I adjusted the hem of my sweater. The Cafe smelled faintly of roasted coffee and fresh pastries, but I barely noticed. I moved through the morning crowd like I belonged ,taking orders, smiling politely, blending in perfectly. Here, I was Ella Martin , a name I borrowed from a life I wished was mine.

I had escaped Paris, leaving everything behind . My identity, my past, my family. I had promised myself never to speak or even think of my family name again. I’d always had a knack for fashion; back in the day, I was the stylish one between me and my twin brother.

A tear slipped down my cheek as thoughts of my brother crashed over me. He had died  and it was all my fault. I quickly wiped my eyes.

“No time for self-pity,” I told myself. Then, forcing that practiced smile back onto my face, I turned to attend to the customers.

“That was excruciating , we’re finally done!” Sophia, my roommate, exclaimed loudly. She’d always been the hyper one. We’d been friends for a while now, both saving up so we could attend fashion school. We shared that same passion.

“There’s somewhere I want to take you,” Sophia whined, tugging on my sweater.

“What’s this place again, Soph?” I rolled my eyes, already knowing where this was headed.

“C’mon, it’s the weekend already! Loosen up , let’s go out!” she said with enthusiasm.

I gave a small chuckle and asked her where exactly we were going.

“Just trust me. It’s a surprise,” she whispered.

Well, I didn’t have any plans, so I might as well go with her.

We reached the bus terminal , just a five-minute walk from the cafe where we worked. We sat comfortably, and Sophia continued talking about her boyfriend, but I wasn’t really listening. My thoughts drifted. I’d always imagined being able to turn back the hands of time. I wished I could.

We got home an hour later. After taking a bath, we started getting ready for the night out. I tied my long, shiny, straight black hair into a ponytail. Without knowing where we were headed, I decided to keep my outfit simple . Black leather pants, a white tube top, my worn-out black leather jacket, and black leather boots.

I sat in front of the mirror, lazily applying my makeup. A bit of foundation, mascara, and a touch of pink lipstick. Then I sat on my bed, waiting for Sophia to finish hers.

She wore a tight black leather skirt with a red crop-top jacket and high-heeled boots. She looked stunning. Her long, curly red hair parted sideways, cascading down to her waist.

I remembered my rebellious phase. The times I dyed my hair red just to piss off my parents.

“You look so good, babe. Let me just add the finishing touch,” Sophia said, brushing blush across my cheeks.

“So… are we meeting any familiar faces tonight?” I asked as she grabbed her red purse.

“Yeah, Alex will be there. He’s saving our spots,” she giggled.

Alex, her current boyfriend. I gave them two weeks before they broke up again. Sophia was wild and changed boyfriends depending on her mood. She reminded me a lot of my younger self.

Sophia’s life hadn’t been easy. She was an orphan trying to navigate the world on her own. Her parents had died in a car accident when she was five, and she’d lived in an orphanage until she turned eighteen. I didn’t blame her for her wildness , she had every right to chase the life she wanted.

I enjoyed being around her; she kept me happy and motivated. Without her, life would’ve been grey and boring. I cherished our friendship deeply.

An hour later, we arrived at an alley. The air was different , thick with smoke, gasoline, and something electric that prickled under my skin. Music pounded in the distance , heavy bass echoing through the empty streets ,and the closer we got, the louder the engines roared.

Sophia grinned like she’d been waiting to show me this secret for ages.

“Trust me, Ella,” she said, tugging my hand. “You’ll love it.”

Love it? I wasn’t sure I’d even survive it.

The narrow path opened into an abandoned warehouse lot lit by flashing headlights and fire barrels. Dozens of bikes lined up in a rough circle, their engines growling like wild animals ready to hunt. People stood everywhere, leaning on bikes, shouting over the music, laughing like the night belonged to them.

I could smell fuel and leather and hear the clash of metal boots against concrete. It wasn’t just a race , it was chaos, freedom, and danger all rolled into one.

“They call this the Midnight Circuit,” Sophia shouted over the noise. “The best riders in the UK race here. No rules, no limits.”

My gaze caught on one of the racers , a tall figure straddling a black bike, helmet tucked under his arm. Tattoos snaked down his forearm, his dark hair catching the faint glow of headlights. He wasn’t smiling like the others. He just stared ahead ,calm, dangerous, focused.

Before I could take in the view, Sophia dragged me toward Alex, who waved at me. I gave a polite smile, but my eyes were already scanning the lineup, searching for that same racer.

“It’s about to start!” Sophia squealed.

A woman stepped into the center of the track, hips swaying to the rhythm of the pounding bass. Her black leather shorts glimmered under the flashing lights, and her heels clicked sharply against the concrete as she raised both arms high.

Two flags fluttered in her hands ,one white, one black, both checkered , snapping in the wind like restless wings. The crowd fell silent for half a breath.

She gave the riders a teasing smile, eyes glinting beneath smoky makeup. Then, with a sharp flick of her wrists, the flags cut through the air,the signal.

Engines roared to life in a thunderous chorus, the ground trembling beneath my feet. The riders exploded forward in a blur of chrome and smoke. The flag girl stepped back, her hair whipping in the wind as chaos swallowed the night.

The crowd screamed , a blur of sound and bodies pressing closer to the barricades as the racers shot down the cracked stretch of concrete.

I couldn’t breathe. It wasn’t just the smoke ,it was the speed, the heat, the danger. Every part of me screamed that I shouldn’t be here… but I couldn’t look away.

One rider broke ahead of the pack , him. The one I’d noticed earlier. His bike was black with a hint of blue, polished but scarred, the engine snarling like it had a life of its own. He leaned into every turn like he was born for it, the back wheel skidding dangerously close to the edge before straightening with perfect control.

“That’s Damien,” Sophia shouted beside me, grinning ear to ear. “The king of the circuit!”

The race blurred into speed, smoke, and chaos. The flag girl’s laughter echoed in the distance as riders fought for dominance, engines howling under the weight of their fury.

And there he was ,Damien , tearing through the night like he owned it.

For a second, he looked up. Just a flicker ,a glance through his helmet visor  and somehow, impossibly, his gaze found mine.

My breath caught.

Then he was gone , swallowed by the roar of the crowd and the storm of engines. But that one look lingered, burning like the scent of gasoline in the air.

He won.

The crowd erupted around me, shouts, whistles, smoke curling into the night sky. But my eyes weren’t on them.

He’d taken off his helmet, his dark hair slick with sweat, the edge of a grin tugging at his lips. And then, he started walking toward me.

Each step felt deliberate, slow, heavy with something I couldn’t name. The noise faded. The lights, the crowd, the chaos ,all of it blurred until it was just him and the faint hum of my heartbeat in my ears.

“Is it me,” Sophia asked, eyes glittering, “or is Damien walking toward us?”