Alaric

"Harold?" Dami repeated slowly after I asked the question, his voice filled with clear confusion as he turned slightly in the passenger seat to properly look at me.

I kept my eyes fixed on the road ahead while Monaco glittered around us beneath the night sky like a city built entirely out of gold and glass. "Yeah," I answered quietly. "Do you know him?"

Dami frowned slightly before leaning back against the leather seat of the Ferrari.

"I mean... I know you talk about him a lot," he admitted after a moment. "But I have never actually met him before."

Something inside my chest tightened immediately.

Dami continued casually, completely unaware of the sudden pressure building inside my head again.

"You promised to introduce us one day," he added with a small laugh. "I actually remember that pretty clearly and it’s weird that I never met him all these time.’’

I swallowed hard before briefly glancing toward him.

"When?"

"A few months after your accident, I think," Dami answered thoughtfully while looking out the window toward the coastline below. "You told me Harold understood you better than most people did and that apparently we would get along because we had the same humor."

The pressure behind my eyes worsened instantly.

I forced out a quiet laugh despite the discomfort slowly crawling beneath my skin.

"That sounds dramatic," I muttered.

Dami grinned faintly. "You were dramatic after the accident."

Normally I would have immediately insulted him back for that comment, but tonight I barely reacted at all because my mind kept replaying the footage from earlier over and over again.

Was I going crazy?

I tightened my grip slightly around the steering wheel before exhaling slowly through my nose.

Dami noticed the shift in my expression almost immediately.

"Hey," he asked more carefully this time, "is everything alright?"

I nodded too quickly.

"Yeah. I am fine."

The lie felt disgusting in my mouth because I genuinely did not know if I was fine anymore.

Thankfully, Dami did not push further.

The rest of the drive passed quietly afterward while the winding streets of Monte Carlo carried us farther toward the Larvotto cliffs where the De Villier estate overlooked the Mediterranean like something belonging to European royalty rather than an actual family home.

The wrought-iron gates opened silently the moment my Ferrari approached, revealing the massive private driveway lined with ancient olive trees imported directly from southern Italy decades ago by my grandfather. Soft golden lights illuminated the pathway beautifully while fountains carved from white Carrara marble shimmered beneath the night sky.

Dami stared through the windshield quietly for a few seconds before shaking his head beneath his breath.

"It’s been a while since I last came here,’’ he muttered.

The villa stood proudly against the cliffs ahead of us, all towering glass walls, white marble, and soft golden lighting reflecting against the dark sea below.

The De Villier estate never looked like a normal home at night. It looked like the kind of place hidden inside luxury architecture magazines beside headlines about billionaires and European dynasties.

In Monaco, space itself was wealth.

And my family had more of it than most people could even imagine.

I parked near the entrance beside my mother’s Bentley and Bastien’s Aston Martin before stepping out alongside Dami.

Cold sea air brushed against my skin immediately.

Before we could even properly reach the entrance, the enormous doors swung open.

"Alaric!"

Catherine appeared first.

My younger sister practically flew down the marble staircase barefoot despite wearing what was probably several thousand euros worth of cream cashmere and silk. Diamond bracelets glittered softly against her wrist while excitement completely brightened her face the moment she saw us.

She wrapped her arms tightly around me before immediately releasing me and grabbing Dami’s arm dramatically.

"Oh my God," she gasped. "You actually came, Dami.’’

Dami laughed instantly. "That sounds strangely threatening."

"It is threatening," Catherine replied seriously. "You are sitting beside me during dinner whether you like it or not."

"I suddenly feel unsafe."

A small smile tugged faintly at my lips despite everything weighing heavily inside my chest.

Then another voice interrupted from deeper inside the foyer.

"Dami."

Bastien stepped forward calmly from near the staircase.

Unlike Catherine’s warmth, Bastien carried himself with the same polished elegance he always did.

His dark charcoal suit looked perfectly tailored against his broad frame while the expensive watch resting beneath his sleeve probably cost more than most apartments in Monaco itself.

He smiled warmly toward Dami before extending his hand.

"It is good to see you again."

"You too," Dami answered politely while shaking it.

"I watched your post-qualifying interview," Bastien continued smoothly. "You handled the media far better than Ferrari usually does."

Dami laughed softly. "That might actually be the nicest compliment I have ever received from someone in Monaco."

Bastien smiled faintly at that.

Then his eyes shifted toward me.

The warmth disappeared so subtly that most people probably would not have noticed it.

’’Hi Bastien,’’ i greeted him gently but he didn’t respond.

Yes, he still hates me.

The familiar tension settled quietly beneath my ribs almost immediately.

Before either of us could continue, my mother suddenly appeared upstairs.

"Dami!"

Beatrice De Villier descended the sweeping marble staircase gracefully like she belonged inside an old European film. Her champagne-colored silk gown flowed elegantly around her while emerald earrings glittered beneath the chandelier lights overhead. Even at home, my mother somehow looked prepared for a royal gala at all times.

She kissed Dami warmly on both cheeks before holding his face dramatically between perfectly manicured hands.

"You are far too thin," she complained immediately. "Ferrari clearly does not feed their drivers properly."

Dami burst out laughing. "Mrs. De Villier, I promise you they feed us."

"Nonsense. You are eating everything tonight."

Only after properly fussing over him did my mother finally turn toward me.

Her expression softened instantly.

"My darling boy."

She wrapped her arms around me gently while jasmine perfume surrounded me immediately, and for one brief second the suffocating pressure inside my chest eased slightly.

Then it returned the moment I looked up and saw Bastien watching me silently from across the foyer.

I forced a smile on my face but Bastien didn’t smile back at me.

Dinner began not long afterward.

The dining room overlooked the Mediterranean through towering glass walls stretching nearly from floor to ceiling while crystal chandeliers reflected softly against polished marble floors.

Servants moved quietly throughout the room pouring wine imported from my grandfather’s private vineyard while soft classical music drifted faintly through hidden speakers somewhere overhead.

Catherine carried most of the conversation almost immediately.

"I still cannot believe that overtake during the final lap," she said proudly while pointing her fork toward me. "The way you climbed back to second place was absolutely insane. You almost won against Nico Park!’’

A faint smile touched my lips. "You watched the race?"

"Obviously," she scoffed dramatically. "Do you seriously think I would miss your comeback race?"

"He drove brilliantly," Dami added calmly beside her. "The move into turn eleven should not have worked at all."

My mother smiled softly. "Your father would have been very proud."

The comment made something painful tighten quietly inside my chest.

A brief silence settled across the table afterward before Bastien let out a soft laugh while slowly swirling the wine inside his crystal glass.

"Of course he drove brilliantly," he said calmly. "Alaric always lands on his feet somehow."

The atmosphere shifted immediately.

Catherine visibly stiffened.

My mother sighed quietly beneath her breath like she already knew where this conversation was heading.

Meanwhile I stared silently at my plate while tension slowly coiled tighter beneath my skin.

What the hell was he about to say now? I wondered.

Bastien finally looked directly at me.

"It must be comforting," he continued smoothly, "being able to return to racing so easily after everything that happened while the rest of us remained here trying to rebuild what was left afterward."

"Bastien," my mother warned softly.

But he ignored her completely.

"You’ll get the interviews, magazine covers, podium celebrations, and fans screaming your name every weekend," he continued calmly enough that his words almost sounded conversational. "Meanwhile this family spent years trying to survive the aftermath of that accident."

Dami shifted uncomfortably beside me almost immediately.

Catherine lowered her fork onto the table with visible frustration. "Can we not do this tonight?" she muttered quietly.

But Bastien’s gaze never left mine.

"I simply find it interesting," he continued smoothly, "how some people manage to move forward so beautifully while everyone else remains trapped inside what they left behind."

My appetite disappeared completely.

And the worst part was that some small broken part of me still believed every single word he said.

Because no matter how many years passed since that night, some part of me still carried the unbearable feeling that my father’s blood had remained permanently on my hands ever since the accident.