“Who said I was joining your team?”
Elara gave a short, humorless laugh.
“You really think you still get to act like my brother?”
Callum’s smug expression froze.
Even the club members beside him stared at her in disbelief.
“You’re not joining this relay race?!”
Every year, Elara had raced for Callum’s club without fail.
Yet she had never once been invited to their pre-race dinners or post-race celebrations.
To them, she had been little more than a workhorse—someone who won races so Rosalind and the club could take the credit.
Callum frowned.
“Don’t be ungrateful.
Racing with us is a privilege.”
Elara smiled, but there wasn’t even a hint of warmth in it.
“An honor?
Then tell me this—does the official roster for your club even have my name on it?”
Callum looked irritated, as though she were arguing over something trivial.
“Why does that matter?
The official slot belongs to Rosalind.
Letting you race as the substitute is already more than enough.”
Elara gave a short laugh, though there was no humor in her eyes.
“Every year I’m listed as the substitute, but I’m the one who actually races.
Rosalind gets the trophy.
Rosalind gets the prize money.
So tell me, Callum—what exactly am I supposed to feel honored about?”
“Rosalind is more dependable, so of course I put her in at the end,” Callum shot back.
“And she’s every bit as talented as you.
Besides, she spent years being treated as the adopted daughter because of you.
The least you can do is give her something in return.”
The others quickly joined in.
“Yeah, Rosalind’s a really good girl.”
“She cares a lot about racing too.”
“There’s nothing wrong with her standing with the team to accept the award.”
“Elara, you’re family.
Don’t make such a big issue out of it.”
Elara curled her lip, eyes full of disdain.
“Sorry, but I’m not part of the Weston family anymore.
And no, I won’t be racing for you either.
If you want medals, go win them yourselves.”
Callum had not expected her refusal.
The Elara he knew had always done what he asked.
Her open defiance sent his temper through the roof.
“Elara!
You really think our team can’t win without you?” His voice rose.
“The only reason I asked you to race was because I felt sorry for you.
I thought you could use the prize money so you wouldn’t have to depend on some older man.
Is that how you plan to support yourself now—by becoming someone’s sugar baby?”
He didn’t hold back at all.
And Elara didn’t hold back either.
She raised her hand and slapped him hard across the face.
The slap cracked through the lobby.
The force sent Callum to the floor.
The corner of his mouth split, and a trace of blood appeared.
For a moment, he could only stare at her, too stunned to process that Elara had actually hit him.
“You actually hit me?!”
Elara flicked her wrist, her face expressionless, calm to the point of chilling.
“Isn’t Rosalind so capable?
Then let her take you all to the podium.
Stop bothering me.
And if you keep pushing me, I’ll make sure you won’t be able to drive at all.”
She had already joined Lennox Carr’s racing club.
This time, she was going to let them see for themselves—once she became their opponent, how exactly were they supposed to win?
Being knocked to the floor in front of a crowd was more than Callum’s pride could take.
Already hot-tempered, he sprang up and lunged for Elara’s collar.
The commotion on this side was getting louder by the second.
The restaurant security rushed over and stopped Callum, and Rowan Stafford, who had only just left not long ago, hurried back as well.
Callum fought against the guards holding him, a red handprint stark across his cheek.
“So this is the real you, Elara?
This is how you’ve been treating Rosalind all these years?
I tried to help you, and this is what I get?
Fine.
If you won’t listen to reason, I’ll make you listen.”
“What do you think you’re doing?” Rowan stepped in front of Elara, shielding her.
“You’re harassing my guest in my own restaurant.
Get them all out.
And from today on, none of them is welcome at any Skyline Pavilion property.”
“And who the hell do you think you are?” Callum struggled against the guards.
“The customer is always right, isn’t that what they say?
You think you can throw me out?
No one is stopping me from dealing with my own sister.”
A few regulars nearby naturally recognized Rowan, and one of them couldn’t help speaking up.
“Kid from the Weston family, if I were you, I wouldn’t act so wild in front of Mr.
Stafford.”
Anyone familiar with the city’s elite knew Rowan was close to the Whitmores, and that his wife came from one of the world’s largest hospitality families.
The Westons were hardly in the same league.
But Callum had no clue.
He still insisted on making a scene.
Rowan did not argue further.
He raised a hand, and security escorted Callum and the others out.
“From now on, every Skyline Pavilion property will refuse service to the Weston family.
If you want to throw your weight around as a customer, do it somewhere else.”
Skyline Pavilion was far more than a single rooftop restaurant.
Its group included upscale cafés, bars, and restaurants favored by the city’s elite, and its catering teams handled many high-society events.
Being blacklisted across the group would shut Callum out of far more than dinner reservations.
Only after security put him outside, under the disdainful looks of nearby guests, did Callum finally begin to realize how badly he had miscalculated.
That middle-aged man was actually the owner of Skyline Pavilion.
And Elara really was his honored guest.
How was that possible?
He had assumed Elara would have nothing once the Weston family cast her out.
So how did she know the owner of Skyline Pavilion?
Adrian came over from the elevator.
His gaze fell on the ruined cake in Elara’s hand, and he frowned.
“The driver said you never came down.
What happened?”
“Nothing much.” Elara shook her head, her tone light.
“Just got bitten by a couple of dogs.”
Then she looked at him again.
“You finished that fast?”
In truth, Adrian had come back because he was worried something had happened to her.
He did not explain.
He simply nodded.
“Let’s go.
I’ll take you home.”
When the elevator arrived, he held the door and let her step in first.
Elara stepped inside without hesitation.
Adrian occasionally leaned closer to speak to her, their shoulders nearly brushing—close enough to draw curious looks from the people around them.
No one could remember seeing Adrian behave this warmly toward an unfamiliar young woman in public.
Callum was still standing by the roadside, stewing over Elara’s business, when he saw it again—a tall man in an expensive tailored suit opened the car door for her, and Elara bent down and got in.
The sedan’s license plate still ended in five eights.
A vanity plate like that was not something an ordinary family could easily obtain.
So what exactly had happened to Elara?
While Callum was still staring after the car, one of the racers patted his shoulder.
“Come on.
Didn’t you say you still had to go home for your sister’s birthday?”
Callum had been consumed with preparations for the upcoming race.
Remembering Rosalind’s birthday, he finally pulled himself together and headed home.
But the moment he walked in, he knew something was wrong.
The house felt tense, nothing like the cheerful atmosphere he expected on Rosalind’s birthday.
“Why isn’t the birthday party happening?” Callum asked, frowning.
“Where’s Rosalind?”
Broderick kept a straight face, one hand pressing against his temple like he had a killer headache.
He looked drained.
“Don’t even mention her.
You’ve got no idea how huge a mess she’s made.”