My boyfriend was obsessed with his car. Clinically, pathologically obsessed. He called his supercar his ‘baby.’ Me, his girlfriend? I was just the passenger. His social media feed was a shrine to his car, with not a single picture of me. When he upgraded the rearview mirrors, the caption read: Got my baby a new toy. I respected his hobby. I never said a word. Until the day I overheard him and his friends outside a private lounge, playing a game they called ‘trading trophies.’ And there, on the massive screen in front of them, was me. A private video of us, playing on a loop, from every angle, capturing every expression. One of his friends sneered, “Beckett, man, your girl’s whole shy-and-innocent act was hot at first, but it gets old fast.” Beckett just laughed, a careless, easy sound. “She’s just a girl. Not as thrilling as the engine, you know? Whatever.” But when that same guy suggested he film something similar with his best friend, Blair, Beckett’s fist flew. 1. The room was filled with the sound of my own soft cries, but outside the door, my face was as white as a ghost. One of Beckett’s friends picked his teeth with a toothpick, looking bored. “Seriously, Beck, she’s no fun. Same few moves over and over. Like a block of wood.” “All that prim and proper stuff is a total turn-off. I’m not even getting hard watching this. That’s a skill, I guess.” The room erupted in derisive laughter. Beckett didn’t defend me. He just laughed along with them, that same carefree sound. “Hey, at least you have something to watch. If it wasn’t for our game, I probably wouldn’t even touch her. She’s plain. My car has more personality.” His friend’s eyebrow shot up, a sly grin spreading across his face. “You’ve been in a dry spell, man. And you’ve got a bombshell like Blair around you all the time. You’re not tempted? C’mon, we’re all friends here. You and Blair should give it a shot. Keep it in the crew, you know? You could even make some new videos for us, spice things up a little.” The easy-going look on Beckett’s face vanished the second he heard Blair’s name. His expression turned thunderous, his face darkening like an ink spill. Without a second thought, he swung, his fist connecting with his friend’s jaw. A tooth went flying. “Don’t you ever talk about her like that,” Beckett snarled. “Blair is family. If I ever hear you thinking that kind of trash again, you’ll answer to me.” The other guys jumped in, trying to de-escalate. “Whoa, Beckett, take it easy. They’re both just girls, right? You didn’t get this bent out of shape sharing your girlfriend’s video. Dave just mentioned Blair, it’s not worth breaking up the crew over.” Beckett shook out his hand, his voice low and dangerous. “My best friend and my girlfriend are two different things. If you can’t even respect one of our own, what kind of friends are you? Let me make this clear for all of you: Blair comes before anyone else. And you will respect her like one of the guys.” That shut them up. They nodded, mumbling apologies. Just like that, Beckett’s roguish grin returned. “Alright, my girl’s coming to pick me up soon. Turn that crap off and keep your mouths shut. She’s sweet. A game like this would break her.” The air felt thick, impossible to breathe. My own hands were digging into my palms, drawing blood, but the pain was a distant echo to the chasm opening in my chest. I pressed a hand to my heart, which felt like it was seizing, and stumbled away from the door, leaning against the wall to stay upright. The veins in my neck pulsed, visible beneath the skin. The small, crimson mole just under the corner of my eye—my family’s sigil—seemed to burn a brighter red. Beckett didn’t know. I wasn’t just some ordinary girl. I come from the Thorne dynasty—a family famous for two things: breathtaking beauty and hearts of ice. We’re born predators, cold and brilliant. I was the anomaly, born with a gentle nature and a softer, quieter beauty. My family believed that only a severe emotional trauma could trigger my true awakening, the surfacing of my Thorne bloodline. They sent me out into the world to be "tempered." I chose Beckett. He was the city’s resident bad boy, notorious for loving cars more than women. I basically chose him as my trial by fire. But after all this time, I had genuinely fallen in love with him. I’d even considered walking away from my family, from my birthright, to stay with him forever as the person I was now. But in the end, he broke my heart anyway. I found the number I hadn’t used in years and dialed. “Julian? It’s time. I’m coming home. Give me three days.” 2. As I turned, I saw Blair storming toward Beckett, and she kicked his car. Hard. “You asshole! You have these meetups all the time and never invite me! I’m gonna find out what you’re really up to!” Beckett’s expression tightened, and for a second, I thought he would explode. But he just sighed. “Come on, B. Don’t take it out on my car. You’re going to hurt your foot.” “It’s not that I don’t want you here. It’s just a bunch of guys. It stinks. It’s not for you.” “Whatever,” Blair scoffed. “I told you, stop treating me like a girl. I’m not like your little girlfriend. And for that, you little shit, you’re going to be punished.” She slung her purse over her shoulder, the chain dragging a long, ugly scratch across the perfect paint job. Then she climbed right onto the hood, leaving two dirty footprints. “What are you waiting for? Give your old man a hand. I’m making a whole collection of these for my Insta story.” Normally, Beckett would fly into a rage if someone even breathed too close to his car. But with Blair, he just shook his head with a helpless smile. He wrapped his hands around her waist and lifted her fully onto the hood, letting her stomp her feet all over his prized possession. Then he took a picture of her with her "trophies" and posted it. The comments from their mutual friends flooded in immediately. “Blair is literally the only person on earth who can touch Beckett’s car!” “Damn right! Anyone else would have a broken wrist by now! Blair’s a legend!” Beckett laughed and flicked her forehead. “You’re such a child.” Then he commented on his own post: It’s just metal. My friends are what matter. The words were a stark, brutal contrast to what he’d said about me. She’s just a girl. Not as thrilling as the engine. Blair was loving it, though she pretended to pout. “Hey, son. Don’t you think my feet are too small? Not very tough. People might see these prints and think some little fling of yours did it.” Playing along, Beckett looked at her feet with mock seriousness. “They are a little dainty.” She smacked him on the back of the head. “Asshole! Don’t you talk down to your dad?” Then an idea struck her. She pulled out her phone and started recording him. “Repeat after me! My dad Blair’s size six feet are the cutest! My girlfriend Seraphina has size eight Sasquatch feet, and no one will ever marry a girl with big feet!” Beckett hesitated. Blair’s face fell. “What’s the problem? It’s just a little punishment. Or have you forgotten who your friends are now that you have a girlfriend? You ungrateful little shit!” That was all it took. He caved instantly. “Fine, fine, I’ll say it! I’d rather piss off my sweet, understanding girlfriend than deal with you when you’re mad.” I watched from the shadows, my heart turning to ice, and only stepped out when they were done. 3. When Beckett saw me, he told Blair to get in the car. She slid right into the passenger seat without a second thought. I didn’t say anything. I just reached for the handle of the back door. The second my fingertips brushed against the car, Beckett’s reflexes took over. He grabbed my arm and yanked it away, shoving me back. I stumbled, slamming into a metal pole. The sharp edge of a nail sticking out of it sliced my forehead open. I remembered the first time we met. I had accidentally touched his car then, too. He’d kicked me away. “Your hands are filthy! Haven’t you ever seen a car before, you hick? This isn’t something you can just touch!” Later, when he was trying to win me over, he’d sent a fleet of luxury cars to deliver flowers to me for a month straight. He promised he’d work on his "obsession," that he would always put me first. A year had passed. He hadn't changed at all. I thought he was like that with everyone. I never imagined Blair was the exception. And I was nothing. Still just a stranger who wasn’t allowed to get close to his car. I pressed a hand to my bleeding forehead and bowed my head in apology. Beckett froze for a second, realizing he’d gone too far. He looked flustered. “I’m sorry. I overreacted. Sera, you know how I am about my car. I can’t help it. Don’t be mad at me.” “Let’s get you to a hospital. That was a rusty nail, you need a tetanus shot.” I nodded, assuming that out of guilt, he would finally let me ride in his car. But when I took a step forward, he stopped me. He led me to the trunk and opened it. Inside was a small, pink electric scooter. “Sera, you know my car is for racing, not for carrying passengers. So, I bought you this! See? I decorated it with all the things you like. I even put on the little bows myself.” “From now on, you can just ride this behind me. I’ll clear a path for you on your way to work.” His face was lit up with a happy, blissful smile as he imagined our future. My heart went completely cold. So, he still thought we had a future. I didn’t. I glanced at Blair in the passenger seat, a smirk playing on her lips, and the bitterness was so strong I could taste it. Noticing my expression, Beckett actually tried to explain. “Sera, don’t get the wrong idea. Blair’s different. She’s always been terrible with directions, gets lost so easily. I can’t let her go home alone. I have to drive her. It’s just this once.” Any other day, I would have swallowed the humiliation and quietly obeyed. But today, a fire I couldn’t control was roaring to life inside me. I fought the overwhelming urge to smash his car to pieces and spoke in a flat, mechanical voice. “No, thank you. My head hurts. I don’t have the strength to ride. You take her home. I’ll take the subway.” To my shock, he nodded, relieved. “Okay, the subway is safer anyway. It’s late for Blair to be out, so I’ll just drop her off.” I watched his car speed away, the engine roaring, and a familiar ache pulsed in my chest. He was worried about Blair getting home late, but he was perfectly fine with me taking the subway alone at night, injured. A bitter laugh escaped my lips as I sank to the curb. Just then, a sleek, black luxury car pulled up beside me. A cold, familiar voice cut through the night. “Get in.” I slid into the passenger seat, feeling a little lost. “Julian? What are you doing here? I said three days.” My family was cold, but they were fiercely protective. As long as I was a Thorne, they would have my back, no questions asked. “Mother and Father are pleased you’re coming home. But they did mention that for someone about to have her awakening, you’re still crying over a boy on the side of the road.” I traced the crimson mole under my eye. “It’s coming. I can feel it… I’m having trouble controlling my temper. Next time, I might just smash his car. It’s not like we can’t afford it.” A rare, faint smile touched my brother’s lips. He half-closed his eyes, his voice a lazy drawl. “Good.” A beat. “Consider the budget for smashing his cars approved. As many as you like.” 4. The next day, a message from Blair popped up on my phone. Seraphina, you’re going to miss the race today. I heard Beckett is planning to announce you as his girlfriend to the whole world after he wins. But I might have swapped his announcement video for something a little more… fun. You should come see it. It’s going to be a show. A jolt of alarm went through me. “What are you planning?” She didn’t reply. Instead, she sent a video file. I opened it. It was the video from the lounge. The private, intimate video of me and Beckett. Blair was going to play it for everyone at the racetrack. How did she even get it? There was only one person who could have given it to her. Beckett. The pain was like a thousand needles stabbing my heart. How could he be so cruel? I jumped on the scooter and raced toward the track, praying I could stop her before it was too late. I pushed the little motor to its limit, weaving through traffic. I finally arrived just as the race was ending. What I didn’t see were the hundreds of thumbtacks scattered across the entrance. The moment my tires hit them, they popped, one after another, hissing as the air escaped. But I was going too fast to stop. I could only watch in horror as the scooter careened forward, completely out of my control. And then, Blair appeared out of nowhere. She just stood there, directly in my path. The crowd screamed. The racers on the track noticed the commotion. I saw Beckett, who had been fighting for first place, wrench his steering wheel in a 180-degree turn, throwing his car into a reckless, desperate drift. Panic seized me. I looked at him, my face a mask of terror, and screamed his name. “Beckett, I’m scared!” But the look he gave me wasn't one of concern. It was disappointment. Accusation. Hatred. Then he closed his eyes for a split second, and gunned the engine, aiming his car directly at me. “Sera, you shouldn’t have done this to Blair,” his voice crackled through my memory. “To save her, I have to hit you first. Don’t worry. I’ll be quick. It won’t hurt too much.” The world dissolved into a ringing silence as my body was thrown through the air. I saw his car, its trajectory broken by the impact, slam into the track barrier. CRUNCH. The front end crumpled like paper. Beckett stumbled out of the wreck, clutching a face slick with blood, but his eyes were fixed on one person. He ran, staggering, straight to Blair. The last thing I saw before I lost consciousness was him cradling a stunned Blair in his arms, whispering words of comfort, without a single glance in my direction. When I woke up, I was in a hospital. My brother, Julian, was sitting by my bed. From outside the door, I could hear Beckett’s frantic shouts. “Let me go! I need to see her!” But the person in that bed was no longer the girl he knew. An uncontrollable rage surged through me. I grabbed the fruit bowl from the bedside table and hurled it at the door with all my strength. “Shut up! You’re so loud! Get out! All of you, GET OUT!”
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