Aliyah's POV
I stared at the ceiling long after my tears had dried on the pillow. My chest still ached from the weight of last night's decision, but somewhere in the cracks of my heart, a new vow had taken root. I would protect this child. No matter the cost, no matter the sacrifices, this child would live and never know shame.
I whispered it to myself, again and again, like a prayer, like a battle cry. "I'll protect you."
And I meant it.
By dawn, something in me shifted. For the first time since the storm, I pulled myself out of bed with purpose. I was going to live differently. I was going to train harder, eat better, focus fiercely on becoming the racer I was born to be. My child deserved a mother who didn't bow under pressure.
I stood in the shower, water streaming over me, washing away the stains of fear, though not completely. My hand pressed unconsciously against my stomach. "We'll be okay," I murmured to the invisible life growing inside me. "I'll make sure of it."
When I dressed in my biker outfit, lacing up my boots with steady hands, it felt like putting on armor. I stared at my reflection in the mirror—hair tied up, leather jacket clinging tight, determination blazing in my eyes. For the first time since I learned the truth, I felt almost powerful.
***
Papa's club roared with life when I arrived. Engines revved, laughter echoed, the scent of gasoline and sweat clung to the air. The sight of the track, the glint of bikes lined up, ignited something in me. This was where I belonged.
Papa spotted me from across the yard, his face lighting up. His arms folded, and he gave me that familiar look—half proud, half cautious.
"Aliyah," he called, striding toward me. "You're early."
I forced a smile. "I need to be. I want to push harder today."
His brows lifted. "That's the spirit. My girl's back." He squeezed my shoulder gently. "You've made me worried, you know."
"I'm fine," I lied, keeping my tone steady. "I just needed to clear my head."
Before Papa could respond, an unwelcome voice sliced through the noise.
"Well, well, look who finally crawled out of hiding."
My stomach turned. Cohen.
He leaned casually against his bike, a sneer stretched across his lips. His eyes raked over me with venomous familiarity, making my skin crawl.
"What do you want, Cohen?" I asked sharply, gripping my gloves so tightly the leather bit into my palms.
He chuckled darkly. "Relax, sweetheart. Just came to see if the golden girl still had her shine. But then again, everyone's already seen everything there is to see, haven't they?"
Heat rushed to my cheeks. My fists trembled. The images. The betrayal. His words pierced deep.
"Shut up," I hissed.
"Why?" He tilted his head, eyes glinting with cruelty. "Don't act like you don't remember. Those pictures went viral. Every racer, every fan, every stranger has already feasted their eyes on you. And you think you can come back here, pretend to be pure?"
Something inside me snapped.
"Enough!" My voice shook as it echoed through the club.
Heads turned. Engines died down. A few racers paused, watching, their faces hardening as they caught the tone of Cohen's voice.
But Cohen only smirked wider, taking a step closer until his breath brushed my face. "You should've stayed gone, Aliyah. You'll never be more than a scandal. Who would take you seriously now? Who would—"
"Shut your filthy mouth!" I screamed, the sound ripping from me raw and furious.
In an instant, racers surged forward, some grabbing Cohen by the arms, others yelling. The room buzzed with outrage.
And then Papa was there.
He moved so fast I barely registered it before his fist collided squarely with Cohen's stomach. The sickening thud made Cohen double over, gasping.
"You dare," Papa growled, his face thunderous, "mock my daughter under my roof?"
Cohen coughed, staggering, but Papa grabbed him by the collar, his eyes blazing with fury.
"You're nothing but a disgrace," Papa spat. He shoved him backward into the waiting hands of the other racers. "Drag him out. If he shows his face here again, he won't leave on his feet."
"Yes, boss," two men said firmly, hauling Cohen out as he struggled and cursed.
I stood frozen, my chest heaving. The adrenaline left me trembling. Cohen's words still rang in my ears, sharp and poisonous.
Papa turned back to me, his features softening instantly. "Aliyah—"
But I couldn't. I couldn't let him see me break. Without another word, I ran. My boots pounded against the concrete as I shoved the restroom door open and locked myself inside.
The mirror caught me—pale, trembling, tears spilling uncontrollably. My hands flew to my stomach, pressing desperately.
"Please," I whispered, choking on sobs. "Please be okay. Please, nothing will happen to you."
I leaned against the sink, my shoulders shaking violently. The thought of losing this baby—of losing the only piece of myself I'd sworn to protect—was unbearable.
Tears blurred my vision, streaming hot and relentless. "I can't let him destroy me. I won't."
I slid down to the floor, hugging my knees, rocking back and forth like it might calm the storm inside me.
"I can do this," I whispered over and over, my voice a broken chant. "I can do this. I won't give up. I won't let anyone take this from me. Not Cohen. Not Asher. Not anyone."
The tears kept falling, but beneath them, a fire burned. Fragile, flickering, but alive.
I wiped my face with the back of my hand, staring at myself in the mirror again. Red eyes. Streaked cheeks. But there was something harder now in my reflection.
I had been mocked. Humiliated. Broken down. But I was still standing.
And for this child, I would keep standing.
No matter how many times they tried to tear me apart.