Sold My Fiance, Crashed His Wedding Chapter 07

Sold My Fiance, Crashed His Wedding Chapter 07

**Scarlett’s POV** 

The racing club sits in a narrow alley in East London, Engine roars echo two blocks away. 

Julian’s convoy pulls up to the entrance. He steps out. Everyone around him stops and stares. 

A man in a three–piece suit, walking into a racing club full of leather jackets and ripped jeans. 

Inside, smoke hangs in the air. The place reeks of gasoline. People crowd the track’s edge, watching a modified car tear through the circuit. 

Then he sees me. 

I stand in the crowd, wearing a racing jacket and skinny jeans. I’m laughing. The kind he’s never seen from me. Free. Wild. Unguarded. 

few racers talk to me. I answer easily, relaxed. 

Julian walks over and grabs my wrist. 

Iturn, pull off my sunglasses. “Julian?” 

Come home with me.” 

frown. “What are you doing? Don’t make a scene.” 

People start gathering around us. Someone pulls out a phone. 

For the first time, Julian’s voice cracks, almost begging. “I was wrong. I can change those rules. Want 

to go clubbing? Go. Want to wear whatever? Wear it. Want to do whatever? Do I won’t control you anymore. Just come back.” 

I look at him. I stay calm. 

“Julian,” my voice comes out soft, “what you’re promising, that’s not freedom. That’s still you giving me permission. Real freedom doesn’t need anyone’s permission.” 

1 pull my hand back. “Sorry. You’ve got the wrong person.” 

Then I turn and disappear into the crowd. 

Julian stands there, watching me walk away. 

Real freedom doesn’t need anyone’s permission. 

The words hit like a knife to the chest. 

Julian walks out of the club. 

His men move toward him. One look stops them cold. 

He gets in the driver’s seat and shuts the door. The car goes quiet. Just the sound of his own breathing. 

He stares at the steering wheel, knuckles white on the wheel. 

Her words loop in his head. 

Doesn’t need anyone’s permission. 

Doesn’t need anyone’s permission. 

He slams his fist into the steering wheel. 

He reaches into the back and pulls out a bottle of whiskey. This man who never drinks before driving tips the bottle back and drains half of it. 

Julian starts the engine. The car shoots forward, tearing through London’s empty streets. 

The speedometer climbs. 80. 100. 120 miles per hour. 

His mind spirals. 

The car stops by the Thames. 

He braces his hands against the wheel. His shoulders shake. 

This man who controls a business empire, this heir who never shows weakness in public, breaks down. 

No one sees. Just the river and the dawn. 

After I walk away from Julian, I head back inside and straight to the bar. I order a whiskey. 

“Whitmore’s fiancée?” Someone next to me laughs. “Bet you can’t even drive.” 

I turn and look at him. A blue–haired racer with eyes full of challenge. 

“Who says I can’t?” 

“You up for a race then?” 

almost say no. But suddenly I don’t feel like holding back. 

“Lend me a car.” 

Five minutes later, I’m sitting in a modified racer, hands on the wheel. 

The engine roars. Then I floor it. 

The car shoots forward like a bullet. Wind screams through the window. Adrenaline explodes in my veins. 

In this moment, Julian, the wedding, the past, all of it falls away. 

Just speed and freedom. 

I cross the finish line first. 

step out of the car. Cheers erupt around me. 

The blue–haired racer walks over and extends his hand. “Alright. I’m impressed.” 

That’s when a lazy voice cuts through from behind. “You really don’t hold back on my turf, do you?” 

Iturn around. 

A guy leans against the wall, wearing a black racing suit unzipped halfway down, hair messy and face. streaked with sweat. 

He’s holding a beer, his eyes sizing me up with interest. 

“Who are you?” 

“Owner of this place. Jax Monroe. And you? The gorgeous woman who just crashed my club?” 

“Scarlett.” 

“Scarlett.” He repeats my name with a smile. “I know you. The woman who just turned down the guy in the suit outside.” 

frown. “You were watching?” 

“This is my club. I know everything that happens here.” 

He steps closer, something serious flashing in his eyes. Julian Whitmore, right? That idiot.” 

don’t say anything, Jax keeps going. “Heard about your situation. 

Wedding, bride swap, whole city talking about it.” He pauses. “He doesn’t deserve you.” 

Too direct. I freeze for a second. 

Jax moves closer, close enough that I can smell motor oil and sweat on him. 

“Look, Scarlett. In my world, no bullshit rules. You want to wear something? Wear it. Want to do something? Do it. Want to be something? Be it.” 

He holds out his hand, palm up. “No one gets to tell you how to live. Not even me.” 

I stare at his outstretched hand. 

This is completely different from Julian’s “I’ll allow you.” 

Jax isn’t giving me permission to be free. He’s saying freedom already belongs to me. 

I take his hand. 

Jax’s smile deepens. “Good. Now, want to see what real speed feels like?” 

He points to a black supercar. 

“You’re letting me drive your car?” 

No.” Jax tosses me the keys. “I’m letting you drive. your car. As of now, it’s yours.” 

freeze. “What?” 

“Welcome gift. In my world, you want something, you take it.” 

His eyes hold no possession, no control, no rules. 

Just a simple invitation: Come into my world. Be yourself. 

“Alright,” I say. “Lead the way.”