?Chapter 752:


    This gruesome death race system was Terrence’s brainchild, and not a soul knew that he was the real puppet master behind the life-and-death arena. This arena was the crown jewel of his tirelessbor. For anyone who perished under his design, it was—by his standards—an honor.


    But right now, for once, that ever-present smirk vanished from Terrence’s face, reced by a rare look of solemnity. His sapphire eyes shimmered with an icy gleam, and even though his expression remained cool and aloof, a flicker of unease betrayed him.


    This time, he couldn’t maintain his usualid-back demeanor. His posture stiffened, body tense, eyes locked on the heart-pounding race ying across the massive screen. His gaze stayed glued to Christina’s car, and without even realizing it, his hands curled into tight fists.


    At that moment, he bitterly regretted not designing an emergency override system into the cars. If he could bend the rules and take control, he would do it—just to make sure Christina came out alive, even if her heart rate had already crossed the danger mark. He would make her the first—and only—person to win despite an unstable heart rate. Anyone who dared to question it would face his wrath!


    But reality didn’t care for “what ifs.” He had never imagined that among thepetitors in a death race, there would be someone he’d want to protect at all costs.


    The more anxious he grew, the harder it became to push aside the imaginary image of Christina going up in mes. The thought made him squirm. Damn it! Why hadn’t he stopped her from stepping into such a brutal, no-return race? Why had he let her decide for herself?<fna7b2> ???? ????s? ???????s ?? FindN()vel</fna7b2>


    Back then, he had been blinded by her unshakable confidence, her calm gaze—convinced, like a fool, that she would win.


    Terrence’s stare turned lethal as it locked onto Alfred. That man had better pray that Christina came out alive. Because even if he crossed the finish line, he wouldn’t live long enough to enjoy it.


    Sensing the fury rippling off Terrence, his guards and aides instinctively sucked in their breaths and kept utterly still, trying not to draw his attention. When Terrence lost his temper, ending a life was as easy as flicking his fingers. To him, people were mere pieces on a chessboard. If he so pleased, he could make them all dance to his tune.


    Just like thosepulsive gamblers in the life-and-death arena—risking everything, thinking they’d hit the jackpot and climb their way to fortune—they were merely Terrence’s toys for amusement. And the same went for the fighters in the underground boxing ring—battered, broken, or killed in the ring—they were his puppets too, performing for his amusement.


    Human greed was like opening Pandora’s box—once unleashed, it refused to shut. It only grew, deeper and more ravenous, like a ck hole that couldn’t be filled. And when someone’s ability failed to keep up with their desires, they teetered right on the edge of damnation.


    Alfred was the perfect case in point—driven by insatiable greed, always chasing more. Even after pocketing enough wealth tost several lifetimes, he wasn’t satisfied. He kept wagering his life as if it were pocket change.


    The moment gamblers tasted sess, they fell into the delusion that they were destined, born to be the stars of their own story. But they never saw the price tag attached to that fantasy—the death sentence etched in every reckless step they took.


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