Eleanor stood quietly to the side. After his inspection,n stripped off his suit jacket and rolled up his sleeves, revealing his lean, muscr forearms. Someone quickly rushed over to hand him a racing helmet.


    As he pulled the helmet on, he nced sideways at her.


    Eleanor''s heart inexplicably skipped a beat. Wasn''t a test drive supposed to be just a normal, casual drive around the track?


    An engineer opened the driver''s door for him, while the chief engineer slid into the passenger seat to act as his co-pilot. Everyone else fell back to the safety zone.


    The second the engine fired up, a ferocious, guttural roar echoed across the tarmac. This was clearly not going to be a casual joyride.


    Beside her, Byron suddenly remarked, "Looks like Mr. Goodwin is taking it to the absolute limit."


    One of the nearby engineers chimed in, his voice trembling with anxious excitement. "We just tuned the new track mode. The power output and chassis response are going to be hyper-aggressive."


    Eleanor kept her eyes glued to the car. It rolled out of the staging area, surged down the straightaway for a brutal, split-second eleration, and then violently whipped into a wless drift, tearing straight onto the winding professional track.


    Standing high up in the viewing box, she could feel the terrifying aggression of the machine even from a distance. He was keeping the car under perfect control, whipping through the course like a jagged bolt of gray lightning.


    Her heart raced to match the frantic speed of the car. Without realizing it, her hands had balled into tight fists, her palms slick with sweat.


    It was her first time seeingn drive like this, and it was undeniably thrilling—a raw, dangerous dance right on the razor''s edge.


    Bursting off a steep incline, the car didn''t lose a fraction of a second before plunging straight into the emergency evasive maneuver zone.


    Eleanor unconsciously held her breath. Was he just trying to show off the sheer aesthetics of violence?


    The engineers werepletely mesmerized, their faces pale with awe. Even Byron muttered in shock, "With skills like that, he could go pro."


    Eleanor said nothing, but all she wanted was for him to pull over and stop driving like a maniac.


    Her nerves were strung incredibly tight, her pulse pounding a frantic rhythm against her ribs with every sharp turn he took.


    After what felt like an eternity, the gray sedan finally glided smoothly back to the starting line.


    The crew rushed forward, and


    Eleanor followed Byron down to the tarmac. The door swung open andn stepped out, pulling off his helmet His hair was slick with sweat, falling carelessly across his forehead. He tossed the helmet to a staff member and instantly locked eyes with Eleanor.


    Pushing his hair back, he strode toward her, his dark eyes zing with the wild, adrenaline-fueled high of a limit-pushing drive.


    "Well?" he asked, stopping right in front of her. He arched a brow, his chest heaving faster than usual.


    Byron quickly handed him a bottle of water. Ian chugged half of it, but his gaze never left Eleanor, demanding an answer.


    She red at him, remembering


    how terrified she had just been. She took a deep breath, swallowed the angry words on the tip of her tongue, and said, "Good driving. Bon Revers doit again."


    I scare you?"


    Eleanor saw the teasing glint in his eye. He had pulled those suicidal stunts strictly for her benefit, just to see she actually cared enough to panic.