The Million-Dollar Heart by Rebecca Ryan

Carl’s car, number three, failed to navigate the bend; instead, it careened straight towards the mountain. The front end smashed against the guardrail with a sickening crunch, the wheels lifted off the ground, and the car somersaulted backward, tumbling off the cliff edge!

In the VIP section, Charlotte clutched her phone, shouting to Vivienne, “Oh no, car number three has gone off at turn three in the second section!”

Vivienne’s brow furrowed with concern—trouble was indeed brewing!

Spectators gasped and murmured, wondering how Carl could have crashed. The paramedics were dispatched in a flurry of urgency.

But this was a cliff side, not an easy place to search. If the car was found at all, the driver was surely a goner.

Vivienne sped past the other racers in her rescue vehicle like a whirlwind.

The competitors, still engrossed in the race, were oblivious to Carl’s fate and the identity of this extremely quick rescuer.

A rescue vehicle might not pack the same punch as their race cars, but Vivienne’s driving made it seem otherwise!

Inside, Percival gripped the handle, eyes scanning for the location beacon.

“Vivienne, ahead!” He called out.

Vivienne acknowledged and quickly parked the vehicle in a spot that would not obstruct the others, and both she and Percival leaped out.

The place where Carl’s car had plummeted was a steep, rugged terrain, a mix of weeds and rocks. Looking down from the cliff, there was no trace of the car—just a dent in the guardrail, not a scrap of debris in sight.

The paramedics had not arrived yet. Percival removed his jacket and tied it to Vivienne’s, knotting a sleeve around the guardrail. Holding Vivienne’s waist, he said, “Hold on tight, Vivienne.”

She nodded, wrapped her arms around Percival’s waist, and leaped off the cliff together, sliding down the makeshift rope.

The crowd in the stands rose to their feet.

out of their

a sheer drop, and they

from the public eye. Up in the VIP

Vivienne and Percival jumped off a cliff? Surely they’re

the point of nearly cursing, Griffin shouted, “Lovers’ pact, my foot! There’s been an accident.

Don’t panic. They’ll be fine,”

and Percival had landed safely

and weeds,

suggested, “Head west. The car rolled down; no debris means it’s still intact and

had come to the same

her shoulders, Percival

they stumbled upon fragments from

inspected a piece—it was part of the hood. The car itself seemed relatively

glass, until they came upon

and Ashley were unconscious, blood

and Percival worked quickly to flip

silence; she was still conscious, weakly flailing

and reassured. “I’m

to understand and then

helmets, which only had minor scratches. Clearly, their

from any serious internal injury. However, her legs were

into his spine, causing him to suffer from fracturing all

of them, halting internal bleeding. She

raised an eyebrow, “Just

Vivienne, skilled in modern and traditional

was

air and Percival’s helmet