Chapter 1 He Appeared in the Rain
Valentina Cruz lived two completely different lives.
During the day, she worked at her aunt’s tiny bridal boutique in downtown Chicago, helping rich girls choose lace dresses they’d probably regret in ten years. She pinned hems, carried bouquets, smiled politely, and pretended she belonged in rooms full of diamonds and champagne.
At night?
She disappeared.
Black leather jacket.
Silver cross necklace.
Dark lip gloss.
Helmet tucked under one arm.
And a matte-black sport bike that screamed through the city like a bullet.
Nobody from the boutique knew.
Not her aunt.
Not her coworkers.
Not the women who called her “sweet” and assumed she spent weekends drinking iced coffee and gossiping about weddings.
Every Friday night, Valentina raced illegally beneath the glowing city overpasses with strangers who only knew her by one name:
V.
Nobody knew where she came from.
Nobody knew why she always wore the same silver rosary wrapped around her wrist before every race.
And nobody had ever beaten her.
She liked it that way.
The races made her feel alive in a way normal life never could. Flying through neon streets at 2 a.m., engines screaming beneath city lights, music blasting through her helmet while the skyline blurred around her—it felt almost holy.
Like freedom.
Like escape.
But lately something strange had been happening.
Every race she entered, the same rider appeared.
No name.
No crew.
No talking.
Just a white motorcycle and a black helmet with no markings.
He never raced aggressively. Never showed off. Never flirted with the girls hanging around the tracks like the other riders did.
He only watched her.
And somehow that was worse.
The first time she noticed him was during a storm race under the freeway tunnels.
Rain poured so hard the roads looked like mirrors. Most riders backed out before the start, but Valentina stayed, tightening her gloves while thunder shook the city overhead.
That was when the white bike rolled beside hers silently.
The rider turned toward her slightly.
“You shouldn’t race tonight,” he said.
His voice was calm. Too calm.
Valentina scoffed behind her visor. “Then why are you here?”
“Because you are.”
Before she could answer, the race started.
Engines exploded around them.
Bikes launched forward through the rain.
Valentina flew through traffic, heart pounding wildly while neon lights streaked across wet pavement. One wrong move at this speed meant death.
But she loved it.
She was winning too—until she realized the white bike stayed beside her effortlessly the entire time.
Not ahead.
Not behind.
Beside her.
Like he was matching her pace perfectly.
The realization irritated her more than it should have.
At the final turn she pushed harder, tires nearly sliding across the slick road.
Dangerous.
Too dangerous.
The white bike suddenly cut in front of her slightly, forcing her to slow before a truck tore through the intersection seconds later.
Valentina’s breath caught violently.
If she’d kept speeding—
She would’ve crashed directly into it.
The race ended seconds later beneath flickering tunnel lights.
Riders shouted and laughed around them, but Valentina ripped off her helmet immediately and stormed toward the stranger.
“What the hell was that?!”
The rider removed his helmet slowly.
And Valentina forgot every word she planned to say.
Dark curls damp from rain.
Sharp jawline.
Brown eyes so unreadable they almost looked dangerous.
Beautiful.
Annoyingly beautiful.
“You were going to die,” he said simply.
“You don’t know that.”
“I do.”
Something about the certainty in his voice unsettled her.
Valentina crossed her arms. “You always this dramatic?”
“No.”
“Then what’s your problem with me?”
The stranger studied her quietly for a second too long.
“That’s exactly the problem,” he said softly.
Then he put his helmet back on and drove away before she could respond.
After that night, things got worse.
Or better.
Valentina couldn’t decide.
Because suddenly he was everywhere.
Watching races from rooftops.
Parked outside diners at 3 a.m.
Standing silently near her bridal boutique one afternoon before disappearing into crowds the second she noticed him.
And the strangest part?
Nobody else seemed to know him.
Whenever she asked other racers about the white bike, responses were always vague.
“He just showed up one day.”
“Nobody knows his name.”
“He only races when you race.”
One older rider even laughed nervously and told her:
“People say he’s waiting for something.”
That should’ve sounded stupid.
Instead it stayed stuck in her head for days.
Then one night, after closing the boutique, Valentina found a photograph slipped beneath the shop door.
It showed her.
Not recent.
Old.
Maybe sixteen years old, standing beside a tiny dirt bike with grease on her cheeks and a giant smile on her face.
On the back, written in black ink:
You were happier before you started running.
No signature.
No explanation.
Just those words.
Valentina stared at the handwriting with her pulse pounding in her throat because there was only one person who used to write like that.
Someone who disappeared three years ago without explanation.
Someone she never stopped looking for.
And suddenly the mysterious rider on the white motorcycle didn’t feel random anymore.
He felt connected to something buried in her past—
something that was finally coming back for her.
