Chapter 3

Past midnight, I lay in bed replaying Lorenzo's touch.

Rain still hammered down, and through the wall came the sound of Preston and Catalina fighting—our little show had worked.

'Good. Tear each other apart.'

The phone rang. Lorenzo answered on the second ring, instantly alert. "Sì... quando? Twenty minutes, I'm there."

Already reaching for his clothes.

"What's wrong?" I sat up.

"Accident at the Orlando night practice." His movements were quick, controlled. "I have to go."

"Bad?"

"Bad enough." He paused, looking at me in the dim light. "You gonna be okay here?"

I nodded, though dread was pooling in my gut. "Go."

He leaned down and kissed my forehead—so gentle it made my chest ache. "I'll call you."

Then he was gone, leaving me with the rain and the distant sounds from next door.

Sleep was impossible after that. As the adrenaline faded, the familiar ache in my right leg flared up—the storm had been aggravating it all night.

By morning, the pain was unbearable.

I massaged my throbbing leg, Dr. Rodrigo's words from three years ago playing on repeat: "Your leg can't handle the intensity of professional racing anymore. The G-forces, the stress of high-speed corners... I'm sorry."

Those fracture lines on the X-rays had killed my career.

"What about testing work?"

"Light testing, maybe. But anything close to race pace? I wouldn't recommend it."

Three years of holding onto that one chance.

My phone buzzed. Lorenzo's text: [PT equipment ready when you need it. Take care of yourself.]

He'd arranged everything before leaving. Why did he have to be so damn thoughtful?

I packed quickly and checked out, even though the rain hadn't stopped. Sitting in my car in the parking lot, trying to piece things together. Preston's words from the other night wouldn't stop replaying in my head.

Something about money. Thirty thousand dollars.

Some award I was supposed to have won.

I pulled up the old messages with Catalina from three years ago.

Me (3 years ago): About that testing award you helped me apply for—which organization was it through?

Catalina (3 years ago): What award? I never helped you apply for anything.

Me (3 years ago): The Annual Testing Excellence Award. Thirty thousand dollars. You said you submitted my application.

Catalina (3 years ago): Valentina, there's no such award. Are you stressed from the accident?

Ice shot through my veins. She'd denied it three years ago too, but back then I'd needed so badly to believe that money was real. Fresh from the crash, desperate for any good news, I'd chosen to ignore her denial.

It hit me like a freight train.

'Three years of living a fucking lie.'

I called Ricardo. "Is there a thirty-thousand-dollar testing award?"

"Doesn't exist. Five grand tops. Where'd you hear thirty?"

"Nothing."

Fuck.

Preston had been telling the truth. Someone had given me that money, and it wasn't from any award.

'What does that mean? Did Preston pay me off? To shut me up about what really happened?'

The rage I'd been holding back all night finally exploded. Three years of living with guilt and shame, thinking I'd failed, thinking I deserved everything that happened... and it was all built on lies.

'That bastard. He didn't just break my heart and end my career—he made me help destroy myself.'

I drove home furious. By the time I pulled into the apartment complex, the rain had softened to drizzle, but the real storm was in my head.

I'd barely stepped out of my car when Elena came running over, carrying a bag of what looked like homemade pastries.

"Valentina! You need to hear what happened at the track today." Breathless, practically glowing with gossip.

"What happened?"

Her eyes lit up. "Preston and Catalina had a massive fight after the afternoon meeting. Everyone heard it."

'Good. Hope they destroy each other.'

She leaned closer. "Someone mentioned your engagement announcement and Preston just lost it. Started ranting about how you're lying, how nobody would really want to marry you after that settlement thing three years ago."

"What about Catalina?"

"She told him she was done with his obsession with you. In front of everyone." Elena shook her head. "Honestly, the man announces his engagement one day and can't shut up about his ex the next. Even Catalina has had enough."

My stomach tightened. "Everyone thinks he's obsessed?"

"Pretty much. Look, Val, maybe you should talk to him. Clear up that money thing while he's so worked up."

That money that came out of nowhere.

But Elena's suggestion sparked something dangerous in my mind. Preston was clearly losing control, becoming unstable. Maybe it was time to confront him directly and get some real answers.

"You're right," I said slowly. "I should talk to Preston. I need to pay back that money, whatever it really was."

Elena's face lit up. "I knew you'd see reason. You two had something real before everything went bad."

'Real? Are you fucking kidding me, Elena? What we had was Preston treating me like a toy while screwing my best friend behind my back.'

After she went inside, I stood there, keys in hand. That's when I noticed a familiar black Maserati idling down the street.

Lorenzo was back from Orlando.

"Lorenzo!"

He saw me. The car roared to life and shot forward, making me jump back.

I stood in the drizzle, watching his taillights disappear.

Son of a bitch actually ran.

The next few days proved me right. Lorenzo was avoiding me completely. In meetings, he barely looked my way. When I tried to approach him, he'd suddenly remember somewhere else he needed to be.

Thursday, I cornered him in the equipment bay.

"Lorenzo, did I do something wrong?"

He looked up from the engine diagnostics, his face blank. "Wrong? Why would you think that?"

"Because you're treating me like I have the plague."

"I've just been busy."

"Bullshit." The word came out harsh. "What happened? Things were fine between us, and now you can barely stand being in the same room with me."

For a moment, something flashed in those dark eyes. Heat. Want. Then the mask slid back.

"Maybe we should keep things professional," he said, coldly polite. "Given our arrangement."

Arrangement. Like I was a business transaction.

'So that's it? Back to being strangers?'

"Got it," I said, matching his coldness. "Strictly business."

I turned to leave, but his voice stopped me.

"Valentina. The PT equipment is available whenever you need it."

Cold concern. Like a doctor to a patient.

I walked away, my chest aching with something I didn't want to admit.

'What did I do?'