Chapter 4 Chapter 0004

•ADRIAN•

By the time I reached the gates of my house, the internet had already decided I was a murderer. Reporters crowded the pavement behind the security barriers, shouting my name as if volume could turn suspicion into fact.

“Adrian! Did you deliberately take Nick O’Neal out?!”

“Is the FIA investigating you?!”

“Will you race next weekend?!”

Camera flashes struck the windshield in white bursts. I kept both hands on the wheel and stared through them. The video was uploaded to the internet an hour after the accident happened. Whoever had filmed it had chosen the perfect angle: my car cutting across Nick’s line, the impact, the spray of carbon fibre, and my vehicle sliding toward the wall.

The clip didn’t show Nick squeezing me toward the barrier first. It didn’t show his front wing touching my rear tire. It didn’t show the message he had sent me before the race.

My jaw tightened.

The gates opened. I drove inside, and the noise fell behind me, but it didn't disappear. It followed me through every screen in the house. On the television, commentators called me reckless. On my phone, sponsors demanded explanations. A dozen strangers had already posted that I belonged in prison.

I tossed my keys onto the console and looked toward the security desk. “Where is Marcus?”

“Waiting in the study, sir,” one of the guards answered. I was halfway there when my phone rang.

It was Ethan, my social-media manager.

“What?”

“Volt Energy has suspended the campaign,” he replied. "Two other sponsors are reviewing their contracts. The board wants a statement before noon."

“Then give them one.” I rolled my eyes because Ethan and his social media team were supposed to handle everything. They were paid to maintain my reputation and ensure I never had to deal with those situations.

"They want a formal apology statement from you," he answered. "They want to see your remorse and for the people to also see that you're sorry for what happened."

"Then write the apology statement that they want," I answered, rolling my eyes again. "This shouldn't be so difficult, Ethan. Just give those people exactly what they want."

"And what am I going to say about Nick? He's still unconscious. You're supposed to talk about how close you were and how you'd never have dreamed of hurting him."

"Yes, that's exactly what you should include in that statement," I answered. "Unless you want me to hire someone else to do the job for you."

"No, sir."

"Good." I hung up the call and headed to my study. I opened the door and walked inside.

Marcus was standing beside the desk with a tablet in one hand and a drink in the other.

He had been telling me for months that my temper would cost me everything. But he hadn't once asked what would happen if someone else decided to use my temper against me.

“Sit down,” he muttered. "We need to talk."

“Unfortunately, I’m not in the mood to talk tonight.”

"You nearly killed a driver," he seethed. "Someone almost died because of you, so we really need to talk about that. Your career is hanging by a thread. People think you should already be in jail right now, serving a life sentence."

“Nick caused the collision, and I don't care what anyone else thinks.”

“The public doesn’t know that.”

"Then how is that my problem?" I scoffed as I leaned against the desk and slid my hands into my pockets. "I'm not the one who said people should believe everything that they see on the internet."

Marcus slid the tablet across the desk. A headline filled the screen: CHAMPION OR PSYCHOPATH? ADRIAN VALE’S CAREER HANGS BY A THREAD.

Below it were comments calling me a killer. People were saying so many hateful things, as if they were there when the accident happened.

Marcus watched me for a long moment, then looked back at the tablet. “The team needs a crisis-PR specialist. Someone who can rebuild your image before the investigation destroys your career.”

I walked around my desk, opened the locked drawer beneath the desk, and removed a black file. Liana Cross. Her photograph rested on top.

She was standing outside Ellis Communications, one hand wrapped around a paper cup, her expression focused as she read something on her phone. I had collected the photograph three months ago, after reading her article about the team. She had seen through the performance everyone else accepted.

Inside the file were copies of her published work, notes on her professional history, and information about the debt she was trying to hide. I knew which train she took when she worked late so she wouldn't drive at night. I knew which café she visited every morning before work. I knew that Ellis, her boss, had been searching for a major client to keep the agency from losing its largest account.

I closed the file. “Call Ellis.”

"Ellis?"

“Liana’s boss. Tell him I want Liana Cross assigned as my personal PR specialist.”

“He may refuse.”

“He won’t. I’ll make the offer large enough to solve his agency’s problems and her financial ones. Neither of them will deny an offer worth over a million dollars.”

Marcus leaned against the desk. “What are you going to do when Liana finds out the truth? She won't take it well if she discovers that you hired her for your own personal reasons.”

I looked down at her photograph. In the picture, she had no idea anyone was watching her. No idea that her article had become the first thing I read every morning. No idea that Nick’s words had cost him a race, a reputation, and nearly his life.

“She won’t find out anything,” I answered.

Marcus frowned. “That isn’t an answer. You need to consider the possibility of this going down to shit once she finds out the truth.”

“Well, I will tell her that ever since that day she saved my life when I was in a car accident and called for help, I wanted to do the same for her.” I slid the photograph back into the file and locked it away.