chapter 12 Aug 7, 2025 First class feels like sitting in a cream leather womb, all hushed voices and complimentary champagne I'm too anxious to drink. For exactly thirty seconds, I let myself forget that everyone's watching, that my teammates think I'm a traitor, that my fake boyfriend is actually my blackmailer with benefits. Then the engines start their pre-flight death rattle, and I remember the crucial detail I forgot to mention: I'd rather eat glass than fly. My phone lights up with pre-takeoff drama. Adison: Enjoy. Sweet. Simple. Supportive. Unlike the next message that makes my stomach relocate to my throat. Charles has crafted a masterpiece of passive-aggressive poetry. Every word calibrated for maximum damage, disappointment dripping from each perfectly punctuated sentence. The subtext screams louder than if he'd just typed "YOU'RE A FUCKING TRAITOR " in all caps. There's this undertone of sadness that cuts deeper than any rage could. Like I've personally betrayed not just him, but every moment we've shared in the past year. I stare at the screen until the words blur. Delete? Reply? Throw my phone out the emergency exit? Power off. Future Eva's problem. "You okay?" Elio's watching me with those dark eyes that see too much. "No." The honesty surprises us both. "I'm scared shitless of flying. Fair warning-I might panic, vomit, or try to open the emergency door mid-flight." His perfect playboy mask cracks, replaced by something softer. Real and with that equally dangerous. "Good to know. I'll keep you away from the exits." The plane starts its taxi of doom, and my breathing goes full anxiety mode. Zero to hyperventilation in 3.2 seconds-beating Charles's lap time by a mile. My hands death-grip the armrests hard enough to leave permanent indentations. Elio's hand covers mine. Not tentative. Not questioning. Just… there. Solid. His thumb starts this slow circle thing against my palm that shouldn't be soothing but is. "Breathe with me," he murmurs. "In for four, hold for four, out for four." "That's…" I gasp between counted breaths, "…surprisingly… not… terrible… advice." "I have depths." His smile is self-deprecating. "Occasionally." The seatbelt sign goes off, and this absolute madman unbuckles. "What are you-" He drops to his knees in front of my seat. In first class. Where people can see. His hands wrap around my calves, warm through my jeans, applying just enough pressure to ground me in my body instead of my spiraling brain. "Better?" His voice is low, private, meant just for me. I nod because words have abandoned me. Elio Black is kneeling at my feet, holding my legs like I'm something precious instead of a PR problem he's solving with. "Tell me about your first time in a car," he says, hands steady on my legs. "Not driving. Just riding." "That's random." "Humor me." So I do. I tell him about being four, strapped into Papa's vintage Ferrari, screaming with joy as he took corners too fast. How the engine sound became my lullaby. How I'd beg for "faster, faster" until Mama made him slow down. Shit. Too much truth. But Elio just smiles. "Speed addict from birth. Makes sense." He trades stories back-his nonna teaching him to drive stick in a beat-up Fiat, stalling at every intersection in Milan. His first go-kart race where he finished dead last but couldn't stop grinning. Dreams of Formula 1 that seemed impossible for a kid from nowhere special. "You don't have to hide your past from me," he says during a patch of turbulence, hands tightening reassuringly on my knees. "I already know your biggest secret, remember?" Right. The blackmail. For a minute there, I'd almost forgotten this whole thing started with extortion. "Tell me about engineering school," he prompts, and I realize he's been talking me through the entire flight. No condescension. No making me feel weak for being afraid. Just… presence. When we finally touch down-alive, miraculously-my hand is still tangled with his. The Austrian tarmac has never looked so beautiful. Reality check is immediate and brutal. The Apex Nova crew waits like a firing squad. Silent and judging. Not one person makes eye contact except Charles, whose gray eyes hold enough betrayal to fuel a Shakespearean tragedy. I've gone from teammate to traitor in one first-class flight. Elio squeezes my hand before leaning in, lips brushing my cheek in a kiss that feels both performed and personal. "See you at our big couple debut. Thursday night sponsor dinner." Right. Our first official appearance. Where I get to play devoted girlfriend while my actual employer watches and my father probably has a heart attack via livestream. I duck into the Apex Nova crowd like a criminal returning to gen pop. Head down, shoulders hunched, praying for invisibility. Almost make it to the bus when fingers wrap around my wrist. Gentle but firm. Inescapable. Of course. Charles has materialized beside me with his usual ninja stealth. Nobody else notices, too busy giving me the silent treatment, as he pulls me slightly aside. "We need to talk." His voice is controlled violence. "As soon as we check in." He melts back into the group, leaving me with a wrist that burns from his touch and a certainty that whatever's coming will hurt worse than turbulence. The bus ride stretches forever. Nobody talks to me. Even Adison keeps her distance, probably smart enough not to get caught in the blast radius. I'm radioactive now, the mechanic who chose dick over team loyalty, apparently. If only they knew the dick came with a side of blackmail. My phone buzzes. Elio: You did amazing today. Proud of you. I stare at the message, something warm and unwanted blooming in my chest. He can't mean it. This is all calculated, part of the show. But the memory of his hands on my legs, his voice talking me through panic, his genuine smile when I told him about Papa's Ferrari… What could possibly go wrong?