chapter 17 Aug 7, 2025 Four hours of sleep. That's what I'm running on after last night's sponsor yacht party that wouldn't fucking end. Some pharmaceutical executive's idea of "networking" involved champagne, EDM, and watching Elio play perfect boyfriend until 5 AM. Now I'm mainlining espresso and trying to remember which way to turn a wrench. Charles needs perfection for qualifying. What he's getting is a mechanic whose brain cells are staging a mass exodus. "Late night with the enemy?" Nicholas's voice hits like nails on carbon fiber. I don't look up from the suspension I'm adjusting. "Jealous you weren't invited?" "Just wondering if pillow talk includes our setup secrets." The wrench slips. Nearly takes my knuckle with it. "Careful, Brooklyn. Your insecurity's showing." He leans against my workstation, all fake casual menace. "Parker's watching you, you know. We all are. Dating Nexus's golden boy while working on our cars? That's some conflict of interest." "Your interest in my personal life is the only conflict here." I straighten, meet his eyes. "Now fuck off before I accidentally adjust your seat position to 'crash test dummy.'" He slinks away, but the damage is done. Every mechanic in earshot heard that exchange. The garage divides into camps: those who think I'm a traitor, those impressed I "tamed" Elio Black, and those who just want to watch the drama unfold. Perfect. My professional reputation is going up in flames because I'm trapped in a fake relationship with a team's enemy. Living the dream. Parker's office summon comes between FP2 and qualifying. Never a good sign. "Sit." He's got his concerned dad face on. The one that makes you want to confess everything and ask for a hug. "We need to discuss boundaries." Here we go. "Your personal life is yours," he starts, hands folded like a guidance counselor. "But when it affects team dynamics-" "It doesn't." "Nicholas seems to think otherwise." "Nicholas thinks with his ego and his dick, not necessarily in that order." Parker's mouth twitches. Almost a smile. "Be that as it may, discretion is crucial. The paddock talks, Eva. They're already questioning your loyalties." "My loyalty is to making Charles's car faster than everyone else's. Full stop." "I want to believe that." But. There's always a 'but' with Parker. "But you're dating our biggest rival's star driver. You're at their events. In their garage. The optics-" "The optics can fuck themselves." Too sharp. Dial it back. "Sorry. I just- I know how this looks. But I'd never compromise the team. Never." He studies me with those too-knowing eyes. "I hope not. For all our sakes." Dismissed. I float out feeling like I've been put on probation for a crime I'm not actually committing. Yet. The data room's my sanctuary. Numbers don't judge. Telemetry doesn't care who I'm fake-dating. But sanctuary's a myth in this paddock. "I know what you're doing." Charles. Of course. Because my day needed more emotional landmines. He's between me and the exit, gray eyes doing that thing where they see straight through my bullshit. "This thing with Elio… I know it's not real. I can see it." My heart goes full Formula 1 speeds. "I don't know what you're-" "Stop." He steps closer. I step back. It's a dance we know too well. "I can see it in your eyes every time he touches you. The way you flinch before you remember to smile." Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. "Whatever hold he has on you." Closer still. I can smell his cologne, see the desperation cracking his perfect facade. "Whatever reason you're doing this… I can help." The words pile up in my throat. I'm actually Daniella De Marco, the daughter of Lorenzo De Marko. He's blackmailed to reveal my real identity. I've been lying since day one. I'm falling for my fake boyfriend. Help me, please, God, someone help me. "Just tell me the truth." His voice breaks on 'truth' and my resolve almost goes with it. "Charles-" "Has anyone seen Eva?" Elio's voice, right outside. "Babe, you in there?" Babe. The word hits like cold water. Charles's face shuts down, walls slamming back into place. I slip past him, hand shaking as I open the door. "Here. Just checking data." Elio's smile seems genuine until you look closer. See the calculation. The performance. "Ready for qualifying? Charles needs his genius mechanic." The irony's thick enough to choke on. We leave Charles in the data room, surrounded by screens showing exactly how fast his car could go if his mechanic wasn't a lying, fake-dating disaster. But guilt doesn't slow the clock. Race weekend doesn't pause for personal fallout. Qualifying's a blur of precision and panic. I give Charles everything-perfect tire pressures, ideal setup, every adjustment calibrated to his driving style. It's not enough. P3 for Charles. P1 for Elio. The garage goes silent. Not celebrating-silent or disappointed-silent. This is something worse. Suspicious-silent. Judging-silent. Twenty pairs of eyes find me. The mechanic whose boyfriend just beat her driver. The woman who spent last night on a yacht with Nexus Racing and today couldn't deliver victory for Apex Nova. Parker's face says everything his words don't. Nicholas actually smirks. Even Adison looks worried. Charles doesn't look at me at all. The only warm words I get-via message. Elio: Incredible race. Couldn't have done it without my good luck charm! Good luck charm. Right. More like an albatross around everyone's neck. The paddock math is simple: Elio starts winning the moment we go public. Charles starts losing. Even I can see how this looks. Another text. This time from Papa. L. De Marco: Congratulations to Elio. You must be proud. Proud. Of my fake boyfriend. While the team I actually care about thinks I'm a traitor. I escape to the toilet before anyone can see me crack. Splash water on my face like that'll wash away the mess I've created. The mirror shows a stranger with exhausted eyes from juggling lies. A couple of weeks of this arrangement and I'm already coming apart at the seams. How the fuck am I supposed to survive until Abu Dhabi? My phone rings. Charles' name lights up on the screen and I let it go to voicemail. Can't handle his disappointment on top of everyone else's. His message is just three words. Charles: This isn't you. But that's where he's wrong. This is exactly me. A liar playing dress-up in someone else's life, destroying everything she touches. The real Eva Farnese would've been smart enough to avoid this mess entirely. Too bad she never existed in the first place.