chapter 18 Aug 7, 2025 Hungary. Where the track's tighter than my fake relationship and twice as suffocating. Corners come fast and unforgiving, no room for error-just like everything else right now. Every turn feels like a metaphor for the mess I've made: calculated, constricted, and dangerously close to spinning out. The garage whispers follow me like exhaust fumes. Mechanics who used to joke with me now shut up when I walk by. Side-eyes and silent accusations everywhere I turn. Four weeks of dating the enemy and I've gone from star mechanic to potential mole. "Maybe she told him about the suspension setup." "Convenient how Elio's been unstoppable since they-" I slam my wrench down hard enough to make everyone jump. "Sometimes shit happens. It's racing, not a conspiracy theory convention." Twenty pairs of eyes lock onto me. Great. Now I've done it. "For the record," I continue, already regretting opening my mouth, "I haven't told Elio jack shit about our setup. Believe it or not, we have plenty to discuss that doesn't involve spring rates and tire degradation." Silence. The kind that makes you want to crawl into an engine block and disappear. Nicholas, because he's physically incapable of not being a dick, smirks. "Yeah? Like what?" "Like how to properly eat pasta, which wines pair with disappointment, and whether your fragile ego can handle being lapped again this weekend." Someone snorts right before Parker appears like a disappointed parent at a school fight. "Eva. A word." Fan-fucking-tastic. His office lecture is mercifully short. Professionalism, team unity, rising above provocation. I nod in all the right places while internally screaming. When he dismisses me, I've got three hours until tonight's mandatory fun event. Hungarian wine tasting. Because nothing says "team building" like getting drunk with people who think you're committing light treason. The vineyard looks like a postcard fucked a fairy tale. Rolling hills, golden sunset, wooden tables that probably cost more than my salary. I'm wearing another Elio-approved dress-burgundy silk that makes me feel like expensive wine myself. "You're tense," Elio murmurs, hand finding my lower back with practiced ease. "The entire team thinks I'm a spy. Can't imagine why I'm not relaxed." His thumb traces small circles against silk. It's disturbingly soothing. "They'll come around." "Will they, though?" We settle at our assigned seats-Nexus Racing and Apex Nova awkwardly integrated like a forced family dinner. Charles is three tables away, steadfastly not looking at me while his jaw works overtime grinding his perfect teeth into dust. The wine flows. Conversations start stilted but loosen with each pour. I catch myself actually laughing at one of Elio's stories about his grandmother's racing superstitions. When did this get easy? When did I stop counting the minutes until I could escape? "The way you set up his car for sector two is brilliant." I nearly choke on my Tokaji. "What?" Elio's studying me with those dark eyes that see too much. "That slight front wing adjustment. So subtle but it makes all the difference in the chicane." "You've been watching my work?" The question comes out more breathless than intended. "Hard not to. You're an artist, Eva. The way you translate driver feedback into mechanical adjustments-it's like watching someone solve poetry with math." Something warm and dangerous blooms in my chest. He gets it. Actually understands what I do, why I love it. Charles never- No. Stop. This is fake. Manipulation dressed up as compliments. "Careful," I deflect. "Keep talking like that and people might think you actually madly in love with me." His smile shifts, something real bleeding through the performance. "Would that be so terrible?" Yes. No. Fuck. "Eva!" Adison materializes like my personal emotional rescue service. "Walk with me. This Riesling is making me philosophical." I escape gladly, following her through vines heavy with grapes. The evening air smells like fermentation and bad decisions. "You're getting too good at this," she says without preamble. "At what?" "Don't play dumb." She stops, faces me with her truth-telling face. "The way you look at each other sometimes-it's starting to seem real." "It's not." The denial comes out too fast. "Isn't it?" She touches my arm gently. "Eva, I've watched you with Charles for over a year. All that passion, that intensity-it was real but destructive. What I see with Elio… When he looks at you like you hung the moon. When you lean into his touch without thinking." I want to argue, but the words dissolve. Because she's right. Somewhere between the forced proximity and shared performances, something shifted. The fake smiles became real. The practiced touches turned comfortable. I'm falling in love with my fake boyfriend. The realization hits like a safety car deployment-sudden, inconvenient, fucking up everyone's strategy. "I need more wine," I mutter. "You need clarity. But wine works too." We head back to find Diana waiting, her usual sunshine dimmed to overcast. "Eva, can we talk? Privately?" Adison squeezes my hand and disappears. Diana leads me to a quiet corner, her photographer's eye clearly catching more than pretty pictures. "I need to ask you something." She glances around nervously. "About Charles." My stomach drops to my designer shoes. "What about him?" "He's been different lately. Distracted, aggressive on track, pushing too hard." She pauses, choosing words like they're explosives. "Is it because of you and Elio?" The wine turns to acid in my throat. "Diana-" "Because if it is, you should know something." Her eyes bore into mine with Weinberg intensity. "I've never seen my brother look at anyone the way he looks at you. Not even when he thinks no one's watching. Especially when he thinks no one's watching." The words hit like a championship-deciding crash. Everything I've been denying, rationalizing, pretending doesn't exist, confirmed by the person who knows Charles best. "He's in love with you," Diana continues softly. "And watching you with Elio is destroying him in ways he won't admit." I can't breathe. Can't think. Can't process that Charles, emotionally constipated, commitment-phobic Charles, might actually love me. And I'm publicly dating his rival while he implodes. "Love always is love." Diana's smile is sad and knowing. "But Eva? Whatever's really going on, whatever reasons you have, please be careful. You're not the only one who could get hurt here."