chapter 8 Aug 7, 2025 Silverstone delivers peak British drama: gray skies, screaming fans, and Elio Black taking his first win of the season while Charles settles for P2. I should be happy-podium's a podium, points are points. Instead, I'm standing in the Apex Nova garage feeling like I've been put through a spin cycle on the anxiety setting. The celebrations are standard F1 chaos-champagne everywhere, sponsors wanting photos, mechanics crying with joy. Charles does his media duties with practiced perfection, not once looking my way. Because why break a winning streak of emotional constipation? I escape the mandatory fake smiling after an hour, slipping out the back of our hospitality unit like a teenage delinquent. My phone's been buzzing with missed calls from Papa all day, and avoiding him is starting to feel like a part-time job. The paddock's mostly empty now, everyone either partying or packing up. Perfect for a moment of- "Piccola, there you are." I freeze. Because of course my father has the timing of a horror movie villain. He stands there in his Nexus Racing team principal outfit, looking exhausted but still intimidating as hell. Before I can bolt, he's pulling me into a hug that smells like home and lies and everything I'm running from. "Papa, you shouldn't be here." I glance around like a paranoid meerkat. "If someone sees us together…" He waves off my concern with typical Italian dismissiveness. "Everyone's celebrating or drowning their sorrows. Besides, I wanted to congratulate you personally. Charles's performance today… your setup work was brilliant, darling." The pride in his voice hits like a gut punch. Here's my father, complimenting me for helping his rival team. The irony could choke a horse. "He drove beautifully," I manage, the words tasting like betrayal. Papa studies my face with those sharp eyes that built a racing empire. "You're conflicted, aren't you? Working for Nexus Racing's biggest rival, it weighs on you." "Sometimes." The admission slips out in Italian, our mother tongue feeling safer for dangerous truths. "But I need to prove myself independently, Papa. You understand that." His expression goes soft in that way that makes me feel twelve years old again. "I do, stellina. But this secret life you're living, hiding from your own team, pretending to be someone else… It's taking a toll." Before I can deny it, a smooth voice cuts through our moment like a precision strike. "Excuse me, Señor De Marco?" My blood turns to ice water. Elio materializes from the shadows like he's been waiting. His expression screams 'polite professional,' but his eyes? His eyes are doing calculations that make my stomach drop. "The Johnnie Walker sponsors were looking for you in hospitality," Elio continues, his tone respectful with an undertone that makes my skin crawl. "They wanted to discuss the victory celebration arrangements." Papa, oblivious to my internal meltdown, nods gratefully. "Of course, thank you, Elio. Brilliant drive today, by the way. That overtake in sector two was a perfection, my boy!" They exchange pleasantries while I stand there trying not to vomit. As Papa walks away, I calculate the distance Elio was standing, the acoustics of the paddock, how much Italian he might understand. The answer becomes crystal clear the second Papa's out of sight. "Well, well." Elio's charming mask drops like a hot rock. "Eva Farnese. Or should I say… Señora De Marco?" The ground tilts. My carefully constructed house of cards starts its inevitable collapse. "Papa's little star, hiding in plain sight at daddy's biggest rival team." He steps closer, and his cologne, usually pleasant, now smells like danger. "That's quite the family drama you've got going." I try for damage control, grasping at straws. "I don't know what you think you heard-" His laugh cuts me off. It's not his media laugh or his flirty laugh. This one's sharp as a scalpel. "I heard enough, principessa . The great Lorenzo De Marco's daughter, legendary racer, great Nexus Racing owner… Working as a mechanic for Apex Nova." Each word lands like a hammer blow. My mind races through consequences like a horrifying slideshow. "Does your team know they're employing racing royalty?" He continues, circling me like a predator who's already won. "Does Charles know he's been… what's the phrase… fraternizing with the enemy ?" And there it is. The killshot. Everything I've built-my credibility, my independence, whatever complicated thing exists between Charles and me-all of it balanced on Elio's silence. The room spins slightly, or maybe that's just my world imploding. "What do you want?" My voice comes out steadier than I feel. His smile returns, but it's all edges and calculation. "I think we can help each other." He moves closer, close enough that I can feel his body heat, see the victory gleaming in his dark eyes. "I need to clean up my image, all those tabloid stories are making sponsors nervous… You need your secret kept. Simple solution." "Which is?" Though the sinking feeling in my stomach already knows. "Date me. Publicly." His voice drops to intimate, almost seductive. "Play the devoted girlfriend for the rest of the season. I get a respectable relationship to show the media, you get protection from exposure." I stare at him, waiting for the punchline. It doesn't come. "You're insane…" "Am I?" His expression hardens, the pretty boy mask cracking to show something ruthless underneath. "Because the alternative is… interesting . Just imagine the headlines: 'Team Owner's Daughter Infiltrates Rival Team.' Think about what that would do to your father's reputation, your team's credibility. To Charles…" The threat lands perfectly. He's not just holding my secret-he's holding everyone I care about hostage. Parker, who took a chance on unknown Eva Farnese. Adison, who's been my rock. Charles, whose championship dreams might shatter if this scandal broke. "And if I refuse?" He steps even closer, voice going low and dangerous. "Secrets have a way of coming out, don't they? Especially when championship standings are this close." His hand comes up like he's going to touch my cheek. I jerk back so hard I nearly trip. "You're blackmailing me." His smile turns almost apologetic, but the determination in his eyes doesn't waver. "I'm offering you a solution, sweetheart. And who knows? You might find you enjoy being with someone who knows exactly who you are." The double meaning isn't lost on me. Charles knows my body but not my name. Elio knows my truth but not my heart. I'm trapped between two different kinds of knowing, and both feel like cages. "How long?" I ask, already knowing I'm going to agree. What choice do I have? "Through Abu Dhabi. Play the part convincingly, and your secret stays buried." "And if I don't play convincingly enough?" His eyes glitter with something that might be desire or might be a threat. "Then we both know how quickly paddock gossip spreads. One whisper to the right journalist…" He doesn't need to finish. One whisper and everything explodes. Papa's reputation, tarnished. Apex Nova's integrity, questioned. Charles's focus, shattered. My independence, revealed as a nepo traitor. The silence stretches between us, thick with the weight of the unspoken. I hate how calm he looks, how neatly he's packaged my ruin into a transactional smile. As if blackmail is just another item on the strategy board-tires, fuel, and one terrified mechanic with everything to lose. I force myself to meet his eyes, to pretend I'm not unraveling inside. If this is going to be a performance, I'll make it an award-winning one.