chapter 9 Aug 7, 2025 "Fine. I'll do it." The words crawl out of my throat like broken glass, each syllable a surrender I never wanted to make. The paddock's gone quiet around us, just distant champagne pops and muffled celebrations, the perfect soundtrack for my personal catastrophe. Something shifts in Elio's face-not just the predictable triumph of a blackmailer getting his way, but something else. His hazel eyes light up like a kid on Christmas morning, genuine delight breaking through his calculated exterior. For half a second, I wonder if maybe this isn't just about image rehab. Maybe he actually- No. Stop. This is Elio Black, whose dating history reads like a fashion magazine masthead. Models, actresses, influencers, that Swedish princess that one time. I'm just the latest acquisition, except instead of flowers and private jets, he's using extortion. How romantic. "We need rules." I cross my arms like they're body armor. "Boundaries. This is a business arrangement, nothing more." "Of course." He nods, all business now, but that brightness in his eyes hasn't dimmed. "What did you have in mind?" "First, we ease into this. No sudden announcements or dramatic reveals. Let people think it developed naturally." The irony of discussing natural while being blackmailed isn't lost on me. "Agreed. We'll start with casual sightings, build up to official confirmation after some time." "Second, public appearances only. No private dinners, no cozy nights in, no pretending when there aren't cameras around." His lips quirk. "You really don't trust me at all, do you?" "You're literally blackmailing me. Trust isn't on the table." "Fair point." He actually looks almost apologetic. Almost. "Though we'll need some private time to coordinate stories, make sure we're selling the same narrative." I hate that he's right. "Fine. Business meetings only." "Third?" he prompts, leaning against the wall like we're discussing weather instead of my life imploding. "Social media posts require mutual approval. I'm not waking up to find myself tagged in some compromising-" "Eva." His voice drops, suddenly serious. "I'm not trying to humiliate you. This benefits both of us, remember?" Right. Because mutual benefit is totally why he threatened to destroy my life ten minutes ago. "One more thing," he adds, and something in his tone makes my stomach clench. "No romantic or intimate involvement with Charles during our arrangement. Not even secretly." The words hit like a physical blow. "Excuse me?" "If we're doing this, it needs to be believable." His eyes harden slightly. "That means you're mine-at least in appearance. No sneaking around with Weinberg, no mixed signals that could blow our cover." The possessiveness in his voice should piss me off. Instead, I feel something dangerously close to relief. An excuse to finally break the cycle with Charles, handed to me on a blackmail platter. "Fine." The word comes out too quick, too eager. "Shouldn't be a problem. Charles and I are nothing anyway." Elio studies me for a long moment, and I hate how exposed I feel under his gaze. Like he can see through my bullshit even better than he saw through my fake identity. "Good." He extends his hand, all business executive closing a deal. "Then we have an agreement." I shake his hand because what else can I do? But he doesn't let go immediately. His fingers linger against mine, thumb brushing my knuckles with unexpected gentleness. When he smiles, it's not his media smile or his player smile. This one's softer, almost vulnerable, like maybe he's as surprised by this moment as I am. "I know you hate me right now," he says quietly. "But Eva, I promise-this isn't about hurting you." "No, it's about using me. Much better." I yank my hand back, needing distance from whatever the hell that was. "I'll text you tomorrow about our first appearance." He straightens, mask sliding back into place. "Enjoy the party." He walks away, leaving me with the bitter taste of my new reality. Fake girlfriend to a man who knows my secrets. Spectacular. * * * The victory party's in full swing by the time I make it back. Some sponsor's penthouse, all glass and chrome and desperate sophistication. I grab champagne I don't want and position myself by the windows, watching Silverstone spread out below like a circuit board. My phone buzzes. Unknown number. Thank you for saying yes. I know it wasn't easy. - E I save the contact as "Blackmailer" before I can think better of it. Then change it to "Elio" because I'm not actually twelve. "Eva?" Charles materializes beside me like a beautiful, emotionally constipated ghost. He's changed into dark jeans and a button-down that makes his eyes look impossibly gray, and I hate my body for responding to his proximity like nothing's changed. "Good party," I say, aiming for professional distance and landing somewhere around awkward acquaintance. "Your setup work today was brilliant." The compliment catches me off-guard. Charles doesn't do public praise. "That adjustment to the rear suspension in Q3-it made all the difference." "Just doing my job." I take a sip of champagne to avoid his eyes, but he's not done surprising me. "No, it was more than that. You always see what I need before I know I need it." His voice drops, intimate despite the crowd. "I don't thank you enough for that." Is he drunk? Having a stroke? Since when does Charles Weinberg do genuine gratitude? Before I can respond, he's gesturing to someone approaching. "Eva, I want you to meet someone special." A woman joins us, and the family resemblance hits immediately. Same sharp bone structure, same intelligent eyes, but her hair's darker and her smile's about a thousand degrees warmer than anything I've seen on Charles's face. "This is my sister, Diana. She's joining the team as a motorsport photographer to help with my public image." Diana Weinberg extends her hand, and her grip is firm, confident. "Charles has told me a lot about you. The miracle worker who makes his car sing." "He's exaggerating." But I'm smiling despite myself, because Diana's warmth feels genuine in a world of fake everything. "He really isn't." Diana laughs, the sound bright and unguarded. "I've been following your work all season. That setup in Monaco? Poetry in motion." Great. She's beautiful, talented, and nice. The universe really said 'let's make Eva's life harder' and delivered Charles's sister. "Diana just finished a project with Vogue," Charles adds, pride evident in his voice. "Now she's slumming it with us gear heads." "Hardly slumming." Diana nudges him with easy affection. "I've wanted to shoot F1 for years. Plus, someone needs to make sure Charley actually smiles in photos occasionally." They banter with the casual intimacy of siblings who actually like each other, and I feel like an intruder watching something precious. This is a side of Charles I've never seen-unguarded, warm, capable of expressing actual emotions. "We should get coffee sometime," Diana says, turning back to me. "I'd love to pick your brain about the technical side. Charles tries to explain, but he's terrible at teaching." "I am not-" "You told me downforce was 'the thing that makes the car stick' last week." "That's technically accurate!" I laugh before I can stop myself, and Diana beams like she's won something. "See? You get it. Coffee this week?" "I…" The word 'yes' wants to escape, because Diana seems like the kind of person who'd be an incredible friend. But I can't. Not when I'm lying to her brother about who I am. Not when I'm about to start fake-dating his rival. Not when everything in my life is built on deception. "I'll check my schedule," I said at last.