One step down, Stefano fucking Moretti waved to the crowd screaming his name. He smirked like he hadn’t been gifted the spot. Like he’d fought for it instead of having it handed to him.
I tore off my gloves, jaw tight. It should’ve been mine.
Julian clapped a hand on my back as I yanked off my balaclava. “Hell of a drive.”
I wiped sweat from my face, barely registering the cameras flashing around me.
Someone gestured for me to head up to the podium. I grabbed a fresh cap and tried to force my body to relax before stepping onto the platform.
The crowd screamed. The cameras flashed. The Marina Bay skyline glittered behind the podium, the Singapore Flyer lit up like some massive reminder that this city never stopped shining. Even when you wanted it to.
Callaghan stood on the top step, drinking in the moment like he was born for it.
I took my place on the third step.
I clenched my fists, rolling out my shoulders.
Champagne bottles were shoved into our hands. I uncorked mine, half-arsed a spray, let the fizz soak into my fireproofs.
Stefano, of course, soaked up the moment like he’d actually fought for it. Played to the cameras, grinning, raising his trophy like he hadn’t coasted into P2 off a team order he didn’t deserve.
Julian would be fucking thrilled.
Callaghan, of course, milked it for all it was worth. But with the podium done, I could finally get the fuck away.
I stepped down, shoving past the cameras, heading toward the garages, toward anywhere that wasn’t here.
I’d taken no more than five steps when a hand grabbed my shoulder. I barely had time to turn before I was yanked back, spun around. A fist smashed into my jaw. My head snapped sideways and pain exploded through my skull. My water bottle hit the ground. Gasps ricocheted around the paddock.
Callaghan stood inches away, shaking with fury.
“What the fuck, man?” I spat blood onto the concrete.
His eyes blazed. Jaw tight, fists clenched at his sides like he was fighting the urge to throw another punch.
“You put your hands on my sister?” His voice was low, sharp. Deadly. “You actually had the audacity?”
I met his glare, wiped blood from my lip with the back of my hand.
Callaghan’s fists clenched, knuckles white, chest rising and falling like he was keeping himself from swinging again.
“You arrogant, lying piece of shit,” he bit out. “Did you think I wouldn’t find out? Did you think you could knock her up, and just walk away?”
The press exploded. Cameras surged forward, microphones shoved closer. Every journalist in a twenty-foot radius had just gotten the quote of the year.
Julian shoved between us, a hand on my chest, voice razor-sharp. “Not here.”
He gripped Callaghan’s arm, and Selene stepped into my space.
“You want to get fined?” Selene hissed under her breath, voice low and lethal. “Or worse, banned?”
Julian shoved Callaghan back, hard.
“Inside,” he said. No room for argument. No room for anything.
Aedris security stepped in, forming a wall between us and the press. The cameras still flashed, reporters still shouted, but Julian was already steering Callaghan toward the Aedris motorhome.
Selene’s fingers bit into my wrist, dragging me after them.
