The Champion's Contract Bride

"You sold me out for a headline, Adrian. That's the only reason you're here now." Sofia's voice cut through the empty lobby of the Dorchester Hotel, sharper than the March wind rattling the revolving doors. She stood with her arms crossed, her old duffel bag slung over one shoulder like a shield, glaring at the man who had ruined her life and now apparently wanted to resurrect it. Adrian Cross didn't flinch. He never flinched. Tall and immaculate in a charcoal suit that probably cost more than her rent for six months, he studied her with those cold grey eyes she remembered too well. The last time she'd seen them up close, she was being loaded into an ambulance, her leg screaming, her career already dead. "Five minutes," he said. "That's all I'm asking." "You've had three years to ask." Sofia shifted her weight. The old injury ached when she stood too long. She hated that he might notice. "I read the article, Adrian. 'Cross Racing distances itself from reckless driver Sofia Reed.' Your words. Your company's statement. My funeral." His jaw tightened. That small movement gave her more satisfaction than it should have. "The board forced that statement. I didn't write it." "But you signed it." Silence stretched between them. A concierge glanced their way, recognized Adrian, and quickly looked down at his desk. Even here, even now, the man commanded rooms without speaking. Sofia turned toward the door. She had come to London for a meeting with a potential sponsor, some European energy drink company desperate for a comeback story. She hadn't expected Adrian Cross to be waiting in her hotel lobby like a debt collector. "The answer is no," she said. "I haven't asked you anything yet." "You don't have to. You want me to drive for Cross Racing again. The offer came through my agent this morning." She laughed, bitter and cold. "Did you think I wouldn't notice who owns the team? That I'd just show up to your headquarters and sign whatever contract you put in front of me?" Adrian stepped closer. Close enough that she caught the familiar scent of him, cedar and something darker, something she'd spent three years trying to forget. "The offer is real," he said. "Full season. Factory support. The best car on the grid." "The same car that nearly killed me?" "The car was never the problem." Sofia's heart stuttered. She had spent three years telling herself the crash was her fault. She had gone too fast into that corner. She had pushed too hard, wanted the championship too badly. Every therapist, every doctor, every former friend had said some version of the same thing. Move on. Let it go. The sport doesn't owe you anything. Now Adrian Cross stood in front of her, implying something else entirely. "What are you saying?" He glanced at the concierge, then back at her. "Not here. We need to talk privately." "No." "Sofia." The way he said her name made her stomach twist. She hated him for that too. "You think because I'm desperate, I'll listen to whatever manipulation you've prepared." She stepped back, keeping distance between them. "I'm not that girl anymore. I don't believe in second chances handed out by billionaires who need good PR." Adrian's phone buzzed. He ignored it. "I'm not offering PR. I'm offering you a seat." "And what do you get? My charming personality? My media appeal?" Sofia tilted her head. "I read the business section. Your investors are circling. They want stability, family values, a CEO who looks settled. A wife, maybe. But I'm not interested in that role either." Something flickered in Adrian's expression. Surprise, maybe. Or annoyance. She couldn't tell. His face was a mask, always had been. "Who told you about the investors?" "I have sources." "Lucas." The mention of her brother made Sofia's blood run hot. Lucas had spent the last three years investigating the crash on his own time, convinced something was wrong. She had told him to stop, that obsession would eat him alive, that some things were just accidents. He hadn't listened. "Leave my brother out of this." "Your brother has been contacting my employees. Former employees. Board members." Adrian's voice dropped. "He's asking dangerous questions." "Then maybe you should answer them." Sofia turned and walked toward the elevator. Her hands were shaking, which infuriated her. Three years of rebuilding herself, of finding some kind of peace, and one conversation with Adrian Cross reduced her to this. "Sofia, wait." She didn't. The elevator doors opened and she stepped inside, pressing the button for her floor with more force than necessary. Adrian didn't follow. He just stood there in the lobby, watching her go, his expression unreadable. The doors slid shut. Sofia exhaled, leaning against the mirrored wall. Her leg throbbed. Her chest burned. She pressed her palm against the cool metal and closed her eyes. The championship. The rain-slicked track. The corner where everything went wrong. She had replayed that moment a thousand times. The steering wheel jerking violently in her hands, the rear end snapping loose, the wall coming at her like a black wave. She had always believed she made an error. Pushed too hard. Paid the price. But what if she hadn't? The elevator dinged. She stumbled out, fumbling for her room key. Her phone buzzed in her pocket. A message from her agent. They're pulling the offer. EnergyFuel says they need someone "more stable." Call me. Sofia stared at the screen. Her last opportunity, gone. There would be others, she told herself. There had to be others. But she was thirty-one years old, three years out of the sport, and the racing world had a short memory. Younger drivers were faster, cheaper, hungrier. She was becoming a cautionary tale. Inside her room, Sofia dropped her bag and sat on the edge of the bed. The city sprawled outside her window, grey and indifferent. She could hear her father's voice in her head, the last conversation before he'd died. You're a Reed, he'd said. Reeds don't quit. But her father had never faced this. He'd never been publicly destroyed, never watched his sponsors vanish overnight, never had the man he trusted most call him a liability. Adrian Cross. Even thinking his name made her want to throw something. She had met him when she was twenty-three, a rising star signed to Cross Racing during its struggling years. He was new to the CEO role then, young and intense and already hated by half the board. She had been drawn to him immediately, though she'd never admitted it out loud. They argued constantly, pushed each other relentlessly. There had been moments when she thought something might happen between them, moments after races when his eyes lingered too long, moments in hotel bars when the conversation turned personal. Then the crash. Then silence. Then the public statement that buried her. Sofia lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Her phone buzzed again. This time it was Lucas. Adrian Cross contacted me. Said to stop investigating or he'd take legal action. What the hell did you say to him? She typed back quickly. Nothing important. Stay out of it. Lucas responded immediately. Too late. I found something. Call me. Sofia sat up. Her brother had been right all along. Maybe not about everything, but enough. And if there was something to find, she deserved to know. She called Lucas. His voice was urgent, pitched low like he was somewhere he shouldn't be. "I don't have long. But the financial records from the year of your crash—there's a gap. Six weeks of transactions missing from Cross Racing's account. Someone scrubbed them." "What does that mean?" "It means someone paid for something they didn't want traced. And it happened right before your accident." Sofia's throat tightened. "Lucas, that could be anything. Team expenses, supplier payments—" "Two days after your crash, one of the missing payments landed in an account connected to a shell company. Sofia, this wasn't random. Someone was paid to make sure you didn't finish that race." The room tilted. Sofia stood, pacing to the window, pressing her forehead against the cool glass. "Who?" she whispered. "I'm still figuring that out. But whoever it is, they're still inside Cross Racing. And Adrian Cross either knows about it or he's blind." "He knows." Sofia said it without hesitation. "He knows something." "Then why would he offer you a seat now? Why bring you back if he's involved?" Sofia didn't have an answer. Below, London moved on without her. Taxis, pedestrians, all of them oblivious. Three years ago, her face had been on billboards. Now she was just another person trying to survive. "I don't know," she said finally. "But I'm going to find out." "Sof, be careful. These people—" "I'll be careful. Just send me what you have." She hung up and stood there, shaking. The crash wasn't an accident. Someone had planned it. Someone had paid for it. And Adrian Cross, the man who called her a liability, had kept that truth locked away. Sofia walked to her bag and pulled out her laptop. She opened her email, searching for the original offer from Cross Racing. It was still there, unread, sent six hours earlier. She read it twice. Full season. Factory support. Championship-caliber car. And at the bottom, below her agent's signature line, a note from Adrian Cross himself. I know you don't trust me. I'm not asking you to. Meet me tomorrow morning at Cross Racing headquarters. Come alone. What I have to say can't be said in a hotel lobby. Sofia stared at the screen. Every instinct told her to delete the email, block the number, run far away from the world that had broken her. But she couldn't run. She'd been running for three years. And now someone had tried to kill her career. Maybe worse. Her phone buzzed again. A notification from Lucas. I think I found the name of the company that received the payment. It's linked to someone on Cross Racing's board. Sofia, it's bigger than we thought. Sofia's hand tightened around the phone. She was going to meet Adrian Cross tomorrow. Not because she trusted him. Because she wanted the truth. And if he knew anything, she would tear it out of him piece by piece.