Redline

An early goodbye

Valentina had barely slept for three hours.

Footage of yesterday's press conference was still playing on every sports channel as the elevator climbed toward Moreau Racing's executive floor. The headlines couldn't have been worse.

"Dante Moreau Loses Control."

"Chaos in Monaco."

"Sabotage Inside the Team?"

Perfect.

It was her first day, and she already felt like she was trying to put out a wildfire with her bare hands.

The elevator doors opened onto the team's private offices.

The entire floor had the polished, cold aesthetic that seemed to come naturally to people with too much money: black marble, smoked glass, massive screens streaming live race data, and employees hurrying from one end of the building to the other with permanent tension etched across their shoulders.

Valentina walked down the hallway, skimming through the reports she'd put together before dawn, when she heard her name.

"The new press girl."

Two assistants were watching her from the doorway of a nearby office.

"How long do you give her?"

"Two weeks."

"Optimistic."

She kept walking as though she hadn't heard a thing, though part of her was beginning to suspect they probably weren't wrong.

By the time she reached the conference room, Isabelle was already there with several executives and team sponsors.

Nobody looked happy.

The screens displayed social media metrics plummeting in real time while negative headlines continued multiplying by the minute.

"The situation is serious," one of the sponsors said as soon as Valentina took her seat. "We've lost millions in brand value in less than twelve hours."

"The crash only made things worse," another executive added. "And the press conference was a disaster."

Valentina set her folder on the table and took a slow breath before speaking.

"We need to control the narrative before qualifying. If the sabotage rumors keep gaining momentum, this situation is going to spiral out of control."

"And what exactly do you suggest?" someone asked from the other end of the table.

"Limit media exposure. Restrict interviews. Release an official statement. And keep Dante away from every microphone for at least the next twenty-four hours."

Several people nodded.

It made perfect sense.

Until the door flew open.

Dante walked in without knocking.

He was dressed entirely in black, still wearing sunglasses despite being indoors. He crossed the room with the effortless confidence of someone who had spent his entire life interrupting meetings simply by showing up.

Valentina noticed it immediately.

Everyone changed when he entered.

Shoulders stiffened.

Eyes dropped.

The entire room grew uncomfortable.

Dante tossed a folder onto the table before finally looking at her.

"She's still here?"

He didn't even pretend to sound polite.

Isabelle let out a slow breath.

"She's doing her job, Dante."

"Then somebody should take a closer look at how she's doing it."

Valentina rested her forearms on the table with deliberate calm.

"Good morning to you too."

He ignored her.

Instead, he grabbed a bottle of water.

"I don't need a princesse de presse telling me what I can and can't say."

"And I don't need a racing driver who can't survive a single interview without threatening someone."

Silence.

One of the sponsors literally stopped moving.

Dante slowly turned toward her.

A faint smile tugged at one corner of his mouth.

He didn't look annoyed.

He looked entertained.

"Do you always seem this eager to get yourself into trouble?"

"Do you always work this hard to make yourself a public relations nightmare?"

Behind the dark lenses, his gray eyes seemed to gleam.

"You started it."

"No. You crashed a Formula One car and then terrified half the international press. I just got here afterward."

Someone cleared their throat awkwardly at the far end of the room.

Before things could escalate any further, Isabelle stepped in.

"We need to focus on this race weekend."

"Fine," Dante said, never taking his eyes off Valentina. "Fire the press girl, and we can all move on."

The room froze.

Valentina blinked once.

"Excuse me?"

Dante took an unhurried sip of water.

"She doesn't perform well under pressure. It's obvious."

A short, humorless laugh escaped her.

"You're evaluating me after one day?"

"After watching you lose control during what should've been a routine press conference."

"It stopped being routine the moment you decided to act like a murder suspect during an interrogation."

Several executives immediately lowered their eyes to the table.

Dante slowly removed his sunglasses.

For the first time since walking into the room, he looked directly at her.

Up close, the intensity of those gray eyes was almost unsettling.

"You have a remarkable talent for talking too much."

"And you have an even greater talent for ruining every room you walk into."

That earned her another crooked smile.

"I think you're starting to obsess over me."

Valentina raised an eyebrow.

"Trust me. If I were obsessed with you, you'd already have received an invoice for emotional damages."

One of the engineers let out a laugh before quickly pretending to cough.

Dante leaned one arm against the table, closing the distance between them ever so slightly.

"You won't last long here."

"Funny. You keep saying that like you're trying to convince yourself."

Something shifted in Dante's expression.

Barely.

"Smart people know when it's time to leave."

"Then I guess you'll have to get used to seeing me around."

The tension settled between them again.

Heavy.

Electric.

Uncomfortably alive.

Before anyone could step in, one of the engineers rushed into the conference room.

"We need Dante in the garage. Now."

Everything changed instantly.

Dante was on his feet before anyone could say another word.

"Meeting's over."

"No, it isn't," Isabelle shot back.

But he was already heading for the door.

Just before disappearing into the hallway, he glanced back at Valentina.

"You can still run while you have the chance, princesse."

She held his gaze without flinching.

"And you still have time to learn some manners."

A brief smile curved across Dante's lips.

Dangerous.

Almost amused.

Then he was gone.

Valentina slowly let out the breath she'd been holding as the door closed behind him.

Idiot.

Arrogant.

Controlling.

Insufferable.

And yet...

Something still didn't add up.

There was a world of difference between a cruel man...

...and a man who lived every day expecting something terrible to happen.

And Dante Moreau definitely looked like he was waiting for something.

Half an hour later, Valentina wandered through the paddock, trying to clear her head, when raised voices drifted from the direction of the main garage.

She stopped immediately.

Two mechanics were arguing in hushed voices beside one of the cars.

"I told you, someone tampered with it."

"Keep your voice down."

"The brakes didn't fail on their own."

A chill ran down Valentina's spine.

She took a step closer.

The moment the two men noticed her, they fell silent.

Too quickly.

Their expressions shifted in an instant.

Far too nervous.

"Everything okay?" she asked.

One of them forced a smile.

"Yeah. Just some technical issues."

A lie.

Valentina knew it the second he said it.

The mechanics hurried away, leaving her alone in front of the nearly empty garage.

Then she saw it.

One of the access panels inside Dante's car had been left open.

Scrawled across the exposed metal in thick red marker were just two words.

HE KNOWS.

For a second, Valentina's heart stopped.

"You shouldn't be looking at that."

The deep voice behind her made her spin around.

Dante stood only a few steps away, watching her in silence.

This time, he didn't look arrogant.

He didn't look irritated.

He looked...

Dangerous.