The billionaire's forbidden pit stop

Episode 4: The Predator's Garage

The heavy scent of rich leather and expensive cologne was the first thing that filtered through Asaliya’s groggy senses. Slowly, the foggy weight of whatever drug they had used to knock her out began to lift. She tried to move her arms to rub her aching temples, but her wrists jerked back violently, met with the harsh, biting resistance of thick rope.

Her eyes snapped open. She was lying flat on a massive king-sized bed. Panic surged through her veins as she tried to move her legs, only to find her ankles securely bound to the wooden frame of the bed. Her hands were tied behind her back, but her mouth was left completely free.

Asaliya frantically looked around the room. The space was immense, suffocatingly dark, and completely, relentlessly black. Black silk sheets, black velvet drapes, matte-black walls, and dark slate flooring. It felt like a luxurious, modern dungeon.

Then, her eyes locked onto the far corner of the room.

Sitting perfectly still in a sleek black leather armchair was Adrian Kayel Novak.

The room’s dim lighting caught the sharp angles of his face. He was wearing a pair of thin, silver-framed reading glasses that rested low on the bridge of his nose, giving his ruthless features an intensely sharp, intellectual look. Combined with his honey skin and the dark, blonde-streaked hair falling over his forehead, he looked jaw-droppingly, dangerously hot. He was quietly reading through a tablet, completely ignoring her until she let out a sharp gasp.

"Let me go! Help! Someone help me!" Asaliya instantly started screaming at the top of her lungs, thrashing against her restraints. She glared at him, her chest heaving as she forced an expression of pure, clueless terror onto her face. "Who the hell are you?! Why did your men kidnap me? I’m just a tourist! What do you want from me, you psycho?!"

Adrian didn’t flinch at her screams. Instead, his dark eyes slowly drifted up from his tablet, locking onto her trembling frame through the lenses of his glasses. A slow, chilling stillness settled over him.

Right then, at that exact moment, Adrian knew with absolute certainty that this girl was 'Milli.'

Her acting had completely ruined her cover. Adrian Novak was a two-time Formula 1 world champion and a billionaire tech mogul whose face graced the front pages of international business and sports news at least once a week. Every person with access to a television or a phone knew exactly who he was. For an independent motorsport photographer to look him dead in the eye and pretend she didn't recognize him? It was a pathetic, dead giveaway. She was overacting, trying too hard to play the clueless victim.

Adrian slowly took off his glasses, tossing them onto the small table beside him. He stood up, his massive 6'2" frame instantly casting a long, terrifying shadow over the bed. As he walked toward her, the faint glint of silver caught the dim light.

He was holding a sleek, razor-sharp pocket knife.

Asaliya’s breath hitched, her screaming dying down into a tense, defensive silence as Adrian stopped right at the edge of the mattress. He leaned down, his dark, scary eyes inches from her face, bringing the cold metal blade up until it rested mere millimeters away from her cheek.

"Cut the crap," Adrian whispered, his voice a low, dominant growl that made the hairs on her arms stand up. "What are you doing, Asaliya? Why the hell are you targeting me and my friends?"

Asaliya swallowed hard, her jaw tightening as she maintained her innocent facade. "I don't know what you're talking about! My name is Asaliya, yes, but I'm just a freelance photographer! Please, you're making a mistake!"

Adrian didn't waste his breath arguing. With a lightning-fast, calculated movement, he grabbed her right hand, which was bound tightly near her hip, and pressed the edge of the blade against the tip of her index finger. He applied just a fraction of pressure—enough to break the skin. A tiny, single drop of crimson blood welled up against the silver blade.

The sharp, stinging pain shattered Asaliya’s composure. She realized right then that this man wasn't playing a game. He was a monster, and her innocent act wouldn't save her.

The fake terror instantly vanished from her face, replaced by a cold, stubborn defiance. She stopped acting. She smirked, looking up at him with a sharp, fearless gaze. "I'm just doing whatever the hell I want, Novak. Tabloids pay a lot of money for a god who bleeds."

Adrian’s lips twitched into a dark, humorless smile. He leaned in closer, his breath fanning across her face. "You can do whatever the f**k you want with others, sweetheart. But not with me. You don't touch my world, and you sure as hell don't touch my friends."

Asaliya scoffed, her smirk widening despite the knife still touching her skin. "And what if I don't stop? What are you going to do, kill me?"

Adrian didn't answer her question. He simply straightened his posture, wiping the tiny speck of blood onto a black cloth. He looked down at her like a king deciding the fate of a peasant. "You aren't leaving this place. You will stay tied to this bed, in this room, until you look me in the eye and promise me that you will stop. Until then, get comfortable."

Without another word, Adrian turned around, his black blazer flowing behind him as he walked out of the room, slamming the heavy door shut and leaving her locked in the darkness.

The loud, chaotic roar of pneumatic drills and the high-pitched whine of telemetry testing echoed through the sprawling Novak Racing garage. Mechanics and engineers in black team gear were rushing around the pristine, high-tech facility, preparing the cars for the first free practice session of the weekend.

Adrian sat quietly on a low workbench near the back of the garage, fully dressed in his sleek, black racing undersuit, his fireproof boots resting on the concrete floor.

A few feet away, Ren, his teammate, was leaning against a stack of Pirelli tires, loudly joking with a group of data engineers. Ren was laughing, throwing his hands in the air as he made highly sarcastic, public jokes at Adrian's expense.

"I'm telling you guys, the man is a literal robot," Ren shouted over the noise, grinning broadly. "Two world championships and not a single scandal with a woman. I think he goes to sleep in a charging pod. He’s been single his whole life! *Putain*, even the mechanics have better luck than him!"

The engineers burst out laughing, but Adrian didn't even blink. He was completely deaf to their banter. His mind was entirely consumed by the memory of the girl locked away in his private condo. He couldn't shake the image of Asaliya's beautiful, utterly fearless face when she looked at his knife. Who the hell was she? Why was she risking her life to hunt him down?

"Yo, look who decided to show up looking like a goddamn grape!" Ren’s loud voice broke Adrian out of his thoughts.

Walking into the Novak garage was Felix, fully dressed in his official Arseni Racing team gear. The suit was a bright, vibrant purple, complete with neon sponsor logos running down the sleeves.

Adrian looked up, and for the first time all day, a genuine, relaxed smile broke across his face. The dark, terrifying captor from the penthouse vanished, replaced by a man who genuinely loved his brothers. "Look at you," Adrian muttered, shaking his head. "You look like a literal popsicle, Felix. Did Arseni run out of actual colors?"

"Oh, shut up, you oversized shadow!" Felix snapped back in English, though his heavy French accent was thick. "*Merde*, it's called fashion, Adrian! The ladies love the purple. Speaking of which..." Felix leaned against the workbench, a proud, playboy smirk on his face. "My sixteenth girlfriend just texted me. She's flying into the paddock tomorrow. Absolute smoke show."

Ren rolled his eyes dramatically, slapping Felix on the shoulder. "Sixteenth this year, you mean? You're a disaster. Unlike you, I actually have a new, sophisticated girlfriend. She understands the pressure of the track."

"Sophisticated? Please," Felix scoffed, waving his hand dismissively. "She probably just likes your garage passes, *mon ami*. I prefer my women a little more... enthusiastic, if you know what I mean."

The two of them continued to bicker, throwing dirty, sarcastic jokes back and forth about their chaotic love lives, their voices full of easy, lighthearted warmth. Adrian just sat there, listening to his friends, the heavy tension in his shoulders loosening slightly in their presence.

The garage speakers suddenly chimed, announcing a five-minute warning before the pit lane opened for the free practice session.

Adrian slowly stood up from the workbench, grabbing his black helmet from the rack. He walked right past Felix and Ren, stopping just for a brief second between them.

Out of nowhere, a wicked, incredibly dirty smirk spread across Adrian’s face. He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping into a teasing whisper. "Keep bragging about your girls, fellas. But we all know the only thing Felix is riding this weekend is the kerbs, and Ren’s girl is probably getting 'sophisticated' with his chief mechanic right about now."

Before Felix or Ren could even process the words, Adrian slapped them both firmly on the back, let out a rare, booming laugh, and walked straight out toward the pit lane, leaving his two friends standing in the middle of the garage, completely stunned and utterly confused.

"*Attends... quoi?!*" Felix sputtered, his eyes wide as he stared after Adrian's retreating back. "What the f**k did he just say?!"

Ren blinked, completely speechless. "Did... did the robot just make a juicy joke? What the hell is happening to him?"