The billionaire's forbidden pit stop

Episode 5: Thick Glass and Tight Windows

The searing heat of the track faded the moment Adrian pulled the midnight-black *Novak-GTI* into the pit lane, shutting off the roaring V6 turbo engine. Free Practice 1 was officially over, and the timing screens at the top of the garage confirmed exactly what the world expected: Adrian Kayel Novak was at the top of the sheets in P1. He had spent the last hour threading the needle through high-speed chicanes, his tires screaming against the asphalt as he perfected his racing lines. Ren had put down an impressive performance just two-tenths behind him, and even Felix, despite his loud mouth, had managed to secure a solid top-five time for Arseni Racing. The grid was tightly packed, the competitive tension for the upcoming weekend already reaching a boiling point.

Back in the cooling quarters of the Novak Racing hospitality suite, the smell of rubber and fuel was replaced by the sharp, bracing scent of eucalyptus. Adrian and Ren were currently submerged up to their chests in two side-by-side stainless steel ice baths—their first mandatory cryo-recovery session of the new season. The water was a freezing, murky slurry of crushed ice meant to shock their battered muscles back to life after enduring brutal G-forces on the track. Ren was shivering slightly, his teeth chattering, while Adrian sat perfectly still, his honey-toned shoulders propped against the rim, his dark eyes staring blankly at the ceiling.

Out of nowhere, Ren pulled his phone from a dry towel nearby, a wicked grin spreading across his face. "Hey, Adrian, *putain*, you need to check your i********: notifications," Ren laughed, scrolling rapidly through the screen. "The internet is absolutely losing its mind over that club photo from yesterday. Let me read you some of these spicy comments under your latest post."

Adrian didn't move a muscle, his face a mask of cold indifference. "Put the phone away, Ren."

"No way, listen to this one," Ren chuckled, clearing his throat to mimic a high-pitched voice. "'*My legs are literally divorced for him. The man is fine as s**t, it is so sad he has no women in his life.*' And oh, here’s another one: '*Adrian Novak could run me over with his car and I'd thank him for the downforce.*' Jesus, your fans are completely unhinged."

Ren’s laughter echoed in the tiled room, but his thumb kept scrolling until his grin faded slightly. "Ah, here come the lovely keyboard warriors. Listen to the hate columns from the hardcore Mick fans: '*Novak is a reckless cheat. Those aggressive moves against Mick in the season finale last year should have landed him a black flag, not a championship. He drives like a criminal.*'"

Adrian merely closed his eyes, completely tuning out the noise. He didn’t care about the praise, and he cared even less about the hate regarding his aggressive overtaking maneuvers against Mick, the runner-up from the previous season.

Suddenly, the heavy glass doors of the recovery room swung open. Felix strolled right in, still wearing the top half of his bright purple Arseni racing suit tied loosely around his waist. Right behind him was a frantic Novak team engineer, sweating and waving his hands. "Sir! Excuse me, sir! This area is strictly restricted to Novak personnel! You cannot be in here without team authorization!"

Felix didn't even look back, casually waving his hand dismissively as he walked straight toward the ice baths. "Relax, *mon ami*. I have a permanent VIP friend-card with the boss. Go back to your data screens."

It was classic Felix. The man used his friendship with Adrian to cross every single line, completely ignoring paddock protocols, security clearances, or corporate boundaries—not just in the racing world, but everywhere in life. The engineer looked at Adrian, who gave a single, almost imperceptible nod, signaling the man to leave them be. The engineer sighed and stepped out, shutting the door.

Felix leaned over the edge of Ren's ice bath, looking down at Adrian’s towering, lean body submerged in the freezing water. "Look at this giant piece of stone," Felix mocked, shaking his head with a dramatic groan. "You have this perfect, carved Greek god physique, you are a multi-billionaire, and yet, not a single woman’s hand has touched skin besides a physiotherapist in years. *Quelle honte!* It is an absolute shame, Adrian. Seriously, are you gay? Just tell us. Ren and I won't judge you."

Adrian’s arm cut through the water like a whip. He scooped up a massive handful of freezing, ice-laden water and splashed it straight into Felix’s face.

"*Putain de merde!*" Felix shrieked, jumping backward as the freezing slush soaked his shirt. "You psychopath! It was a legitimate question!"

Ren roared with laughter, nearly choking on his own spit. "Oh, he’s definitely not gay, Felix. Haven’t you read the fan fiction online? The fans think *we* are together. I found a massive thread yesterday. They write these deeply graphic stories about us sharing a motorhome after a race. They call it 'Dark Trailing.' They describe your 'supple French lips' meeting my 'rugged charm' while Adrian watches from the corner."

"Oh, go f**k yourself, Ren!" Felix barked, wiping the ice from his eyes while laughing despite himself. "If I'm going down in a fanfic, I am definitely the top. I have the alpha energy here, despite the purple suit."

"You? Top? *Mon dieu*, you look like a colorful chew toy," Ren fired back, unleashing a stream of dirty, sarcastic jokes that had both of them trading raunchy insults back and forth.

They kept up the loud, profane banter for another fifteen minutes, but Adrian had completely drifted away. His physical body was in that ice bath, but his mind was thousands of miles away, locked inside the heavy, black-walled bedroom of his secret Australian condo. He was wondering if she was still fighting, if her spirit had broken yet, and why the hell her fearless face was the only thing he could think about while his friends cracked jokes around him.

Hours later, after enduring a grueling post-practice media conference, countless sponsor activities, and mandatory interviews where he gave his usual blunt, one-word answers, Adrian finally escaped. He caught a private flight, heading straight back to the secluded estate where he was hiding Asaliya.

The sun had completely set by the time he unlocked the heavy front door of the condo. He walked down the dark, minimalist hallway and entered her room. The dim lights revealed Asaliya still tied to the bed, her jaw set in a hard, rigid line. On the side table sat a silver tray of gourmet food, completely untouched. The lids were still on the plates.

Adrian walked over, his dark eyes narrowing as he looked from the food to her face. He knew she had to be absolutely starving by now—it had been nearly a full day. But her stubborn, toxic ego had prevented her from letting any of his staff feed her since her hands were tightly bound behind her back. She would rather starve than show a single ounce of vulnerability.

Asaliya glared up at him, her breathing shallow. She was anaerobic, hungry, and right now, she desperately needed to use the washroom. Her bladder was about to burst, but her intense pride had kept her quiet for hours. Finally, crossing the line of her own physical endurance, she hissed through her teeth, "Let me go to the bathroom, Novak. Now."

Adrian stepped closer, looking down at her with a look of extreme, dark playfulness. He leaned over the bed, a mocking smirk on his lips. "It's a very simple trade, sweetheart. Look me in the eye, tell me you will stop this media mess, and I'll untie you myself."

"Go to hell," she snapped, spitting the words in his face.

Adrian chuckled softly, straightening his posture. "Suit yourself." He turned around and walked out of the room, shutting the door behind him.

Asaliya’s heart sank. She genuinely thought she was completely done for, doomed to humiliate herself right there on the black silk sheets. But less than two minutes later, the door clicked open again. Adrian hadn't left her to suffer; instead, an elderly, kind-faced maid stepped into the room, holding a small key. The old lady gently unlocked the ropes around Asaliya's ankles and wrists, sighing softly. "Come along, child. The master said I could help you to the washroom."

But Asaliya wasn't in the mindset to appreciate a good deed or see this as a fair payback. In her mind, anyone who worked under Adrian Kayel Novak was a sworn enemy. Her hands were free, her ankles were free, and her stubborn brain immediately went into survival mode.

The moment they stepped into the massive, marble-tiled bathroom, Asaliya turned around. With a quick, deceptive movement, she grabbed the elderly maid by her arms, spun her around, and shoved her gently but firmly into the main bedroom space, quickly slamming the heavy bathroom door shut and turning the lock from the inside.

"Hey! Open the door, child!" the old lady cried out from the bedroom, rattling the handle.

Asaliya ignored her, her heart hammering as she looked around the bathroom for an escape. Her eyes locked onto the small, rectangular frosted glass window high up on the wall. It was tiny—clearly meant only for ventilation—but she didn't care. She scrambled up onto the marble counter, unlatched the window, and shoved her head and shoulders through the narrow opening, wriggling her body out into the cool night air.

It was a terrible mistake.

The window was far too small. The moment her torso cleared the frame, her shapely hourglass hips got completely, aggressively stuck against the rigid wooden moulding. She tried to squirm forward, but her foot slipped off the internal counter, causing her to awkwardly twist and spin her left ankle against the inner wall with a sharp *crack*.

"Ah! *f**k!*" Asaliya screamed, tears of sharp pain pricking her eyes. She was completely trapped, half-dangling out of the wall like a broken doll, her upper body hanging outside in the humid night air while her lower legs were stuck inside the bathroom. "f**k you, Adrian Novak! You piece of absolute s**t!" she cursed loudly into the empty yard, thrashing fruitlessly.

Inside the house, the panicked maid had already speed-dialed Adrian, frantically explaining the situation. Adrian, who was just walking out to his luxury *Apex-Phantom* hypercar in the driveway, paused. A slow, deeply amused smirk spread across his face as he realized exactly what his stubborn little rabbit had tried to do.

He walked around the perimeter of the dark estate, his boots crunching quietly against the gravel, until he reached the back wall of the bathroom.

He stopped, looking up.

There she was. Asaliya was dangling awkwardly from the tiny window, her jersey bunched up around her ribs, her face flushed red with anger and pain as she hung frozen midway through the wall.

Adrian crossed his massive arms over his chest, leaning against a tree trunk as he stared up at her, his scary black eyes glittering with pure, unadulterated amusement. He didn't say a single word; he just let out a low, mocking chuckle that cut through the quiet night.

Hearing the laugh, Asaliya snapped her head down, her messy hair falling over her eyes. Seeing him standing there looking so effortlessly perfect while she was completely stuck, her stubborn defiance flared to life. Freeing her right hand from the tight gap, she raised her arm high and proudly flipped him her middle finger.