Page 3 of Formula Freedom (Race Fever #3)

Lara

T he moment we step into the elevator, Lance’s hand takes mine and he clamps down on it like a vise. It’s a dual message— you’re not going anywhere and I’m going to make you hurt right now .

“You’re unbelievable,” he mutters under his breath, jaw clenched so tight I can see the muscle twitch.

I don’t say anything. Not yet. I’ve learned over the last few months what sets Lance off, and me questioning him in public is a definite trigger.

The elevator doors close and I watch the floor numbers light up, one by one. The silence is suffocating, my hand throbbing as we descend.

His demeanor changed the minute Reid first asked me how I’d been.

I could sense the tension simmering through his body and when he followed me and Bex to the bathroom, rather than stay to talk to Nash Sinclair, I knew it wasn’t going to end well for me tonight.

It was so embarrassing the way he pulled me away from Bex after we exited the ladies’ room, like I was a child who’d misbehaved in public.

God knows what Bex told Reid when she returned, but my cheeks are still warm with humiliation.

We exit the elevator and I have to jog in my heels to keep up with his long, angry strides through the lobby. The moment we step out onto the street, he explodes. “What the fuck was that, Lara?” he snaps, yanking me toward the curb. “You think I didn’t see it?”

“See what?” I ask, trying to keep my voice calm. Measured. The same way I always do when he gets like this.

“Don’t play stupid with me,” he seethes, spittle flying from his mouth. “The way you were looking at him. Like some lovesick little schoolgirl.”

A taxi pulls up and Lance practically shoves me in the back seat.

“That’s not fair,” I say as he climbs in after me. “I wasn’t—”

“Don’t lie to me.” His voice is low, dangerous. “You practically melted when he smiled at you.”

I shake my head. “You’re imagining things.”

The cab driver glances at us in the rearview mirror, then wisely says nothing. Lance doesn’t care. He’s in full steamroll mode now.

“Don’t play innocent. I saw the way he looked at you. You were always his little lapdog growing up. God, I should’ve known this would happen.”

I fold my arms across my chest, pressing myself against the door, trying to create space that doesn’t exist. My skin is flushed, not just from embarrassment, but from rising anger.

Because this isn’t new. This is who Lance has become, and he resembles very little of my childhood friend and man whose proposal I accepted without a doubt in my heart.

We pull up in front of our hotel and he throws a few bills at the driver before practically dragging me out of the cab.

His fingers dig into my arm as we walk through the lobby, past a smiling concierge staff and guests in evening wear. No one sees the way his hand tightens when I hesitate. No one sees anything but the facade, but I’ll see the bruises in the morning.

Upstairs in our suite, the second the door shuts, the mask drops.

He slings me away from him and I stumble, catching myself before going down. I whirl to face him, preferring to know what’s coming.

“I know what you were trying to do,” he snarls in agitation, pacing back and forth. “You love to embarrass me. You take joy in it.”

“I wasn’t doing anything, Lance,” I snap, voice finally cracking under the pressure. “I was talking to people. Being polite.”

“You were flirting with my brother,” he yells, and I wince. There’s no way people in the rooms to either side of us wouldn’t hear him. Things are spiraling.

I’m spiraling and my sense of self-preservation evaporates.

I bark out a laugh that sounds brittle, even to me. “You’re bloody paranoid, you know that?”

He steps closer, invading my space. “Don’t you fucking laugh at me.”

“Why? Because I’m right?” I take a step back, not from fear, but so I can look at him clearly. “You’re not mad about me talking to Reid. You’re mad because you’re feeling guilty.”

Lance freezes. Just for a second, but I see the fear in his eyes.

I seize on it because it’s so rare for me to get the upper hand. “You’ve been cheating on me,” I say, voice steady even as my heart hammers. “I saw the texts.”

“What texts?” he grits out. The hesitation is gone, replaced by fury.

“You left your phone unlocked one night and I saw them. You didn’t even try to hide it.”

Silence.

He blinks. But not in shame. Not in apology.

No. He narrows his eyes in offense. “You went through my phone?” he growls.

“You left it open,” I snap. “It lit up with a message from some woman named Leslie. Said she missed your hands on her. Kind of hard to ignore that, Lance.”

His expression shifts—darkens.

“I don’t owe you an explanation,” he hisses. “You don’t get to question me like you’re some fucking innocent victim. Not the way you were throwing yourself at Reid tonight. You better be careful or I might just kick you to the curb. You’re lucky to have me.”

“Lucky?” My voice rises, now fueled by rage and disbelief. “You’ve been controlling, manipulative, emotionally abusive and now you’re cheating on me. And I’m supposed to be grateful ?”

He slaps me.

It’s fast, a sharp, open-handed crack across my cheek that leaves my ears ringing and my skin stinging.

I stumble back in shock, hand flying to my face.

For a second, I can’t breathe. He’s never struck me before.

All his abuse since we got engaged has been verbal, often fueled by alcohol, but still present even when sober.

I don’t know why it changed, but the minute I accepted his proposal, it’s like a switch flipped and he became a monster.

“I can’t believe you hit me,” I gasp, pressing my palm to the hot skin.

“You’re being dramatic,” he says, unfazed.

“I barely touched you. Besides, you know better than to get me riled up. If you’d have just kept your mouth shut, none of this would have happened.

In fact, if you’d have just acted like my fiancée around my brother, things would have been fine. This is all your fault.”

I stare at him in utter amazement. That he could look at me with a straight face and try to pin this all on me. My skin burns, but it’s the look in his eyes that turns my stomach—flat, unbothered, like what just happened is no big deal.

He turns toward the bathroom, tossing his jacket onto the bed. “I’m taking a shower. We’re not talking about this anymore.”

And somehow, that indifference is far scarier than the actual slap.

Lance disappears behind the door and the sound of running water starts a moment later.

I don’t think. I move .

I grab my small rolling carry-on from the closet, throw it on the bed, and start stuffing clothes into it—random, mismatched, whatever I can get my hands on.

I came with a much larger case and many more garments, but I need to get out of here fast. My hands are shaking, my pulse thumping in my throat.

I zip the bag, grab my purse and shove my phone in my pocket. I’m walking out of the room in less than two minutes, abandoning most of my clothes, all my toiletries and the meek subservience I’d been giving my fiancé for the last several months.

The hallway is empty. The elevator dings open almost instantly, as if the universe is giving me one small mercy. I don’t even look over my shoulder, trusting in my gut that I’m going to make this escape without any issues.

Down in the lobby, I step into a quiet corner near the lounge and take a deep breath. Tears threaten to appear, but I blink them back. I don’t have time for a breakdown.

For a fraction of a moment, I second-guess myself and wonder if I’m acting too hastily. That was the first time he hit me—is that enough to walk away from an engagement?

My conscience pipes up. Wise the fuck up, Lara. The man has been emotionally abusive and unsupportive of you since the minute you agreed to marry him. It’s time to move the fuck on.

A small bubble of laughter escapes, as well as a fondness for that tiny sliver of the old Lara that just peeped through.

I quickly run through my options, the most obvious of which is to hightail it to a car rental agency and head home.

I’d have the support of my parents, although it will be awkward, given that they’re best friends and business partners with Lance’s parents.

I have no doubt they’ll support me, but this is going to cause major rifts.

My phone buzzes in my hand and I’m startled. I look down and see it’s a text from Lance. Where the fuck are you?

Shit. I can just imagine him now, towel wrapped around his waist and staring in shock at the mess I left behind. Clothes strewn all over the place and a missing suitcase. I figure I have about thirty seconds before he’s dressed and down here in the lobby.

I don’t hesitate. I grab my bag and bolt outside onto the street. A taxi sits idling and I open the door. I shove my suitcase in and follow it, looking through the window at the lobby entrance.

“Where to?” the driver asks.

“Just pull away for now. Quickly, please.”

I’m sure it’s the fear and desperation in my voice, but he hits the gas and we zoom off. “I’ll just drive until you tell me where you want to go,” he says kindly. “Take your time.”

“Thank you,” I murmur.

I inhale a few deep breaths. Should I get a car and head home? I could make it in a few hours. The thought is unappealing because that’s exactly what Lance will assume I’ll do. He’ll be right behind me.

A thought strikes me, and I don’t know if it’s a good idea, but I find myself tapping on a contact that I haven’t used in years. The phone rings only twice before a man answers, his voice curious but welcoming. “Lara?”

“Hey, Reid,” I say, hating myself because my voice quavers.

He’s on immediate alert. “Are you okay?”

“No. Actually, I’m not. I need to see you.”

He doesn’t hesitate. Doesn’t try to pry more info. “I’m staying at the Ritz-Carlton and I’m walking out of the party now. I’ll meet you in the lobby.”

“Okay,” I whisper. “Thanks.”

I disconnect the call and the taxi driver’s eyes meet mine in the rearview mirror. “Where to?”

“The Ritz,” I murmur. “And thank you for being so accommodating.”

“No worries, love. We’ll be there in a tick.”

I’m not sure exactly why I’m going to Reid, but I suspect it has everything to do with the fact that I trust him implicitly.

While our friendship has dulled a little over the last few years—especially with his career taking off and me dating and then getting engaged to Lance—I know he will always have my back.