Page 42

“I’ll be a distraction, Reece. I think I should just go back to Vegas until all this blows over.”

His heart sinks. Then explodes.

“No. No way in hell we’re letting them drive a wedge between us.”

She looks at him, the shimmer of tears behind her defiance. “I’ve never had this kind of attention. I’m used to being looked at, sure, but this isn’t admiration.” She draws a shaky breath. “It’s contempt.”

He takes her face gently in his hands. “Then we show the world they’re wrong. We show them this video is a deliberate attack on both of us.”

There’s no line Graham won’t cross. Anything to destabilize Reece. Anything to give WolfBett and Wyn a better chance.

Maiken’s breath catches and a tear spills down her cheek.

" I chose you, Mai. Not Graham, not the fucking media circus, not anyone else. Me ." His hands frame her face, thumbs brushing away tears. "And I will burn this whole bloody sport to the ground before I let them take you away from me. They want a war? They've got one."

He pulls her into his arms and holds her like he’s anchoring them both.

Outside, the city hums. The lies spin.

But in this moment, they hold.

“We’re done being reactive. No more letting Graham and Junior steal the narrative. If they want to play dirty, honeybee, we'll show them exactly how nasty this can get.”

Reece stands at the bedroom window of their suite, arms folded, jaw tight. From twenty-one floors up, the world seems orderly, but his inbox is a goddamn mess.

Branca has forwarded three emails from sponsors. Two are dancing around the issue. EverWell Energy is not.

We require clarification on the incident involving Ms. Lange. A statement from the team or the driver would be appreciated, as media speculation is impacting brand alignment.

Brand alignment? Ms. Lange?

Fuck.

He wants to punch something. Or someone with the initials D.B.J.

Maiken pokes her head around the corner into the bedroom. She wears fuzzy hotel slippers and looks exactly nothing like the social media villain du jour. “We have company with really good eyebrows.”

Behind her, Lina steps into view with a sly smile and a familiar gleam in her eye. “We’ve decided your wife requires a deep tissue massage and a mimosa, RP11.”

Maria and Gudrun follow, armed with spa brochures and zero fucks to give.

Reece nods. These women are exactly what his wife needs right now.

“WAG protocol,” Lina says. “She’s ours for the afternoon. You go talk business. We’ll handle morale.”

Maiken glances at him, uncertain.

“I’ll be back before you’re done with sea salt anything.” He crosses the room, cups her face, and kisses her forehead. “You good?”

“I think so.” Then she straightens and summons some of her old sass. “Unless one of these bitches makes me do a cold plunge. Then I’m suing everyone.”

Gudrun smirks. “No plunges. Just steam, salt, and battle plans.”

The women sweep her away, Maiken's soft laughter already returning in the hallway as Maria regales their group with some outrageous story.

For the first time since they landed, Reece relaxes. The respite is temporary, however. His phone buzzes with a message from Claudia:

Emergency strategy meeting. Nedry on Zoom in twenty.

Nedry? Christ.

Sometimes he misses the days when the only thing that could ruin his weekend was a mechanical failure.

Reece grabs a team cap and heads downstairs to the Nitro business suite. The room’s windows are tinted, the air is cool, and the tension is palpable when he enters.

Coy stands at the far end in front of a screen, arms crossed, waiting. The first thing he says gives Reece all the reassurance he needs.

“Is Maiken alright?”

Reece is as honest as he’s ever been with his team principal. “She feels hunted and betrayed.”

Coy nods. “I’m not surprised. This is the worst hatchet job I’ve ever seen done to one of the F1 wives. Not even Kelley got this kind of treatment, Reece. I’m both sorry and bloody enraged by it.”

Kelley Hayter-Morrison, Coy’s ex-wife and Petra’s mother, left father and daughter for a team owner with deeper pockets. It was a cruel betrayal when Pet was only six years old, but the media and the teams treated the entire affair with kid gloves, respecting the privacy of those involved.

How the world has changed. Now, everyone and their grandmother thinks they have the right to sniff the drivers’ dirty laundry and hang it out for all to see.

“Thanks, Coy. I appreciate your support.” Reece sits at the long table and shoves up his sleeves. Someone’s put out bottles of still water; they may be here for a while. Claudia taps away at her tablet, expression unreadable, which tells him just how angry she is too.

The Zoom interface flashes to life on the wall-mounted screen. Zain and Isabella Nedry appear, framed by tasteful art and a panoramic view of the Seattle skyline behind them. They look well-rested, expensive, and serious.

Zain speaks first. “Coy. Reece. Claudia. Thank you for making the time to speak with us on short notice.”

“Of course,” Coy replies. “We’re assuming this isn’t a casual check-in.”

Isabella leans forward. “We’ve had three sponsors reach out with concerns. We’re also aware of the viral footage.”

Reece’s jaw tightens, but he keeps his voice level. "Right, that footage is complete bollocks. Edited to create a narrative that bears no resemblance to what actually happened."

Zain doesn’t blink. “We believe you, but the court of public opinion outpaces facts. What we need is strategy and control of the narrative.”

Claudia jumps in. “I’m preparing a statement and Branca Flores has legal counsel pursuing a cease and desist. We also have people reaching out to everyone who attended the sponsor party to find witnesses.”

Isabella’s gaze lands on Reece. “Maiken Pritchard has become a flashpoint. Some sponsors see her as a disruption. Others see her as a potential branding asset. Everything depends on how this is handled.”

Reece scowls. “She’s not an asset or a liability. She’s my wife.”

Zain nods slowly. “We understand that. We also understand what comes with that role, on and off the track.”

Reece doesn’t back down. “Look, I need to be crystal clear about something. Mai's not going anywhere. That's not negotiable.” He’s not sending her back to Vegas. He’s not letting Junior get away with making her the villain in his shitty self-indulgent fantasy.

If they choose that bastard’s lies over his wife’s truth, then they can find another driver to play their game.

Coy clears his throat. “We’ve got a solid media team.

And Petra’s throwing her weight behind Maiken online.

She called out the media herself this morning.

” He glances at Reece. “And Nico Belmonte’s weighed in on this, reminding everyone that Junior Betterton has a tarnished reputation. That buys us goodwill.”

Nico stepped in? That surprises Reece. Not because Nico isn’t a solid guy, but because there are non-disclosure agreements and the Bettertons own his contract.

“We’ll take all the goodwill we can get,” Claudia adds. “This video is polarizing, but we can shape the story.”

Isabella exchanges a look with Zain. “Do what you need to do. We’ll trust your judgment. Just remember, this is a team sport, and teams don’t survive when they’re divided.”

Zain adds, “Which, I’m sorry to say, Reece, your father damn well knows.”

Reece nods. He hears exactly what Zain didn’t say aloud. That Graham is a partial owner of a competing team. If Nitro cracks under pressure, whether from inside or out, WolfBett Racing benefits.

The call ends.

Reece cracks open his water bottle and takes a sip. It tastes like nothing. He’s not sure how he feels, except that his jaw aches from clenching it.

Coy claps a hand on his shoulder. “You did fine. You always do.”

Claudia looks up from her screen. “Branca’s lining up allies, Reece. You’ve got Petra, the other wives, the Belmontes, and half the online fanbase already. Just hold steady. We’ll weather it.”

He nods, but this doesn’t feel like weather. It feels like war.