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CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

The spa smells like eucalyptus and money.

Not the kind that jingles, the kind that owns yachts and casually wears diamonds to brunch.

I’m barefoot and clad only in a plush white robe, escorted through halls lined with flickering candles and decorative bowls filled with actual orchids.

This is probably gonna be the most expensive mud I’ll ever have on my ass.

And I’m loving every minute.

Gudrun’s already ahead of me, looking serene as fuck as she slips into the mineral-rich bath without flinching. Lina trails us, sipping something that smells expensive and herbal.

Maria tosses her robe like she’s auditioning for a goddess role and sinks into the warmth beside me. “Step one, we detox. Step two, we retox with a bottle of wine and gossip. Step three, we annihilate anyone stupid enough to mess with one of our own.”

I laugh. Sort of. Because it’s funny, but it’s not.

“Are you okay?” Lina’s gaze is sharp.

I lean back against the curved stone tub and exhale. “I’m here. That’s about as far as I’ve gotten. Yesterday I felt like I could take on the world. Today I can barely take on getting dressed. It's fucked up how fast they can make you feel small.”

Gudrun hisses. “That man — Junior — he’s had this coming.”

Maria nods. “You don’t have to tell us everything, but we’re listening if you want to.”

So I do. I tell them how Douche Bag cornered me. How he reached for me without permission. How I warned him — calmly and clearly — and how he edited the footage to make it look like I went full psycho on a gentleman .

Maria’s expression darkens. “Manipulation. Classic playbook move.”

Lina leans forward. “We’re going to dismantle him with grace. Every sponsor worth their salt is watching this unfold.”

“Let’s just say a few well-timed comments from the right women can go a long way.” Gudrun’s face is covered in a pale-green facial mask, yet she still looks elegant. Color me impressed.

We move from the mud bath to the massage table. A full-body treatment. Then a facial. Hot towels, cold stones. Somewhere between waxing and a very luxurious mani-pedi, my jaw finally unclenches.

We finish with hair — a glossy blowout and just a hint of wave — and makeup that enhances without hiding.

When I catch my reflection, I almost laugh. I should be on the cover of a damn wellness magazine, except the look in my eyes belongs to a woman out for blood. The contrast is almost funny.

By the time we leave the spa, I've shed more than dead skin cells, I've lost the deadweight of self-pity. The women flanking me aren't just friends anymore; they're allies. And allies don't let each other fight alone.

The private dining room we take over next is quiet and low-lit, the kind of place where secrets stick to linen tablecloths and the wine flows without anyone asking for a menu.

Maria scrolls her phone with the intensity of a general reviewing battlefield footage.

“I’ve been messaging contacts since breakfast. Every team, every handler, every PR rep I know, but so far, nothing.

No one captured a full clip of your AetherX confrontation with Junior.

At least not one they’re willing to share. ”

Lina sips her wine. “What about staff? Caterers, bartenders? Someone’s always filming something.”

“I’ve cast the net,” Maria replies. “I’m just waiting to see what it catches.”

Gudrun slices her steak with the kind of calm that makes you think she could hide a body with minimal mess. “You shouldn’t have to fight this hard just to prove what everyone already knows about Junior Betterton.”

“No shit.” I swirl a piece of grilled peach through goat cheese and sigh. “The last time he laid hands on me, he left bruises.”

Three heads snap toward me like a synchronized weapon system.

“He what ?” Maria’s voice is lethal.

Oh. Right. They don’t know.

“The night I met Reece. It was in Vegas, at a club.” I set down my fork, suddenly needing both hands to stay steady. “Junior grabbed my wrist. He yanked me toward him, real rough. I didn’t know who he was, just that he was high as a kite and way too handsy. Then Reece stepped in.”

Hand trembling, I reach for my wine glass. Even now my body reacts to the memory. “His grip left marks, and the way that asshole looked at me like I was a thing he could take, not a person he should respect. That really pissed me off.”

Gudrun’s brows furrow. “Reece saw that?”

“Wyn too. Reece made Junior let go. Told him to fuck off.” I push back the sleeve of my blouse to reveal the faint yellowish remnants of the assault. “I had these bruises the next day.”

Maria’s eyes flash like someone just lit a fuse. “He did this in a club full of people?”

Lina nods. “Someone’s got to have video of that.”

“Exactly.” Maria’s already typing. “A fly can’t shit without being caught on camera in Vegas. Every club owner knows that covering their ass means recording everything. DBJ fucked with the wrong girl in the wrong city.”

Lina adds, “And patrons? Please. You can’t sneeze without ending up on someone’s TikTok.”

Gudrun taps her glass. “So we find video from that night and expose him.”

I nod, heart thudding. “I'm done hiding. I've spent my entire career being labeled trash for what I do for a living. Well, now it's his turn. If he wants to play in the public eye, he can face the same fucking scrutiny I do.”

I've been performing my whole life, seeking approval, but this isn't a performance, it’s my future. It scared me to see how quickly that video went viral and people jumped on the bullshit bandwagon. Thanks to the other WAGs, though, I'm no longer fearful. I’m furious.

And it turns out rage is much stronger fuel than fear.

Maria puts her phone down. “Okay, let’s think like him. Junior’s not smart, but he is slippery. He’ll delete or buy up anything that makes him look bad, but he’s not fast enough to clean every trail.”

Lina nods. “And he’s cocky. Probably assumes no one will call him out. Abusers like him always think they’re better than everyone else.”

Gudrun rests her elbows on the table, fingers laced under her chin. “We need receipts. Multiple angles. Something with time stamps.”

“I just texted a friend who handles bands for The Golden Oyster,” Maria says. “That club’s got wall-to-wall cameras. She promised to ask if security footage can verify what happened.”

I frown. “Would the club even release it?”

Maria side eyes me. “Not publicly. However, if someone leaks it anonymously? Then it’s out of their hands.”

Lina gestures toward me. “And if we get it, you don’t post it first. Give it to Nitro. Let them control the rollout, that way you can’t be accused of trying to destroy him personally.”

This is another thing I'm learning about Formula 1. Winning isn’t just about being first or right. It's about being strategic.

Unlucky for Junior, because I'm a quick study.

I nod. “So I stay above the fray. Let the truth speak.”

“Exactly.” Gudrun nods. “Play it clean.”

Maria tops off her wine. “We time the release right and let Coy and the PR team do the rest. Petra might even back-channel support. She fucking hates him.”

“I got that impression.”

“Oh, she’s one of us.” Lina smirks. “Just in fireproofs.”

The whole table laughs.

Gudrun folds her napkin on the table. “He underestimated you. They all did.”

“Not anymore. They want a show? Fine. I'll give ’em one. But this time, I'm writing the script.”

Lina lifts her glass. “To women who fight with brains, boots, and backup.”

We toast.

Damn, am I glad these formidable ladies are on my side. I sure as fuck wouldn’t want them as my enemies.

When I return to the room I’m sharing with Reece, every inch of me has been plucked, scrubbed, massaged, exfoliated, and painted. I’m a walking shampoo commercial, skin glowing, cuticles perfect. Except beneath the polish and despite the exhaustion, my brain won’t shut the fuck up.

I pull on one of Reece’s oversized t-shirts and set about running a bath for him in the ridiculously bougie marble tub. Epsom salts. Lavender oil. Low lighting. He deserves this.

The door clicks open just as I’m lighting the last candle.

He walks in looking like the day used him hard and didn’t apologize. I guess there were a lot of sponsors needing hand holding. The poor beautiful, tired bastard.

“Damn.” He takes in the steam and the glow. “Did I die and get upgraded?”

“Get in, Pritchard. You look like hell.”

He raises a brow. “Romantic.”

“You’re lucky I like you tired and cranky.” I tug at his sleeve and steer him toward the bathroom. “Clothes off. In the tub. Doctor’s orders.”

He doesn’t argue.

I perch on the closed toilet lid as he settles into the water with a groan that’s practically pornographic. His eyes close. Shoulders relax. He sinks deeper.

After a beat, I say, “The girls have been busy.”

He opens one eye. “Busy how?”

“Team WAG has entered the group chat. We’re working on a plan to clear my name and take down Junior’s edited bullshit in the process.”

That gets his full attention, and he sits forward, water sloshing around his knees. “Yeah?”

“We’re digging for unedited footage from the sponsor party. Maria’s working her contacts. Lina’s helping me play it smart PR-wise, and Gudrun’s terrifying in the best way.”

He chuckles. “You just described my dream Avengers lineup.”

“There’s more.” I chew my bottom lip. “I told them about Vegas. About what Junior did to me at the Oyster.”

Reece’s smile fades. “You should’ve led with that, honeybee. The bouncer saw everything. Eddie, right?”

“Oh shit. You’re right.” I grab my phone and shoot off a text.

Hey, Eddie. Can I ask you something kinda important?

A few minutes pass.

Hey, Mai. What’s up?

That night at the Oyster — the guy who grabbed me? Damian Betterton, Jr.? You remember that, right?

Another pause. Then he replies.

Yeah. I remember.

Would you be willing to say that on record? I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t important.

There’s a longer pause.

Can I think about it? I gotta be careful with stuff like this. It’s a lot.

I show Reece the screen. “He’s not saying no.”

“He’s saying it’s dangerous for his career. Which means he’s smart.” Reece leans back. “We’ll give him space. He’s a good guy. If he can help, he will.”

I nod, but uncertainty’s still skittering under my skin, despite all the possibilities we’ve got in play.

I reach over and trace a circle on his knee just above the water. “You sure I’m not a liability, RP?”

He opens his eyes and reaches for my hand. “You’re my wife, Mai. That makes you part of the team. And I never bet on anyone I don’t believe in.”