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CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

ABU DHABI GRAND PRIX | SATURDAY | FREE PRACTICE AND QUALIFYING

The chime of a text message yanks me from a really cool dream.

Reece groans and fumbles for his phone on the nightstand. Its blue glow lights his face. He’s bleary and a little pissed.

The bedside clock reads four a.m.

My husband mutters, “You fucking kidding me?”

I shift, curling against his side, head on his shoulder. “What is it?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Just stares at the screen.

I nudge him. “Reece?”

He exhales through his nose. The kind of sound that’s more about containment than breath. “Fucking Peony.”

I lift my head. “Your ex texted you?”

He angles the screen so I can read it.

Funny how you go for women who take their clothes off for other men.

“Holy bitch .” I sit up, ready to punch her in the twat.

Reece reads aloud as he types his reply. “Yeah, but only one of them is honest about it.” He hits send without hesitation.

I study his face. “She saw the hot lap footage.”

“Mm, and is fishing for a reaction.” He tosses the phone back onto the nightstand.

“You didn’t give her the one she wants.”

“No.”

Tension radiates off him like heat from an overworked engine.

I settle back against the pillows, watching him in the dim light, because this middle-of-the-night interruption just explained something he didn’t want to discuss before we went to sleep. “She was at the track last night.”

His jaw tightens. “Yeah.”

“That’s why you were like that when we got back to the hotel.”

Reece nods, then drags a hand over his face. “Yeah.”

“The cheating little bitch is back.”

“Yeah.”

God, I still feel his pain. I hesitate, then ask a question I know is gonna make it worse, but hopefully just temporarily. I need more information if I’m gonna help him get through this. “Was it with someone you knew, speed demon?”

There’s a beat of silence. Then another. Maybe he won’t answer, which will be answer enough.

His voice is raw when he finally speaks. “Graham.”

My stomach hollows out. I thought it might’ve been Wyn, and hoped to hell it wasn’t. Yet this is worse. The two people he should’ve been able to count on committed psychological warfare against him. It’s cruelty designed to destroy him from the inside out.

“Oh, fuck .”

Reece turns away, then sits up, feet braced on the floor, elbows planted on his knees. “I’ve never told anyone. Not Ona. Not Wyn or Mum. No one.”

Christ, this explains so much. His hatred for Graham, the wall he’s maintained between himself and his brother, the nosedive his results took last spring.

I kneel and wrap myself around him from behind, chin on his shoulder. “Why not?” Holy shit. I want so badly to draw all this pain out of him and turn it into a weapon. If I could hunt down Graham and Peony right now, I’d cut off his nuts and choke her with them.

“Dunno, really.” Reece shrugs, but it’s a broken motion. “If I say it out loud, it sounds insane and pathetic. Like I didn’t see it coming so I deserved it.”

“Of course you didn’t. See it or deserve it.”

He doesn’t look at me. “She was perfect on paper. Graham approved. She looked good in photos, said the right things in interviews, and played the part like a champion. That’s what he wanted.”

“And what did you want?”

His laugh is bitter. “Someone who wouldn’t rip me apart from the inside.”

I lean in, pressing my cheek to his. “Reece, I know what it’s like to be used. To think you’re loved, to think you’re safe, and find out you’re just convenient . Or disposable.”

His hands find mine in the dark.

“Lear fucked me up, you know that. And I’m not comparing suffering. I’m just saying I get it, and you don’t have to hide your pain from me.”

He’s quiet for a long time, then tells me the story.

“I came home early from a press event. I was going to surprise her. I had flowers, and the ring in my pocket. I even brought takeout. Some shitty Thai restaurant she liked.”

I wait.

“She was in my bed with him.” His voice is flat. “And he looked right at me like I’d interrupted a business meeting.”

“Jesus.”

“I didn’t say anything. Just left. I went down to the water and slept on the beach.” He blows out a breath. “The next morning, I showed her the ring she almost wore, then threw her out of my condo and flew to Spain for the GP like nothing happened.”

“You buried it.”

“Mm. So deep I forgot what it felt like to be angry. Or hurt. Until I saw her yesterday.”

I climb into his lap, straddling him, palms on his shoulders. “I’m sorry you went through that alone.”

“I didn’t think anyone would believe me. Graham spun the breakup like I got cold feet.”

“And she let him.”

“She wanted in, and he gave her a way. But she didn’t want me.”

I touch his jaw and wait for his gaze to meet mine. “Well, fuck them both. You didn’t deserve that. And you’re not alone now.”

His arms tighten around me. “I know. God, I know.”

We sit there, wrapped in shadows and shared pain, until his breathing evens, then we lay down again. He spoons me and finally sleeps.

But I keep watch.

And I plot revenge.

That's what rage does when it has nowhere to go. It calcifies into something hard and sharp. Graham thinks he broke his son. Peony thinks she made him her tool. They're both about to learn what happens when you hurt someone a woman like me loves.

The key to surviving today, I decide as I lie in the dark, is to give Reece no reason to worry about me or anything else.

He's carried this pain alone for so long, thinking he couldn't trust anyone with the truth.

Well, now he's trusted me, and I'll be damned if I let it break him.

Today his focus needs to be the car and the track. Only.

So I rise early, kiss his shoulder, and pad to the bathroom before he can even groan into consciousness. I move around the room calm and careful, keep my voice light over breakfast, smile effortlessly. He needs normal this morning. No sharp edges, no distractions, no firestorms on his doorstep.

I’m saving all my fire and edges for later.

I dress while he’s in the shower. Green wiggle dress, cut close to the body and flaring just below the knees into a pleated split at the back hem that snaps with every step.

It has little capped sleeves, and I add a pink bow just under the breast. Back-seamed stockings.

Short black gloves. Dark green cloche. Lips the color of vengeance.

Shoes and box purse the color of Peony’s funeral.

I study my reflection in the hotel mirror before we leave.

I’m not the same woman who hid in the hospitality unit or apologized for existing in Reece's world. That’s not the kind of partner he needs, and it’s not the woman he met in Vegas.

This is who I was before serendipity pulled me out of my world and thrust me into his.

I knew my worth, I fought for my space, and I never let anyone make me smaller.

Somehow, in all the chaos and rush and glamour of F1, I'd started to forget myself.

Peony's little stunt just reminded me exactly who the fuck I am.

Maiken Lange Pritchard doesn’t play defense.

The pashmina, the side project, and the casual, approachable, sweet-natured WAG persona are staying behind in the hotel room.

Today’s not about blending in. It’s about outshining. I’m not out for blood, exactly, but if a peony happens to wither in my shadow, I won’t cry about it.

Reece grabs his helmet bag and his duffel. He stops behind me and takes in my reflection. “You look dangerous.”

I tilt my head and side-eye him. “Thank you.”

By the time we get to the circuit, I’ve settled my plans.

Reece squeezes my hand. He’s heading to the gym first, then it’s FP3 followed later by qualies. “Keep ’em guessing, Mrs. Speed Demon.”

I pull his ear down and whisper, “The best revenge isn’t getting even, Reece. It’s being better. That’s what Frankie says.”

He leans back a little and considers me, then slowly nods. “I hear you and Frankie, avenging angel.”

While he goes off with Ona, I don’t retreat to the hospitality unit, because I’m not spending the day in safe corners. I step out. Boldly. Intentionally. In power heels that click like a metronome. My hat is a crown. My dress is armor. My lipstick is war paint.

And I won’t walk alone.

I find Lina outside the Telco Italia lounge touching up her lipstick. “I need backup.”

She looks me up and down, then caps the tube with a click. “You look like Vengeance Barbie.”

I laugh. “Then mission accomplished.”

Maria joins us a moment later, coffee in hand. “What’s going on?”

I tilt my head. “Peony made her presence known last night.”

Her eyebrows furrow and her chin drops. “That has-been?”

I nod. “Unfortunately not has-been enough.”

Gudrun strolls over, already immaculate. “So what’s the plan, darling?”

Lina answers for me. “We smile, we walk the paddock, we talk to the fans, and we show everyone exactly who the real Mrs. Pritchard is.”

Gudrun grins. “Oh, it’s one of those days. Lovely.”

We move through the paddock like a four-woman PR hurricane. I smile for fans, sign autographs, let them take selfies. A teen girl in a Nitro cap stops me, wide-eyed.

“OMG, Maiken, your lipstick is so cool.”

“Want to know the color?” She nods. “It’s called Blood Debt.”

Her mother chokes on her laughter.

A group of women around my age ask for a selfie, and we pose, then they beg us to autograph their tee shirts.

Conversations pause mid-sentence as we pass. Cameras swivel to follow our path. Whispers surf our wake.

“ That’s Reece’s wife?”

“Damn, she looks ferocious.”

“Did you see the hot lap video?”

Good. Let them look. Let them remember.

A reporter edges close. “Maiken, do you have a comment on Peony Jones-Musgrove’s presence in the Ravn Racing garage?”

I smile like butter wouldn’t melt in my mouth. “I know who she was , but I don’t know her.”

“Do you have any comment on her history with your husband?”

“No. She’s irrelevant.”