❝They call him the Dutch Lion.❞
❝Yeah? To be honest, I think he's more like Scar from The Lion King, but whatever.❞
In the high-pressure world of Formula 1, Red Bull Racing is crumbling. Half the team has quit, morale is at an all-time low, and Max...
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CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE;
The Game Begins
(Part One)
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It had been three days since the gala, and the silence in Max's apartment was suffocating. The air felt thick with tension, the weight of unspoken fears pressing on both of them. Emilia sat on the couch, her body tense as she stared out the window, eyes scanning the streets below for any sign of movement, anything that would give her a clue as to when Luca would strike again. Her thoughts were consumed by him, even though she'd promised herself she wouldn't let him control her. But that promise felt empty now, as each second stretched into eternity.
Max paced across the room, his footsteps heavy, the sound of his shoes against the hardwood floor loud in the otherwise silent space. His mind was working in overdrive, each thought sharper than the last, each one darker than the one before. He wanted to believe Luca was finished, that he had slipped away into the shadows for good, but a gut instinct kept gnawing at him—something told him Luca was just waiting for the right moment to strike. And the thought of it made his blood run cold.
Max couldn't sit still, couldn't bring himself to rest. He kept checking his phone, his eyes darting to the screen every few seconds as if expecting something—anything—that would offer some sort of resolution, or at least a sign that they were safe. The constant vibration of his phone, even if it was just another news update or a text from Daniel, did little to quell the gnawing fear that had settled in his chest.
Nothing mattered but Emilia. Nothing mattered but keeping her safe, and he didn't know how to do that.
Emilia's calm demeanor was deceiving. On the surface, she seemed composed—her back straight, her face expressionless, her fingers quietly tracing patterns on the edge of the coffee table—but Max could see it in her eyes, the way she was always on alert, always waiting. He hated that she was hiding this from him, just as much as he hated the idea that he couldn't protect her. He couldn't let his guard down. He couldn't afford to, not when Luca was out there, watching, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
Max's anger simmered beneath the surface, a constant undercurrent, like a storm on the horizon. He couldn't understand why she hadn't trusted him enough to share her plans, to let him help her. It felt like a betrayal, a deep, aching one, even though he knew she had done it to protect him, to keep him from carrying the burden of her pain. But now, she was carrying that burden alone, and it was killing him to watch.
Suddenly, the sound of the doorbell cut through the silence, a sharp, jarring noise that sent Max's heart racing. Both he and Emilia froze in place, eyes locked on each other for a moment, before she slowly stood up from the couch. Her movements were slow, deliberate, almost too careful as she walked toward the door, her every step measured.
