Chapter 3
Late that night, I was lying in the hotel bed, still buzzing from everything that had happened between Alessandro and me.
The rain hadn't let up, and I could hear Tyler and Carmen arguing through the wall – apparently our little performance had caused some serious friction between them.
Good. Let them tear each other apart.
Alessandro's phone rang, cutting through the sound of the storm. He answered on the second ring, his voice instantly alert.
"Sì... quando?" His Italian came out rapid-fire, tense. "I'll be there in twenty minutes."
He was already reaching for his clothes.
"What's wrong?" I sat up, suddenly worried.
"Emergency with one of the drivers. Accident during night practice in Orlando." His movements were efficient, controlled. "I have to go."
"Is it serious?"
"Serious enough." He paused, looking at me in the dim light. "Will you be okay here?"
I nodded, though something cold was settling in my stomach. "Of course. Go."
He leaned down and kissed my forehead – a gesture so tender it made my chest ache. "I'll call you."
Then he was gone, leaving me alone with the sound of rain and the distant voices from next door.
I couldn't sleep after that. As the adrenaline faded, I became aware of the familiar ache in my right leg – the storm had been aggravating it all evening.
By morning, the pain was impossible to ignore.
Sitting in the hotel room, massaging my throbbing leg, I couldn't help but remember that day three years ago when Dr. Martinez had delivered the news that changed everything.
"I'm afraid the news isn't what we hoped for, Valeria." His voice had been careful, measured. "The damage to your right leg... it's more extensive than we initially thought."
My stomach had dropped. "What does that mean exactly?"
"It means you'll never be able to handle the high-intensity demands of professional racing again. The G-forces, the constant pressure during high-speed maneuvers..." He'd shaken his head. "I'm sorry."
The words had hit like a physical blow. I'd stared at those X-rays, at the ugly white fracture lines that spelled the end of everything I'd fought for.
"What about testing work?" My voice had come out smaller than I'd intended. "Could I still do that?"
"Light testing, maybe. But anything approaching competitive speeds? I wouldn't recommend it."
Three years since that conversation, and I'd clung to this one thread of hope. Testing work. It wasn't racing, but it at least kept me connected to the track.
My phone buzzed with a text from Alessandro: [Physical therapy equipment ready when you need it. Take care of yourself.]
He'd somehow arranged it before he'd even left for Orlando. Always thinking ahead, always taking care of details.
Why does he have to be so damn thoughtful? The question made my chest tighten in ways I wasn't ready to examine.
I packed quickly and checked out, despite the rain still coming down outside. Sitting in my car in the hotel parking lot, I tried to figure out what to do next. That's when Tyler's words from the other night started echoing in my memory.
Something about money. Three thousand dollars? No, wait – thirty thousand.
Some award I'd supposedly won.
My hands shook as I pulled out my phone and scrolled back through my old messages with Carmen from three years ago.
Me (3 years ago): [Carmen, quick question about that testing award you helped me apply for. Which organization was it through again?]
Carmen (3 years ago): [What are you talking about? I never helped you apply for any award. When was this?]
Me (3 years ago): [The annual testing excellence award. Thirty thousand dollars. You said you submitted my application last month.]
Carmen (3 years ago): [Valeria, there's no such award. I have no idea what you're talking about.]
Me (3 years ago): [But... you said...]
Carmen (3 years ago): [Are you feeling stressed after the accident?]
Ice flooded my veins as I read those old messages. Carmen had denied it three years ago too. But someone had convinced me I'd won thirty thousand dollars. Back then, fresh from the accident and desperate for any good news, I chose to ignore her denial. I needed to believe it.
The realization hit me like a sledgehammer.
I've been living a fucking lie for three years.
I quickly called Marcus at Velocity Racing. "Marcus, is there a thirty-thousand-dollar testing excellence award?"
"Val, honey, that doesn't exist. The biggest testing award is maybe five grand. Where'd you hear about thirty thousand?"
"Never mind."
Tyler had been telling the truth. Someone had given me that money, and it wasn't from any award.
Which means what? That Tyler paid me off? For what? To keep quiet about what really happened?'
The rage that had been simmering all night finally boiled over. Three years of living with guilt and shame, thinking I'd failed, thinking I'd deserved everything that happened... and it was all based on lies.
That bastard. He didn't just break my heart and end my career - he made me complicit in my own destruction.'
I drove home in a fury that burned hotter with each mile. By the time I pulled into my apartment complex, the rain had lightened to a drizzle, but the storm inside me was just getting started.
I was fumbling with my keys when I heard footsteps behind me.
"Valeria!"
I turned to see Lisa from accounting hurrying across the parking lot, holding a bag of what looked like homemade pastries.
"Lisa? What are you doing here?"
"I heard about what happened at the track today," she said, slightly out of breath. "I figured you should know, especially since everyone's talking about it."
She followed me toward the building entrance. "Plus, I brought comfort food. You're going to need it."
"What happened at the track?"
Her eyes lit up with the urgency of someone delivering important news. "Tyler and Carmen had this massive fight after the afternoon session. Everyone heard it."
Good. I hope they destroy each other.
She leaned closer. "Someone mentioned your engagement announcement, and Tyler just lost it. Started ranting about how you were lying, how no one would actually want to marry you after that settlement thing from three years ago."
"And Carmen?"
"She told him to get over his obsession with you already. Right there in front of everyone." Lisa shook her head. "Honestly, the guy announces his engagement one day, then can't shut up about his ex the next. Even Carmen's getting fed up."
My stomach clenched. "Everyone thinks he's obsessed?"
"Pretty much. Look, Val, maybe you should talk to him. Clear the air about that money situation while he's all worked up."
The money that apparently came from nowhere.
But Lisa's suggestion sparked something dangerous in my mind. Tyler was clearly losing control, becoming erratic. Maybe it was time to confront him directly and get some real answers.
"You're right," I said slowly. "I should talk to Tyler. And I need to pay back that money, whatever it really was."
Lisa beamed. "I knew you'd see reason. You two had something real before everything went to shit."
Something real? No, Lisa. What we had was Tyler using me as his personal toy while he fucked my best friend behind my back.
After she went into the building, I stood there for a moment, keys in hand. That's when I noticed a familiar black Maserati parked down the street, engine running.
Alessandro was back from Orlando.
"Alessandro!" I called out, starting to walk toward his car.
But the moment my voice carried across the parking lot, the Maserati roared to life. It pulled away so quickly I had to step back.
I stood there in the drizzle, watching his taillights disappear.
Did he just... run from me?
The next few days confirmed my worst fears. Alessandro was avoiding me completely. During meetings, he barely looked my way. When I tried to approach him, he suddenly found urgent business elsewhere.
On Thursday, I cornered him in the equipment bay.
"Alessandro, did I do something wrong?"
He looked up from engine diagnostics, expression carefully neutral. "Wrong? Why would you think that?"
"Because you've been treating me like I have the plague."
"I've been busy."
"Bullshit." The word came out sharper than intended. "What happened? Things were good between us, and now you can barely stand to be in the same room as me."
For a moment, something flickered in his dark eyes. Heat. Want. Then the mask slipped back.
"Maybe we should keep things professional," he said, clinically polite. "Given our arrangement."
Our arrangement. Like I was a business transaction.
So that's it? Back to being strangers?
"Got it," I said, matching his coldness. "Strictly business."
I turned to leave, but his voice stopped me.
"Valeria. The physical therapy equipment is available whenever you need it."
No warmth, no concern. Just a polite reminder about medical equipment.
I walked away, my chest tight with emotions I didn't want to name.
What the hell did I do wrong?