Chapter 264

[ 1,008 words ]

Katia’s POV

“Fuck p>

I screamed the word, the raw, vibrating fury tearing from my throat as I threw my blacked-out helmet visor against the concrete wall of my Brooklyn penthouse garage. The heavy, shatterproof plastic hit the brick with a sharp, echoing crack, bouncing wildly across the polished floor before finally coming to a rest near a stack of spare Pirelli slick tires.

Sam jumped nearly a foot into the air, her stylus slipping from her fingers and clattering against the screen of her iPad. She quickly recovered, pressing a hand to her chest as she exhaled a long, shaky breath. “Jesus, Katia! My heart can’t take this. You won the race. You literally just embarrassed the entire Sterling Motorsports legacy on national television. Why are you so mad p>

She walked over, her heels clicking softly against the concrete as she bent down to pick up the scratched black visor. She swiped her thumb across a new scuff mark on the plastic, tapping her stylus against the iPad screen with her other hand.

I didn’t answer her. My hands were shaking so violently I could barely unzip the top collar of my heavy, sweat-soaked racing suit. The smell of hot asphalt, high-octane fuel, and burning rubber still clung to my skin, mixing with the sharp scent of my own raw adrenaline. The race had been a twelve-lap war, but the real battle had occurred the second I crossed the finish line and pulled into the dark service level.

I closed my eyes so tight my temples throbbed with a dull, sickening ache. “How long do you think Julian Windsor has known I was Catwoman p>

The garage went dead silent.

The soft, rhythmic tick-tick-tick of the cooling Valkyrie engine was the only sound in the massive, high-ceilinged space. I opened my eyes. Sam had frozen mid-stride. She slowly lowered the iPad to her side, her eyes locking onto mine in a state of complete, unblinking silence.

“Excuse me?” she asked, her voice dropping into a register of pure disbelief.

“You heard me,” I rasped, running a trembling hand through my messy, damp hair, completely destroying whatever styling was left. “Today, when I pulled into the service exit, someone had it blocked. Three black SUVs. Men on foot were already moving toward the Valkyrie to unmask me. It was a trap, Sam. A coordinated effort to corner me and expose my face to the media p>

“Tessa’s people?” Sam asked, her professional focus immediately kicking in.

“Probably,” I said, the adrenaline still pulsing hot and dangerous through my veins. “But that is not the point. The point is who saved me. Someone drove a matching, matte black McLaren straight into the service bay from the other direction, completely throwing off the trackers and giving me enough cover to escape. And guess who was behind the wheel of that McLaren? Julian fucking Windsor p>

Sam blinked once. Twice. “Julian p>

“He blocked the idiots who wanted to corner me, Sam. He came with the same profile, the same matte black color, and the exact same make. That was not a coincidence. That was not a mistake. He didn’t just happen to be driving through a restricted service bay in a matching supercar. It is like he knew exactly what was going to happen today, and he positioned himself to protect me.” My hands were still shaking as I peeled the heavy sleeves of my racing suit down to my waist, leaving me in nothing but my damp black sports bra and fire-retardant leggings. “He knew. He knows. He’s known this entire time p>

“Well,” Sam said, a slow, highly amused smirk starting to spread across her face. She leaned back against the heavy wooden workbench, crossing her arms. “Maybe during one of your moaning sessions, you might have accidentally moaned out that you are Catwoman p>

I almost laughed. I pressed my lips tightly together, trying to fight the sudden, ridiculous wave of amusement that washed over me. No matter how bad the panic attack was, no matter how much my life was collapsing into a black hole of corporate ruin and personal chaos, Sam always had a logical, utterly shameless way of making me laugh.

“You know I can control myself around him,” I muttered, looking down at the concrete floor as a sudden, betraying flush of heat crept up my neck.

“Well, you clearly didn’t control yourself even after knowing he was Delia’s husband,” Sam countered, her voice carrying that light, completely unbothered tone that made me want to throw my other boot at her. “You still fucked him anyway. And if I recall correctly, you came back to the office and explicitly told me he had a big dick. Funny, because despite all your corporate worrying, you kept going back for more anyway. Maybe my boss just has a thing for big pipes, broad shoulders, and a flexing ass. Because let’s be real, Katia—that man knows he is fine as hell, and you are not exactly fighting the temptation p>

“Sam!” I warned, my face now flushing a hot, violent red under the garage lights.

“I’m just stating the facts,” Sam said, raising her hands in mock surrender. “At least he kept you company while your entire life was turning into a tabloid soap opera.” She paused, her eyes glittering with a sudden, wicked drop in her voice. “Now… the husband p>

My chest tightened, a heavy, suffocating pressure instantly returning to my lungs. I frowned, looking at her. “What about him p>

“Well, he was at the race today,” Sam said, her eyes shifting to the screen of her iPad, which was currently displaying the live-feed replays of the Grand Prix VIP paddock. “The great, elusive Jude Wolfe. The man who stood at a podium in London and told the entire global press that you’ve been his wife for seven years. I wonder what he sounds like in real person. I really want to hear that British accent of his when he finally walks into this room p>

“Something isn’t right about that husband of mine p>

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