There’s a sick, fascinating beauty in watching a simulator bounce and pitch while containing your fiancée. From the outside, the massive geotric pod looks like so alien egg sac about to birth a particularly aggressive extraterrestrial, all hydraulic limbs and violent jerks as Ivy pushes virtual limits inside.
I’m leaning against the wall of Zenith’s Cambridge facility, nursing my third coffee of the morning while trying not to stare at the massive diamond weighing down my left hand. A day later and I still can’t get used to the feeling of it, this loving shackle that’s simultaneously a declaration of love and a giant middle finger to Blair.
The engineers huddle around monitors displaying Ivy’s teletry data, murmuring in that strange technical language that sounds like English but might as well be Twi’lek. Occasionally one of them glances at with a mixture of curiosity and discomfort, like I’m so exotic pet Ivy brought to work against company policy.
“She’s really pushing through turn nine,” one of them whispers to another, who nods without looking at .
“Still losing ti in sector three though,” another adds, frowning at a multicolored graph that apparently represents Ivy’s virtual progress around Bahrain International Circuit.
The door to the simulator room swings open, and the temperature seems to drop ten degrees as Blair strides in, her electric blue hair freshly styled, silver eyes sharp and focused. She’s wearing the team’s purple tracksuit unzipped over a black compression top, looking every inch the professional athlete she is.
“Morning,” she says to the room at large, deliberately avoiding eye contact with as she approaches the engineers. “How’s she doing?”
The engineers mumble their replies, one of them gesturing to the screens with a nervous glance my way. Blair follows his gaze, and that’s when her silver eyes lock onto the diamond glinting on my left hand.
Her entire body freezes mid-step. I instinctively try to hide my hand behind my back, but it’s too late. Blair’s face drains of color, her eyes widening to an almost comical size.
Before I can even process what’s happening, she’s across the room, her fingers wrapping around my wrist with surprising strength. The engineers fall silent, their heads swiveling in unison like spectators at a tennis match.
“I need to borrow Nick for a mont,” Blair announces, her voice strained with forced casualness. “Team matter.”
Without waiting for a response, she drags toward the door, her grip tight enough to leave marks. I stumble after her, too shocked by her sudden action to resist. The last thing I see before the door swings shut is the bewildered expressions of the engineers, their mouths hanging open in collective confusion.
Blair pulls down the hallway and into a small supply closet, flipping on the light and slamming the door behind us. The space is cramped, filled with spare computer equipnt and cleaning supplies. The scent of industrial disinfectant fills my nostrils as Blair finally releases my wrist, her breathing heavy.
“Nick, what the fuck are you doing?” she hisses, grabbing my left hand and holding it up between us, the diamond catching the harsh fluorescent light. Her face isn’t angry like I expected, it’s genuinely worried, almost frightened. “Are you out of your mind?”
“I…”
“Nick, I’m worried about you,” Blair cuts off, her silver eyes searching mine with what appears to be genuine concern. Her voice has lost its usual edge, replaced by sothing softer, almost pleading.
I pull my hand from her grasp, anger flaring inside . “You don’t get to be worried about .”
“Listen to ,” she says, stepping closer in the cramped space. “Ivy is really fucking cruel. You’ve seen her on TV before, right? The way she treats her competitors, her team, hell, even journalists, and fans.” Her voice drops to a whisper. “Aren’t you worried she’ll treat you like that too? This is happening so fast...”
The genuine fear in her expression catches off guard. For a mont, I see a glimpse of the Blair I fell for, the woman who’d wake with gentle kisses and whispered jokes, not the cold, calculating driver who discarded when I beca inconvenient.
“Does your mom even know?” she asks, gesturing to the ring.
I let out a bitter laugh. “No. When it ca out on Twitter that I was dating Ivy, Mom called to tell I’m a slut and that if I was a girl, she would have beaten .” The words taste like ash in my mouth. “So no, I haven’t rushed to share the happy engagent news with her.”
Blair’s face twists into a sneer. For a mont, she looks genuinely pained.
“Fucking Kendal,” she mutters, running a hand through her electric blue hair. “Look, I know we’ve got... history, but we dated for years, Nick. Tell your sister about this engagent, at least. lissa’s always been a good sounding board for you.”
She steps closer, her silver eyes searching mine with an intensity that makes uncomfortable.
“You need soone rational in your life right now. Soone who can help you think this through properly.” Her voice softens. “I’m not asking you to co back to , I swear. I’m just worried about soone who used to be my best friend.”
The sincerity in her tone catches off guard. For a second, I almost believe her.
“Fuck off, Blair,” I snap, my patience finally shattering. “I’ll tell whoever I want about my engagent when I’m ready. It’s none of your fucking business anymore.”
The words explode from with a force that surprises us both. Blair flinches, her silver eyes widening at my uncharacteristic outburst. Before she can respond, the supply closet door swings open, flooding the cramped space with harsh hallway light.
Ivy stands in the doorway, still wearing her simulator suit, purple eyes taking in the scene with dangerous stillness. She doesn’t speak, just stares at Blair with an expression so cold it could freeze hellfire.
Blair’s shoulders slump slightly. She gives one last searching look before brushing past Ivy and walking away down the corridor without another word.
Ivy watches her retreat, then turns to . “She’s upset we’re engaged?”
“Yeah. She wants to tell my sister and mom,” I explain, running a hand through my hair in frustration. “Like she has any right to dictate who I share our news with.”
“I’d love to tell them, Nick,” Ivy says, a predatory smile spreading across her face. “Especially your mother. I’ve been dying to et the woman who wants to hurt you.”
My stomach tightens at the thought. “I’m not ready for that particular apocalypse yet. Mom would probably have an aneurysm on the spot.”
Ivy wraps an arm around my waist, guiding away from the supply closet. “I’ve done enough sim work for today anyway. Let’s go lay down.”
We make our way through Zenith’s labyrinthine hallways, the purple-accented walls giving everything an otherworldly glow. Ivy’s hand never leaves my lower back, her touch both protective and affectionate as we pass curious team mbers who pretend not to notice us.
Once we’re back in our suite, I collapse onto the bed with a groan. The emotional whiplash of the last twenty-four hours, from surprise proposal to Blair’s ambush, has left completely drained.
My phone buzzes in my pocket just as Ivy starts peeling off her simulator suit. The screen lights up with lissa’s face, her familiar smile looking up at from my contacts.
“You’ve got to be kidding ,” I mutter, staring at my sister’s na flashing on the screen. The timing is so perfect it feels staged, like the universe is conspiring to keep this engagent drama rolling. “This is way too convenient.”
“Who is it?” Ivy asks, pausing with her suit halfway down her torso.
“lissa,” I reply, holding up the phone so she can see. “Right after Blair suggested I call her. What are the odds?”
Ivy’s eyes narrow suspiciously. “That’s... interesting.”
I swipe to answer, putting the call on speaker. “Hey, lissa.”
“Nick?” lissa’s voice crackles through the speaker, sounding more bewildered than anything else. “I just got the weirdest text from Blair. She says you’re... engaged to Ivy Hunt? That can’t be right.”
I shoot a glance at Ivy, who’s now perched on the edge of the bed, her simulator suit pooled around her waist as she leans in to listen.
“Yeah, actually,” I confirm, my voice surprisingly steady. “It just happened last night.”
There’s a long pause on the other end of the line. I can almost see lissa’s face, her brows knitting together the way they always do when she’s processing sothing unexpected.
“Oh,” she finally says, the single syllable heavy with unspoken questions. “That’s... fast.”
Ivy’s lips curl into that predatory smile I’ve co to adore. She slides closer to on the bed, her body radiating heat as she presses against my side.
“It’s not fast when you know,” Ivy interjects, leaning closer to the phone, her voice rich with certainty. “So people spend years together and never truly connect. Nick and I found sothing real the mont we t.”
Her hand slides possessively over mine, fingers interlacing as she brings our joined hands to her lips, pressing a kiss against my knuckles just above the diamond ring.
“We’re absolutely crazy about each other,” she continues, her purple eyes never leaving mine as she speaks to my sister. “When you know, you know.”
There’s another lengthy pause from lissa’s end. I can practically hear the gears turning in her head, processing this bombshell with the sa thodical approach she uses to analyze race data.
“Nick,” lissa finally says, her voice softer now, almost cautious. “Can we talk? Just us?”
Before I can respond, Ivy’s grip on my hand tightens fractionally. “Anything you want to say to my fiancé, you can say in front of ,” she declares, her tone light but with that unmistakable edge of steel beneath.
“It’s true,” I say quickly, squeezing Ivy’s hand. “I know how this sounds, l, but behind all that competitive intensity, she’s incredibly sweet with . She’s a total softy.”
Ivy’s eyes widen, her expression a mixture of surprise and sothing almost like embarrassnt at being described as a “softy.” I’ve never seen her look so caught off guard.
“Oh,” lissa’s voice softens. “Well, alright then. So she’s treating you well?”
“Better than I’ve ever been treated,” I reply honestly, running my thumb over Ivy’s knuckles. “Even when things were good with Blair, they were never this good. Ivy actually sees .”
There’s a long pause, and I can almost picture lissa’s resigned expression, the one she’s worn since childhood whenever she decides to support my questionable decisions.
“Well,” she finally sighs, “if you’re happy, I’m happy for you. And worst case scenario, you divorce her for half her money in a few years.”
“Hey, wait a minute,” Ivy blurts out, looking genuinely alard as she leans closer to the phone. The sudden loss of control in the conversation has clearly caught her off guard. “That’s not…”
“Oh shit!” lissa suddenly exclaims, cutting Ivy off mid-sentence. “I completely forgot. I ant to call you the other day. Herta took a nasty hit during testing. Broke her collarbone and fractured two ribs.”
“Is she okay?” I ask having no idea who Herta is.
“She’ll recover, but she’s out for at least two months,” lissa continues, her voice quickening with excitent. “And since I’m already driving for Andretti in Formula E, they’ve asked to step in. They’re flying back and forth for the next month to prep for the Indy 500 qualification.”
My heart rate kicks up a notch. The Indianapolis 500, the race I’ve stread more than any other.
“That’s amazing, l!” I exclaim, genuinely thrilled for my sister.
“If I qualify, you should co watch race,” lissa says, her voice warm with invitation. “You’d love it, Nick.”
I’m already nodding enthusiastically before I rember she can’t see . “That would be incredible! I’d…”
The sudden tension in Ivy’s body stops mid-sentence. Her fingers have gone rigid in mine, and when I glance at her face, I see her purple eyes have narrowed to slits, her jaw clenched tight. She looks... conflicted, almost pained.
“Uhhh,” Ivy interjects, her voice strangely strained. “lissa, can we discuss this as a couple before Nick gets back to you? The timing is a bit complicated.”
I frown, confused by Ivy’s reaction until it hits , the Indy 500 coincides with Race 8 in Monaco.
“Oh, sure,” lissa replies easily. “I just know Nick loves Indianapolis more than any other track when he streams. I figured he’d enjoy walking the actual circuit, feeling the history of the place.”
“That’s thoughtful of you,” Ivy says, her tone carefully neutral. “We’ll talk it over and let you know.”
“Sounds good,” lissa says. “Congrats again on the engagent, you two. Try not to kill each other before the wedding.”
After we end the call, Ivy’s expression clouds over like a storm front. She pulls away slightly, her bottom lip jutting out in that adorable pout I’ve co to recognize when sothing’s truly bothering her.
“I really don’t want you to go,” she says quietly, staring down at our intertwined hands.
My heart sinks. The Indianapolis 500 has been my dream race since I was a kid, watching from the family garage while everyone fussed over lissa. To see it in person, to breathe in that century of history, to feel the rumble of engines vibrating through my chest...
“Alright then,” I sigh, resignation settling over like a heavy blanket. “I won’t go.”
Ivy’s head snaps up, her purple eyes widening with surprise. “No,” she says firmly, reaching out to tap my forehead gently with her palm. The gesture is unexpectedly tender, almost playful despite the serious conversation.
“You’re going to go,” she continues, her voice taking on a strange, determined quality. “I just have to get over it. It’s one race out of the season, and I’ve already won Monaco the past three years.”
She sounds like she’s giving herself a pep talk, convincing herself more than .
“Huh?” I blink at her, genuinely confused by this sudden reversal.
“Yeah, I know I could argue with you and demand you wait for to get there after F1,” she explains, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of her simulator suit. “But I an... it’s your sister. Even if I don’t respect her as a racer, she’s still family.”
The admission seems to cost her sothing, each word carefully asured as if she’s testing out this new, accommodating version of herself.
“You’ll fly out to Spain the minute the race is over though,” she adds quickly, her competitive nature reasserting itself. “And et there.”
A smile spreads across my face, warm and genuine. “Alright.”
Ivy’s shoulders relax slightly, as if she’s passed so internal test. She crawls fully onto the bed, abandoning the rest of her simulator suit in a purple puddle on the floor. Her sports bra and compression shorts cling to her athletic fra as she straddles my lap, her hands coming to rest on my shoulders.
“Besides,” she says, her lips curling into that predatory smile that never fails to make my heart race, “I have a plan to make sure you don’t forget who you belong to while you’re watching your sister race.”
“Oh?” I manage, my mouth suddenly dry as her fingers trace the collar of my shirt.
“I’m going to fuck you so thoroughly before you leave,” she purrs, leaning closer until her lips brush against my ear, “that you’ll still be trembling while you’re sitting in those stands.”
“I can’t wait.”
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