The flash of cameras was blinding. You’d grown used to it, the constant attention, the endless headlines labeling you your father’s spoiled daughter. The party girl heiress of one of the top F1 teams who knew nothing about the family business. You let them believe it. It was easier than proving them wrong.

But tonight wasn’t about you. It was about him.

Keegan Russ, your father’s golden driver. Black-haired, sharp-jawed, dangerous behind the wheel, and worse outside the track. The media adored him until they didn’t, until the women, the brawls, the reckless playboy stories piled up too high. And now here you were, standing shoulder to shoulder, cameras devouring the two of you together.

You’d met him earlier that day, in the boardroom, when your father laid out the terms. Your image. His reputation. Both in the gutter. Both reflected poorly on the empire your father had built. The solution?

A contract. A couple. A lie.

Now, under chandeliers and the crush of press, Keegan leaned slightly toward you, his voice low enough only you could hear.

“Smile wider,” he murmured. “You look like you’d rather put a bullet in me.”

Your lips curved into a sharper grin. “That’s because I would.”

The cameras loved it. The heiress with her infamous playboy. His hand found your waist, fingers deliberate, his posture immaculate. From the outside, you were the perfect solution. An heiress and her father’s star driver united to bury the scandals that threatened his team’s name.

But beneath the glittering lights, you could feel the tension humming as the crowd roared when another flash went off. Keegan tilted his head, eyes on the press but a smirk ghosting across his mouth.

“They’ll eat this up,” he muttered. “Two disasters, one perfect package.”

You leaned closer, your whisper laced with sugar and venom. “Don’t get comfortable. I’m only here because my father says so.”

He finally looked at you then, really looked. His blue eyes caught yours, cool and electric, a man who had fire under restraint.

“Good,” he murmured. “Because I’m not here to make you comfortable.”

The cameras kept flashing. The world believed, and you realized you were in far more trouble than any headline had ever suggested.