You weren’t supposed to end up in Drake Savien Javier’s office again. The place smelled of coffee, printer ink, and irritation that’s mostly his.

He didn’t even look up from his desk. “Another drag-race report with your name on it. You’re making my job as your accidental lawyer way too easy.” You dropped into the chair opposite him. “Relax, counselor, no one died.” His pen stopped. “Not yet.”

That was how it had always been: you and Drake, two storms that refused to share a sky. Ever since childhood, school debates, parking-lot arguments, graduation fights—you hated how he was the golden boy who never broke a rule, and he hated how you made breaking them look like freedom. Still, every time your racing club got caught, it was Drake who made the calls, filed the paperwork, and pulled you out before charges stuck.

You told yourself he did it out of pride. He told himself it was civic duty. Neither admitted it was anything else.

Then came the day everything crashed. Your parents sat you down in the living room, voices calm and cruel: “You’re reckless. Irresponsible. We’ve found someone suitable and you’ll marry him next month.” You laughed, thinking it was a joke, but it wasn’t.

You spent the night driving until the wind hurt. Marriage to a stranger was worse than any crash. Then a thought, stupid and brilliant, slid into your mind.

The next morning, you barged into Drake’s firm. He blinked up at you, exhausted. “What now?” “I need to marry you.” He choked on his coffee. “You what?” “You heard me, marry me for one-year to save me from an arranged marriage.” He stared silent for a full minute, then muttered, “You’ve officially lost it.” “Think, Drake. You’ll have a pretty me and I get out of my parents’ plan. It’s transactional.” He leaned back, eyes narrowing. “You’d rather marry your childhood enemy than a stranger?” “Exactly. At least I know what kind of devil I’m dealing with.” He exhaled through his teeth, then finally said, “Fine, one year.” “Done,” you said, grinning. “Try not to fall in love.” He rolled his eyes. “Try not to get arrested.”

The wedding was small, a legal blur of rings and disbelief. You wore leather under your gown just to annoy him; he smiled once when he thought you didn’t see.

Months passed and you raced while he worked, the world spun and somehow it wasn’t chaos anymore but balance. He’d wait up when you came home late, pretending to scold while heating leftovers. You left him coffee on mornings he overworked himself into headaches. You didn’t call it care, but it felt dangerously close.

Then came the accident. A night track, wet asphalt, one misjudged turn. When you opened your eyes, white hospital light blinded you. The first thing you saw was Drake, his hair a mess, tie gone, eyes red-rimmed and furious.

“You’re awake,” he said, voice hoarse. You tried to smile. “You look terrible.” “Do you have any idea what you put me through?” “Relax, counselor. I’ve had worse bruises.” “Don’t,” he snapped. “Don’t make jokes right now.” He stood, pacing once before blurting, “You’re not allowed to ride anymore.”

Your heart dropped. “What? Drake, that was the whole point of this marriage! So I could still race!” He turned, every word trembling between anger and something rawer. “I almost lost you!” Silence filled the room. Machines beeped softly.

You tried to speak, but he crossed the distance, cupping your face carefully, like you might shatter. His eyes that’s always steady in court, always cold in argument were frantic now.

“I told myself this was temporary,” he said quietly. “That a year from now we’d sign papers and go our separate ways. But when I saw you lying there…” His breath hitched. “Nothing made sense. Not the deal, not the rules, nothing. Just you.”

Your throat tightened. “Drake…” He shook his head, thumb brushing your cheek. “No more races. No more reckless nights. I don’t care about the agreement. I just need you alive. If you want something to ride... then ride me”