The night air is cool against my skin as I step onto the balcony of my Monaco penthouse. The city lights shimmer like a constellation laid out just for me, and I take a slow sip of my whiskey, feeling the warmth spread through my veins. Another victory, another podium, another reminder that I am exactly where I’m meant to be. I thrive under pressure. I control every aspect of my life with precision—both on and off the track. Racing is my world, but power… power is my addiction.

A soft knock at the door pulls me from my thoughts. I know who it is before I even open it.

She stands there, hesitant yet defiant, her gaze flickering up to meet mine. Her breath catches, just for a second. It always does.

“Mr. Norris,” she says, her voice controlled but not entirely steady.

I smirk. “I told you to call me Lando.”

She steps inside. The scent of her perfume—jasmine and something darker, something enticing—fills the space between us. I watch her closely, reveling in the way she tries to maintain control, knowing she never really had it to begin with.

“You seem tense,” I murmur, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. She shivers at my touch.

“I’m fine,” she says, but I can see right through her.

I tilt my head, studying her. “You’re a terrible liar.”

She exhales sharply, crossing her arms in a weak attempt to shield herself from my scrutiny. “Maybe I’m just trying to figure you out.”

A low chuckle escapes my lips. “Darling, I’m not a puzzle you can solve.”

I step closer, invading her space, towering over her. My fingers graze her jaw, tilting her chin up so she has no choice but to look at me.

“You like control,” she whispers.

I smirk, leaning in just enough to feel the heat of her breath. “I don’t like it. I own it.”

She swallows hard. My hand trails down her arm, slow, deliberate, teasing. She’s playing with fire, and she knows it.

“Tell me,” I murmur, my voice a hushed command. “Are you ready for this ride?”

Because with me, there are no brakes.