The following morning, sunlight filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the penthouse. Samantha Castillo sat at the edge of the marble breakfast bar, poking at her untouched croissant while her mind replayed every detail of last night. The deal. The tension. The kiss. The lie she now had to carry.
Maxwell Carter moved like nothing had changed, dressed sharply in a charcoal grey suit. His presence still filled the room even in silence. He poured coffee, glanced at her, and casually asked, "You're ready for tonight?"
"Tonight?" Samantha blinked, dragged back into the present.
"The gala at Sterling Tower. Our engagement will be announced officially," Maxwell said as he sipped his coffee, expression unreadable.
Samantha's heart stuttered. She had almost forgotten. In public, they were a picture-perfect couple. Behind closed doors, they were warring hearts and hidden scars.
"Right. The gala," she murmured.
Maxwell handed her an envelope. "Our publicist sent you the appearance schedule and press guidelines. Memorize them. No surprises."
Her fingers tightened around the envelope. She hated being handled. But she was in too deep now. Razor's threat still lingered like smoke in the air. And last night's kiss with Maxwell... she didn't even know what to make of it. It felt real. Too real.
By the time evening rolled around, Samantha was dressed in a custom sapphire-blue gown, her makeup flawless, her hair slicked back into an elegant bun. She didn't feel beautiful. She felt like armor had been put on her, like a doll being dressed for battle.
Maxwell met her at the elevator. "You look stunning," he said, eyes scanning her.
"And you look like trouble," she replied coolly.
He smiled but said nothing. The car ride to Sterling Tower was quiet, thick with unspoken tension. Outside the venue, reporters and flashing cameras lined the red carpet. The moment they stepped out, it began—
"Mr. Carter! Ms. Castillo! Is it true you're merging Castillo Enterprises with Carter Holdings?"
"When's the wedding?"
"Are the rumors about Razor true?"
Samantha's heel wobbled slightly at the last question. Maxwell held her hand a little tighter and leaned in to whisper, "Smile like you mean it."
She turned to the cameras and flashed a dazzling smile. Just like they rehearsed.
Inside, champagne flowed, string music played, and polished business elites swirled in clusters. The engagement was announced by Maxwell's father, who gave a booming toast. "To the merging of two great empires and the beginning of a powerful legacy!"
Samantha's smile cracked at the edges. Powerful legacy? All she saw was manipulation.
Later, as the night wore on, Samantha slipped away to the rooftop garden for a moment of air. She leaned over the balcony, the city lights below flickering like restless stars.
"Hiding?" Maxwell's voice came from behind her.
"Thinking. There's a difference."
He stepped beside her, silent for a beat. "Why did you really kiss me last night?"
She looked up at him, her guard raising. "You kissed me first."
"And you didn't stop me."
"Because I needed you to stop thinking I'm weak," she shot back. "Because I needed to win that deal. Because... I needed to make you feel something. Anything."
His expression changed. Something flickered in his eyes—hurt, maybe. But it was gone too fast.
"You've never been weak, Samantha. Not once," he said, voice low.
A soft tension settled between them. Then footsteps approached.
"Samantha!" a familiar voice called. It was Camille, her best friend from the racing world—disguised tonight as a PR executive. "You need to see this. Now."
She followed Camille down the hallway, her heart pounding. Inside a side lounge, a large flat screen showed live paparazzi footage. Outside the venue, Razor stood in the crowd, unbothered, wearing a smug smile and holding a massive bouquet of black roses.
The anchor's voice buzzed: "A bold gesture from the infamous underground racer known as Razor. Sources claim he shares a complicated past with Samantha Castillo."
Gasps filled the room. Whispers. The press was already eating it up.
Camille turned to her, eyes wide. "He's making a move. And it's public."
Maxwell entered behind her, his jaw clenched. "We're leaving. Now."
Samantha didn't resist. Outside, Razor locked eyes with her as she passed. A smirk. A challenge. A promise.
Maxwell pulled her into the car, slammed the door, and growled, "I told you to stay away from that world."
"I didn't ask him to show up."
"But you let him in. Somewhere, somehow. He got in again."
"So what now? You're going to strip more of my assets until I'm nothing but your puppet?" she snapped.
He didn't answer. He just looked at her—really looked at her—and said, "If you want to fight me, Samantha, then fight me. But don't get burned in the process."
The ride continued in silence, until Samantha finally muttered, "He won't stop."
"Then we make the first move," Maxwell said coldly.
Back at the penthouse, Samantha stood by the window, staring at the city below. Maxwell poured two glasses of whiskey and handed her one.
"What are we even doing?" she asked, voice quieter.
"Playing the parts we were born into," he said.
She looked at him then—really looked. Maybe beneath the cold businessman, the control, the manipulation, Maxwell Carter was just as trapped as she was.
Just as the air settled between them, Camille texted: He left something. You need to see this.
Attached was a photo: Razor's bouquet on the steps. Tucked inside was a small envelope.
Samantha opened the message: One last ride, Blaze. You owe me.
And beneath it, the time and location of a new illegal race.
Her fingers trembled.
"What is it?" Maxwell asked, watching her.
She showed him the phone.
Maxwell's face hardened. "If you go to that race, everything between us ends."
Samantha's eyes met his.
And she said nothing.