Alaric
When Dorothy had come in the black Maybach, officially nicknamed "The Shadow" by the team because it moved like one, I knew that it meant serious business.
It was happening.
I was officially back in the game. My comeback as the lead racer of the Ferrari team was closer than I had imagined.
I sat in the rear cabin, dressed in a midnight blue tuxedo that felt a little too tight around the collar.
Dorothy had chosen the color herself, muttering something about "making a statement for your return."
I didn't care about statements. I just wanted the night to end without another disaster.
When we reached the venue, Marcus, my newly assigned bodyguard, opened the door from the outside. He was a tall, broad-shouldered man with a shaved head and the kind of calm, watchful eyes that made people think twice before approaching.
The team had brought him in the moment I announced my comeback. They weren't taking chances with my safety.
"Mr. De Villier," Marcus said in his deep voice, offering a hand I didn't need. "We've arrived. Security has cleared the immediate perimeter. I'll stay close tonight unless you say otherwise."
I stepped out onto the red carpet, adjusting my cufflinks. "Thank you, Marcus. Just keep the photographers from getting too aggressive. I'm not in the mood for twenty questions tonight. I just want a peaceful night."
He gave a single, professional nod and fell into step half a pace behind me as we moved toward the entrance.
Cameras flashed immediately as I stepped onto the red carpet, and I had to force a composed smile, waving at the reporters who had gathered at the front of the palace.
"Mr. De Villier, you are out here again today. How does it feel to attend two events in a span of a week?"
I fumbled with my cufflinks, trying so hard not to let my face tighten in anger. I didn't want to answer any questions because answering one meant more would come.
"Dorothy, please…" I muttered to her, hoping she could come to my aid.
Dorothy cleared her throat and stepped forward in front of me, blocking the reporters. "Mr. De Villier is a little under the weather tonight, so he will not be answering any of your questions," she said politely and bowed her head in apology. "This way, please." She pointed toward the entrance.
I nodded in response and turned to follow her while ignoring the reporters who rushed toward me but were blocked by Marcus and some other security guards present at the venue.
Inside the grand hall of the prince's palace, the atmosphere was already buzzing with anticipation and, especially, money.
There were crystal chandeliers dripping warm light over the polished marble floors and long tables draped in crisp white and gold linens.
Waiters moved like shadows with trays of champagne and delicate canapés.
The air carried the mingled scents of expensive colognes, fresh orchids, aged whiskey, and wealth.
There were so many drivers from every major team scattered throughout the room. Some were laughing near the bar, while others were posing for group photos in front of a massive backdrop displaying the twisting layout of the Monaco circuit.
I spotted a few familiar faces right away. Some were old teammates from my pre-accident days. When they saw me, they turned, raising their glasses in quiet acknowledgment.
I returned the nods, keeping my expression neutral. I was in no mood for any questions that would only involve the aftermath of the accident.
While I was trying to find my table and catch up with Dorothy, who seemed to have wandered off, a familiar voice cut through the murmur.
"De Villier! Finally, you decided to show up, mon ami."
I turned around to see Dami walking toward me with an easy, genuine grin.
Dami Adebayo-Lefèvre—who used to be my second driver at Ferrari, a French-Nigerian rising star who had climbed through the junior ranks and was now one of the top racers in the world. Tall, lean, and muscular, with warm brown skin, defined cheekbones, and neatly styled locks pulled back from his face.
His tuxedo was impeccably tailored, but he still carried that fresh, unjaded energy that stood out in this world of calculated egos and old money, even though he came from one of the most influential families in Monaco.
Dami was one of the few people who hadn't started treating me differently after the crash. No pitying looks, no careful distance—just straightforward respect.
"Dami," I said, clasping his hand firmly before pulling him into a quick, one-armed hug. "You clean up well. I almost didn't recognize you without the racing suit."
"Oh, please," he chuckled, rolling his eyes. "Coming from you? That's high praise. I mean, you are the pretty one on the team."
"Until you replaced me," I fired back jokingly.
Dami raised his hands playfully. "Now that you are back, I am happy because I wouldn't have to stress myself about leading the team," he said, pointing toward his left side where Dorothy was talking with a group of women, possibly managers.
"I saw you both arrive in The Shadow. They really went all out for your return. I have to say that I am truly impressed."
I smiled. "Yeah, it was Dorothy's idea," I replied, glancing toward the entrance where Marcus stood still, his eyes fixed on me. "She thinks it sends the right message. So," I clapped my hands together, "how's the car feeling in the latest testing? Any surprises I should know about before we hit the track properly?"
Dami shrugged, taking a sip from the glass in his hand. "Smooth so far. The new aero package is responding well. But honestly, I'm more worried about you. After the last gala… are you good? I heard things got pretty intense with Nico Park. That annoying bastard has been ruling the track in your absence, and he annoys me so much I wish the Red Bull team would go bankrupt just because he is a part of them. So how did you cope with his annoying answers?"
Before I could answer, Dami's gaze shifted past my shoulder. His eyebrows lifted slightly. "Uh… isn't that your ex?" he asked quietly, nodding toward the entrance. "Sophia Laurent, right? Right now she's walking in with Nico Park."
My stomach tightened instantly.
I turned slowly.
True to Dami's words, Nico Park had entered the hall with Sophia Laurent—my ex-fiancée, the woman I had thought I was going to marry until the accident happened.
Sophia looked stunning in a deep emerald gown that hugged her figure with elegant precision, her dark hair swept up in a sophisticated style that highlighted the graceful line of her neck.
She still carried the same poised, aristocratic confidence I remembered from our engagement days—back when we were supposed to get married the summer after my championship win.
Nico looked every bit the handsome Korean-American man in a perfectly tailored black suit, his sharp undercut hairstyle accentuating the clean lines of his face. He moved with that same effortless, magnetic confidence, but tonight there was something deliberate in the way he escorted Sophia through the crowd—as if he knew exactly what effect this entrance would have on me.
Dami leaned in a little closer, keeping his voice low. "Do you want me to create a distraction? Or should we just pretend we didn't see them?"
I drew in a slow breath through my nose. "No. It's fine. This is Monaco. Everyone ends up in the same room eventually. I'm not going to hide, and Sophia and I ended things two years ago, so she is free to be with whoever she wants."
Deep down, I was burning with fury, knowing that there was a reason why Nico Park was with Sophia—and it was because of me.
I raised my head and looked toward their direction, and as if he sensed my gaze, Nico looked up. Our eyes met across the crowded hall.
For a brief moment, his lips curved into a slow, knowing smirk—the same dangerous smirk he had given me in the restroom.
Sneaky bastard, I thought.
Sophia glanced at me too, her expression carefully neutral, but I caught the subtle tension in her posture. She knew exactly what she was doing by arriving with him.
Nico whispered something to Sophia, then started walking toward our group, with Sophia walking side by side with measured steps.
The crowd parted slightly around them, heads turning as the reigning champion and my former fiancée approached.
"Alaric," Sophia said when they reached us. "It's been a long time. You look… well."
Right, because I recovered, I wanted to say, but I just smiled at her.
"Sophia. Good to see you." My gaze shifted to Nico. "Park."
Nico's smirk deepened, his brown eyes locking onto mine with the same knowing expression still on his face.
"De Villier. Nice to see you standing upright after our last little chat."