Page 67 of Red Flagged
But instead, I bent down to pick up my purse. My fingers curled around the handle slowly, mechanically, as if the movement might tether me to something solid. When I straightened, Callum was still there. A few feet away that was both so close and too far, with disheveled hair and wild eyes, his chest rising and falling like he’d sprinted through hell.
Maybe he had.
Rain pounded around us, sounding like guilt and heartache and betrayal all at once.
We stared at each other, not speaking, not moving, just watching each other. One blink and I might lose him. One breath and I might crumble.
Because he’d done it again, just as he had so many times before. He gave me a choice.
Not just any choice.Thechoice.
He stopped trying to control the situation. He wasn’t chasing me. Wasn’t begging. Wasn’t commanding. He was offering to let me decide. To walk away… or to stay.
And it killed me more than anything else could have.
Becausethatwas love. Not the possessive kind or the world ending kind. The kind that stood bruised and battered in the aftermath of the hurricane and still said:I want you. Even now. Even still. Even if.
And fuck, I was still so goddamn angry and hurt in places I hadn’t found words for yet. But I sawhim—not the version who dominated the grid, but the man. The boy behind the wheel who didn’t know how to pump the brakes until it cost him everything. The one who was terrified of losing the things he loved, so he never let anyone in.
He always found new ways to show me who he really was beneath the armor. And every time another layer fell away, it only made me love him more. Even when I wanted to scream. Even when I wanted to swing at his chest and demand why he hurt me like this.
Callum was right. One argument didn’t rewrite our story. Not if we didn’t let it. It’s not the fights that define us. It’s what we doafter. And maybe I wasn’t ready to fully forgive him yet. Maybe I still needed to grieve what he made me feel in that moment. But I sure as hell wasn’t ready to lose him.
So fine. He wanted to give me the choice?
Then I’d take it. I’d give him a taste of his own medicine. I’d remind him who the fuck I was.
Because I wasn’t the girl who waited for a man to tell her what her future looked like. I wasn’t the woman who coweredwhen someone she loved disappointed her, not anymore. And I wasn’t going to let him mistake this love for weakness.
I was hisequal. His rival. His match. And he didn’t get to take my autonomy away just because he thought silence was safer than honesty.
He could command a room, control a race, take over my body with just his voice—but I’d given him that power willingly. I’dtrustedhim enough to hand it over. Time and time again, I surrendered to him—not out of weakness, but because Ichoseto. Because I believed he’d never misuse it. Because I thought he saw me.
Clearly, that wasn’t reciprocated.
So yeah, I’d make him feel exactly what I felt every time I took a blind step into the dark and trusted him to catch me. Let’s see what it’s like when the lights are cut and the road disappears andhe’sthe one left grasping for control. Let’s see what the man who always holds the wheel does when the woman he loves hits the fucking gas.
So I stepped forward, chin tipped up like I could brand my fury into his fucking skin. I walked right into his space, close enough that our chests brushed. Close enough to steal the air between us. He didn’t move—just closed his eyes like the nearness of me was too much to bear. Like he needed a full second to gather his sanity before I stole it again.
I studied him. The way his throat worked with a tight swallow. The silent flex of his jaw. His fists twitching at his sides like he wanted to reach for me, but didn’t know if he was allowed to anymore. He looked broken. Worshipful. Wrecked.
Good.
Then I turned and darted around him, my heart thundering louder than the rain pouring around us. A waft of his cologne clung to me, all bergamot and sin and masculinity. The soundof my heels echoed under the carport like gunshots. Loud and lethal.
I snatched the keys from the stunned valet attendant without a word, stormed to the driver’s side, and slid behind the wheel. I was done waiting for someone else to decide the outcome of my life.
Let him follow. Let him chase. But this time, I was the one in control.
The valet hesitated, then stepped directly in front of the car, glancing at Callum like he was waiting for confirmation. “Uh, sir?” he said awkwardly, making no move to step away. “Are you… sure she knows how to handle a manual?”
My rage was instant.
I started the car, let the engine growl to life beneath me, and slammed my hand on the wheel hard enough to make the horn chirp. The kid startled, jumping back half a step.
I rolled the window down and stuck my head out, my hair whipping around my face in the stormy breeze. “I’m a woman, not a fucking toddler. And yes, I know how to drive stick shift. I’m also a Formula 1 driver. Still got a problem with that?”
His face went sheet white. He backed up and stepped onto the curb. “N-no, ma’am. Sorry, I didn’t know?—”
