I reach across him for my phone on the nightstand, aware of his eyes tracking the movement, appreciating the view. Under different circumstances, I'd enjoy his attention, might even put on a show. But those twelve notifications are setting off alarm bells I can't ignore.
The first message freezes the blood in my veins. It’s from Blake.
Morning, Violet. Dominic activated EJ's exit clause this morning. Offering €15M to replace Kikuchi. Media already has it. Call me.
"Fuck," I breathe, bolting upright, the sheet falling forgotten to my waist.
The next message is from PR, detailing which outlets have already run the story. Three are from Johnson, eachprogressively more panicked, because our driver duo is instrumental for his work. Another from Blake with links to Dominic's official statement. And then—my heart clenches—one from EJ himself.
Violet, I don't know what's happening. Mr. Harrington's people just called. I told them I'm under contract with Colton Racing. I don't understand. I'm sorry if I did something wrong. Please call when you can.
The kid sounds terrified. Like he thinks he's somehow at fault. Like he believes I might blame him for being talented enough to attract Dominic's predatory attention.
The remaining messages are from journalists—vultures circling, waiting for quotes, for reaction, for blood in the water, to get their scoop. I grip the phone until my knuckles show white.
"Vi?" William's voice has lost its drowsy quality, sharpened by concern. He sits up beside me, one hand warm against the small of my back. "What's wrong?"
I'm vibrating with rage, with disbelief, with the sickening certainty that this is no coincidence. "DominicfuckingHarrington," I say, my voice deadly quiet, "is trying to poach EJ."
William stills beside me. "What?"
"He's activated the exit clause in EJ's contract." I'm already scrolling through the media reports, confirming details, assessing damage. "Offering fifteen million to buy him out. Wants to pair him with Farrant for the new season."
"He can't do that. The young man just joined us," William says, but the uncertainty in his voice betrays him.
We both know Dominic absolutely can do this—if he's willing to pay the exorbitant fee specified in EJ's exit clause. A clause I insisted on as insurance, never imagining anyone would actually trigger it.
"He's announcing it on Christmas Day," I continue, fury building with each word. "When he knows damn well the whole paddock is off duty. When he knows I'm—"
I cut myself off, unwilling to give voice to the most personal betrayal. That Dominic somehow knew I'd be distracted, vulnerable, away from my normal support systems. That he timed this announcement to catch me when I’m most exposed.
William's face darkens as he follows my train of thought. His hand on my back tenses. "This is deliberate."
"Of course it's deliberate," I snap, then immediately regret my tone. "I'm sorry. I'm not angry at you. I'm—"
"I know." His eyes meet mine, understanding and something fiercer there. "What's the play?"
My mind is already racing ahead—mapping strategies, contingencies, counter-moves. The board will be grumpy as hell and will want immediate action. EJ needs reassurance, and fast. The media narrative must be controlled. And Dominic; he needs to understand exactly who he's dealing with.
"I need to talk to EJ," I say, already dialing. "Convince him to stay. Make a counter-offer. Then legal to review the clause terms. PR to draft a statement that doesn't sound defensive or desperate."
The call goes to voicemail. Of course—the kid's probably overwhelmed, drowning in messages. Or his manager told him to not reply to anything.
My hair is a wild tangle around my face, lips pressed into a hard line as I process this assault on my team, my driver, my Christmas. William watches me, his expression a mixture of concern and disbelief.
"He's doing this to get at me," I say, certainty solidifying in my gut. "He knows we're finally building something good. That EJ and you together could be extraordinary next season. He wants to crush that before it begins."
"So what are you going to do about it?" William asks quietly, his hand still steady against my skin.
I meet his gaze, decision already made. "I'm going to Vortex headquarters."
"Now? On Christmas morning?"
"Dominic never closes that building. He's there." My certainty is absolute. "Working. Planning. Waiting."
William raises his eyebrows. "Waiting for what?"
"For me." I swing my legs over the side of the bed, already reaching for my clothes. "He wants a reaction? He'll get one."
