"So what are you saying?" William's voice remains steady, but I catch the slight tension in his shoulders, the way his hands have curled into loose fists at his sides. "That we end this? Pretend there's nothing between us?"
The question sends a cold wave through me, though it's the logical conclusion to my concerns. Isn't that exactly whatI should be suggesting? The cleanest solution to the problem Dominic presents?
"I don't know," I admit, surprising myself with the honesty. "I spent the entire flight back from Chicago turning over options, trying to find a path that protects both the team and"—I gesture between us, still unable to name this connection that defies simple definition—"us."
William studies me, his expression shifting from tension to something softer, more understanding. "And?"
"And I hate it," I say, the words bursting forth with unexpected heat. "I hate that Dominic has this power over us. That our private life has become another chess piece in his vindictive game. That I'm even considering letting his threats influence what happens between us."
I turn away, facing the rain-streaked windows. "It's eating me inside, Will. Stressing me out, because I want to protect both—Colton Racing and now, surprising myself, I want to protect what I have with you." I close my eyes briefly, a headache building at my temples. "I never expected to feel this way about anyone, especially not in the middle of everything else happening with the team."
When I turn back to him, William has straightened from the desk, his expression intense and focused—the same look he gets when analyzing a difficult section of track, searching for the perfect line through complexity.
"Dominic is a parasite," I continue, unable to keep the bitterness from my voice. "The threats loom and eat you from the inside, although he only planted the seeds of doubt. And I hate it." I clench my hands into fists, nails biting into my palms. "I hate how fucking powerless I am about this!"
William crosses the space between us in two strides, his hands finding mine, uncurling my fingers before I can draw blood. "You're not powerless," he says with quiet intensity. "You'reViolet fucking Colton. You've rebuilt this team from ashes, secured Belforte's investment, kept EJ from Dominic's clutches in an amazing legal move. And we’re not even halfway through racing for glory." He rubs gentle circles against my palms. "Dominic wants you to feel powerless, because that's the only way that asswipe can win."
His confidence in me floods my chest with unexpected warmth, a counterpoint to the cold dread those threats had instilled. Still, reality remains unavoidable.
"But he's right about one thing," I say reluctantly. "Our relationship does create vulnerability for the team. For both of us, professionally."
William nods, surprising me with his sober acknowledgment. "I understand, Violet." His hands tighten briefly around mine. "I don't want to be the reason the team has problems. The last thing I'd ever want is to undermine what you're building here."
His maturity, his willingness to prioritize the team's needs alongside his own desires, causes a painful knot deep in my belly. Deep down, I expected him to rebel against this. To try to change my mind. But no. He’s thinking about the bigger picture. And tears threaten to spill at his selflessness.
"So what do we do?" I ask, the question holding more weight than its simple words suggest.
William's fingers remain intertwined with mine, warm and steady despite the weight of our conversation. The rain intensifies outside, blurring the test track into watercolor smudges of gray and green. We stand like this for several heartbeats, neither rushing to fill the silence that hangs between us. Finally, he speaks, his voice low but resolute.
"We keep our distance in public. Professional interactions at the track, in meetings, anywhere we might be observed." He traces small circles against my palm with his thumb—a contrast to his words, a silent rebellion against the separation he'sproposing. "We reduce our time together to a bare minimum, at least until we've neutralized Dominic's threat."
The logic is sound, the strategy protective of everything we've worked for. Yet hearing him articulate it sends a hollowness through my chest.
"Agreed," I say, professional even now, even in this. "Team Principal and driver. Nothing more where others can see."
"We can still text," William adds, his eyes never leaving mine. "Encrypted apps, like I’ve seen online. And maybe, occasionally, when it's safe—"
"—when we're absolutely certain we're not being watched…" I leave the thought in the air.
His fingers tighten briefly around mine before he releases them, already enacting our new agreement, creating physical distance that mirrors the professional boundaries we've just reinforced. The absence of his touch is immediate and acute, like stepping from warmth into cold. It hurts.
I cross my arms, not in defensiveness, but in an unconscious attempt to preserve the heat his proximity generated.
This is necessary.
This is strategic.
This protects the team, our positions, everything we've built.
Yet I hate it with an intensity that surprises me—hate that Dominic's vindictive games have forced us into this careful choreography of distance.
William takes another step back, his expression composed but his eyes revealing the struggle beneath. "It won't be forever," he says, as much to himself as to me. "Just until we figure out how to neutralize that muppet. Until the season's underway, and the team's position is stronger."
I find myself studying his face, noting the subtle changes these weeks have wrought. The bruise around his eye has faded completely, but there's a new tightness around his mouth, aslight shadow beneath his eyes that speaks of restless nights. Despite this, he stands straight, shoulders back, meeting this challenge with the same determination he brings to impossible corners and adverse track conditions.
"I can wait. Forever. To have you. To have us. No matter how much this hurts—and it hurts like hell, mind you—I will wait."
Not for the first time, I'm struck by the maturity that belies his twenty-five years and playful demeanor. The William most people see—impulsive, quick to laugh, occasionally reckless—is only one facet of this complex man. This William, who understands stakes and sacrifices, who puts the team's needs alongside his own desires... This William is the one who has slipped past my carefully constructed defenses.
