Page 5 of Redline
Dominic’s grin was slow, devastating, and entirely predatory. "Perfect. She seems to have a lot of opinions on performance. Maybe she’d like a closer look at the telemetry."
Then—holding my gaze with a terrifying level of intensity—he reached for the knot at his hip.
He didn't hesitate. He just loosened his grip, and the towel hit the floor with a soft, damningthud.
I saw everything.
All six-plus feet of smug, arrogant, annoyingly perfect athlete. He stood there, completely unbothered, weaponizing his own nakedness to try and reclaim the high ground he’d just lost.
Dad let out a strangled yelp of pure horror. "Dominic! For God's sake!" He lunged forward, slamming his hand over my eyes and nearly knocking my head back. "Go to your room! Carter, move! Don't you look at him!"
"I'm fine," I muffled into his palm, but I didn't fight him. I didn't need to see any more to know exactly what Dominic Valerio was.
I heard the glass door groan open, followed by a loud, theatrical splash that sent a spray of water against the windows. Dad finally dropped his hand, his face a shade of purple I’d never seen before as he stared at the ripples in the infinity pool.
“He’s not crazy,” Dad said, quieter now, like he was recalibrating. Something sharper settling into place. “He’s undisciplined. That’s fixable.”
I snorted in disbelief, my voice tight. "He's just a guy who thinks he's celestial because he can drive on a track."
My eyes caught the pool again. Dominic had surfaced at the far edge, the morning light slicing across his wet shoulders. He was pressed against the lip of the pool, where a female in a tiny robe was now waiting. She dropped to her knees at the edge, leaning over him as he reached up, his hands tangling in her hair.
He pulled her down into a deep, possessive kiss. It was a performance—a blatant, vulgar display of dominance. But as his mouth worked against hers, he wasn't looking at her.
His dark, heavy gaze was locked directly on mine through the glass. Even from twenty feet away, the intensity of it felt like a physical weight. Something hot and unwelcome swirled deep in my stomach—a visceral, traitorous reaction to the raw, unfiltered power he radiated.
I didn't let it show. I scoffed, rolling my eyes with a deliberate, bored slow-motion.
"Don't worry, Dad," I said, turning away from the window. "He’s just another engine. And every engine has a breaking point."
I walked back over to my accounting textbooks, leaving the racing star to his audience. He wanted a war? He had no idea how well I knew the battlefield—or how little I cared about his trophies.
That was his first win against me. A cheap shot in a towel, fueled by a night of manufactured noise.
I wouldn’t let him get a second.
Rich houses have rules. Smile. Be grateful. Don’t cause problems. Dominic Valerio is about to learn very quickly I don’t follow rules that aren’t made for me.
Chapter two
Carter
Whoever was in charge of the universe had apparently decided my life needed better material. The twisted logic that landed me here wasn't just testing me—it was baiting me. Yesterday’s opening act had been a masterclass in psychological warfare, and I was still cleaning the mental shrapnel out of my head.
After Dominic’s little full-frontal vanity display in the pool house, I did what any sane person would do in enemy territory: I avoided him. Completely. Dad had spent the day with Mr. Valerio at the main track for meetings and preliminary assessments—a "getting to know you" session that probably felt more like a deposition. I stayed put and kept to myself.
I feigned sleep when I heard footsteps near the pool. I took a long shower when I heard a car pull into the drive that mighthave been his. I unpacked the last of my things, would have called someone if I had anyone who cared enough to wonder if I was alive, and read three chapters ahead in my Macro textbook just so I could have the illusion of control over something.
The victory was small, but real. No run-ins with Dominic. No smug smirks. No towel incidents. Just me and the hard reality of why I was here.
I didn't move across the country to play house or fix a broken driver; I was here because the Valerio name was the only thing standing between me and a lifetime of interest rates. Without their money, there was no way my dad could have afforded this school on his current, post-scandal finances. I wasn't here to make waves or settle scores; I was here for the degree, the zero-balance tuition, and the stable, boring life that came afterward.
I went to bed last night bracing for another concerto through the wall. Silence greeted me instead. Apparently, even demons needed a night off, or maybe he’d just run out of spectators to shock.
Monday morning arrived bright and smug, sunshine pouring over my new university like the entire campus had been curated for an admissions brochure. The air smelled like eucalyptus, espresso, and too much money. It was the scent of a future I was going to earn, even if I had to survive a Valerio to get it.
I parked the sedan at the far edge of the lot, squeezed between two luxury cars that probably got polished more often than I slept. One was silver and sharp; the other was electric-quiet with a vanity plate declaringH3IR. Because apparently, the campus peasants needed a daily reminder of the local monarchy.
Subtle.
