Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 28033 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 140(@200wpm)___ 112(@250wpm)___ 93(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 28033 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 140(@200wpm)___ 112(@250wpm)___ 93(@300wpm)
An answer that was not quite an answer, but it was one that enchanted him the most, and so, even though he had no ring in his pocket, he had asked her to marry him, and she had—as expected—said ‘yes’ without asking about a ring.
It had been eight years since then.
Eight years.
And in every day of their marriage, his wife had been nothing short of perfect. She had made a promise about the kind of wife she would be, and she had kept it. He had made a promise about the kind of husband he would be, and he, too, had kept his word.
It was a marriage made perfect because both of them understood what honor meant.
And valued it.
Which was also why he didn’t think it was fair to subject her to what lay ahead.
“If you’re here—”
Aivan’s voice had Leonidas turning in time to see his friend stride back into the conference room, still dressed in his racing suit, and his hair slightly matted with sweat after joining his trainees for a single race.
The Sicilian billionaire moved with the easy confidence of a man who’d conquered every track that mattered. Dark hair, sharp features, the kind of presence that made photographers and sponsors salivate in equal measure. At thirty-eight, Aivan Cannizzaro still topped those ridiculous lists where women voted for the world’s most attractive athletes. Much to his wife Sienah’s apparent amusement and his own visible irritation.
But there was something different about him now. Softer around the edges. The cold machine Leonidas had first met a decade ago had thawed into something almost human.
Marriage, Leonidas supposed. Or rather, the right marriage. The kind where you actually let yourself feel something.
“I’m assuming you’ve made a decision?” Aivan settled into the chair across from him, gesturing for Leonidas to sit as well.
The conference room was pure Aivan. Sleek, functional, dominated by screens displaying real-time telemetry data from the track below. Trophies lined one wall, arranged with the carelessness of a man who had nothing left to prove.
Leonidas reached for the contract that had brought him here. The document was substantial, dense with technical specifications and legal provisions, but the core proposal was simple enough.
A new patented technology. Modified car design. Adaptive systems that would compensate for his damaged ligament by redistributing control inputs, allowing him to rely on his still-lightning reflexes rather than the knee that had betrayed him.
A second chance at the championship that should have been his.
“Why me?” Leonidas asked finally.
“First, there are the official reasons. The ones we’ll present to the press.” Aivan ticked them off on his fingers. “Our friendship. The business deals we’ve worked on together. The privilege of being instrumental in your return to racing. Your incomparable skills as a driver. Skills that were never in question, only your body’s ability to execute them.”
“And the unofficial reason?”
“You need to sign a considerable number of waivers.” Aivan’s expression sobered. “This technology comes with risks. Risks that only a billionaire like you can afford to take, in case things go south. We need someone with deep enough pockets to absorb potential liability, and enough personal stake to push the boundaries of what’s possible.”
“So I’m to be your guinea pig.” Leonidas’s tone was sardonic. “Let you turn Formula One into one big experimental stress test.”
“I prefer ‘pioneer,’” Aivan drawled.
“And why should I sign up for this?”
“You mean aside from the fact that we both know you’re meant to return to the track?” Aivan leaned forward. “If we can make this technology work, it won’t just change racing. It can be applied to other fields. Medical. Military. Emergency response. We’re talking about adaptive systems that could save limbs. Save lives.” A pause. “Your return to racing would be the proof of concept that opens those doors.”
The silence that followed his words was expected, and the thought of trying to persuade his friend with the usual promises of fame and fortune didn’t even cross Aivan’s mind. Leonidas was not like the usual crop of young racers that came knocking on his door, eager for fame and fortune. His friend already had it all...and more. In the world of finance, his friend was a modern-day monarch, but with a business empire to run rather than his own kingdom. In the eyes of high society, Leonidas was an enigma whose attention they slavishly tried but failed to capture, a man who had a lion for a soul, and as with all predators—Leonidas only cared about its next prey.
And yet...here he was, asking for Leonidas to consider turning his world upside down and risking everything he had worked hard for. If everything went right, Leonidas would claim what should have always been his. But if just one thing were to go wrong...
Leonidas knew there was a lot at stake if he were to accept his friend’s offer, and these were things he knew he should care about. The racing world had a long memory. Many would celebrate his return: the prodigal champion, finally healed, racing to a podium finish that was so many years delayed. But he also knew just as many would pray for his failure. The sponsors who’d written him off. The rivals who’d risen in his absence. The journalists who’d built careers on his tragedy and wouldn’t appreciate having their narrative disrupted.