Alaric

The loud beeping of my phone dragged me out of sleep early Tuesday morning. I let out a tired groan and buried my face deeper into the pillow, hoping whoever was disturbing me would eventually give up and disappear.

Unfortunately, the beeping continued relentlessly.

Again.

Again.

And again.

I groaned in frustration before finally reaching for the phone lying beside me on the bed.

After returning from Bahrain late Monday night, I had collapsed onto my mattress hoping for uninterrupted sleep after the chaos of the race weekend.

My entire body still ached from the physical strain of Bahrain, and the last thing I wanted was to deal with another human being this early in the morning.

Especially one specific human being.

I rubbed my eyes tiredly as the screen lit up brightly in the dim bedroom, forcing me to blink twice while my vision adjusted to the sudden brightness.

The messages were coming from an unknown number.

Hello.

How is your wonderful Tuesday going?

I hope you haven’t forgotten about our date.

You still have not unblocked me on Instagram, so I had to get your number another way.

I am currently standing outside your penthouse ringing the doorbell.

If you do not open the door soon, I am going to start calling you instead.

The more I read the messages, the more new ones appeared instantly beneath them.

My eyes twitched.

I already knew exactly who it was.

Only one person on this earth was capable of irritating me this much before sunrise.

’’’Oh, va te faire foutre, Nicholas,. (oh, fuck you, Nicholas),’’ I muttered angrily in French as I shoved the blankets off myself and climbed out of bed.

The doorbell rang again.

Longer this time.

I gritted my teeth in annoyance while making my way toward the front door. I had never given Nico access to my penthouse building, which meant he either arrived disguised again or somehow charmed his way past security like the menace he was.

Honestly, both options sounded equally possible for him.

I genuinely thought the entire bet had died after he failed to mention it yesterday. After the podium ceremony and media obligations, both of us returned to Monaco separately, and Nico never brought it up again afterward.

Which was exactly why I had stupidly relaxed.

I had even given Marcus, my bodyguard the day off because I wanted silence and absolutely no human interaction today.

Clearly, the universe hated me.

My phone suddenly started ringing in my hand, but I did not even need to check the caller ID to know who it was.

The doorbell rang again at the exact same moment.

Psychopath.

I marched toward the entrance before yanking the door open with enough force to slam it against the wall.

And there he was.

Nicholas Park stood outside my penthouse looking disgustingly attractive for someone ruining my morning.

He wore a fitted black turtleneck beneath a charcoal overcoat that hung perfectly across his broad shoulders, dark tailored trousers, and polished black leather boots that probably cost more than most people’s monthly rent. A pair of dark sunglasses rested lazily against the bridge of his nose despite the early hour, making him look less like a Formula One driver and more like a celebrity trying to avoid paparazzi.

His dark hair looked slightly messy from the wind outside, but somehow that only made him look even better.

Unfortunately.

In one hand, he carried three grocery bags while his phone remained pressed against his ear with the other.

The moment our eyes met, a slow grin spread across his face.

"Hello, sleeping princess," he murmured smoothly.

"What the hell are you doing here this early in the morning?" I groaned before attempting to slam the door shut directly in his face.

Unfortunately, Nico reacted faster.

His hand caught the door effortlessly before he pushed it back open and walked into my penthouse as though I had personally invited him inside.

"It is two in the afternoon," he corrected casually while removing his sunglasses. "And I am pretty sure you have not forgotten about our bet."

I let out another exhausted groan before rubbing a hand across my face.

"I do not care about that stupid bet anymore. How the hell did you even get here?"

"By driving," Nico answered immediately. "What else was I supposed to do? Teleport?"

A scoff escaped me.

"You know perfectly well that is not what I meant. How did you get past security, and how the hell did you even find my penthouse?"

Nico only smiled at me while shrugging off his overcoat. He tossed it carelessly across the couch before loosening the sleeves of his black turtleneck. 𝒇𝙧𝙚𝓮𝙬𝙚𝓫𝒏𝓸𝓿𝓮𝒍.𝓬𝙤𝓶

Honestly, the man looked disgustingly comfortable inside my home already.

"I have my ways, De Villier," he replied smoothly. "And unlike you, I do not back down from bets. So where is your kitchen? I bought groceries because I already knew a terrible cook like you would not have anything edible in this place."

I rolled my eyes at him, but deep down my thoughts immediately drifted back toward what he said earlier about Sophia.

Did he ask her anything else about me?

Was that how he got my address and number?

The thought bothered me more than it should have.

I wanted to ask him about it properly, but before I could say anything, Nico suddenly laughed beneath his breath.

"Oh," he murmured, turning toward the far side of the living room. "So you actually hung Crimson Tide in here."

He pointed directly toward the massive painting hanging against the wall, the storm-dark ocean beneath a violent red sky illuminated softly by the afternoon light pouring through the penthouse windows.

The same painting he bought during that auction weeks ago.

The same painting he later sent to my home without explanation.

I crossed my arms before looking toward it myself.

"Of course I hung it up. I saw it first, but your greed made you spend half a million dollars on it before randomly sending it to me afterward."

Nico scoffed immediately.

"That was not greed. That was strategy."

"That is literally the same thing."

"It really is not."

I rolled my eyes again while Nico lifted the grocery bags slightly in his hands.

"Now," he continued lazily, "where exactly is your kitchen, or am I supposed to explore your penthouse by myself?"

Honestly, knowing him, he probably would.