Page 109 of Hot Lap
“He’s claiming you attacked him unprovoked.” She’s watching Maiken.
Mai shakes her head. “Of course he is.”
“There’s no context,” Reece’s manager adds. “The clip’s circulating without sound too. That one makes you look unstable.”
Reece bares his teeth. “Is anyone buying this crap?”
“Graham is.” Branca drops her phone into her purse. “He’s leaning into it hard. Leaking commentary that you’re under stress, that your wife’s ‘background’ makes her volatile. The gossip outlets are lapping it up.”
Beside him, Maiken crosses her arms tight over her chest, eyes hidden behind her sunglasses. Reece’s jaw clenches as she retreats inward and her brightness dims with every word. That stillness is back and he hates it.
They turn into the hotel drive, and everything goes to hell.
Cameras.
Shouting.
Barricades breached.
Dozens of reporters crowd the front steps, hurling questions, cameras raised, microphones thrust forward. It’s not supposed to be like this in Abu Dhabi.
"Maiken! Why did you threaten Damian Betterton?"
"Reece, are you planning to divorce?"
"Did you marry Reece for money?"
Each question is a blade cutting into his wife. She has a white-knuckled grip on his arm, as she presses closer to Reece.
“Piss off!” He shields her with his body. “Get the hell away from my wife!”
A wave of hotel security descends. Uniformed staff form a human wall as Nitro’s team scrambles to help. Ona moves to Maiken’s other side like a shield, one arm extended.
Behind them, a second Nitro car pulls up. Petra’s door swings open. “Bloody heathens,” she snaps. “Back the hell off. This is a driver hotel, not a zoo.”
Coy joins her. “Where are your damn manners?”
The mass recoils from his authority, just enough to let their group escape.
Inside the gleaming hotel, the chaos quiets. For now.
The general manager, pale and flushed, greets them with a trembling bow. “Mr. Pritchard, Mrs. Pritchard, I extend our deepest apologies. This behavior is unprecedented. Our staff has been ordered to revoke all press access for the remainder ofthe Grand Prix. Anyone who attempts to approach you again on these grounds will be removed and blacklisted.”
Reece gives a curt nod. “Appreciated.” He tastes metal, an after-effect of adrenaline that he’s all too familiar with.
They take the elevator up in silence. He holds Maiken’s hand, but she hasn’t said a word.
Their suite is enormous. Sleek. Cool-toned. The Persian Gulf glitters beyond the balcony’s glass.
But Maiken doesn’t look at it.
She drops her bag by the couch and stands there for a long moment, arms still crossed like she’s holding herself together. “I shouldn’t’ve come.”
Reece turns. “What?”
She takes off her sunglasses and looks at him, and the devastation in her eyes nearly brings him to his knees. This isn't just disappointment, it's the look of someone who's been made to feel small, dirty, and wrong for existing in his world.
“I’ll be a distraction, Reece. I think I should just go back to Vegas until all this blows over.”
