My Accidental Billionaire Husband (Katia and Julian) novel Chapter 41

She came Second

Julian’s POV

The same woman. The one who had beaten me. The one in the circuit is called Catwoman.

The crowd reacted in that subtle way crowds do when a familiar story returns, the murmur shifting, the energy tightening, as people remembered what happened the last time we were on the same track, and I stood still for a moment, watching her slide into her car with a calm that irritated me more than arrogance ever could, because arrogance is loud, but calm is confidence so deep it doesn’t require proving.

Zane leaned toward me slightly, his voice muffled through his own gear. “Don’t do something dramatic just because your ego feels threatened.”

“I’m going to beat her,” I answered, and my voice came out steady, which was the most dangerous kind of intention, because it meant I wasn’t joking.

He exhaled a laugh. “You said that last time.”

I didn’t respond, because last time is exactly why I was here.

We climbed into our cars, and the cockpit swallowed the world the way it always does, reducing everything to vibration and breath and the hum of power beneath your hands, and I tightened my grip on the wheel as the lights above the track started their sequence, because no matter how many times you race, there is always a moment right before the launch that feels like standing on the edge of a cliff you chose, and I live for that moment, the moment where your body begs you to hesitate and your mind tells it to shut up.

The lights went red.

The air grew thick.

I could feel her presence beside me, the faint vibration of her engine, and the alignment of her car it was almost insulting, because it meant she wasn’t nervous either.

Yellow.

Yellow again.

And then green.

We launched like bullets, and the first few seconds of a race always reveal the truth about who came to play and who came to be seen, because the track doesn’t care what you paid for your car or how many people know your name; the track only cares how much control you have when your body is being hammered by speed.

She was fast.

She was exactly as fast as I remembered, which meant she hadn’t gotten complacent, which meant she had been racing all these years with the same hunger that made her dangerous, and I felt my focus sharpen into something clean, because nothing refines a man like a worthy opponent.

We took the first corner tight enough that the tires screamed, and the second corner tighter, and the third corner with an aggression that told me she wasn’t here to lose politely, and I matched her line, shadowing her the way I always do when I’m reading someone, because racing is not only about driving, it is about learning, it is about predicting, it is about seeing where the other person breathes and where they hold back.

But she did hesitate, just for a fraction, on the inside line near the barricade where the pavement dips slightly, and I took that fraction the way you take an opening in a fight, without apology and without mercy, because the only thing more pathetic than losing is losing politely.

It was just her car and mine, trading inches, trading speed, trading control, the kind of dance that only people who understand danger can appreciate, and by the time we reached the final stretch,I could feel the outcome before it happened, because my car was pulling and her car was pushing and my timing was perfect, and I knew I was going to win not because she was weak, but because I was furious, and fury can be a fuel if you know how to direct it.

The moment hit like a release, as though something that had been unsettled in me for six years had finally found its place again, and I slowed the car down, letting the engine calm, letting my breath return, and letting the adrenaline stop clawing at my

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