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Too Late: Desired By The Rival Boss

Chapter 3

Word Count: 937 | Released on: Today at 21:22

Summer

el on the industrial fringe o

stale tobacco and ch

e deadbolt was solid, and the window looked out over the parki

threadbare mattress, my

agnostic window for Me

cache was hold

2023 season, with the dashboard still disp

g log showed

hts at face value, he'd think

ent to my contact list, and systematically block

t Me

ke S

r Ben

n road captain, offic

apped the small piece of plastic between my thumb and fo

, prepaid burner

had its original SIM. Sponsors and race off

ramped bathroom, and splashed

ed mirror looked pale, with dark circles

yself to fit into the passenge

ing success while he took the trophies, the sponsor

towel, grabbed my jacket, and pulled

e industrial corridor to a tw

loy padlocks, a tactical door brace

into the biting desert air, a

under the buzzing neon sign of a mach

s wore lea

ered patch featuring a snarling tim

ge Motorc

their t

fiercest rival on the desert racing circuit and

hin up slightly, catching my e

too long. Maybe he'd seen me

n't f

room, set up the door brace, an

s. I still checked under the bed and beh

rganizing the timestamped cryptographic pro

graduate research at the University of Nev

search. Under our written agreement, Mercer Racing

ategy software, I had the paper trail to destroy him

phone vibrated against

single text message from

ine without the Red Basin escort. Found t

caught in

followed imm

mpires for a man who can't read a

the glowin

Nevada who operated with that kin

Whit

d muscle, calculating intelle

ion and brute force, Chase ran Whitmore Mot

souvenir from a territory brawl five years ago-a

one screen for a l

ed steadily ag

ken bird hiding in a corn

a storm hits, some bird

ht into the tee

phone, my thumbs hove

a single

, an isolated telemetry server, and a dy

r for my new prepaid SIM. "U

later, my personal phon

oor behind the salvage yard. Nine

Chapter End

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Too Late: Desired By The Rival Boss

Juline Walden Romance

“I spent forty-eight hours straight locked in a workshop, perfecting the racing algorithm for my husband's motorcycle club. All I wanted was to have a quiet dinner with him on my twenty-seventh birthday. But when I called his private line, my half-sister answered the phone. She laughed and told me my husband had just publicly replaced me with her as the Director of Race Strategy. "He says the team needs a face sponsors actually want to look at, not someone hiding behind screens," she purred. In the background, I heard the roar of his motorcycle as he took her out to celebrate. Even the young apprentice I had mentored for years was cheering them on, mocking my complex formulas and eager to take my place. They treated my years of dedication like a joke, claiming my husband was just keeping me around out of pity while they happily stole the championship-winning data I built. For four years, I had shrunk myself to fit into his life, writing the mathematical foundation of his racing success while he took the trophies, the sponsor checks, and the respect. I thought my sacrifice actually meant something to him. I didn't cry. I simply signed the divorce papers, locked down the entire racing network with a private key, and packed my bags. If he thought he could build a kingdom on my genius and just throw me away, he was about to learn what happens when the math stops working in his favor. I started my motorcycle and rode straight into the territory of his fiercest rival.”