The silence of the Crown Melbourne's penthouse was expensive. It was the kind of silence that only existed thirty floors above the city, muffled by triple-glazed, reinforced glass and the sheer weight of the Novak name. Adrian Kayel Novak didn't wake up to an alarm; he woke up when his body decided it had had enough of the darkness. At precisely five in the morning, his eyes snapped open, revealing the haunting contrast that made him a legend on the grid and a ghost in the boardroom. His left eye was the color of a mid-winter sky over the French Alps—a piercing, icy blue—while his right was a void of pitch black. This heterochromia was his trademark, a genetic anomaly that mirrored the duality of his soul: the cold, calculating billionaire and the dark, aggressive driver who feared nothing.
He threw back the two-thousand-thread-count silk sheets, his body moving with the fluid, predatory grace of a leopard. He stood six-foot-two, a tower of lean, corded muscle forged by high-G turns and a discipline that bordered on the psychotic. His skin was bronze from the sun of Monaco, mapped with the faint, silver lines of scars that told stories of 200 mph risks. He walked toward the floor-to-ceiling windows, looking out over the Yarra River as the first light of Melbourne touched the glass. The penthouse was larger than most family homes, filled with minimalist Italian furniture and original art, but to Adrian, it was just a cage with a better view. He was twenty-nine, a man who had already conquered the world twice over, yet he felt the familiar, dark itch under his skin that only the scent of burnt rubber could soothe.
His phone buzzed on the nightstand, a custom-encrypted device that held the secrets of a multi-billion dollar empire. He swiped into the group chat, the only place where the "Dark Prince" allowed a crack in his armor.
"Kael, if you send me one more photo of your espresso foam, I'm deleting your simulator data," Adrian muttered to the empty room as he read the messages.
Kael: "Ace! You're awake! I was starting to think you'd finally turned into a statue. I'm at the paddock. Felix is currently trying to convince a security guard that he's a distant relative of the King of France so he can park his Ferrari in the VIP lane."
Felix: "Technically, my lineage is very distinguished, Kael. And she wasn't a security guard, she was the head of hospitality. She has very good taste in shoes. Adrian, tell this blonde peasant to stop bullying me. Also, Nishimura-san is here looking like he just finished a three-hour meditation session. It's making me nervous."
Nishimura: "It was only two hours, Felix. And I am nervous because I am standing next to you. Good morning, Adrian. The track is green, the air is still. It is a good day to remind the world why you wear the crown."
Adrian: "Felix, if you're late for the briefing because you were flirting, you're doing the track walk twice. Kael, stay away from the caffeine. I'll be there in ten."
Adrian tossed the phone onto the bed and moved toward the bathroom. The shower was a sprawling slab of black marble, the water pressure enough to bruise. He let the heat soak into his muscles, his mind already calculating the aero-balance of the RS-26. He wasn't just a driver; he was the primary shareholder of Revenant Racing. Every bolt, every shimmer of midnight black paint, every cent of the hundred-million-dollar budget was his. He dressed with surgical precision, pulling on the Revenant team gear. The fabric was a high-tech blend in the team's signature midnight black and electric cyan. The black shirt hugged his chest, the cyan stripes running down the sides like jagged lightning.
The arrival at the Albert Park paddock was a choreographed riot. As the black armored SUV pulled into the VIP entrance, a roar went up from the fans lining the fences. Adrian stepped out, and the air seemed to chill. He didn't wear sunglasses; he let the media see his mismatched eyes, a silent challenge to anyone who dared to look too long. Reporters swarmed, their microphones thrust forward like weapons.
"Adrian! Roman Whalen says your championship streak ends this Sunday! Does he have a point?"
"Adrian, are you still the highest-paid athlete in the world, or has the business side taken over?"
He didn't blink. He walked through the press of bodies, his dark aura creating a five-foot radius of empty space around him. No one touched him. No one dared. He was the "Dark Prince," and today, the Prince was hungry for blood. He moved past the flashing lights without a single word, his silence carrying more weight than any prepared statement.
Inside the Revenant hospitality suite, the atmosphere was thick with the scent of high-end coffee and expensive nerves. Kael Rudrigo was leaning against a carbon-fiber table, his blonde hair tousled, looking like the golden boy of the sport. Beside him, Felix was animatedly describing his morning encounter to a group of distracted engineers.
"I'm telling you, Kael, she had eyes like emeralds," Felix said, waving a hand dramatically. "But then she saw my Solari teammate and I had to remind her that Revenant has the better uniforms. And the better Frenchmen."
"You're the only Frenchman here, Felix," Kael retorted, grinning as he spotted Adrian. "And you're about 20% ego and 80% hair gel. Look, the boss is here. Try to look like you know how to drive a car."
Kael stepped forward, clapping Adrian on the shoulder. They stood together—two titans who had raced since they were toddlers in karts. "Ready for the circus, Ace? I heard Roman was throwing a fit in the Vanguard garage earlier. Something about his seat not being 'ergonomic' enough."
"Roman is looking for excuses before the lights even go out," Adrian said, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. He glanced at Felix.
"And you. If I see you near the Vanguard hospitality suite talking to their PR girls again, I'm personally capping your fuel flow."
"You are so heartless, Adrian," Felix sighed, though he straightened his cyan-lined collar. "But fine. For the sake of the team, I shall remain celibate until after the race. Maybe."
Adrian ignored the banter, his mind shifting to the garage. He strode through the sliding glass doors into the Revenant pit box. It was a cathedral of technology—the hum of tire blankets, the frantic clicking of pneumatic tools, and the glow of a hundred monitors. But as Adrian entered, the rhythm faltered. The mechanics moved faster, the engineers lowered their voices. His presence was a physical pressure they all felt.
He was heading toward the data hub at the back of the garage, his boots echoing on the polished floor, when a flash of movement caught his peripheral vision. A girl was rushing toward the engineering station, her arms wrapped around a heavy, industrial diagnostic tablet. She was small—barely five-foot-two—and she looked like she was drowning in the oversized midnight black and cyan Revenant polo. She was moving with a frantic, desperate energy, her eyes fixed on the floor as if she were trying to remain invisible.
"Watch out!" Kael shouted from behind, his voice sharp with alarm.
Asaliya didn't hear him. Her foot caught on a pneumatic line snaking across the floor. She gasped, the heavy tablet slipping from her grip as her body pitched forward toward the hard, unforgiving concrete. Adrian didn't think. His reflexes, honed by years of reacting to crashes at three hundred kilometers per hour, took over. Before she could hit the ground, his large, calloused hand shot out and clamped around her waist.
He pulled her upward with such sudden, violent force that her small frame slammed into his chest. The impact was enough to force a soft 'oomph' from her lungs. She was so small that her head barely reached the middle of his chest, and for a heartbeat, the entire garage went silent. Adrian didn't let go. His hand stayed locked on her waist, his long fingers digging into the soft skin of her side. He could feel her heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird.
He looked down, his blue and black eyes narrowing into a lethal stare. Nae Asaliya Milicent was trembling, her breath hitching as she looked up into the face of the man who owned half the team. Her eyes were wide, filled with a deep, haunting exhaustion that Adrian recognized instantly; it was the look of a soul that had been pushed to the breaking point for years.
"Careful, petite," Adrian rasped. His voice wasn't kind. It was a dark, possessive sound that vibrated through her entire body. "You're in a garage, not a playground. If you break my car, I'll make sure you never work in this sport again."
"I... I'm sorry, Mr. Novak," she whispered, her voice like broken glass. She tried to pull away, but his grip only tightened, his thumb brushing the edge of her ribs in a silent, dominant claim.
"Adrian! Release her at once!"
The voice was like a bucket of ice water. Arthur Milicent, the Lead Engineer, marched over from the telemetry wall. He didn't look at his daughter with concern; he didn't check to see if she had twisted an ankle. He looked at her with a simmering, cold rage that made Asaliya shrink even further into Adrian's shadow.
"My apologies, Mr. Novak," Arthur said, his voice stiff and formal. "This is my daughter, Asaliya. She is our new junior systems intern. She's... inexperienced. She was forced into this position to learn the reality of the industry. It won't happen again."
Adrian finally released her waist, but he didn't move back. He stayed in her personal space, looming over her like a dark cloud, his six-foot-two frame making her feel even smaller than she was. He scanned her from head to toe, his gaze lingering on the oil smudge on her forehead and the way her small hands gripped her tablet like a shield.
"An intern," Adrian murmured, his dark aura flaring until the air in the garage felt heavy and suffocating. "The engineer's daughter. So, you're the one they've tasked with my life?"
Asaliya didn't look away. She was terrified—he could see the pulse jumping in her neck—but she didn't bow. "I know the RS-26 better than anyone in this room, Mr. Novak. I've been studying your telemetry since I was sixteen. I won't break your car."
Adrian's heterochromia eyes narrowed. He liked the spark of stubbornness that flickered behind her broken gaze. He leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of her ear so only she could hear the threat in his tone. The scent of him—expensive woodsmoke, salt, and cold power—enveloped her like a shroud.
"In this garage, Asaliya, I own everything. The cars, the data, and the people who touch them. Don't get in my way, and don't think your father's name protects you. You answer to me now."
He straightened up, giving Arthur a cold, dismissive nod that made it clear who was really in charge. "Keep her on a short leash, Arthur," Adrian said, his eyes never leaving Asaliya's face. "I don't like my things being clumsy."
As Adrian walked away toward the cockpit of his car, Kael leaned over to Felix, whispering loud enough for Asaliya to hear, "Did you see that? He didn't just catch her. He marked her. I think our Ace just found a new obsession."
Asaliya stood frozen in the center of the garage, the heat of Adrian's hand still burning through her shirt. She watched the man with the mismatched eyes, the billionaire predator who had just looked into her soul and seen all the cracks. She realized then that her life had changed. Her cage hadn't just gotten smaller; it had been moved into the den of a lion.