Ross looked down at the floor, refusing to answer. But before Tristan could lash out, Sam stepped forward, her tone icy and authoritative. "You don't have to tell us," she said, pulling out her phone. "Because I already found your bank transaction. Yesterday, you received 150 thousand dollars."
Ross's eyes widened in terror, and he broke down, sobbing. "Okay, okay, I confess! I did it! I'm sorry—I needed the money for my debts. Maria Belmont offered me the money to tamper with car No. 8, but I didn't know whose car it was."
Tristan's eyes narrowed, his fury barely contained. "Tell me everything," he demanded.
Ross continued to sob. "I only handle the cars, I swear! I don't know the drivers. Mike's the one in charge of the driver's list."
At the mention of Mike, another man standing in the corner made a move toward the door, but Tristan's men were quicker. They subdued him before he could escape, and soon both Ross and Mike were handed over to the police.
Once the police were gone, Summer turned to the organizer, her voice cold and firm. "I suggest you be more meticulous from now on. If something like this happens again, it won't just be your staff getting involved with the authorities."
The organizer nodded profusely, thanking them for not dragging the race into a scandal before quickly exiting the room, clearly relieved to be away from Tristan's wrath.
Once it was just Summer and Tristan left in the lounge, the tension shifted. Tristan's anger hadn't fully dissipated, but now it was laced with a different emotion—protectiveness. His eyes, though still sharp, softened as they met Summer's.
"The whole Belmont family is going to suffer for this," Tristan said in a serious, angry tone. "Alongside Maria."
Seeing the storm in his eyes, Summer tried to soothe him. She stepped closer, her voice soft yet steady. "I couldn't agree more," she said with a small smile. "But let's deal with them after we've both had some food and a shower. I'm exhausted."
Tristan's expression softened further, his protective nature still fierce, but now tempered by his affection for her. He took her hand gently. "You're right," he said, his voice low, the tension easing from his body. "Let's get out of here."
As they left the stadium, hand in hand, Summer couldn't help but feel the balance between them—the way his fire complemented her calm. Together, they were unstoppable.
On the drive back to their hotel suite, the tension between Summer and Tristan lingered, not from the danger they had just faced but from a new frustration that had been brewing since they left the stadium. Tristan's hands gripped the steering wheel a little tighter than usual, his jaw clenched, clearly annoyed that Summer was treating the day's events far too lightly. Meanwhile, Summer, seated beside him, was doing everything in her power to avoid the inevitable conversation. She knew Tristan was going to bring up her reckless move, and she wasn't in the mood for a lecture.
"I'm so tired," she yawned exaggeratedly, resting her head against the window. "I think I'll just take a nap until we get to the hotel. Wake me when we arrive, okay?"
Tristan shot her a quick side-eye, his lips forming a thin line. "You're not going to get out of this conversation by pretending to sleep, Sam."
"Hmm?" Summer murmured, her eyes already shut, feigning a nap. "Too sleepy to talk…"
Tristan sighed, shaking his head. She was doing it again, dodging the conversation as if it didn't matter. His concern for her wasn't just something he could brush off, not when she had put her life on the line in such a reckless manner.
When they arrived at the hotel, Summer practically bolted out of the car, claiming she needed to freshen up. "I'm going to take a quick shower," she said, running off to the bathroom the moment they entered their suite. Tristan stood there, watching her retreating figure, the frustration building inside him.
"Sam, we need to talk about—" The bathroom door slammed shut before he could even finish his sentence.
He let out a sigh, running a hand through his hair, trying to calm himself down. He paced the room for a moment, the memory of her leap from the car replaying in his mind. He couldn't shake the image of what could have happened if she had been just a second too late. His worry for her was bubbling into something stronger, something more intense.
A few minutes later, Summer emerged from the bathroom, wearing her soft cotton pyjamas, her hair slightly damp, and her skin glowing from the warmth of the shower. Before Tristan could say a word, she patted her stomach dramatically. "I'm starving. Let's eat. I can't think on an empty stomach."
They ordered room service, and while they waited, the silence between them grew heavier. Tristan was still fuming, though he stayed quiet, knowing she was purposefully deflecting. Summer, on the other hand, was making it a point to steer clear of his gaze, chewing her food slowly and avoiding the inevitable confrontation.
Once the plates were cleared away and they climbed into bed, Summer sighed, finally allowing herself to relax. She thought she had successfully dodged Tristan's concerns for the night. But she was wrong.
Tristan reached over, taking her hand in his, his thumb rubbing circles on her palm. "Sam, what you did today…" he started, his tone serious.
Before he could continue, Summer leaned over and pressed a quick kiss to his lips, cutting him off. "Was amazing, right?" she teased with a grin.
Tristan frowned, clearly not amused. "No, it was—"
She kissed him again, this time lingering a little longer, hoping to distract him. "Really brave," she added with a playful smile, pulling back just enough to see the exasperation in his eyes.
Tristan's irritation was building. "Sam, I'm serious. You shouldn't—"
Once again, she kissed him, her lips soft and teasing against his. "You're nagging like an old man," she said with a smirk. "Not like a boyfriend. Can't you just chill? I'm fine, really."
Tristan's patience wore thin. "But you should—"
Before he could get another word out, Summer kissed him again, this time with a bit more heat, trying to shut him up with her lips.
This time, his patience had reached it's limit. He held her gaze, his jaw tight, and he grabbed her wrist gently but firmly. "Sam, I'm serious. What you did today—"
But Summer interrupted him again, pressing another kiss on his lips, softer this time but still enough to cut him off. "Oh my God, Trish, will you stop? Stop with the lecturing! Let it go," she said, pulling back slightly to look at him with a playful smirk.
Tristan sighed deeply, his eyes narrowing in frustration. "But you—"
Before he could finish, Summer kissed him yet again, her lips moving with more intensity. She pushed him back onto the bed, deepening the kiss, her fingers running through his hair and traveling down to his neck. This time, Tristan didn't resist. He could feel her determination to change the subject with every touch, and it drove him mad in a way he couldn't fight any longer.
His restraint snapped, he thought he should teach her a lesson!