[Blair's POV]
The Monaco skyline glitters outside my hotel window like a diamond necklace draped across the coastline. I've been staring at it for five minutes, trying to appreciate its beauty, but all I feel is bone-deep exhaustion. Today has been brutal, a morning meeting with my manager where she lectured me about "brand consistency" for two hours, followed by a workout session that left me trembling.
I push open the door to my suite, already kicking off my shoes. The familiar sound of Lucian's laughter hits me before I even see him. He's sprawled across my bed, not his own bed in his own room that I'm paying for, scrolling through his phone with that perfect chestnut hair fanned out around him like he's posing for a photoshoot even when no one's watching.
"Holy shit, this is unreal," he giggles, not even bothering to look up as I drop my gym bag on the floor. His long, elegant fingers swipe across his screen, his attention completely absorbed.
I stand there for a moment, studying him. The late afternoon light catches on his high cheekbones and pouty lips. Objectively beautiful, like a Renaissance painting come to life. But lately, all I see are the flaws beneath that perfect surface, the neediness, the self-absorption, the way he never asks about me.
He's perfect on the outside, empty on the inside. The realization hits me with unexpected force as I watch him continue to laugh at whatever's on his screen. It's been getting harder to ignore lately, the stark difference between what I have now and what I had before.
Nick was never like this. He'd have greeted me at the door, asked about my day, maybe offered to massage my shoulders after a brutal training session. The comparison is almost painful.
"Hey," I say, walking closer to the bed. "What're you looking at that's so funny?"
Lucian's eyes flicker up to me, a gleeful smile spreading across his face that makes my skin crawl.
"Your ex-boyfriend just got himself nearly killed," he announces, turning his phone toward me. "It's all over the racing news."
"What?" I step forward, snatching the phone from his hand.
The video plays automatically, aerial footage of an IndyCar slamming into a wall at Indianapolis, spinning violently before coming to rest in a mangled heap. The headline below it reads: "HUSBAND OF F1 CHAMPION IVY HUNT IN CRITICAL CONDITION AFTER INDIANAPOLIS TEST CRASH."
My stomach drops. Nick. The room suddenly feels too hot, too small. I watch the footage again, unable to tear my eyes away from the horrific impact. The car is barely recognizable afterward.
"It says he broke both legs, both wrists, multiple ribs..." Lucian recites the injuries like he's reading a shopping list. "And Ivy's pulled out of Monaco completely."
I scroll through the article, my hands shaking. There it is in black and white: "Zenith Racing confirms Ivy Hunt has withdrawn from the Monaco Grand Prix to be with her husband."
"Isn't this absolutely fantastic for you, babe?" Lucian sits up, actually clapping his hands together. "Ivy's out of Monaco! This is your chance to win! To really show everyone what you can do without her shadow over you."
I feel a white-hot rage surge through my entire body, something vicious that I've never experienced before. Without thinking, I fling his phone back at him, watching it bounce off his chest and onto the bed.
"You're laughing at this?" My voice comes out low and dangerous, barely recognizable as my own. "Nick could have died, and you think it's fantastic?"
Lucian's perfect face registers shock for a split second before morphing into that practiced pout he uses whenever he's called out on his bullshit.
"I just meant…"
"I know exactly what you meant," I cut him off, stalking toward the bed. "You're celebrating someone's horrific accident because it might benefit me professionally. Do you even hear yourself?"
He sits up straighter, flipping that perfect hair over his shoulder with practiced indignation. "Don't act all high and mighty, Blair. This is racing. People get hurt. It happens. And when it happens to your rivals, you capitalize on it."
"Nick isn't my rival!" I shout, the words ripping from my throat. "He was my friend. My best friend for years."
Lucian scoffs, rolling his eyes dramatically. "He didn't even make it a full lap, babe. And honestly, he always dressed like some kind of clown in the paddock."
His words hit me like a physical blow. Something deep inside me cracks open. Bridgette whispering in my ear about Nick's "unprofessional appearance" and how it would "damage my brand" if we stayed together. How his clothes weren't "polished enough" for someone dating a rising F1 star.
It was the final straw that broke us, back when I was at my most shallow and self-absorbed at the beginning of the season. When status and appearance meant more to me than substance.
Looking at Lucian now, with his perfect hair and empty soul, It's once again clear as day what I threw away. If I had just treasured what I had, if I'd just seen through the superficial bullshit, I'd still be with Nick instead of this hollow shell of a human being who's celebrating someone's pain.
"Get out," I say, my voice eerily calm.
Lucian freezes, his perfect eyebrows arching in confusion. "What?"
"We're done." The words taste like freedom on my tongue. "Get out of my room. Get out of my life."
"Are you kidding me?" He sits up straighter, that practiced indignation flaring. "Over some comment about your ex's fashion choices? Don't be ridiculous, Blair."
I grab his designer jacket from the chair and throw it at him. "I'm not doing this shit."
He catches the jacket, his mouth opening and closing like a fish. For once, the perfect Lucian is at a loss for words.
"You can't just…"
"I can and I am." I march to the closet, pulling out the expensive suitcase I bought him last month. "Pack your things and go back to your own room. Tomorrow, you're on the first flight home."
"Blair, you're being completely irrational." He stands now, that dangerous flash of anger I've seen glimpses of before darkening his features. "You need me. The cameras love us together."
"I don't need you," I say, the truth of it washing over me like a wave. "I never did."