The son of the Western Motorcycle Company-Scott was someone she'd met once, and Fidelia Crawford never forgot a face. Not even a fleeting one.
He was a psychiatrist she'd bumped into on her way to see Dr. Thompson at Oxford Psychiatric Hospital. From their brief exchange, she could tell he'd tried to flirt with her. She'd brushed him off effortlessly, though now she wondered if she could turn that encounter to her advantage.
While Scott, the proud heir of W.M.C., stood at the podium delivering his speech, Fidelia began walking up toward the stage.
Whispers started through the crowd.
"That's her… the most talked-about woman in the city."
"Yeah, I heard she almost got framed in some scandal or incident, right?"
"Imagine rising from a crisis like that… It's a golden opportunity for fame ."
"She's gorgeous though."
"Wait—didn't someone say she's a Crawford? The eldest daughter?"
"Crawford? I only know Bridget Crawford."
"Same here. I didn't even know there was another daughter."
Their murmurs followed her, raising a wave of curiosity. What was Fidelia Crawford doing here? And why was she walking up to his stage?
Whatever it was, everyone knew one thing — Fidelia had never appeared in public space or at an event.
When she reached the edge of the stage, Scott froze for a second before masking his surprise.
"Hello Scott"
"So, you remember my name, Kate," he said lightly.
She gave a faint smile. "How could I forget? You practically ran into me at Oxford Hospital."
"I could say the same and then you ignored me right after ," he replied, trying to sound composed.
Fidelia tilted her head slightly. "I came to thank you, actually. On behalf of W.M.C., I finally got to see the most powerful bike in the city."
Scott's brow arched. "Do you… mind if I ask why you're here?"
"Because," she said, eyes gleaming, "I'd like to say a few words. A short speech."
He hesitated. She was the kind of woman who didn't ask permission she simply announced what she was going to do. Still, she was a public figure, and her presence could only help the company's image.
Scott gave a small nod. "Of course. The stage is yours."
"Good evening, everyone."
Her voice echoed through the hall, it was calm and cool. Cameras kept on flashing and then the murmurs stopped when she was about to speak.
"I am Fidelia Crawford the first daughter of the Crawford family," she continued with a faint smile. "I'm sure most of you have seen my face before maybe on a billboard, a news headline, a blog, or even Facebook. I think I made the top trends list this week."
A light ripple of laughter swept through the audience. She paused just long enough to let it breathe.
"Tonight marks my first official public appearance. And before anything else, I want to thank everyone who believed in me and stood for what's right. My enemies tried to frame me… but I survived it. I overcame every obstacle they threw my way."
Her tone shifted into a softer tone. "I also want to thank the Western Motorcycle Company for hosting this wonderful event and for giving me a reason to smile again… and to make someone else smile too — my fiancé."
The crowd stirred. She looked toward the massive covered display the new Aetherion -X1 bike gleaming under the lights.
"I came here because I heard about the unveiling of the Aetherion-X1," she said, eyes narrowing just slightly. "Funny enough, this moment reminded me of something i should have done. Something he always wanted."
Her voice trembled slightly, but she steadied herself. "I wanted to buy him a bike for our wedding. It sounds silly now, but it mattered to me. I couldn't win the auction event, but I wasn't about to give up and that made me want to try again."
A quiet beat passed. Then she raised her chin, her smile sharpening.
"I also heard that the son of W.M.C., Dr. Scott, owns the second Aetherion-X1." She turned, eyes finding him behind her "So, Dr. Scott — I'd like to challenge you. A fair race. Between the two of us, whoever wins keeps the bike."
Gasps rippled through the crowd. Reporters surged forward.
"I'll stake the full ninety million that was once bid for it," she added, her voice steady and sure. "Because my husband deserves a gift worth the fight."
She glanced across the sea of flashing lights and smiling faces. "And one more thing everyone, you're officially invited to my wedding details coming soon."
Then she turned to Scott, who was still standing frozen behind the podium. "So," she said, tilting her head, "what do you say, Scott?"
The whole crowd went silent waiting for the response.
Scott finally stepped forward, his jaw tight but his smile unshaken. "So this was your plan all along, huh?" he said under his breath. "You know… I don't like losing."
He looked at her, then at the roaring crowd, and slowly reached for the microphone.
"I accept your challenge."
The audience erupted. Cheers. Applause. Shouts of disbelief.
And in the middle of it all, Fidelia simply smiled calm, radiant, untouchable.
She stepped back and finally let go. Only then did he allow himself to breathe properly.
'She's crazy', Andrian thought. But that was the thing he'd always known. That unpredictability was why he'd stayed. He could never guess her next move.
"Now that you've announced our marriage in public," Andrian said, voice low, "this gives us a good reason to meet my family tonight. But you might've just made enemies of people who won't be happy about this."
Fidelia arched one eyebrow, amused more than afraid. "Are we meeting again tonight?"
"Yes. My father's back. He'll want to see you."
When had she ever been afraid of making enemies? Contracts were signatures, and signatures were tools. "When have I ever been scared of making enemies?" she said. "We signed a contract…you help me take down mine, I help you take down yours." Her mind drifted back to the footage watched in the car, to the conversation in the Crawford mansion. Everything was a move on a board she intended to win.
Enemies would stack up soon enough so she needed to act fast. The first stage was clear: marry Andrian, by whatever cost necessary even if it meant tangling with three powerful houses: Carson, Crawford, and Richardson.
Andrian rose and slipped his fingers around hers, holding on like a man who suddenly needed the anchor. "Come with me."
"Where are we going?" she asked.
He smiled, a thin, knowing thing. "You just challenged someone to a race, didn't you? I'm here to help you pick a powerful bike. But remember if you lose, that ninety million is on you."
She met his gaze and smiled back.