She hesitated. Her jaw tightened. “Auri,” I coaxed, softer. “When?”
“November,” she whispered.
The word hit me square in the chest.
November. Seven months ago. Just before she stepped into the chaos ofF1. The timeline fell into place, and my chest tightened at the thought of how fresh it must have been. How raw. Maybe part of why she’d been so dismissive of everyone at the start of the season.
She looked away, like she regretted saying anything. I caught her chin, gently brought her back to me. “Was it—” I hesitated, the words lodging in my throat. “Was it someone inF2?”
She didn’t speak. But I saw the answer in her silence. Her shoulders stiffened, her eyes went hard. The image of someone else hurting her, taking her confidence and twisting it into pain, ignited a possessiveness I hadn’t felt before. My hand moved from her cheek to the back of her neck, anchoring her to me.
Fury surged under my skin, dark and sudden. Whoever it was, he still walked around like he hadn’t broken something irreplaceable. Someone I probablyknew. Someone I might still see on the grid.
“Who?”
“Why does it matter?” she snapped. But her voice cracked on the last syllable.
“Because it matters to me.” I pushed my fingers into her hair, trying to ground both of us. “Becauseyoumatter.”
Understanding passed between us. I didn’t push her further, didn’t demand an answer she wasn’t ready to give. Instead, I leaned down, pressing my forehead to hers, letting the tension bleed out of me with the contact. Her breath caught. Her hand came up, flattening against my chest. Right over my heart.
My free hand drifted over her shoulder, fingertips trailing along the constellation of freckles scattered there. “Do you know what I see?” I murmured. “A map. You. Every scar. Every freckle. Every part of you is a place I want to know by heart.”
She didn’t speak, but her eyes burned.
“You don’t have to tell me,” I said. “But you’re not carrying this alone. Not with me.”
We stayed like that for a while. Breathing together. Nothing sexual, just this quiet, raw closeness I wasn’t used to. That scared me more than anything else.
Whatever happened to her—it didn’t just mark her. It changed her. And I knew, right then, I’d never let anyone make her feel like that again.
This wasn’t a one-night stand. It wasn’t even just sex.
This was something else. Something that felt like gravity shifting around her.
She didn’t know it yet. Maybe I didn’t either. But it was already too late.
I wasCallumFraser. Four-time world champion. A man known for control.
And I was fuckinggonefor her.
And whoever hurt her?
I’d find out.
Even if I had to burn the whole fucking paddock down to do it.
Callumlay beside me,one arm draped across his stomach, his eyes steady on mine like he was trying to read the chaos still firing through my brain. The quiet between us wasn’t awkward—it felt earned. Like the afterglow of a win neither of us expected.
“You alright?” he murmured, voice rough like gravel worn smooth by wind.
I hesitated, pulling the sheet closer to my chest. “Yeah. Just… thinking.”
He rolled onto his side, head propped on one hand, the corner of his mouth tugging up. His hair was devastatingly messy. Ugh. Why did he have to look like that? “Dangerous habit.”
I huffed a laugh before I could stop it. “You’d know.”
He grinned, but it faded quickly, replaced by a quiet curiosity. “What was it like, growing up withÉtienne?”
