I sighed, the words tumbling out before I could stop them. “P4is fine, but it’s not good enough. I wanted a podium,Maman. I wanted to prove I belonged.”
She stopped, turning to face me. Her hands rested gently on my shoulders, grounding me. “Aurélie, do you know how manydrivers—seasoned drivers—never make the podium in their entire careers? This sport is about more than just standing on the steps with a trophy.”
I sighed, looking away. The grape leaves rustled in the gentle breeze. “That’s easy to say when you’re not the one fighting for a contract.”
She was quiet for a moment, but she didn’t let me run from the conversation. “You’ve already proven you belong. You’re doing it right now. Every team principal saw you hold your own. You’re making amidfield carcompetitive,Auri. That’s not something to dismiss.”
My jaw clenched. I knew she was right. But the hunger for more—it wouldn’t go away.
“What if it’s not enough?” I whispered. “What if I don’t get another chance?”
“You will,” she said, no hesitation. “Because you’re stronger than this. Bolder than this. You’ve already proven that to the world, and you’ll keep proving it. But you have to allow yourself the space to grow, to make mistakes, and to learn. That’s what makes a great driver.”
Her words settled deep in my chest, unwinding something I hadn’t realized had been pulled so tight.
“And what if I don’t get to stay withLuminis?” I asked quietly.
A knowing smile curved her lips. “Then another team will notice. Silly season is unpredictable for a reason. Just focus on what you can control, and the rest will follow.”
We walked in silence for a while longer, her words threading through my thoughts. By the time we returned to the house, I felt a renewed sense of determination.
The nerves, the frustrations, the emotions of my debut weekend were still there, but they no longer held me captive. I was ready to return to Shanghai. I was ready to fight.
And I wasn’t going to let anyone—including myself—stand in my way.
I thrivedin the controlled chaos ofpre-racepaddock energy. Media Day was always chaos—reporters swarming like bees, team staff darting with clipboards, engines warming in nearby garages. I usually thrived in it. But the second I stepped outside?—
There she was.
I stopped mid-stride, my conversation with Marco fading into the background as my gaze locked onto her. She was walking down the paddock like she owned it, and for a moment, I wasn't sure if she was real or if my mind was playing tricks on me.
She looked… fucking heart-stopping.
Gone was the understated, reserved rookie who'd kept to herself during pre-season testing. Today, she was a vision of confidence. Her blonde hair was pulled up into a sleek ponytail, bouncing with every step, a few loose strands framing her face. Her golden tan stood out under the bright Shanghai sun, legs on full display beneath the hem of her black skirt. Not too short—just enough to drive me fucking insane. And the wedges?Jesus fucking Christ.The way her hips moved was permanently burned into the part of my brain that had no business noticing her like that.
She was commanding attention. And every single bastard in the paddockwas looking.
I squeezed the water bottle in my hand, sweat breaking out on the back of my neck.
“You good, mate?” Marco's voice broke through my daze, and I blinked, tearing my eyes away from her.
“Yeah,” I muttered, running a hand through my hair and tugging a bit to ground myself. I needed to fucking get it together. I didn't like being this distracted during season. It was one thing to have a random hookup, but the warring emotions of knowing I needed to keep my distance from her and not wanting to were exhausting. “Just… didn't expect that.”
Marco followed my gaze and let out a low whistle. “She's pulling out all the stops today. Good for her. Maybe now some of the idiots on the grid will shut the fuck up.”
I didn't respond, my attention already drifting as she approached a group of reporters. She hadn't even glanced my way, her focus entirely on the media ahead of her. But there was something about the way she carried herself, the way she laughed lightly at something one of the journalists said, that pulled me into her orbit.
Was this whatKimihad meant about her family's estate being peaceful? Had a few days in the French countryside transformed her, or was this who she'd always been, hidden beneath the pressure of her debut weekend?
Either way, I couldn't look away.
By the time I caught up with her, she'd finished her media obligations and was chatting withKiminear theLuminis garage. I approached casually, forcing myself to look as unbothered as possible.
Which was so fucking fake of me.
“Dubois,” I greeted, nodding at her andKimi. “You're making quite the statement today.”
She turned, her smile softening into something more mischievous. Her eyes sparkled with an energy that hadn't been there in my previous interactions with her, like she was holding onto a secret she was daring me to uncover. It felt more like a challenge, subtle but unmistakable. “Oh? And what statement would that be, Fraser?”
