My engineer's voice crackled over the radio, warnings about tire degradation and fuel management blending into the background noise. I tuned him out, my focus entirely on her. She was pushing me, challenging me in ways few drivers ever had.
Lap after lap, we traded positions, a brutal ballet of strategy and instinct. She forced me wide in Turn 11, and for a moment, I thought she had me. But I reclaimed the position through the chicane, my car skimming the apex as I edged her out.
By the final laps, my body was screaming from the effort. The G-force, the heat, the mental strain—all eclipsed by the singular goal of keeping her behind me.
The checkered flag loomed ahead, and I dug deep, finding reserves of strength I hadn't known I possessed. I crossed the line inP4, her car half a second behind me inP5. The gap was minuscule—the closest fight of the race.
As I slowed on thecooldownlap, my chest heaved with exhaustion. My hands ached from gripping the wheel, my neck stiff. I barely heard the cheers from the crowd, too consumed by the various aches in my body and the satisfaction of holding Aurélie off. She made me sweat for it, forced me to dig deeper than I had in a long time. I tapped the steering wheel in acknowledgment, hoping she'd see it.
After weigh-ins, I found her near her garage, leaning against the wall, helmet dangling from her fingers.
She looked pissed.
“Dubois,” I called, my voice rough.
She turned to me, eyes unreadable. “Fraser,” she clipped out.
I exhaled, stopping a few feet away, relieved to be talking to her. “You were on fire out there.”
Aurélielaughed bitterly, shaking her head. “Not enough to beat you, apparently.”
“It was close,” I admitted, stepping closer. “You made me work for it again.”
Her jaw tensed. The frustration, the exhaustion, the fucking weight she carried on her shoulders—it all flared in her expression before she snapped.
“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” she shot back. “That I madeCallumFraser, the golden boy ofF1, sweat a little?”
I frowned. Where the fuck was this coming from? “I'm not trying to patronize you, Auri.”
Her eyes flashed. “Don't call me that.”
I clenched my jaw.
This was different. This wasn't playful post-race banter. This was anger. Real. Sharp. Something festering deep.
“I don't need your pity,Callum,” she continued, her voice rising. “I don't need you telling me I belong here like you're doing me a favor.”
My stomach twisted. “That's not what I'm doing, and you fucking know it.”
“Do I?” she challenged, stepping closer. “Because from where I'm standing, it feels a hell of a lot like you're talking down to me.”
“You're impossible,” I muttered, dragging a hand through my hair. “You're so fucking good, Auri—and you don't even see it.”
She scoffed, a hollow sound. “Good? I've got one year to prove I'm not a charity case. One fucking year to make them forgetÉtienne. One year to be more than his shadow. My brother left shoes so big to fill, people think I should've retired theDuboisname when he did. Do you know what it's like to be compared to someone the entire sport adored, knowing you'll never measure up?”
My heart twisted. I knew what it was like. Fuck, did I know. But I barely got the chance to say so before she kept going.
“I'm not just here for me,Callum. I'm here for every woman who's been told she can't, for every little girl who's ever dreamed of being on this grid. But the backlash? The whispers behind my back? Drivers literally plotting to box me out like I'm some sort of pest to exterminate?”
I knew. I fucking knew. And yet, I couldn't stop the harshness in my own voice when I said, “You think I don't get it?”
Her chest heaved. I stepped closer, but she didn't back down. We were so close I could smell the race lingering on her skin—fuel, rubber, sweat. It was just as heady as that floral perfume she wore.
I lowered my voice. “You think I haven't had to prove myself every fucking day of my career? You're not the only one who's had to fight, Auri. I came from nothing and had to worm my way into the rich-kid sport. So stop acting like the whole world's against you.”
Her eyes watered, and that stole the air in my lungs. “Maybe it is,” she whispered.
The words hit too deep. My attention shifted to her lips. She fucking knew it.
