16. Aurélie #2
I exhaled shakily, the tension in my chest loosening as a flood of emotions hit me. Relief? Pride? Exhaustion? I couldn’t name it, but it was overwhelming.
“Copy,” I replied, my voice steady despite the rush of excitement. I wanted to celebrate, but the words I’d overheard this week still lingered—doubts about my worth, my body, my place here.
The numbers didn’t lie. Today, I’d silenced every one of them.
I stood there, helmet tucked under my arm, and allowed myself to take it in.
For a moment, I wasn’t in Monaco. I was back in my firstkartingrace, gripping the wheel so tightly my knuckles turned white,étiennebeside me, grinning like he’d already won.
Back then, the idea of being here, in Formula 1, had felt like a distant fantasy—something for other kids, boys with connections, not a girl fromMarseillewith scraped knees and a stubborn streak.
But now, here I was. On pole in Monaco. Not because I’d followedétienne’spath, but because I’d carved my own.
This was more than just a lap—it was history. The culmination of years of sacrifice, determination, and grit. Every painful crash, every sleepless night questioning if I was enough—it had all led to this .
“AurélieDubois, the first woman to ever take pole position in Monaco!” the announcer’s voice boomed over the speakers, and the crowd erupted again.
I lifted my hand in acknowledgment, a genuine smile breaking through the mask I’d kept on all weekend.
For once, I wasn’t worried about what anyone thought. This was mine.
It wasn’t luck, and it wasn’t handed to me. My mind reeled, replaying the perfection of my laps—the split-second decisions that had pushed me to the limit. There was no doubt today, no questioning if I belonged. My skills had spoken louder than any whispers behind closed doors.
“Great work,Aurélie,” one of my engineers said, clapping me on the shoulder, his voice tinged with an enthusiasm that felt almost hollow in my ears.
“Thanks,” I replied, my tone clipped, not matching his energy. I wanted to celebrate with them, but I couldn’t. Not with their comments still echoing in my mind.
My gaze drifted to the sea of familiar faces around me, and I grinned when I spottedKimiweaving his way through the crowd.P4. The strongest start forLuminisin years, and better than anyone expected. He swept me into a hug the moment he reached me, lifting me off my feet as if my win were his.
“That’s my girl!” he exclaimed, his excitement infectious.
A laugh bubbled out of me, real and unrestrained, as I hugged him back. “We did it,” I whispered, my voice cracking slightly.
“You did it,” he corrected, grinning as he set me down. “Remember that time inF2when you doubted yourself after that crash in Spa? What did I tell you then?”
I rolled my eyes. “You said, ‘Get back in that fucking car and show them why they’ll never forget your name.’”
“And look at you now.” His hand rested briefly on my shoulder. “Making history. No one will forget this,Aurélie. You bloody deserve this.” I fought tears. In a world where I was constantly scrutinized,Kimi’sunwavering support felt like a lifeline.
As I stepped away, the cheers shifted, and I turned to see Marco andCallumapproaching, their Vanguard race suits crisp against the backdrop of the paddock. Marco’s grin was wide, his hands on his hips, whileCallum’sstride was purposeful, his expression somewhere between pride and mischief.
“Hell of a lap,” Marco said, clapping me on the back. “You really showed us up today.”
“Don’t get used to it,”Callumteased, his blue eyes sparkling with amusement. “You’re making the rest of us look bad.”
I grinned back at them, softer and more genuine than I’d managed with my own team. “Thanks, boys. But I’ll take it while I can.”
Despite the camaraderie, I kept it professional. Cameras were everywhere, and the last thing I needed was rumors swirling about the two men I’d grown to respect—and something more for one of them.
As they walked away,Kiminudged me with his elbow. “They like you more than they’re letting on,” he joked.
“Maybe they just know talent when they see it.”
“Or maybe they see what I see,”Kimireplied, his voice softer. “Someone who doesn’t need anyone’s approval to shine.”
His words stuck with me as I turned back to face our team. For the first time all weekend, I didn’t feel the need to chase their validation.
I had the only support system I needed.
The interviews came next, a whirlwind of questions that felt as sharp as the corners of the Monaco track.
The first few focused on my performance, on how it felt to secure my first career pole at one of the most challenging circuits in Formula 1.
I spoke confidently, my answers deliberate and poised.
“History has just been made!” A reporter’s voice surged above the clamor. “Aurélie, you’re the first woman inF1history to claim pole position, and on the streets of Monaco, no less. How does it feel knowing your name is etched into the sport’s legacy?”
I exhaled slowly. “It’s… overwhelming,” I admitted. “Monaco… every driver dreams of conquering it, and to have done that today, as a rookie no less, is surreal. It’s something I’ll carry with me forever.”
Another voice chimed in. “Your pace was unmatched through all three qualifying sessions. What clicked for you and the car this weekend?”
“It’s been about finding harmony,” I said. “The car felt like an extension of me today. The team has worked tirelessly to give me a machine that can compete at the front, and I’m grateful for that. Today, everything aligned. The car felt incredible.”
My fingers flexed, and I refrained from rolling my shoulders. Shit, my body was really aching today.
A third reporter stepped forward. “Aurélie, your lap time was not only the fastest of the session but ranks as one of the best qualifying laps in Monaco’s history. Do you feel like this performance silences your critics once and for all?”
“I think the lap times speak for themselves,” I said simply, letting my achievements do the talking.
The reporters exchanged murmurs, a few smiling at my defiance before another question cut through the noise. But as the questions shifted, so did my demeanor.
Another reporter spoke up. “As the first woman to secure pole position inF1history, do you feel an added responsibility to represent and inspire others who might follow in your footsteps?”
I hesitated. “Yes, but I don’t see it as a burden,” I admitted. “I’ve worked hard to be here, and I hope that by being here, I can show others—women, girls, anyone watching—that talent and determination matter more than preconceived notions of who belongs in this sport.”
“Aurélie, your brotherétienneis here this weekend, making his first public appearance since his crash. What does it mean to have him here on such a historic day for you? And has he given you any advice this weekend?”
And just like that, they were trying to shadow my statement with questions about a man. Go fucking figure.
“étiennehas retired,” I replied, my tone clipped. “I’m proud of what he’s achieved, but today is about me and my team.”
The reporter hesitated, then pressed on. “And seeing your former Formula 2 team principal here—do you think he’ll congratulate you on your first pole position?”
My heart flew to my throat, anger bubbling beneath the surface. Before I could respond, a hand rested on my shoulder.
“Great question,”Callumsaid as he appeared by my side, his tone smooth and laced with subtle mockery. “But maybe you should askAurélieabout the best lap on the grid today instead of unrelated topics.”
The reporter faltered, clearly thrown off, and I turned toCallum, his presence a welcome one. Of course he was here, beingP2and all. He gave me a small, reassuring nod before stepping back, allowing me to regain control.
I swooned. God, I was falling for him. It terrified me a little, how deep it already felt with him, how real it was becoming even if it was all behind closed doors.
I swallowed the emotions. I would not let it show.
For months, I’d avoided speaking my ex’s name, sidestepping questions that tethered me to him. But now, standing here on the streets of Monaco as the first woman to ever claim pole position at this track, I realized I didn’t need to avoid it anymore. Not him, not his shadow, not the past.
I squared my shoulders, meeting the reporter’s gaze directly.
“SantinoCostaplayed his role,” I said, my voice showing no signs of fondness, and probably a bit of bitterness.
“He’s an old part of my career, not my present.
Whatever lessons I learned under his leadership, I’ve carried with me.
And today,” I continued, a razor-sharp edge to my words, “I’m grateful for the opportunity to show that those lessons were mine to master—not his to dictate. ”
The silence that followed was deafening. The reporter blinked, his question hanging unfinished in the air. I could feel the shift in the crowd—a ripple of understanding and, perhaps, respect.
I glanced briefly at the cameras, letting the moment linger. “This is my story,” I said softly, but with steel in my tone. “Not anyoneelse’s.”
My eyes flickered toCallumwith a sense of urgency, because I felt follow-up questions arising, and I realized I needed him to step in and take me away from this. They would listen to him.
“Excuse us,”Callumsaid, his voice firm yet polite as he steered me away from the microphone with a hand casually on my shoulder. As if we were just colleagues, not… whatever we were romantically.
I glanced up at him, my annoyance melting into gratitude. “Merci,” I muttered under my breath.
“Someone’s got to make sure they talk about your driving, not your past,” he replied, his eyes meeting mine with an intensity that made my pulse quicken.
As we walked away from the reporters, I heaved a sigh.
Finally today’s events didn’t feel suffocating now that he was by my side for the first time since we parted ways yesterday.
His hand brushed against mine as we turned away from the crowd, a touch so fleeting it might have been accidental—if not for the flicker of something deeper in his eyes when he glanced at me.
“You don’t need their validation, love. You did this on your own. Plus, you have mine. A four-time world champion.” His voice was soft, teasing—but his eyes burned. I felt the heat of it long after he looked away.
I snorted. “So humble, Fraser. You should write cards for a living once you retire from this sport.”
He chuckled and bumped my shoulder with his.
Today, I was proud of myself, and nothing would take that away from me.
The fight wasn’t over. Tomorrow would be harder. The streets of Monaco were going to be difficult, and holding ontoP1 would require everything I had—and more.
I took a deep breath, steeling myself for the battle ahead. I wasn’t just racing for points. I was racing for respect. For history. For women and girls who needed to believe they could do it. For me.
And when I got back to my hotel room, exhausted and ready to collapse in bed? My screen lit up.
Callum
You’ve got this,monamour. Show them everything they’ve tried to ignore.
My heart soared. How did he always know what I needed?
Seconds later, another one followed.
Callum
A reminder, in case you forget:P2or not, I’m still your biggest fan today. And if I weren’t trying so hard to behave, I’d be reminding you with my mouth.
And then he sent a screenshot of my sector times straight out of theF1app, circled, the first three letters of his last name below mine.
DUB
FRA
I stared at it, my thumb hovering, fighting the tears swimming in my vision and the laugh that choked up with them.
All I sent back was a heart, because if I said more, I’d fall a little more for him, and heading into tomorrow, I needed both feet planted on the damn ground until the checkered flag waved.