23. Aurélie
One wrong move and Monaco would swallow me whole, or in this case, my first shot to convert a pole position into a GrandPrixvictory.
I could almost hearCallum’svoice, the urgency in his warning still fresh in my mind. They’re targeting you. Be careful.
I gave him a small wave. Barely more than a flick of my fingers on the wheel. But it was enough. And just like that, his voice echoed again. Maybe it’s too late for that.
My heart stuttered—just for a beat—but it was enough to remind me what waited after the flag. He felt something. So did I. And if I made it out of this race alive, maybe I’d let myself feel it, too. There was so much I wanted to say. But right now I had to race.
I tightened my grip on the wheel, feeling the familiar give of the leather under my gloves. My heart hammered in my chest, each beat a countdown to lights out.
Marco loomed just behind me, a wolf ready to pounce. Thankfully,Kimiwas on the second row alongside Marco. My hope was thatKimicould successfully hold Morel off inP5.
The lights began their sequence above me, the world narrowing to the five glowing orbs that would dictate the start.
The lights turned off, and instinct took over.
The first corner came fast—SainteDévote, sharp and unforgiving. My tires screamed as they bit into the asphalt, the narrow streets of Monaco blurring into a kaleidoscope of barriers and banners.Callumlunged into my mirrors, but I held my line, forcing him wide.
“Clean start,” my engineer crackled in my ear. “Good defense.”
Good defense? I’d barely begun.Callumwouldn’t let up, not here, not with a track this tight.
He pressed closer through BeauRivage, my mirrors filled with red and black.
The incline up to Casino Square was treacherous, the car twitching under the strain of acceleration and gravity, but otherwise felt great—responsive and balanced.
Clean air stretched ahead of me, the rest of the track waiting for me to conquer. Fraser stayed glued to me. Through Mirabeau and the Hairpin, I could feel him testing me, his front wing darting in and out of my periphery. Every move was a question: Will you crack? Will you falter?
My answer was no. Always no.
Lap after lap, the pressure didn’t ease.
Callum’srelentless assault was like a tide eroding rock, persistent and unyielding.
Behind him, Marco was waiting for his moment, his calculated style a sharp contrast toCallum’saggression.
I supposed that was why they made for iconic teammates. They were a good fit together.
WithCallumfloating betweenDRSrange, and Marco not far behind him, I realized this whole race was going to be like a game of chess. Reflexes and resolve were going to be my saving graces against their calculated and deliberate driving.
“Fraser’s tires are starting to degrade,” my engineer reported on lap 20. “Box this lap. We’ll undercut.”
I glanced in my mirrors, my instincts tugging in the opposite direction. Fraser’s line was loose, his braking hesitant. He wasn’t ready to pit yet, and if I boxed now, I’d hand him track position. My stomach twisted at the thought of giving up my first victory.
“Negative,” I said, my voice steady. “Let him pit first.”
“Aurélie, this is a team call.”
“And I’m the one in the car.” I pushed harder, and the gap betweenCallumand me stretched. Two laps later, he dove into the pits, followed by Marco.
“Box now,” my engineer insisted.
I glanced up, my eyes catching the dark clouds gathering overhead. The air felt heavier, cooler, a prelude to the rain Monaco was known for. My gut still told me to wait.
“Negative,” I repeated. “If the rain comes, I want inters.”
“Aurélie, we need to stay ahead on strategy.”
“Trust me. You’re the one who’s supposed to monitor the rain, not me. I’m the one driving, so let me fucking drive!”
They didn’t respond, but I could imagine the frustration back in the garage. I didn’t care. My tires weren’t slipping yet, and the longer I stayed out, the fresher they’d be for the remainder of the race—a massive advantage over the Vanguards behind me. And I needed every advantage I could get.
The laps ticked by, and with them came the inevitable decline of my tires. By lap 27, thegraininghad started, the rear slipping slightly under acceleration out ofPortier. My engineer’s voice crackled in my ear. “Box this lap. We’ll swap to inters.”
“Negative,” I replied, biting back the frustration in my voice. The track was still dry, and I needed to stretch these tires as far as they’d go. If the rain came—and it would, judging by the rapid darkening of the clouds—I’d need the full wets to finish the race strong. I couldn’t pit twice.
“Radar shows class three or four rain in approximately ten minutes, lasting for upwards of thirty minutes.”
Putain. That would be heavy rain.DRSwouldn’t be enabled, but I would likely need full wets. “Okay. We wait until we see what class the rain will be.”
The first droplets hit my visor on lap 32, tiny pinpricks that blurred the edges of my vision. My engineer’s voice crackled in my ear. “Rain incoming. Box for inters.”
The clouds were darker now, rolling in fast, and the rain began to fall in earnest.
“Aurélie, box this lap,” he repeated. “Inters are ready. Please confirm.”
Something didn’t feel right. The tires were holding—barely—butCallumand Marco weren’t catching me as fast as I’d expected. They’d pitted for inters, but the rain wasn’t heavy enough yet. I could see them struggling quite a ways back, their cars sliding wide in the corners.
Inters may not be enough. I grew up in the south of France, and I knew the weather patterns here.
“How far back are Fraser andBianchi?”
“Gap to Fraser is three point five, gap toBianchiis four point six.”
“Kimi and Morel?”
“Battling for fourth. They keep overtaking each other. Gap toKimiinP4is currently seventeen point three.”
Good.
“Box, Aurélie.”
“Negative,” I said, my voice strained against the G-forces as I calculated it. “Rain’s not bad enough yet, but we’ll need full wets.”
Silence. Then a burst of static. “Aurélie, box?—”
The radio cut out, the words dissolving into crackling interference. I tapped the button on my wheel, but all I got was more static. Mycommsfailed.
No radio. No strategy updates. No warnings. I was on my own.
My stomach sank as I tried not to dwell on how I may have fucked up, but there was no time. Fraser was still there, his presence a constant reminder that the smallest mistake could cost me everything. And as long as I pitted soon, that gap toKimimeant I wouldn’t lose too many positions.
By lap 34, I couldn’t hold off pitting any longer.
The tires were gone, sliding through corners with no grip left to give, the track slick with water.
Every lap felt like walking a tightrope, balancing on the edge of grip and recklessness.
My hands ached from gripping the wheel, my shoulders burning as I fought to control the car.
It was a miracle I’d made it this far, but that was the beauty of hard tires.
Through the Tunnel, the car darted under braking, the wet patches unpredictable. My heart pounded in my chest as I narrowly missed the wall. I dove into the pit lane, praying my team was ready. If they weren’t, I’d lose everything.
Before I reached theLuminisgarage, I could see the crew springing into action, their movements practiced precision.
I couldn’t hear them, couldn’t confirm the full wets, but when I glanced to the side, the blue-striped tires were ready.
Relief flooded me as the car dropped in record time, and I shot out of the box.
The exit merged me right behind Marco andCallum, withKimiand Morel battling fiercely for fourth just behind. My pulse spiked. Withoutcomms, I had no way to warnKimiabout Morel’s aggression. I had to move—fast.
The drizzle turned into a steady shower, reducing the visibility significantly. It blurred my visor, turned the tight streets of Monaco into a glistening death trap. My tires barely had time to warm before chaos erupted ahead.
Through the mist and spray, I saw it—a flash of carbon fiber as two back markers crashed into each other at the chicane. I couldn’t tell who it was, but one car spun sideways, blocking most of the track, while the other limped away with a shredded front wing.
Yellow flags waved furiously, and my heart lurched as the safety car announcement lit up the board. “Safety car, safety car,” I murmured even though mycommswere dead and slowed the car.
This was the worst-case scenario. I was sandwiched betweenBianchiinP2andKimiinP4, with Morel breathing down his neck.
With the safety car bunching up the field, the lead I’d clawed out earlier was wiped clean.
DRSwas a no-go in this weather, so that advantage was off the table. The stakes had never been higher.
My tires were too fresh, too cold, but there was no time to focus on that. The safety car snaked through the track, leading us like lambs to the slaughter. I moved the car back and forth to warm up the tires as much as I could.
Behind me, I could see Morel inching unnecessarily close toKimi, and I thought I caughtSchreiber’scar just behind Morel’s. I took deep breaths and sips of water through my drink tube, trying to center myself. They aren’t just targeting your position. They’re targeting you.
I had to stay vigilant uponCallumrestarting the race.
After four laps, the safety car lights turned off, signaling its retreat into the pit lane. The track ahead opened up like a gauntlet, daring me to take the lead and hold it. My grip on the wheel was so tight my knuckles ached.
The second the green flags waved, my focus was back in it.
Callumled the pack until we made it through Turn 1 before he restarted the race. Marco immediately darted behindCallumto protect his teammate while I looked for an opening. At the same time,Kimiswerved to keep Morel at bay.
With Marco just ahead of me, I knew I couldn’t afford to waste time behind him. With the rain now a steady downpour, the track was more dangerous than ever, and I had to rely on instinct only.
Because God knew theFIAwould never stop a race due to rain.
The track felt like a circus, the energy in the air electric.Kimiwas now locked in a vicious battle with Morel, their cars nearly touching through the hairpin. I couldn’t dwell on them.
Through the Tunnel, I found my opening. Marco braked slightly too early into the chicane, his car twitching as he corrected.
I took a deep breath and dove for the gap, my heart in my throat as I slipped past him with millimeters to spare.
My tires barely held, the car fishtailing slightly as I powered out of the corner.
Now it was just Fraser.
The rain was relentless, the visibility nearly nonexistent, but I could see him ahead, the blinking lights of his red and black car a beacon in the wall of rain.
My muscles screamed in protest as I forced the car to its limits, the G-forces dragging me sideways through every turn.
My driving was bordering on reckless, but I was close, so fucking close.
A few laps later, throughTabac, I closed the gap, my tires finding grip where his faltered—exactly as I knew they would because his were older, and he had inters where mine were full wets. As a local in his home race, I was surprised to see they hadn’t opted for full wets.
The slipstream pulled me closer, the roar ofCallum’sengine drowning out everything else. Now the Swimming Pool section loomed ahead, a series of high-speed corners.
Now or never.
I threw the car into the corner, the tires biting into the wet asphalt with a ferocity that was almost careless.Callummoved to block, but I was already there, my car sliding alongside his as we hurtled toward LaRascasse.
For a heartbeat, time seemed to freeze. The walls closed in, the gap between our cars almost nonexistent. We danced alongside each other through AnthonyNoghes, both of our cars pushing the safety limits.
Then, with a last-second decision, I managed an impressive switchback, my tires skimming the barrier as I reclaimed the lead.
And that, my friends, was a page straight out of theCallumFraser strategy book: taking a gap that barely existed and using maneuvers your rivals wouldn’t expect. It paid off to pay attention to the best drivers of all time.
In more than one way.
Not now, Aurélie.
The remaining laps were a blur of adrenaline and determination. Fraser was still there, pushing me to the limit, but the gap grew with every corner. My vision blurred at the edges, my body aching, but I didn’t let up.
On the penultimate lap, I found my moment. A perfect exit fromTabacgave me the momentum to pull away. The gap grew, and for the first time, I allowed myself to believe.
The checkered flag loomed, and as I crossed the line, time seemed to stop.
The world erupted. The roar of the crowd faded as realization dawned. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. I could only feel. The victory. The pain. The pride.
I did it.
I fucking did it.
I fucking did it!
A sob tore from my throat when I raised my fist in the air, slowing the car to wave at the crowd that maybe also believed in me.
I finally showed the whole world what I was capable of. I proved to my family that I wasn’t the second-string twin on the one weekend they decided to visit me. I showed my ex that I didn’t need him. I pulled ahead of Morel and his posse and avoided a potentially catastrophic outcome given the rain.
My hands covered my visor briefly in a moment of overwhelm.
And most of all, I won. I beat three world champions.
I earned my spot.
I thought ofétienne’sface when he saw me take pole. Of the sleepless nights in the simulator, chasing perfection. OfCallum’svoice, low and certain, telling me I was more than enough.
I. Belonged. Here.
Monaco. Victory. Legacy. History.
One small step for sports, one giant leap for women in a male-dominated industry.