54. Aurélie
Henric’s words lingered in my mind like a stubborn echo, refusing to fade.
That man’s willing to fight for you in ways most wouldn’t.
I crouched into another stretch, pressing my palms flat to the ground, but the tremor in my hands betrayed me.
My muscles felt stiff no matter how hard I pushed.
My heart beat faster than it should have for a warmup, Callum’s name looping in my head like a mantra.
I forced myself to focus on my breathing—slow in, slower out—but every inhale brought the phantom scent of scorched rubber and smoke.
The image of him slumped in the cockpit flashed behind my eyelids, and I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep myself present.
He was alive. I’d spoken to him, held his hand myself.
Henric said he stood on his own two feet.
I repeated the thought until it felt more real.
“Aurélie.” Henric’s sharp tone cut through the fog, snapping me back to the present. His brows knit together as he watched me, his expression unreadable. “You ready?”
I nodded, the lie sitting heavy in my throat. “Always.”
Henric didn’t press further, but as he turned away, I caught the flicker of concern in his eyes—as if he had any right to feel concerned after how he’d treated me.
Yet somehow, that concern mirrored the uncertainty twisting inside me, but there was no room for doubt.
Callum had fought for me. Now it was my turn.
Focus, Dubois. There was only one way to honor what Callum did.
Win.
The lights above the grid blurred slightly as I waited in my slot in P6, the world narrowing to the cockpit, the wheel, and the road ahead. I tightened my grip on the wheel, my gloves creaking against the leather.
One light.
Two.
The rhythm of my breathing matched the countdown, my heart a drumbeat of anticipation.
Three.
Four.
Five.
The lights vanished, and my car surged forward, the engine’s roar blending with the pounding of my pulse.
I caught Kimi’s car in my periphery, his livery glinting under the midday sun.
The field jostled into position, tires squealing as we funneled into Turn 1.
I stayed ahead, carving the perfect line, pushing the car to its limits.
I felt every bump, every imperfection in the track through the wheel, the vibrations traveling up my arms. My tires gripped hard, skimming the edge of the curb as I carved through the corner.
The field ahead shifted like a kaleidoscope, cars darting left and right, their movements erratic.
A split-second decision loomed—a gap opened ahead of me, barely wide enough to fit.
I took it without hesitation, the adrenaline surging as I threaded the needle.
The air whipped past with the increased speeds on the straight, and I overtook the car in front of me.
The gap to P1, Kimi’s current position, shrunk with each sector, but my focus remained vigilant, every muscle in my body attuned to the machine around me.
My gloves creaked against the wheel as I braked late into the final chicane, the rear tires skidding just enough to flirt with disaster.
The scent of overheated brakes filled the cockpit, but I didn’t let up.
The force slammed me back into the seat, G-forces pulling hard on my neck as I threaded through the pack. The cockpit felt like a furnace, sweat trickling down my temple, but I didn’t dare lose focus.
Every lap was calculated. I balanced aggression with precision, conserving tires while exploiting every opportunity. Now behind me, Kimi defended like a lion, holding off Marco and the rest of the pack. Thank God for the boys right now. They knew the importance of our podium today.
My radio buzzed with updates—gaps shrinking, strategies shifting, when to enable DRS, but my focus never wavered.
By the penultimate lap, the gap between Kimi and me had widened just enough to breathe. The tension in my shoulders loosened, but I didn’t ease up. Not yet. I’d been burned before, and the only burning happening today was me leaving scorch marks on the grid.
The final lap loomed, and I took it with everything I had, my tires kissing the edge of the track as I roared toward the finish line. The checkered flag waved, and my team’s cheers exploded in my ears.
“You did it, Aurélie!” Henric’s voice cracked with uncharacteristic enthusiasm. “P1! Kimi P2! Marco P3! One-two lockout!”
My hands trembled as I eased into the cooldown lap, my body buzzing with adrenaline, exhaustion, and victory.
A glance in my mirrors showed Morel nowhere to be found. Morel didn’t even make the points. Perfect. No podium, no camera time, no glory. Just the memory of me flying past him while I lapped him, and the weight of his own mediocrity.
Good.
I had successfully left him in the dirty air, proving to him that bad intentions don’t win races.
Determination does.
The cooldown room was a welcome reprieve. Kimi plopped down on the bench with a grin, waving me over. “Come on, Aurélie. Sit. You look like you’re about to keel over.”
“I’m fine,” I protested, unzipping my suit and reaching for a water bottle. But the moment I tried to stay on my feet, my legs gave up on me. I sank into the chair beside him without another word.
Marco leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his uncharacteristically calm presence balancing the dynamic. “You’ve been through hell today. You don’t have to hold it together right now,” he said gently. “You already did the impossible out there.”
I stared down at the condensation gathering on the bottle in my hands, trying to keep my emotions in check.
The burning in my eyes and squeezing in my chest made it a damn hard battle, though.
“I thought he was dead,” I whispered. The words felt jagged in my throat.
“Not just for a second, either. I really thought I’d lost him.
” I knew we were on live television and the world was watching, but I couldn’t stop it all from coming out.
Kimi’s smile vanished. His hand landed on my shoulder, quietly anchoring me. Marco dropped into the chair on the other side of me.
“You didn’t. None of us did. He’s alive. You crossed that finish line, and he’s still breathing. That’s what matters.”
My eyelids felt heavy when I blinked. I nodded slowly. “I didn’t save him, though. I tried to warn them, to warn him, and then when it happened…” I sighed, my shoulders dropping. “I couldn’t get to him.”
“And then he woke up and stood on his own two feet,” Kimi said, almost in awe as he leaned against the back of his chair.
Marco’s lips curled into the faintest smile. “Of course he did. He’s Callum fucking Fraser. He’d walk through fire if it meant getting back to you.”
A laugh broke out of me, more breath than anything. It was feeble. “He actually did. He survived his car catching on fire, then left the medical center to go into the stewards’ room to fight for me. Right after saying he couldn’t feel his legs.”
“Romantic bastard,” Kimi grumbled, shaking his head. “I’m gonna kick his ass when he gets back.”
Marco grinned wolfishly. “You better hurry. I already called dibs.” His gaze met mine, steady and unyielding. “But seriously, that’s what you do when you love someone, right? Fighting for each other when it matters most.”
Love.
He fought for me. Bled for me. How could I be anything but hopelessly in love with him?
And because of that, I let my fears dictate my actions into something that would make me unavoidable. I wouldn’t change a damn thing.
The interviews were endless. Cameras clicked, pens moved, and questions flew like arrows.
“You left your car before the race was suspended. Do you regret that decision?” A reporter asked during the post-race conference.
Each question had me closer to making a break for it.
I leaned forward, gripping the mic tightly. “The red flags were active before I exited. The footage is clear.”
Another journalist pressed. “Do you think your personal feelings for Fraser influenced your actions?”
Heat flooded my cheeks, but I kept my tone even. “I would’ve done the same for any driver. This isn’t about personal feelings—it’s about safety.”
Kimi jumped in, his voice cutting through the tension. “She tried to act and was silenced. This was almost a very different outcome, but could have been avoided entirely had Aurélie been heard. She did what any of us would hope for.”
Marco nodded, his calm demeanor adding weight to the sentiment. “Aurélie proved what this sport is supposed to be about: skill and humanity.”
The questions kept coming, but their edges dulled under the camaraderie surrounding me. We were a team, and today, we’d proven it.
The microphones inched closer, the reporters’ faces a blur of sharp angles and bright flashes.
I leaned into the mic, gripping it tightly.
“Racing is dangerous. That’s not news to anyone here,” I began, my voice steady despite the whirlwind inside me.
“But today, we saw just how quickly things can go wrong. Callum’s crash wasn’t just an accident—it was the result of reckless behavior that has no place in this sport. ”
“Would you have done anything different?” A reporter asked.
“You’re asking if I regret trying to reach someone who nearly died in front of me?
I regret that I was held back, and I regret that’s even a question.
What I don’t regret is using my voice to call out the people who caused it.
But sure, keep questioning the woman who tried instead of the men who nearly killed him. Next?”
The room murmured, pens scratching against notepads.
“Your emotional reaction at the scene—screaming and attempting to get past the medical staff—some are calling it unprofessional. How do you respond to that?”
“When I saw him trapped, unconscious, and limp in the cockpit, I lost it. Of course I did. He isn’t just a rival.
He’s someone I lo–someone I care about. And they wouldn’t let me near him.
I was screaming because I didn’t know if he was alive.
If you think that makes me unprofessional, then maybe the real issue is how numb you’ve all become to watching us crash for your entertainment.
We’re still humans beneath these race suits. ”
A reporter leaned forward, his expression skeptical. “Do you believe the FIA should have acted sooner?”
I met his gaze, unflinching. “I believe the FIA has a responsibility to prioritize driver safety over everything else.”
Kimi’s voice cut through the noise. “Aurélie isn’t just a great driver; she’s a decent human being.
Something we could use more of in this sport.
” Marco nodded in agreement. “This isn’t just about Callum.
This is about ensuring none of us have to stand here again, explaining why safety was compromised. ”
Marco shifted. “This sport is built on precision and respect. When that’s ignored, we all pay the price.”
I glanced between them, gratitude swelling in my chest. We’d made our point. Someone we cared about could have died today. Now it was up to the FIA to listen.
As the press conference wound down, some new emotion washed over me—not fear, but something closer to hope.
He fought for me today. Now the world knows what we’re capable of. Together? They won’t stand a chance.