Chapter 21 Aurelie #3
But now—above it, in bolder script, also in my handwriting like it belonged there all along—was a name.
Aurélie…
Just that. Just mine. So the tattoo now read:
Aurélie…
she’ll know.
Something in me cracked. Split clean open.
“Oh, Cal, you didn’t,” I whispered. “You branded yourself with my name.”
“I did,” he said simply. “Because it was ours. Because I needed something of you on me. I have your love, your words, your body. But this… this was something else.”
I just looked at him, ruined and radiant and tattooed with a prophecy that finally came true. And then I pressed my mouth to the plastic covering the ink. Right over my name. Right over the spot he swore he’d always ache for me.
My throat tightened, my heart splitting open all over again. “Mon amour…”
He lifted one brow. “Do you?”
“Do I what?”
“Know,” he rasped, voice suddenly serious. “Do you know?”
I kissed the ink, then pressed my cheek to his thigh, eyes fluttering closed.
“I’ve always known,” I whispered. “Even when I tried not to.”
“Exactly.” His hand slipped into my hair. “I branded myself with the truth,” he continued. “Because I knew—before you ever knew me—I was always going to be yours.”
I was in his lap before I could think better of it, tears threatening and pulse pounding. I kissed his ink, he kissed mine, and in what was becoming our comfort zone, we didn’t say anything else. Just held each other, because that was all we needed.
“I know,” I finally responded.
And I meant it.
The wind was gentle that morning. Not quite a breeze, not quite a stillness, but enough movement to rustle the linen curtains as I curled tighter into Callum’s hoodie in an attempt to escape this hangover from hell.
My legs were bare, tucked sideways beneath me on one of the cushioned outdoor loungers. His sweatshirt was too big and smelled like sunscreen and sleep and something deeper—something intimate. Like belonging, marriage.
My fingers traced the edge of my mug, still warm between my palms. The waves crashed gently in the distance, rhythmic and slow. Our phones were on the wicker table between us. My sunglasses were perched too low on my nose. Neither of us had spoken in twenty minutes.
Not because there was nothing to say.
But because there was nothing that needed to be said.
We’d branded each other. Not just with rings and vows, but with ink. With names. With permanent reminders that even when we fucked everything else up, we found a way back. And this time, we were staying.
I glanced sideways. Callum was stretched out beside me on the second lounger, feet bare, hair messy, arms crossed behind his head. One tattooed bicep flexed slightly when he turned toward me, lips curved in a lazy, satisfied smile.
Husband.
Mine.
I sipped my coffee. He reached for his tea. And then one of our phones buzzed. We both ignored it. Then another buzz, then both phones simultaneously, then the iPad on the table lit up.
One by one, they blew up, and not like a normal burst of texts. Like a tsunami of alerts. Group chats. Missed calls. Screens lighting up with notifications so fast I couldn’t read them. I reached forward and picked mine up.
BBC Sport Breaking: FIA President Under Fire After Leaked Internal Files Show Pattern of Retaliation Against F1 Drivers
Trending on X: #ScandalInSilverstone #JusticeForAurélie #FraserFiles #FIALeaks #MorelsBadMorals
Email Inbox: 192 unread
My chest tightened. I sat up straighter. “Callum…”
He was already grabbing his phone. “What the fuck—”
Before he could finish, the sliding glass doors behind us slid open. Ivy emerged, bare-faced and wild-haired, wearing the smuggest, most hungover expression I’d ever seen on a human.
Marco waltzed out behind her, shoulders shaking like he was trying to contain a laugh. Kimi followed, scowling as he shoved Marco’s shoulder. Lucy brought up the rear, sipping something in a coconut and wearing a sunhat bigger than her entire torso.
They looked as rough as we felt.
“Your timing is impeccable,” I grumbled.
Ivy took one look at us—half-dressed, sun-dazed, blinking through the chaos—and grinned.
“Surprise,” she said. “As a gift for your nuptials. You’re welcome, by the way.”
Callum stood slowly, brows furrowed. “What did you do?”
“Oh, nothing too crazy.” Ivy draped herself on the lounger he’d just vacated, winking at me and then wincing. “Leaked the files.”
Marco threw up his hands like a game show host. “Everything Reinhardt gave us. Every single goddamn document. No redactions.”
“They’re calling it the Fraser Files,” Lucy added helpfully, scrolling on her phone. “Which, by the way? Iconic.”
Kimi shrugged. “And they don’t even know there are two Frasers now. How incredibly apt.”
I blinked at all of them. “Wait… you leaked it?”
Ivy’s grin turned razor-sharp. “Yes, darling, I leaked it during your little lap cuddle lovefest at dinner. It belongs to the world now. Henric and Luminis. Morel and Orion GP. The FIA. Every dirty corner they couldn’t scrub on their own. It’s all public.”
Callum rubbed his forehead, and my heart sank at the thought that our bliss bubble was starting to deflate. “You didn’t even warn us?”
Ivy raised a brow. “Do you warn me before you make retirement announcements that destroy my best friend’s emotional stability? No? Okay then. We’re even.”
Our phones buzzed again.
So did everyone else’s.
“Ivy, ” Callum murmured, somewhere between awe and horror, “you just declared a public fight.”
Her smile turned feral. “I’ve been bored.”
“Happy honeymoon hangover, you whorishly wedded bastards. Enjoy your wedding gift,” Marco stated proudly, removing his sunglasses and flinching at the light.
Kimi raised a hand. “I’d like some credit, too. I uploaded the zip files and offered emotional support.”
Marco winked. “I hit send. It was hot.”
“And the fallout?” I asked slowly.
“Immediate and severe,” Ivy said. “Henric’s already issued a ‘no comment’ statement. Reinhardt’s announcing an emergency press conference. The Orion board is calling a closed-door session. And you two?”
She grinned, then popped a cherry into her mouth like she’d been waiting all week to say it.
“You two are in the clear. The pregnancy rumors are buried. Your location is safe. No one knows about the wedding or Lucy’s whereabouts. Everyone’s too busy watching the FIA burn and sharing radio clips and race snippets backing up the apparent sabotage in Frenchie’s car.”
I gaped at her. Then down at my phone. Then to my new husband.
He looked at me. I looked at him.
And slowly, I pulled my sunglasses down the bridge of my nose. The dramatic pause was unintentional. But when you’re married to a Fraser, some habits rub off.
Suddenly, I was calm. Collected. Ferocious.
And when I stood—inked, bare-legged, freshly married and entirely too hungover, I felt the shift settle deep in my bones. The honeymoon haze was over. My heart was still tender, still full, but my spine had sharpened into steel again.
Ivy must’ve seen it in my eyes, because her smile dropped just a little. And Marco let out a quiet oh fuck yeah under his breath.
I took one last sip of my coffee, then unlocked my phone again.
The truth was finally out. The storm was coming. And I wasn’t scared, because I had my family by my side through it all.
We didn’t need to pray for victory anymore. We were the reckoning. We came, we saw, and we fucking conquered.
I looked up with a content smile and said, “We’re not starting a fight. We’re ending the war.”