Chapter 32
Schrieber led early. The same man who’d once aligned himself with Morel, who’d made it his mission to rattle me, squeeze me, break me. I decided then that if I was going to take this win, it would be personal.
I stalked him for laps. Waited. Learned his habits.
Second-to-last lap, I made the move.
A perfect switchback—clean, ruthless, inevitable. Callum’s move. Fraser’s signature. One I’d stolen outright and made my own.
By the time I crossed the line in P1, the grandstands were shaking.
Three wins in my debut season. Not just beginner’s luck, but proof of a World Champion in the making. Because if I could beat the G. O. A. T., my husband, the revered Callum Fraser, then this sport couldn’t stop me from claiming my title.
The press swarmed, microphones shoved close, eyes hungry.
“Title contender next year?”
That was the biggest question.
I simply smiled. The truth was—I wasn’t chasing permission anymore. I’d proven I could outdrive every single fucking man on this grid. I’d kept my promise to Luminis when they signed me.
I owed them nothing now.
Not so bad for a rookie.