35. Aurélie
The corridor was quiet, a soothing balm to my frayed nerves.
I’d slipped away from the garage for five minutes, just five, to breathe before qualifying. My boots clicked against the concrete, echoing off the walls between hospitality areas. It was a cut-through most people avoided that was out of the cameras’ sight, away from the swarm.
I needed the silence. My head and heart were still a mess from Callum, from everything I couldn’t say but desperately wanted to.
I’d told myself to focus, to shove it down, to keep my eyes on the one thing that mattered.
I’d been doing that my whole life anyway, so why was it suddenly impossible to do?
I had retreated so far into my own head that I didn’t hear him coming.
A hand shot out of nowhere, clamping around my wrist, yanking me sideways so hard the breath whooshed out of me.
My phone clattered to the ground as my back hit the wall, skull ricocheting off plaster, stars bursting in my vision.
Before I could catch my balance, my arm was wrenched behind me, a tendon tearing fire through my shoulder as I was forced to turn so my front was pressed against the wall.
“What the?—”
Another hand clamped my other wrist and twisted it back until both arms screamed. My cheek ground against the wall, rough plaster biting my skin. Pain roared so sharp it made me nauseous.
A sick paralysis shot through me. My body remembered before my brain did, every unwanted hand, every too-long stare, every time a man reminded me how fragile a woman could be if he decided she should be. My muscles locked. I hated it. I hated that I froze instead of fighting.
And then I saw who held me.
Adrian fucking Morel.
His chest pressed into my back, pinning me there.
His breath was hot and sour at my ear, stinking of coffee and bitterness.
His grip was merciless, every inch of contact was humiliating and violating.
My body recoiled with the same sick terror I’d felt in Monaco, when Santino attacked me, made me feel small and stuck.
That helpless, disgusting memory gutted me all over again.
“Still think you belong here, princess?” Morel’s voice was a venomous hiss, every syllable dripping with contempt. He shoved harder, and my temple cracked against the wall again.
“Get off me!” I choked, thrashing, but he had me locked in place, stronger, heavier. My arms burned as he twisted tighter. “What is your fucking problem with me, asshole?”
He clicked his tongue, and the rancid stench of his breath had me fighting a gag.
“My problem is that you don’t know your place,” he spat.
“You walk in here like you’re one of us.
Acting like you’ve earned it. You think because beloved Fraser fucks you and the media loves a sob story that you’re suddenly on my level?
” His laugh was sharp, grating. “You’re nothing but a headline.
A distraction. A pretty little girl playing dress-up in a man’s sport. ”
He yanked my arms higher, and I whimpered in pain, tears pricking my eyes. Don’t you dare fucking cry right now, Dubois. I gritted my teeth and breathed through my nose.
“My problem is that every point you score makes me look like less. Every lap you finish chips away at what I’ve bled for.
You don’t deserve a seat, but here you are, stealing one from drivers who deserve to be here.
And everyone’s too busy drooling over the golden couple to notice you’re in over your head. ”
“So your ego is bruised. Poor you,” I snapped, twisting my wrists in his grip only for him to clamp down harder on them.
“Shut up,” he snarled, his mouth brushed close to my ear, venom dripping. “Do you even realize where you are in the standings? Or are you too busy playing martyr to notice you’re fighting me for third?”
Third.
The word detonated in my head. My stomach plummeted. Fourth. I was in fourth? I hadn’t even looked, hadn’t seen it through the fog of Montreal, the cameras, Callum, all of it.
Morel laughed at my silence, the sound low and cruel. “Pathetic. You’re fighting so hard for a sport, for ‘feminism’, and you don’t even realize how well you’re doing? Shows where your priorities are.”
I thrashed harder, pushing against the wall to try to gain leverage, but his chest crushed me in, his voice curling over my skin like rot.
Then his hand moved down and forward, squeezing my breast through my suit so hard I cried out, sharp pain tearing through me.
Pain so raw it made me gasp and bite my lip until I tasted blood.
The violation tore through me deeper than the pain.
It wasn’t just the bruise blossoming under his grip—it was the sick reminder of every hand that had lingered too long on my body without permission.
I wanted to claw my skin off just to erase the feel of every man I’d been told to smile pretty for if I wanted to make it in this world.
He laughed, cruel and delighted. “Weak,” he sneered, twisting my arms even harder until my knees buckled, and his body was all that held me up. “Spread your legs for a seat, spread them for Fraser. That’s all women like you are good for.”
The shame seared hotter than the pain.
Maybe he was right. If I couldn’t even bear children, if I couldn’t have a family, then what was I good for? The thought gutted me more than his hands ever could. Because the worst part was that a piece of me believed it.
I loathed myself for the sound that broke from my throat, for the way my body reacted—frozen, trembling, helpless.
Just like Monaco. Santino’s shadow crawled up my spine, memories of being pinned, being used, crashing over me like a tidal wave.
I itched to scream, to bite, but his weight pressed me down until the only thing left was humiliation and the gnawing voice that whispered maybe this was all anyone would ever see in me.
He yanked me back just to slam me into the wall again. My vision blurred, humiliation choking me as plaster scraped my cheek.
“How’s that back of yours?” His voice dipped lower, mocking. “Car still bouncing? Such a shame about those packers. Cars don’t just bite like that unless someone tells them to. And Rhea listened to me so well.”
Ice spread through my veins.
He knew.
“You—” My voice broke on the single syllable, so I inhaled and tried again. “You did this?” And Rhea. Fuck. My stomach tumbled. She was one of my mechanics, my teammate, someone I was supposed to be able to trust. A woman who should’ve been my ally, not an accomplice to attempted murder.
His laugh was crueler than the wall cutting into my face. “Oh, little Dubois. You think any of this is about you? You’re nothing but a seat-filler. An accident waiting to happen, just like your brother was. I’m just helping it along.”
I stilled. étienne too?
Morel’s mouth brushed too close to my ear, the proximity making me want to vomit. “And Fraser? He’s blinded by pussy. That’s all. You think he’d risk his career for you if you weren’t between his sheets? He’ll figure it out soon enough, that all you’ve got to offer is sex and soundbites.”
My stomach wrenched itself into knots. “You planned it.” Rage broke through the terror choking me. “Montreal. You planned to take Callum out. You and your little bitch boys. Why? Why him ?”
Morel chuckled, low and gleeful, like my horror was the punchline to his joke. “Because Fraser had everything I didn’t. The car. The name. The girl. And because nothing makes the headlines like blood on the wall.”
His tongue flicked out and licked the length of my neck, and this time I did gag.
I tried to pull my head away, but the fucker just tugged harder on my arms. My stomach heaved, bile burning my throat.
I wanted to scream, to scrub my skin raw, but all I could do was gag on the reality that I was trapped.
Humiliated. Reduced to an object for him to taunt.
“Take out a veteran, and you make space. Take out your golden boy, and the whole world watches you instead.”
My throat closed, bile rising. “So it was about me.”
Morel’s grip tightened until my arms felt like they were on fire. “Of course it was about you, stupid bitch. And him. You think I don’t see how you two look at each other? He’d burn the sport to the ground for you. Which makes you the easiest way to destroy him.”
“You’re a sick fuck, you know that?”
He just laughed and buried his nose in my hair to breathe in deeply.
I felt disgusting and violated and ashamed.
“Nothing unravels a man faster than watching the woman he loves fall to pieces.” His chest pressed harder into my back as his voice dropped to a hiss.
“And you… you’re the perfect weak spot. The rookie. The woman. The liability.”
His hand crushed my breast again until I cried out, his dark chuckle vibrating against my ear. “Fraser’s mistake was thinking you were strength. But I know better. You’ll break. And when you do, I’ll be there to watch.”
“Pussy,” I sneered. “Get your grimy hands off me and accept the fact that a woman is better at this sport than you.”
He ground me harder into the wall, his words digging as sharp as his grip. “Don’t get too comfortable. You’ll be out before the season ends. And when you are, nobody will remember your name.”
My chest heaved, a plethora of emotions strangling me together.
I tried to fight, to wrench free, but every movement sent agony screaming down my arms, through my shoulders, up my neck.
A cold terror flooded me that maybe he was going to push this further, that he would pin me and strip the rest of my dignity away, touch me in despicable ways.
A tear slipped free as I squeezed my eyes shut and braced for the worst.
Voices echoed at the far end of the corridor, and just like that, he released me.
I sagged against the wall, barely catching myself on my palms, my shoulders shrieking in protest. My temple throbbed and my whole body shook, but I couldn’t bear to look over my shoulder at Morel.
I just curled my nails into the wall, hoping the scraping sensation could keep me from crumbling altogether.
“See you on track, princess.” He sounded way too smug as his footsteps faded away, leaving me shaking in the shadows.
Tears blurred my vision, fury clawing at my throat. I wiped them away angrily, refusing to let them win. But the truth was brutal—my limbs were sluggish, my reaction time shot, my body already betraying me.
And in minutes, I’d be strapping into that car.
For the first time in Formula 1, I wasn’t sure I could keep it out of the wall.