37. Callum #2
But no follow-up. No condition . Nothing to say she was walking, talking, breathing.
“Alive?” I choked out into the air, into the void. “Is she alive?” I looked to Ivy for answers, and she turned and pointed at the monitors in the bay.
I stepped closer. The monitors. Of course. They’d be tracking the crash.
The replay flickered. The rear of her car snapped out, the angle difficult to correct even in the best of conditions.
She spun out before crashing sideways into the barrier, sparks flying and water splashing and carbon fiber breaking apart brutally.
And then, fucking hell, her hands slipped from the wheel.
No, they didn’t slip. She let go.
My heart stuttered, skipping too many fucking beats to ever be normal again. She let go?
No. No, not her. She never let go. Not my Aurélie. She fought everything. She held on with teeth and nails and fire.
And yet… there it was. In full color from her onboard camera, it was undeniable. Her fingers slackened. The wheel spinning out of her grasp, and she didn’t try to fucking stop it.
She let go. Oh God, my stomach threatened to upheave all of its contents. She fucking let go .
The world narrowed to that single truth. If she let go, it meant she couldn’t fight anymore. It meant it was worse than I could fathom. It meant I could’ve lost her right there. My chest cinched so tight it was like reliving the crash in my own body, every nerve screaming.
The footage went on, merciless, showing her—my Aurélie—clutching a marshal’s shoulders as three of them dragged her out.
She sagged between them, legs like water, helmet still on, head hanging low.
They half-carried, half-walked her to the safety car.
She collapsed onto the seat, still folded in on herself.
Relief hit me like a freight train, vicious in its own right. I realized I was shaking so violently I couldn’t have driven another lap if I wanted to.
I stayed rooted there with Ivy, both of us locked on the monitors. My lungs still refused to work properly, breath sawing in and out, but at least she was alive. Alive.
But then the rage kicked in.
I shot daggers at every Luminis jacket I saw. At Henric, at the engineers, at Rhea pretending to busy herself with wires. My voice was a snarl when I turned to Ivy. “What the fuck happened before she got in that car? Did you know? Did anyone fucking know?”
Ivy’s throat bobbed. She lowered her voice, so soft I had to lean in. “She came back before qualifying. She was shaking. Mumbling. Something was off.”
My head shook back and forth before she even finished her sentence. “No. No, I saw her before qualifying. About half an hour before the session started. We talked. She–she was fine. Upset about something she didn’t want to talk about, but fine.”
Ivy’s brows pulled together. “No, not half an hour before, Callum. Minutes before. I tried to stop her, but she… she took painkillers, Callum. Said something about Morel. I think—” her voice cracked, and she dropped it to a whisper, “I think he put hands on her, or said something to her. She was… different. Not herself. She laughed, said maybe she’d crashed into the wall and everyone's problems would be solved.”
The words gutted me. I froze, gaping at Ivy like she’d just ripped my heart out. “She got into the car with her head in that space? And you let her? You LET HER?!” My voice exploded, loud enough to turn every head in the garage.
“She made the choice,” Ivy sobbed, tears leaking from her eyes, her face crumpled with guilt.
“She shouldn’t have had the choice! Drivers shouldn’t have the choice to climb into a car and drive two hundred fucking miles per hour if they can’t clear their head.
” I spun on Henric. “You didn’t know her setup was tampered with?
You didn’t know how much fucking pain she’s been in because of your car ?
You useless—” My voice broke into a roar as I ducked my head out of the bay to peer down the pit lane, searching for his car.
“And Morel—where the fuck is he? If he touched her, if he breathed on her, I swear to God?—”
“Callum!” Dom’s voice startled me as he appeared beside me. “Get back to the garage. Now .”
“I’m not going anywhere?—”
My tirade was cut short by a shift in the garage. Heads turned. Ivy grabbed my bicep.
Aurélie’s safety car rolled slowly down the lane.
The door cracked open, and for one endless second I thought she wouldn’t be able to move. My lungs seized, my knees threatening to give out. Then—slowly, painfully—she swung her legs out, boots hitting the wet concrete.
She stood.
On her own two fucking feet.
The sight of her finally broke me. The roar of the garages, the drills, the storm—it all vanished. The only sound left was the blood pounding in my ears as her gloved hands reached for the latch on her helmet. The visor tilted up… and her eyes found mine instantly, like magnets snapping together.
Hazel to blue. Lightning to thunder.
I couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. My hands trembled at my sides, balled into fists just to keep from running and tearing her out of there myself.
Her fingers pulled the latch free, and then she pulled her helmet off, followed by her balaclava at an agonizingly slow pace. When she looked at me—raw, exhausted, anguished—and I knew every single nightmare I’d had was real. She was breaking in front of me.
The marshal guided her toward the garage, her body sagging into his hold, but her gaze never left mine. Not once, not until the crowd swelled between us and blocked her from sight.
My chest caved in. The air burned. I staggered forward before Dom and Ivy caught my arms, trying to hold me back.
“Let me go,” I rasped, fighting them both. My voice was wrecked, shredded from screaming, from a panic attack that had been waiting over ten years to break free. “I need to get to her. Now.”
“Callum, you’re making a scene,” Dom hissed, his grip bruising as he tried to haul me back. “Calm down, lad.”
My head snapped toward him, and for a second I almost did something I’d regret.
My whole body locked up as I leaned close, voice low and vicious.
“You’ve known me a long time, Dom. Do not cross me right now.
” He stilled. Ivy’s grip loosened just enough for me to wrench free, staggering forward like a man possessed.
I shoved through the crowd. Voices called after me, mechanics barked protests, but I didn’t hear a single word. My body moved, elbows cutting through anyone in my way, until finally I broke through the throng and reached her.
Aurélie stumbled as the marshal guided her closer. I didn’t think, I just caught her, arms wrapping tight, hauling her against me like I could fuse us together and never let her go again.
She groaned, a soft sound of pain muffled against my suit.
“Fuck—sorry, I’m sorry.” My grip loosened instantly, my hands skimming over her arms, her shoulders, terrified I’d hurt her more. I pulled back just enough to see her face, cupping it with shaking hands.
Her eyes were glassy, her lips pale, breath somehow steadier than my own. My lungs seized. Relief warred with horror as I scanned her head to toe, desperate to catalog every injury myself.
Then I saw it.
The bruise forming on her temple, an ugly mark darkening her skin. My blood froze in my veins. Ivy’s words thundered back. Painkillers. Shaking. Morel.
“What did he do to you?” My voice cracked, ragged and too loud, questions tumbling out like I couldn’t hold them back. “Did he touch you? Did he hurt you? Are you okay? The car—what happened? Talk to me, Aurélie, please, just fucking talk to me.”
She gulped, throat working, her eyes darting up to mine, before shifting to the crowd—over the cameras, the marshals, her own team standing stiff in the garage entrance. A silent plea, as if to say not here.
No. I couldn’t fucking wait. I leaned closer, desperate. “Tell me,” I begged. We’d been so distant from each other this week, and I regretted every single second of it. I needed to talk to her, to hear it from her directly. “Please.”
Her gaze flicked past my shoulder, locking on someone else.
I followed it. Henric and Rhea standing shoulder to shoulder by the monitors.
Both of them were watching, pretending neutrality.
Pretending they hadn’t seen the bruise on her face.
Pretending like she wasn’t a driver whose car they were sabotaging.
My teeth ground together so hard my jaw ached. Rage surged up, hot and blinding, the urge to rip them apart spilling acid in my mouth.
But then she tugged my sleeve, pulling me back to her, her touch weak but insistent.
“I’m fine,” she said louder, toward the team, each syllable measured and robotic.
“Session will continue with Kimi.” Her voice cracked on the last word, but she didn’t let it linger.
She turned her face back to me, tugging me a step aside, toward the shadows of the bay.
Her hands found my face, forcing me to look at her again. “Not here, mon amour. Please. I can’t…” Her whole body shuddered and she squeezed her eyes shut, and that was the end of the line for me.
“What did that fucker do? Aurélie, we are not going to sit here and be silent if he did something.”
Aurélie’s shoulders sagged. She rubbed her eyes with the heel of her glove, the movement weary, defeated. Then she tipped her head, waving Ivy over. “Ivy,” her voice was hoarse, fragile, “you need to hear this too.”
Ivy stepped close, face pale, arms crossed tight as if she was holding herself together. Aurélie tugged at her sleeves, peeling the fabric back to expose the bruises blooming across her wrists—dark finger-shaped bands that made my blood roar in my ears.
Her voice cracked as she forced the words out, clipped and detached at first, then tumbling faster: