Chapter 6 - Aurélie #2
The jab landed exactly how he meant it to: a slap. I felt my stomach wrench again—hot, sharp, wrong—and I forced my weight evenly onto both feet, pretending the pain wasn’t clawing its way up my spine. My vision spotted for a second, but I breathed through it.
“If you’re implying I can’t control my car, or my mouth for that matter,” I bit out evenly, “then you’re welcome to look at the data yourself. I committed to my line. That’s what we’re taught, isn’t it?”
Henric ran his tongue across his teeth and exhaled ruggedly.
“What you’re taught,” he retorted slowly, “and what you’re capable of are two different things, Dubois.
You’ve been reckless since Monaco, and now you’ve cost the team two cars in one weekend.
Maybe next time you’ll learn to drive within your limits. If you even know where those are.”
The words were half-drowned out by the rain hammering the tent roof, but not before the sting of them sank deep, like claws tearing into my flesh. Suddenly the pain was radiating through my whole body.
Callum spoke before I could. “Watch it,” he warned, voice lethal.
Henric looked at him, unimpressed. “Excuse me?”
“I said, watch it.” Callum unfolded his arms, every inch of him coiled like a lion ready to pounce. I shuffled closer to him, needing his strength when I felt like my body, mind, and spirit were all about to break.
The betrayal came in waves. My body was done pretending to obey me.
I’d survived the sexism, the criticism, the crash, the sabotage, the accusations, the cameras, but this?
This was something else entirely. The kind of pain that stripped you down to your bones and reminded you that for all your fight, you were still made of flesh and blood and a body that could fail you.
I couldn’t breathe without feeling it echo.
I couldn’t tell if the wetness on my skin was rain or sweat or the first sting of tears.
“Son—” Dom started, but Callum cut him off with a glare.
“We’ll take responsibility for our part, but she does not owe you,” he pointed a finger at Henric, “groveling for a racing incident. Every driver, every team, deals with multiple crashes every season. You want accountability? You’ve got telemetry. You want to make it personal? Try me instead.”
The air in the tent went still. All the medical professionals stopped moving, and even Dom blinked from the bite in his tone.
I wanted to step between them, to stop this before it exploded, but the next cramp made me falter.
I masked it by clasping my hands in front of me, squeezing my fingers together so hard that I thought I might bruise.
Callum’s hand was there instantly, strong and steady at my back.
The world narrowed to that touch—the pressure of his palm, the silent question pulsing through it: how bad is it?
“Callum,” I murmured, pivoting toward him. “We already know that Henric doesn’t support the female driver on his payroll—”
Before I could finish my sentence, the flap of the tent whipped back so hard it smacked the pole.
“Jesus Christ,” Callum muttered.
Reinhardt, the FIA president himself, barged in first—coat half-buttoned, rain gathering in the brim of his fedora. Behind him came Silvio Mancetti of all people, Ferrari’s team principal and my future boss, with a folder clutched in his hand like a weapon of mass destruction.
“I’ve seen more of you two today than my own bloody family,” Reinhardt barked, face flushed. From fury or the cold, I couldn’t tell. “I told you to keep your personal fucking feelings out of this sport!”
Callum and I both stiffened. He straightened to his full height, shoulders squared, calm and cold as the man, the myth, the legend the media worshiped. I stayed seated, breathing through another low, twisting ache in my abdomen, pretending it was nothing more than embarrassment.
Henric opened his mouth—of course he did—but before he could speak, Silvio slammed the folder down on the nearest table. “Are you trying to kill my driver, Henric?”
The tent went dead still.
My head snapped up. My driver? I wasn’t even in Ferrari red yet, but Silvio stood there, fire and fury personified, his Italian accent cutting through the rain as he defended me. So he knew about the shitstorm that Luminis was putting me through too.
Thank God.
“What the hell are you talking about?” Henric shot back.
Silvio reached over and yanked a rolling tray closer, scattering syringes and medical tape in his path as he spread the telemetry pages across the metal surface.
The papers bled color where the rain had hit them, data smearing like blood in water.
His gestures were sharp and surgical, slicing through the tension in the room.
“This,” Silvio hissed, flipping open the folder.
Sheets of telemetry and wear analysis scattered across the table—lap data, load differentials, fuel mapping.
“I came straight from the Luminis garage. Your engineers claimed her setup was safe. It wasn’t.
You ran her on worn dampers from Monaco, for Christ’s sake. You call this safe?”
Reinhardt stepped forward, jabbing a finger at him. “Silvio, that’s enough—”
“No,” Silvio cut him off. “You listen, Vic. I’ve known you for fifteen years. We have a good relationship. Don’t throw that away now.”
That revelation made us all go still. After a moment of Silvio and Reinhardt staring each other down, Reinhardt nodded, implying Silvio should continue.
“You were there in that meeting this morning when she brought this up—when both of them did—and you thought waiting until after the race to start an official investigation was acceptable. And now you have the audacity to be pissed when they inevitably crashed because her car is a serious fucking safety problem?” He stabbed a finger at the page.
“Look at this degradation curve! Any other driver would’ve lost the rear halfway through Sector 2, especially in this fucking weather.
The fact she kept control this long is proof of her skill, not her recklessness.
Fraser was the unlucky bastard in her path. ”
Henric paled, but Reinhardt’s fury only deepened. “You’re accusing me of negligence? Because two drivers couldn’t control their tempers?”
“This isn’t about their tempers, and you know it,” Silvio snapped. “Aurélie Dubois has fought tooth and nail to prove herself in this sport. We should all look at her as a role model, not as a liability.”
Reinhardt huffed a sardonic laugh, his nostrils flaring. He pulled his cap off and ran a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair. “Her character is not being called into question here, Silvio. This is about the fact that this morning I told them to keep it professional.”
“Impacts happen all the time. Why are we acting like this is a big deal? The biggest problem here is that a driver submitted multiple safety concerns and was ignored because of her gender.”
“Please, can we stop with the sexism angle?” Henric cut in, and the entire tent turned toward him, including the medical staff, who were mostly women. I bit back a smirk.
The air in the tent turned electric. One of the female medics, still holding a blood-pressure cuff, froze mid-movement and muttered, “Unbelievable.” Another—older, calm, and clearly done with the bullshit—set down her stethoscope with a sharp click.
“Maybe start listening to the women on your payroll,” she said coolly. “Might save you some paperwork.”
“It’s glaringly obvious,” the first woman said with a snicker, “the divide between those fighting for equality and those fighting against it. Just wait, the sport always remembers which side of history you were on.”
Even Dom blinked at that. The tension was thick enough to choke on.
A cramp sliced through my lower abdomen so hard I nearly doubled over. I disguised it by shifting my stance, pressing the back of my hand against the rolling tray beside me. The edge bit into my palm, anchoring me. I refused to give anyone in this tent the satisfaction of seeing me falter.
Callum saw anyway. He always did. His head tilted just slightly, just enough for his eyes to meet mine, dark and searching.
His lips pursed, a tiny twitch that told me he was one breath away from losing it.
It was evident in how he sneered, “We controlled plenty today. Maybe more than you’ll ever know. ”
Reinhardt glared. “Careful, Fraser.”
But Callum didn’t back down. He took a deliberate step closer, his voice lowering just enough to make every man in the room lean in.
“You want to know what’s reckless? Ignoring a safety report when your drivers risk their lives to file it.
That’s what this was. You didn’t listen, so the car did the talking for her. We told you it was a matter of time.”
I held my breath. Every heartbeat pounded through my abdomen, dull and rhythmic, like the warning before something breaks.
Our plan was working.
Mon Dieu, this man of mine… he was absolutely brilliant. He’d be rewarded later for this.
Reinhardt’s eyes flicked between us, suspicion and panic threading together. “Are you admitting something, Fraser?”
“No,” Callum said smoothly, the faintest smirk curving his lips. “I’m admitting you’ve got bigger problems than us.”
Reinhardt turned away with a muttered curse, motioning for the medics to clear out. “Everyone out. Now. I want a private word.”
One by one, the medical staff slipped past us, leaving the tent stripped down to its pulse—the sound of rain, of anger, of the truth finally finding oxygen.
When the flap closed behind the last body, Callum’s hand brushed mine. Just a whisper of contact.
Henric snorted. “You two are unbelievable. Always the victims, never the cause.”
“Victims?” I echoed in practically a shout. “You think standing up for my safety makes me a victim? You think I’m going to let you or anyone else in this sport sweep this under the rug again?”
“Mademoiselle Dubois,” Reinhardt warned.
My blood was boiling now. I was hurt and angry and so fucking over this same argument.
I took a step closer to him, shifting my gaze between the other men so they could see I wasn’t bluffing.
“My attorney is already compiling documentation on every ignored report, every falsified submission, every warning that should’ve been acknowledged.
Henric’s smirk wilted. “You’re threatening legal action against your own team?”
“No, I’m taking legal action against the FIA.
For negligence, discrimination, sexism. I could keep going,” I snarled, breathing through another intense cramp.
“I’m promising accountability. For every woman who’s been silenced by this sport.
For every driver who’s been ignored for the sake of what makes the most money. ”
Silence.
“And for the record,” I added coldly, “my attorney is in the process of filing a criminal complaint against Adrian Morel for assault. So thank you, Mr. Reinhardt, for the guidance on that. If Orion or the FIA puts him back on a grid before that investigation is complete, we’ll seek an injunction. Driver safety is not negotiable.”
Silvio didn’t miss a beat. “Ferrari will cooperate as an interested party.”
Reinhardt’s jaw ticked, the first crack in stone. Silvio rounded the group to stand beside me, Callum flanking my other side. Between them, I felt fortified.
“And if Luminis thinks they can strongarm her out of any of this,” Silvio started, “they’ll have Ferrari to answer to.
” His tone turned lethal. “Because from where I’m standing, Henric, this looks like intentional sabotage.
Maybe you didn’t hold the wrench yourself, but you sure as hell looked away while someone else did.
I don’t take lightly to my future driver’s safety being at risk. ”
Henric’s pale face reddened, his eyes darting toward Reinhardt. “You can’t just—”
“I can,” Silvio said, stepping closer, “and I will. I want a full investigation launched by morning. Every engineer, every report, every part inspected. Her attorney will be in the loop at all times. And if I find one irregularity, I’ll drag your ass to the World Council myself.”
Holy fuck.
The World Motor Sport Council. The governing body above the FIA itself.
The one that wrote the safety regulations, that could strip licenses, dissolve contracts, and burn entire teams to ash if they found corruption.
That level of exposure could shake the sport at its foundation.
Ripple effects could be felt across every garage, every paddock, every boardroom.
This wasn’t just about us anymore. It wasn’t even about Silverstone. It was about forcing the world to look.
It was about systematic change.
Reinhardt’s jaw worked, torn between fury and fear. He gave a stiff nod. “Fine. You’ll have it. But if either of you,” he jabbed a finger toward me and Callum, “leak another word of this to the press, your careers are over. Actually, I’ll ensure your goddamn licenses are pulled. Are we clear?”
“Crystal,” Callum said, tone glacial.
Reinhardt stormed out, Henric following with his pride in tatters, Dom and Silvio close behind, still muttering about negligence and cowards.
The flap fell shut.
For a moment, the only sound was the rain and my breath stuttering through the ache still twisting low in my belly.
Callum turned to me, his voice a whisper meant only for me. “You really are reckless.”
I gave a watery laugh. “You love me for it.”
He brushed a knuckle down my cheek, the faintest ghost of a smile touching his lips, eyes glowing with pride and adoration. “You have no idea.”
Our fingers brushed again, the secret signal we’d built together. One we’d both yearned for over all these months when we needed to sneak a singular touch.
We did it.
Phase one: complete.
The plan held. My body didn’t.
Deep inside, beneath the adrenaline and victory, something else throbbed—a quiet, primal warning my body refused to ignore.
I feared something had already begun.