Chapter 69 Aurélie
aurélie
I’d spent years chasing podiums, but right now, all I wanted was to chase her. -Callum
The moment I stepped into my private driver suite—tucked behind the Luminis garage, designed for pre-race focus and post-race comedowns—I let the door swing shut behind me, plunging the space into near darkness.
It wasn’t much more than a glorified dressing room with a small couch, a vanity, a shower, and just enough space to breathe.
But right now, it felt like the only place in the world where I could fall apart without an audience.
I didn’t bother flipping on the lights. I couldn’t face the sterile brightness, not after the day I’d had.
The last thing I wanted was to face was my reflection in the glossy windows or see the hollow version of myself that had walked out of the media pen.
My body felt like a live wire—tense, overstimulated, and fraying at the edges, as if I’d just stepped out of the car mid-lap, adrenaline still flooding my veins with nowhere to go.
My feet moved on autopilot toward the small couch in the corner, my refuge.
I collapsed onto it, the cushions barely soft enough to support the weight of my exhaustion, the scratchy upholstery pressing against my skin, grounding me.
But it wasn’t enough. A headache pulsed at my temples, the dull ache growing sharper with every shallow breath I took.
Muffled voices carried through the thin walls, rising and falling from the mechanics and engineers. I recognized their tones—familiar, usually professional—but something was different now. There was laughter, the kind that had my ears straining to hear.
“She’s been trending all day. Have you seen the videos of her stretching in the gym?”
“Oh, yeah,” another voice chimed in, snickering. “Back arched, sweat dripping. I didn’t think Dubois had that in her.”
“She’s got it all right,” someone else added, low and suggestive. “Never really noticed before, but she’s got a hell of a body under that suit. Maybe if she put more effort into racing instead of… whatever that was, we wouldn’t be mid-pack.”
“Come on, now. She’s been on the podium. I’d just like to see her on top of me rather than on top of there, you know?”
The laughter grew louder, and my throat tightened until I could barely breathe.
My team—the people who were supposed to have my back, to see me as a driver—were dissecting me like I was nothing more than a spectacle.
A body. A joke. All from some stupid fucking TikTok videos.
It was absurd, humiliating. The kind of thing that went viral not because of my skill or effort, but because someone thought my body was fair game for public consumption.
“She’s probably loving it,” the first voice said. “All that attention. You know how women are—”
I bolted upright, my chest heaving. The tears burned hotter, my breathing ragged as I pressed my fists into my thighs. They didn’t know I could hear them. That was the worst part. This was their truth, laid bare in a space they thought was safe.
They didn’t see me as their equal. They didn’t respect me. They celebrated me when I brought points and laughed about me when I wasn’t in the room.
I stumbled to the mini fridge, my hands shaking as I grabbed a water bottle and pressed it to my forehead, trying to calm the storm inside me.
But the damage was done. Their words echoed in my head, louder and crueler with each repetition.
My fight at the press conference, the speech, the kiss—it was all for nothing if this was how my own team saw me.
Luminis was a joke. Between them wanting to replace me despite battling for third in the World Driver’s Championship—WDC—and now this? Fuck them all if that was what they chose to latch on to—not the speech, not the stand I’d taken, but some voyeuristic clip taken out of context.
I sank back onto the couch, clutching the water bottle to my chest as if it could hold me together. The darkness pressed in around me, and I felt completely, utterly alone.
Tears burned at the back of my eyes, and I let them fall, hot and relentless, streaking down my face. I didn’t bother wiping them away, because what was the point?
The sound of my own sobs filled the room, harsh and guttural, making my head throb worse.
I curled into myself on the couch, as though I could fold away from the weight of their judgment, their dismissal.
The fight I’d shown earlier—the defiance and control—felt like it had been wrung out of me, leaving only the broken pieces behind.
Idon’t know how long I stayed there, lost in the darkness, before I pulled myself upright and reached for my phone.
Its light was harsh against the shadows, and I squinted, barely able to make out the notifications cascading down the screen.
My eyes were tired and strained, as if I’d been blinking against the sun for hours.
My name was everywhere. #AurelieStandsUp had taken over social media, and videos of my speech were being shared at breakneck speed. The comments flooded in—some supportive, others not.
@f1fangirl25: You don’t have to be a fan of racing to respect what Aurélie did today. Standing up for women in a male-dominated sport? That’s badass.
A small smile crept across my face, bittersweet but genuine. My words had meant something to someone. They’d sparked a conversation, a movement even, far beyond the paddock. For the first time since stepping off the stage, I felt a flicker of pride.
But it didn’t last.
@trollololol69: Classic move from a true man-eater. Distraction tactics in the championship battle by kissing Fraser’s teammate. Dude clearly has feelings for her, and she’s fucking with his head. Low blow.
@therealman47 replying to @trollololol69: Using her looks to distract from the fact she can’t compete. Kissing Marco? Pathetic.
@thef2gridfandom replying to @therealman47: She was a whore in F2 too. This isn’t news.
@motorsportsopinions replying to @therealman47: She should focus on her driving instead of making TikToks
The smile faded, and I bit the inside of my cheek. My finger hovered over the keyboard, itching to respond, but I stopped myself. Engaging would only validate their nonsense.
Let them speculate. I was tired of defending myself.
“Distraction tactics,” I muttered to the empty room, a bitter laugh escaping me. As if my stand had been some calculated move. The irony wasn’t lost on me—Callum had been distracted, all right. His expression had been a mix of shock, horror, and something else I couldn’t quite name. Maybe jealousy.
The memory of him in that moment stirred something in me.
I wasn’t ready to confront those emotions just yet.
Instead, I sank deeper into the couch, the soft hum of the air conditioner the only sound in the room.
My heart ached, and my body was heavy with exhaustion.
The fight wasn’t over. It would never be over.
On the track, everything made sense—split-second decisions, the settings of the car, the fight for every tenth of a second. Out here, in the real world, I was spinning out with no grip to hold me steady.
The creak of the door startled me, and I nearly dropped my phone. My head snapped up, heart racing as Callum stepped inside, hesitating for only a second. He didn’t bother to knock.
“Fraser,” I started, my voice cracking as I sat up straighter, trying to compose myself. I wished I’d wiped my tears earlier, because now I probably looked like a mess—and not the fun kind—if the tacky residue of dried tears in my makeup were any indication. “What are you doing here?”
He closed the door behind him, his gaze fixed on mine, intense and unrelenting. His tall frame cast a shadow over the dimly lit space. “Looking for you,” he said simply, his tone unreadable. “You just… went MIA after the media pen.”
“I needed space,” I replied, my tone sharper than intended. I looked away, focusing on the darkened room, anything to avoid him. “Not that it’s any of your concern.”
The reality was, more than anything that had happened today, his rejection hurt the most.
“Everything about today is my concern,” Callum countered, his voice firm but not unkind.
“You kissed Marco in front of the world, then you gave a speech that’s already being picked apart by every pundit out there.
You threw my name out there without consulting me, and now you’re hiding in the dark like none of it happened. ”
My brows pulled together. “Pundit?” I tested the word, not knowing the translation.
He huffed out a laugh. “It’s like an expert.”
“Ah.” I picked at the scratchy material of the couch. “I’m not hiding. I’m… processing.”
“Processing,” he echoed, crossing his arms. “Right. And what exactly are you processing, Auri? The fallout from your stunt, or the fact that it’s working?”
“Working?” I repeated, my voice rising as I sprung up from the couch. “You think this was some kind of strategy? Some pre-meditated plan? I didn’t—” My words faltered, the tears threatening again.
Callum’s expression softened. “Aurélie,” he said quietly, stepping closer. “Talk to me. What’s really going on?”
I swallowed hard, shaking my head. “You wouldn’t get it.”
“Try me,” he pressed.
For a moment, I considered telling him about the mechanics, the comments, my ex.
How I felt like a stranger in my own skin, reduced to an object by the very people I’d fought to stand alongside.
How the only time I felt alive these days was either going breakneck speeds in a car, or when I was in bed with him, when he was inside me, when his hands were on my skin, when I felt wanted—not watched. But the words wouldn’t come.
Instead, I whispered, “I’m tired, Callum. Just… go. You don’t need to see me like this.”
“Tough shit. I’m not leaving you like this.”
I groaned in frustration and covered my face with my hands. “Callum—”
He stepped closer, voice gentler now. “I thought we were friends, remember? Friends with… unconventional strings attached.”
That got my attention. I peeked at him through my fingers, voice dry. “This is the unconventional part?”
He shrugged, lips twitching. “No, this is the friend part.” He said the word with something akin to disgust, but there was a note of teasing in his eyes. My heart lurched, and I realized just how much I cared about him, and how, until this moment, I hadn’t realized I needed his presence.
He grabbed my wrists to pull my hands away. I let him, because his touch felt nice. Solid, warm, as if the world wasn’t unraveling beneath me. “You’re going to burn out. You’ve got to talk to someone about what’s going on.”
“Better to burn out than fade away,” I mumbled, the deflection automatic. But the look on his face stopped me cold. There was no humor in his eyes, only concern. Real, unguarded concern.
“I mean, most people skip the press scandal and emotional trauma part of casual hookups. If you wanted me alone this badly, all you had to do was ask. I would’ve made it happen in a heartbeat.”
Despite myself, I let out a soft laugh. It was shaky, but real. He knew I needed to laugh rather than break down. “Yeah, well… we never did anything conventionally, did we?”
He shook his head slowly, gaze softening in that way that made it hard to breathe. “No. We didn’t. And maybe that’s why I can’t walk away from this. From you.”
I swallowed hard, the tears threatening again, burning at the back of my throat.
“I don’t want to walk away from you,” I whispered, voice splintering.
“God, I don’t. But I don’t know how to stay without it destroying everything I’ve worked for.
Without it destroying me.” My lips trembled, and I blinked hard, forcing the tears back.
“It’s just…” I shook my head, a bitter laugh escaping.
“Forget it. You don’t get it, Callum. You can’t.
None of you can. Not when you’ve always been allowed to want everything. ”
“Then make me understand,” he murmured, stepping closer. “Help me understand.”
The vulnerability in his voice unraveled me. I opened my mouth to speak, but the words wouldn’t come.
“You said ‘maybe in Monaco,’ and now you’re standing in front of me with literal tears staining your cheeks and needing someone by your side more than ever. I have no idea how to help. Let me help. Let me be here for you.”
Instead, I shook my head, retreating back to the couch and pulling my knees to my chest. Callum didn’t press further.
He didn’t leave, either. He sat down in the chair across from me, silent and steady, his presence filling the room with a quiet understanding I hadn’t expected.
For a moment, the sight of him—steady, unshaken—was almost jarring against the chaos in my head like spotting a yellow flag mid-spin.
Too late to stop but too stubborn to steer away.
He didn’t belong in this mess, yet here he was, fighting to stay close to me. And now the silence didn’t feel empty. It felt like maybe I wasn’t entirely alone.