Chapter 221 Aurélie #2
“What?” he teased. “You thought I wouldn’t notice? Please. I see everything.” Then, lowering his voice just slightly, “If you’re planning to rock the boat today, you’ve got an ally on the inside.”
My pulse thundered.
And now, this press conference wasn’t just announcing his retirement. It was announcing a new world. Our world.
Just a couple of speed demons who loved harder than they crashed and changed the entire goddamn grid.
And now I was ready to walk into this press conference hand-in-hand with my husband—and blow the whole place wide open.
The rumble of the press room was a living thing—buzzing, restless, hungry—and it seeped through the backstage walls like electricity searching for somewhere to strike.
Cal and I stood just out of sight, tucked in the narrow hallway where the hum of lights mixed with the muted thunder of journalists gathering in anticipation.
I watched him adjust the cuff of his jacket. He tugged at the fabric as if preparing to slip the band beneath it again, but my hand shot out before he could.
“No,” I whispered, curling my fingers around his wrist. “We’re not hiding this today.”
He stilled and looked at me curiously, amusement on his features as he assessed where I was going with this.
Clever man, knowing his wife’s tricks.
And when he looked at me, I felt that familiar, soul-deep charge that existed only between the two of us. Greece had wrapped us up in a world made of sunlight and salt, and even here, even now, that softness clung to us like a second skin.
“Auri…” His voice was low, unsure in a way that only I ever got to hear. “You sure?”
I stepped into his space until his breath mingled with mine.
“They tried to silence us,” I murmured. “They tried to break us. They tried to make us small.” My thumb brushed over the band on his finger, warm from his skin and the weight of everything it meant. “But we did exactly what we said we would. We changed the game.”
He swallowed, chest rising with a slow, heavy inhale.
I held his gaze. “Let the full weight of it hit them,” I whispered. “We aren’t going anywhere, mon champion.”
A slow, devastating smile curved across his lips, the kind that made my knees weaken because it was the smile he only ever gave me—half awe, half possession, all love. Ugh. And that damn dimple. The man was a walking sin.
Cal slid his hand into mine, weaving our fingers together like he never intended to let go again. And just like that, the world settled into place.
We stepped toward the doors just as the coordinator gave the cue.
And the moment they swung open, time stretched—silk-slow, honey-thick—pulling us into the flood of lights.
We walked in together, hand in unmistakable hand, rings bared. No hesitation, no hiding.
A murmur rippled through the audience like a wave hitting shore, building and building until the air vibrated with a stunned, rising awareness.
Callum Fraser did not enter press rooms looking like a man who had already won the race. He did not glow, and he certainly did not ever look pleased to be interviewing.
But today he did, and he did it with me.
The ruthless, cold, calculated man I met at the beginning of the season was still there, but his happiness bled through it all.
We reached the table prepared for us, and instead of dropping my hand, he lifted it to press a lingering kiss to my knuckles—a gesture so intimate it stole the breath from the entire room. His wedding band caught the stage lights in a bright, undeniable gleam.
Whispers rose, gasps, murmurs that turned into a chaotic symphony of disbelief.
We sat together, shoulders brushing in the way only two people who shared a bed—and a life—could.
The moderator cleared his throat, flustered, glancing between us both. “Ah—right. Thank you both for joining us. We’ll begin with the scheduled questions and then open the floor.”
Cal leaned forward slightly, his voice smooth and warm enough to settle even the most frantic press in the room. “Of course,” he said. “We’re happy to be here.”
We.
For some reason, that made me giddy. The thought that I didn’t have to sit here representing myself as a lone driver fighting a system with a team that didn’t listen to a damn thing until I made them listen… was solace enough.
The crowd quieted, pitching forward like they’d miss a beat if they didn’t get closer. Every camera lens felt like an eye waiting to catch history in the making.
The moderator began with a neutral prompt. “Callum, there have been rumors circulating about a major announcement regarding your future. Is there anything you’d like to address?”
Cal exhaled, long and easy, like the air had been trapped inside him for far too long and he was finally letting it go.
“Well,” he said, glancing at me first, and instead of the nerves I expected, he gave me a lazy grin. He was ready. “I suppose there’s no reason to drag it out.”
The room stilled, poised at the edge.
He turned back to the press, posture steady, voice stronger than I’d ever heard it. “This will be my final season in Formula 1 as a driver.”
The sound died for one second, two, three—then came back all at once. We were bombarded with shouts, questions, disbelief tumbling over itself in a frenzy.
But Cal waited until the noise softened again, his thumb tracing the back of my hand in calming, almost unconscious circles.
“I’m not leaving the sport,” he continued. “Only changing my role.” He let a small, satisfied smile appear. “Next year, I’ll be stepping into ownership as part of Speed Demons Racing, which meant I had to retire from racing.”
A stunned uproar. I could hear the breaking of a hundred headlines at once. The grid was shifting beneath the world’s feet, but none of it compared to what came next.
“I always knew the day would come. I never knew how or what it would look like.” Callum’s expression softened—not for the crowd, but for me. For us. “And the truth is, I didn’t understand what my future could look like until I found something worth slowing down for.”
My heart lodged itself in my throat.
This wasn’t in the original plan for today. This wasn’t rehearsed. This wasn’t safe.
This was him. Raw, unfiltered, and unbelievably in love.
He lifted our joined hands onto the table. “We got married in Greece over summer break,” he told the world gently—proudly. “And it was the easiest decision of my life. Now it’s my time to step back and watch someone else lead the grid.”
There was a moment of silence so complete it felt holy.
And then the world broke open. Flashbulbs detonated. Reporters rose to their feet. Shouts filled the air—questions, cheers, a few stunned curses from the front row.
But all of it blurred, fell away, dissolved into something distant and weightless as Cal leaned in until his shoulder pressed fully into mine.
“We’re not hiding anymore,” he said under the chaos, so softly only I could hear.
I tilted my head toward him. “Good,” I whispered. “They can just keep watching.”
His answering smile was pure sunlight.
I turned to the microphone, lifting it slowly, letting the room fall quiet as they realized I was about to speak. “We will not be answering questions regarding the wedding or anything pertaining to our marriage. Those are private details that will be shared when, and if, we are ready.”
The moderator looked like he was about to protest.
“This interview has an agenda, and we’d like to return to that,” I continued, then just for shits and giggles, added, “And can we please correct my name on all of the advertising moving forward? There seems to be an incorrect spelling.”
“I–ah, yes, one moment,” the moderator said, scrambling to grab his notepad before rising to rush toward me, pen and paper in hand. “You can put the correct spelling here. I’m so sorry about that.”
Cal chuckled, because he knew how diabolical I was being. I quickly scribbled down my name on the pad and handed it back. The moderator glanced down, then burst out laughing.
Zandvoort Media Day feat. Callum Fraser + Aurélie Dubois Fraser
The moderator took his seat again, looking much more relaxed than the start. Maybe it was because Cal and I were oozing a kind of joy that wasn’t often seen in the paddock.
Which was a damn shame, because I couldn’t imagine my life without it now.
I reached over and intertwined our fingers again.
“For the first time,” I said into the microphone, “we get to win together. Fraser versus Fraser is both a rivalry and a romance story at the end of it all.”
And the room erupted—not in scandal, not in speculation, but in something that sounded suspiciously like celebration.
Callum squeezed my hand.
I squeezed back.
No, we were never just a rivalry, and it wasn’t just about redemption for the both of us. It was a revolution. And revolutions, as they all just learned, are always better led in pairs.
The world had tried to burn us, but we were still here. We were still here. Still rising. Still rewriting the sport.
Two drivers. Two fighters. Two people who refused to stay small.
And for the first time, the entire grid understood something they should’ve seen all along:
We weren’t entering the future.
We were shaping it.
Together.