Chapter 224 Callum
callum
Some men chase glory. Mine lets it kneel for him. –Auri
Chaos. Wet conditions. Nearly half the grid in the wall.
Baku had always been a knife fight in the rain—no room, no mercy, no forgiveness. Cars snapped sideways, barriers swallowed mistakes whole, radios crackled with weather updates and thinly-veiled concern. It was madness.
I thrived in madness.
I won. Again.
By the time I climbed out of the car, soaked and shaking, the whispers had already started. Records. History. Numbers that would land me in the Hall of Fame. I didn’t chase them carefully—I chased them the only way I knew how.
All in and flat out.
Auri survived it. P6. Smart, controlled, stubborn as hell. She called it “damage limitation” over post-race drinks, scowling into her glass like Baku had personally insulted her pace.
I didn’t argue. I just tipped my drink in her direction, pride curling warm in my chest, then leaned in and pressed a kiss to her temple.
“You’ll learn to love the carnage,” I murmured.
She huffed, softening despite herself, fingers hooking into the waistband of my jeans. “Ouais, maybe,” she said. “But not as much as I love you, mon mari.”
And somehow, in the middle of the most violent race of the season, that felt like the real win.