Chapter Eleven
Lily
My phone buzzed on the table beside my helmet, pulling me from the data analysis Mark had sent over. I glanced at the clock: still half an hour before debrief.
Unknown:
matters. Tomorrow you’ll learn what happens when you disappoint the
wrong people.
I stared at the message, my thumb hovering over the screen. The words blurred slightly as I read them again, trying to convince myself it was just another troll, just another angry fan hiding behind anonymity.
Before I could process it, my phone buzzed again—a notification from my Instagram page. A DM from an account I didn’t recognize. No profile picture, just a string of random numbers and letters for a username.
The same message.
My heart kicked against my ribs. The air in the small driver’s room suddenly felt thinner, the walls closer. I quickly took screenshots of both the text and the DM before deleting them.
As if that would make it go away. As if pretending it didn’t exist would keep it from being real.
I set the phone face down on the table, staring at my helmet instead. The Rennen chrome gleamed under the fluorescent lights, my number staring back at me like a reminder of everything I had to lose.
A knock on the door made me jump, my hand flying to my chest.
“Come in,” I called, my voice steadier than I felt.
Ollie stepped through, a bouquet of pink roses in hand. Not the threatening kind with a note tucked inside, just flowers. Simple, elegant.
“Thought you could use these after qualifying,” he said, setting them on the table beside my helmet. I gave them a quick once-over.
No note.
“Thank you.” I stood, smoothing down my team shirt. “You didn’t have to.”
“I wanted to.” He leaned against the doorframe, hands in his pockets. “P2’s nothing to scoff at. And honestly, you drove brilliantly. You were so fast at the end.”
Heat crept up my neck. “Henri still got pole.”
Ollie crossed the room before taking a seat on the sofa next to me. “You’ll get him tomorrow. I know you will.”
I wanted to believe him, but P2 may as well have been P20 in my mind.
There was no passing in Monaco, especially not Henri.
The Monegasque driver had taken pole by two-tenths.
He’d grown up on these streets, and today the racing Gods had blessed him with what he’d worked so hard for.
I should’ve been proud, but instead, disappointment sat heavy.
Ollie watched me, a sweet smile on his face, like he really believed I could pass Henri. It warmed my heart.
“I’m sorry I’ve been rubbish at texting back,” I said, redirecting the conversation. “Since the engagement party, it’s been nonstop. Testing, media, sponsorship meetings—”
“You don’t have to apologize.” His grin was easy. “I get it. You’re fighting for a championship. I’m just glad I get to see you at all.”
The kindness in his voice made my chest tighten. He’d been nothing but patient, nothing but understanding, even when the tabloids had splashed Henri’s face across headlines with mine.
“Look, about Montreal…” Ollie shifted his weight, suddenly awkward. “With Henri. I just wanted to check in…” I could see what he was fishing for. Why had Henri been there?
“We were arguing, that’s all.” The words came automatically. Not entirely untrue. Ollie and I weren’t dating—I didn’t need to justify myself, even if I felt a bit guilty.
“Right.” He nodded, shifting his weight from one side to another.
He had something else he wanted to say. “Good.” He paused, then cleared his throat.
“You know, I was thinking, if it would help take some of the pressure off, I still have that photo the server took of us at dinner in Montreal. If it’s helpful, I’m happy to post it. You know, show people you’re not—”
“No.” The word probably came out faster than it should have, but something about that option gave me immediate pause.
Ollie blinked, surprised.
“I mean…” I softened my tone, forcing a smile. “I appreciate the offer, really. But I don’t think using our dinner for PR is the right move.”
Something about weaponizing a date—even a semi-arranged one—felt wrong. Like turning something real into strategy. Something my mother would do. Plus, I didn’t really want people to think I was dating Ollie either.
I wasn’t actually dating anyone.
“Of course.” Ollie recovered quickly, that easy smile back in place. “No problem at all. Just thought I’d offer.”
“Thank you, though. For thinking of me.”
“Always.”
My shoulders relaxed. “That was thoughtful. Really.”
Ollie shrugged, but happiness softened his features. “Just trying to help however I can.”
I studied him, the genuine concern in his expression, the way he just came to bring me flowers and check in. No ulterior motive written across his face, no calculation. Just kindness. Maybe I’d been too quick to dismiss his offer.
Before either of us could say any more, the door swung open without warning. My mother swept in like she owned the place, tailored blazer at attention.
“Darling, you’re slouching again— Oh!” She stopped short, eyes landing on Ollie. Her expression transformed, ice melting into warmth. “Oliver. What a lovely surprise.”
“Mrs. Blackwood.” Ollie straightened, suddenly more formal. “Good to see you again.”
“The pleasure’s mine.” She glanced between us, assessing. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”
“Not at all,” Ollie said smoothly. “I was just leaving. Big day tomorrow.”
He squeezed my hand, leaving a quick peck on my cheek as he passed. “Good luck out there.”
“Thanks.”
My mother’s gaze followed him as he left, always calculating. “Such a charming young man,” she said. The dim light of my tablet turned on when I touched it, opting to turn back to my analysis.
I didn’t bother looking up from my screen.
“Why do you seem so put out?” She made a show of closing the door behind her, muffling the noise outside.
“I qualified second in Monaco. Allow me a brief wallow before you start whatever lecture you’ve come to share.”
“Do you have any idea how much work it’s taken to salvage your reputation this week?” Her voice carried that familiar edge of barely contained frustration—the one that had followed me through countless junior karting championships and into Formula 1.
“I don’t control the tabloids.” I finally set my tablet aside, meeting her gaze. It was a weak defense—one we both knew wouldn’t hold water.
“But you can control your behavior.” She adjusted the cuff of her blazer. “You’ve embarrassed Rennen, me, and yourself. And now we’re walking into a meeting where they’ll decide how much of your contract survives the season.”
That was perhaps a bit extreme on her part, but she’d made her point.
They weren’t going to throw me out for being seen with Henri, and yet it didn’t look good either.
I wasn’t sure how much Felix cared about the morality clause itself, but I knew he’d care that I’d been seen with a Hermes driver.
That was going to be a sticking point for him.
“This is exactly what I was talking about when we discussed the contract last year. Sponsors care about your image, and this is the exact opposite of what we need right now.” She set down her coffee cup with a deliberate thump, as if that would further make her point.
“I cannot believe you would jeopardize your contract this way, Lily.”
“Jeopardize?” I rubbed my temples as I stared at the ground. “Good grief, it was five minutes.”
“At one in the morning?” She took a seat on the couch before immediately standing again, pacing the room. “The male drivers might be able to get away with a playboy vibe, but under no circumstances is that going to work for you. I mean, what were you thinking?”
“Clearly, I wasn’t thinking about how it would photograph.
Next time Henri follows me to my room uninvited, I’ll make sure to check the paparazzi’s schedule first,” I shot back, letting a wry smile tug at the corner of my mouth despite the gravity of the situation.
The sarcasm rolled off my tongue easily, my default defense mechanism when cornered.
I knew I was being flippant, but honestly, what did she expect me to say? That I’d carefully orchestrated some master plan to destroy my reputation in the span of two days?
“This isn’t a joke, Lillian. Felix called me this morning, and now we’re about to be dragged in front of both him and the President of Rennen.” Her finger snapped in front of my face, yanking my focus back toward her. She looked like a toddler ready to scream at any moment.
“You cannot afford this kind of mistake. You’re not a man, Lily. You don’t get the privilege of indiscretions like they do.”
There it was, the familiar sermon. I stopped listening at “you’re not a man.” As if this were some shock for me. Like I hadn’t spent my entire life realizing this.
For a moment, I was thrown back to my conversation with Georgia from three seasons ago, the one where I’d told her no one really cared about our sex lives or who we dated. She’d told me I was dreaming, that there would always be a double standard.
I was young and na?ve then. It turned out everyone loved a bit of gossip, and what was more salacious than the top two rivals dating each other?
“You’ve made your point,” I said finally, letting my thumb run over a patch on my racing suit that held a few different sponsor logos. My mother wasn’t entirely wrong: I’d been careless. And now everyone, from my sponsors to team leadership to the tabloids, had opinions about my private life.
“Wait.” The word came out quieter than I intended.
My mother paused mid-pace, eyebrow arched.
“Ollie actually offered something. Earlier.”
“What kind of something?”
I picked at a loose thread on my race suit. “He has a photo of us from our dinner in Montreal. Ollie said if it would help with the situation, he’d be willing to post it. You know, show people that I’m…”
“Dating him instead of Henri Dubois?” my mother finished, her expression sharpening with interest.
“No, he didn’t say that, because we aren’t dating. It’s more like… it would relieve some speculation on me and Henri, right?”