49. Aurélie #2
They hesitated and looked at each other before nodding and stepping back. Callum turned his head toward me, eyes burning despite the clear exhaustion. I squeezed his hand, trying to offer reassurance, though whether it was for him or me, I wasn’t sure.
“I don’t like seeing you cry, mon c?ur.”
I wiped my sleeve across my face, taking tears and snot with it. Not like he hadn’t seen me like this already, but right now, I was being televised to the world. We weren’t tucked away in our little private corner of the world.
“You don’t know what I just went through,” I admitted.
He smiled sadly. “Listen to me, baby. You need to get back in the car and finish the race.”
“Are you crazy? No,” I snapped, appalled he would even suggest that. I was only going to retire my fucking car, not finish the goddamn race. “No. Absolutely fucking not. I’m staying right here, by your side. Besides, I got out . I broke protocol. They’ll disqualify me.”
“I’ll handle the FIA,” he said, quiet but certain and so strained my heart ached.
“You’re insane. You just nearly died , Callum!”
“And you’re not going to waste what we’ve both fought for.”
“I don’t care about the fucking championship right now!” I shouted, instantly feeling guilty when he flinched. “I care about you ,” I added, more gently.
“And I care about you enough to tell you to get back in that fucking car and finish what you started,” he rasped, voice rough with pain.
“I will not be the reason your momentum stalls. Not when you’ve fought so damn hard to be here.
” I shook my head, tears falling in earnest. “I mean it. You are so close to everything you’ve worked for, and I won’t be the reason you miss it.
Go be the incredible woman—and driver—that you are. ”
I sobbed, dipping my chin to try to hide the uncontrollable emotions as much as I could. “No. Je ne peux pas.” I can’t.
“Goddammit, Aurélie, would you listen to me just this once? Please?”
The medics were getting antsy. I could tell they were itching to whisk Callum away by how they rocked back and forth on their heels, checked their watches, and inched their way closer.
I knew we needed to wrap this up, that he needed to get help, but his grip on my hand tightened to the point of pain.
“You can still win this. Legally. No one touched your car. The race is red flagged.”
“I can’t just leave you like this.”
“You have to. For both of us.”
I stared at him, dumbfounded, throat burning, body trembling. The roar of the world around us fell away. And I hated how right he was.
“D’accord,” I whispered finally, relenting.
My hands cupped his jaw and I kissed him as if I hadn’t just watched his car fold in half and catch on fire. As if we weren’t surrounded by medics and marshals shouting at us to break it up or cameras zooming in on us from every direction. As if this might be the last time—because it almost was.
His breath caught and then he kissed me back, bruised and broken and somehow fucking alive . He smelled like sweat and metal and smoke, but his lips felt like salvation against mine.
When I pulled back, our foreheads touched, and he whispered something as if it was the only thing keeping him conscious.
“I’m okay. Tell her I’m okay.” My brows pulled together in confusion.
“You’re all I thought about. I just needed to get a message out so you’d know.
” The smallest smile cracked through his pain.
Oh, my God. Tears threatened again. “I love you.”
His eyes softened, even as his body trembled. “I know. I love you too.”
I kissed his cheek, his brow, his lips again. “I’ll win for you.”
He nodded, and then said the one thing that could get me to leave.
“Give ‘em hell, love.”
That’s what did it. Not the race. Not the rules. Him.
“Go.” His voice was firmer now.
I sucked in a breath and nodded, stepping back finally and dropping his hand.
I watched the medics usher him into the ambulance while a tractor drove by with his mangled, burned car suspended.
I stood there, feeling smaller than I ever had, and at the same time, a thousand times more determined than when I climbed in my car at the start of the race.
And for the first time all day, I didn’t feel afraid.
I felt unstoppable.
I stormed toward the fence line where the cameras had gathered—paparazzi, sports networks, influencers—all of them pressed in like vultures. The lenses were trained on me already, zoomed in and hungry for drama.
Fine. I’d give them something worth showing.
My feet carried me straight to the barrier, the wall of reporters parting just enough to shove a mic in my face.
“Aurélie, how does it feel watching Callum go airborne like that?”
“You want a quote?” I snapped, pointing an accusatory finger at the cameras, sweat and fury clinging to my skin.
The FIA had no idea who they’d just unleashed.
Callum wanted me to give them hell? They could all fucking watch as I burned this goddamn grid to the ground.
“Then here’s your headline: I warned the FIA this would happen. ”
The crowd stilled. Every camera locked onto me like I’d lit a match.
“I brought them evidence. Audio files. Proof. I told them Adrian Morel was a danger to every single driver on this grid, and they gave him a one-place penalty. One. And now?” My voice cracked, but I didn’t back down.
“Now a man—a four-time world champion—could’ve died.
A man too good for this goddamn world to begin with. ”
A murmur spread behind the cameras. I didn’t care. Let them hear it. Let the whole fucking world hear it. Let the FIA fucking fine me for swearing.
I. Was. Done.
“You all want to know what bravery looks like?” I continued. “It’s Callum Fraser believing the rookie when no one else did. It’s him begging me to finish the race while he bled. And it’s every driver who’s ever been forced to race alongside someone willing to kill just to get ahead.”
I pointed directly at the track. “Adrian Morel shouldn’t have been on this grid today. And the next time the FIA ignores a warning from a woman, I hope they remember what nearly happened in Montreal. Because I won’t fucking let them forget next time.”
I turned, walking away before they could ask a single follow-up question.
The crowd wasn’t cheering anymore.
They were watching. Really watching. For once, maybe finally, they’d start listening too.
I pulled my balaclava and helmet back on, fire igniting in my veins.
Then the crowd cheered again, loud and persistent.
I blocked it out. The cameras wouldn’t show the desperation, the fear in his voice.
They’d spin this into a spectacle—a reckless female rookie ignoring the rules to get to a man. Whatever.
This wasn’t just about finishing the race to me. It was about making a statement.
I climbed back into the cockpit, a new worry settling into my gut.
Leaving my car mid-race was a violation of protocol, and assisting another driver could bring its own repercussions.
Penalties, fines, grid drops. I’d probably handed the FIA a field day on a silver platter.
But none of that mattered. They could penalize me.
If defending— saving —Callum and protecting other drivers from reckless behavior meant facing consequences, I’d gladly face them head-on.
And while I was at it, I’d show that low-life piece of shit Adrian Morel exactly what Aurélie Dubois was made of when the people she cared about got hurt. He had crossed a line—obliterated it, actually—and I wasn’t going to let him get away with it. I didn’t know how yet, but I’d find a way.
God, Ivy was going to have a fucking field day with this.
I could already hear her half reaming me, half praising my performance.
But then she’d craft the perfect narrative, one that would have the internet eating out of the palm of her hand.
She’d spin it just right. Frame me not as the dramatic, rebel rookie, but as the woman who refused to shut up when it mattered most.
She’d protect me, shield me with clever captions, help make them listen. We were a team, she and I. And the relief I felt in not having to smooth things over alone… that thought alone gave me the fire to fight this.
The FIA may be accustomed to turning a blind eye, brushing off reckless driving as “aggressive” and ignoring warning signs. Well, not anymore.
They had brushed me off once before, but they couldn’t ignore this. I’d blow this entire sport up from the inside to make sure of it. If they didn’t want to act, I would, and I didn’t give two fucks if I had to burn every bridge to do it.
Formula 1 was not the level of child’s play, and yet, that’s exactly what they were treating it like.
And I couldn’t fucking wait for a woman to end their careers.