55. Aurélie
My feet carried me before my brain could catch up.
I needed to see him—to know he was okay.
Callum’s face had been burned into my mind since the crash, a haunting image of his still body.
Even now, my hands shook, the tremor betraying the storm I was barely keeping at bay.
I wrung them together to appear somewhat calm, trying to tamper down the building anxiety.
Which seemed ironic given how many times he’d seen me fall apart and loved me through it all.
When I reached his door, it was ajar. The sight sent a jolt through me, and I hesitated, my knuckles hovering just shy of the wood.
“Callum?” I asked softly, pushing the door open. The room was dark, save for the faint glow from a lamp by the bed. But it was empty—neatly made, as if untouched. A suitcase sat on the floor, unzipped but packed.
“Aurélie?” Marco’s voice was softer than I’d ever heard it. I turned to find him a few feet away, concern clouding his usually easygoing expression.
“Hey,” I breathed. “I—I wanted to check on him. Is he…”
“They flew him home earlier tonight,” Marco said gently, stepping closer. “Doctor’s orders. He fought them on it, of course. Said he wanted to see you, but… he was hurting. More than he let on.”
My throat tightened. “I didn’t even know he’d left.”
Marco nodded. “He didn’t want to leave you behind. Said you’d already fought hard enough today. Told me to tell you… he’s proud of you.”
That did me in. Tears burned my eyes, and the day threatened to push me under like a tidal wave.
“He loves you, you know,” he added. “He didn’t say it. He didn’t have to.”
I looked away, blinking hard. “I love him, too. Even when I’m an idiot about it.”
Marco offered a faint smile. “Aren’t we all?” He paused, glancing toward the door. “You don’t have to stay. But if you want to… I’ll wait outside.”
I nodded. “Thank you, Marco.”
“You’re one of us now,” he said simply. “He’s not the only one who gives a shit.”
“Yeah,” I huffed. “I never thanked you for everything you did in Monaco.”
“You don’t need to. As far as I’m concerned, you tried to save us. That’s all the thanks I need.”
Oh. I turned away, unable to meet his gaze. My eyes fell on the empty room, the silence echoing louder than any party downstairs. Marco’s presence lingered for a moment longer before he sighed and stepped back.
“Get some rest, Aurélie,” he told me. “Austria’s coming up quick.”
I hated how exposed I felt under his gaze, as if he could see right through me. But he didn’t say another word, just flashed that damn cocksure smile before he walked away.
I stood there, staring into the void of Callum’s absence. The ache in my chest deepened, a cruel reminder of how close I’d come to losing him. And how much that thought terrified me.
After a few moments, I took a final deep breath and left the room. Marco was in the hallway, just as he’d said. He was texting, and because I was nosey, I glanced down to see it was Callum. My blood immediately boiled.
I hadn’t heard a single word from him. No texts. No call. No voice note. No DM on our private Instagram accounts. Not even a fucking meme.
I had already sent four messages.
Are you okay? Did you go to the hospital?
Please call me when you can. I’m worried about you.
I don’t care if you’re busy. Just let me know you’re going to be okay.
Je t’aime.
All read, all ignored. I assumed he was resting, yet Marco was actively messaging him, getting replies and smirking at whatever Callum had the time and clarity to text him. So he could tell Marco to pass a message along to me but couldn’t take the time to tell me it himself?
We parted ways after he almost died and then he went off to defend me to the stewards. After everything— all the ways he’d shown up for me, forced me out of my comfort zone and made me fall for him—and he suddenly wanted to shut me out?
Oh, hell no. He didn’t get that kind of space from me.
I loved this man with my entire soul, and that was why I would chase him to the ends of the earth. He would soon understand all it meant to love me.
We’d spent the last three weeks dancing around our PR teams’ plan to keep us apart.
Our last night in Monaco, he’d kissed me like I wasgravityand he was finally done floating.
His hands tangled in my hair, his breath in my mouth, his body pressed to mine like we weren’t on borrowed time.
As if he’d already chosen me, and it was just a matter of saying it out loud to the world.
He’d kissed me with a kind of hunger that didn’t ask for permission.
Made love to me like he already knew every way I was going to hurt him, and chose it anyway.
He’d looked at me like I was a prayer and he was scared of what I meant to him.
All in front of that mirror while we were bathed in moonlight, as if it wasn’t the most romantic moment in my entire goddamn life.
I would not let our last memories together be that magical night and a nearly life-ending crash.
I blinked once. Twice. My nails dug into the palm of my hand.
My heart twisted and hardened. I wasn’t na?ve.
I knew I’d let Callum in too far, too fast. Knew I’d built rooms inside myself just to house the things I wanted to say to him and didn’t always know how to.
I’d given him pieces of me I hadn’t given anyone .
I had let himseeme, touch me, worship me in ways no one ever had.
Maybe something had gone wrong. Maybe it was worse than I thought, and he didn’t know how to tell me. The thought clawed at my insides—but even that didn’t explain the silence.
And now he was choosing silence?
No fucking way.
I thought he was dead. He didn’t get to do this . He had no right.
He’d begged me to let him in. Begged me to stop running. Promised me he’d never turn away when it mattered.
And now he was choosing everyone but me.
I didn’t need to cry. I didn’t need to beg.
I needed a flight.
I pivoted, turned on my heel so fast Marco didn’t even see me pass.
Back in my hotel room, I threw my suitcase open like I was loading a weapon.
Each item I shoved in felt like armor. My black blazer.
A pink jumper I hadn’t worn yet. The lipstick he said he liked—the one he smudged when he kissed me as if he wanted to wear me.
I’d brought it all because we were both ready to say fuck it and close the distance our teams were putting between us.
Within thirty minutes, I had a first-class ticket from Montreal to Monaco.
He was on his cushy private jet, probably sipping something expensive with his team and texting Marco about tire degradation. I was flying commercial, but that wasn’t the difference. The difference was that I was done waiting.
He wanted me loud? Good. He could hear me from ten thousand feet in the air just like the rest of the world would.