Chapter 33
Spiral of despair
Violet
The crash happens in real time, but my brain processes it in slow motion.
William's car jerks violently on the feed, then spins.
One moment, it's whole, the next—shattered.
Parts flying. The monocoque—the part cradling his body—separates completely.
Then the broadcast feed cuts away, refusing to show more.
No movement. Nothing. My throat closes. The world around me recedes, sounds fading to a distant buzz as I stare at the blank screen, willing it to show me something—anything—that tells me he's alive.
"Stop showing us the fucking celebrities pretending they care! Show us the tunnel," I whisper, then realize I'm shouting. "SHOW US THE FUCKING TUNNEL!"
But the broadcast director has made a decision. No footage. Too graphic. Too uncertain. They've cut to aerial shots of Monaco's harbor instead—blue water, pristine yachts, obscene luxury—while William might be dying.
I fucking hate Monaco.
The garage erupts around me. Some people frozen in shock. Others crying. Johnson sprints toward the FIA officials, demanding information. Maya collapses into a chair, hands covering her mouth. Tom hunches over the radio system, desperately calling William's name again and again.
I stay rooted, eyes locked on the monitors. I dig my fingers into the edge of the strategy table, knuckles white. The pressure in my chest builds with each passing second.
"G-forces..." I murmur, calculations spinning through my brain unbidden.
The monocoque separating is what keeps replaying in my mind. That carbon fiber cocoon is supposed to stay intact, to protect him. I've seen crashes where cars disintegrate around the driver cell, leaving the driver shaken but alive. But this—the way it tore away—this isn't normal.
No one survives that. No one.
My legs give out. I drop into the chair behind me, elbows landing hard on the table. The pain barely registers. My head falls into my hands, and suddenly, I'm sobbing—deep, guttural sounds I barely recognize as my own. My body heaves with each breath.
"No, no, no..."
I repeat it like a mantra, like if I say it enough times, I can rewind time. Stop this from happening. Keep him safe in his bed this morning instead of letting him leave for the race.
Last night floods back—his voice, his touch, his promises. His smile when he called me his girlfriend. The way he'd looked at me this morning, so full of life, of excitement. All of it potentially gone in one horrible, violent instant.
"William," I whisper his name through trembling lips. "Please."
A strong hand lands on my shoulder. Belforte. His face is ashen beneath his tan, eyes dark with concern.
"Violet," he says gently.
"He's dead." The words tear from my throat. "He has to be. You saw it. The cockpit—it—"
"We don't know that." His voice is steady, an anchor I desperately need. "These cars are designed to take impacts that would've been fatal ten years ago."
"Not like that." I shake my head violently. "Not when the monocoque gets thrown like a fucking toy. He's gone. He's—"
My voice breaks completely. I cover my face, ashamed of my weakness, of breaking down in front of the team. But I can't stop. Can't breathe. Can't think past the image of William's shattered car.
Across the garage, Blake approaches Tom, his movements stiff with tension. "Any response on the radio?"
Tom shakes his head, removing his headset with shaky hands. "Nothing. All electronics stopped working the moment he reported the failure in the tunnel. It was like the entire system just... died."
Electronics failure. The words penetrate my fog of grief.
Something about that sticks—wrong and discordant.
We'd checked everything. Multiple times.
After the FIA's random inspection yesterday, Johnson had gone over William's car with obsessive attention to detail—without touching anything, because we'd get in trouble.
"That can't be right," I mumble, more to myself than anyone else.
Belforte crouches beside me, his imposing frame somehow gentle now. "Violet, listen to me. Racing has risks, we all know that. But F1 has come so far with safety. The halo, the survival cell design, the—"
"This is different," I interrupt, sudden anger flaring through my grief. "Did you see that impact? The way his car just... came apart? That's not normal, Silas. Something's very wrong."
"I understand you're scared—"
"Scared?" I laugh, the sound broken and wild. "I'm fucking terrified. He's everything to me, and I just watched him..." I can't finish.
Belforte takes my hand, his massive palm dwarfing mine. "He's a fighter, Violet. Let's stay positive until we know anything, okay? Don't count him out."
I want to believe him. Want to grab onto that hope with both hands.
"They wouldn't cut the feed if it wasn't bad," I whisper.
"They always cut away during serious incidents. It's protocol." But doubt shadows his eyes. He saw what I saw.
Blake approaches, his face drawn with tension. "Medical team is at the scene. That's all we know for now. The race is red-flagged."
I nod mechanically, my body moving on autopilot while my mind remains trapped in that tunnel with William.
I should be doing something—coordinating with medical staff, speaking to FIA officials, checking on EJ, who's still out there, waiting for the restart signal.
I'm the Team Principal. I have responsibilities.
But I can't move. Can't think past the crushing fear that the man I love is gone.
The tears won't stop. My chest heaves with sobs I can't control. This is unprofessional, inappropriate, beneath the standards I've set for myself. But I don't care. Nothing matters except William's safety.
"I need to know if he's alive," I choke out.
"We're trying to get information," Blake assures me, his voice gentle. "The medical team is with him now."
"And if he's..." I can't say the word.
Belforte squeezes my shoulder. "Don't go there. Not yet. Have more faith in him."
But I'm already there—picturing a world without William's smile, his laughter, his unwavering support.
A world where I finally allowed myself to love someone completely, only to lose him the very next day.
The cruelty of it is breathtaking. Why does it seem like every time I have something special, that is taken away from me? First my Dad, then my Mom, now…
"I can't do this," I whisper, hands trembling violently. "I can't lose him."
"You won't," Belforte says with certainty I can't understand. "Violet, look at me."
I raise my eyes to his, vision blurred with tears.
"He's alive until we hear otherwise," he states firmly. "And we fight for him. We stay strong for him. That's what he would do for you."
He's right, and it's the only thing that penetrates my spiral of despair. William would never give up on me. Never.