Chapter 221 Aurélie
aurélie
If the world ended tomorrow, I’d spend my last breath telling her the deepest truth my soul knew: ‘You were never the risk. You were the reason.’ –Cal
Cal and I had barely been apart since Greece as we worked to split our belongings between properties.
We flew to Zandvoort together, dodged cameras in sunglasses and hoodies, kept our rings hidden beneath sleeves and clever body language.
We could’ve just taken them off, but it felt like a betrayal in its own way.
We were still newlyweds, and declaring each other publicly was practically a right of passage.
Being back in the paddock was surreal. Cal and I had existed in our bliss bubble for weeks now, but we’d been building a private life since well before that. To be back in the spotlight felt like a huge invasion of privacy after the luxury of summer break.
We arrived early this morning to get ahead of the crowds, both of us quiet and in our heads. Leaving behind the version of us that was solely wrapped up in each other, without a single care in the world, was bittersweet. But it was also exciting thinking about what was to come.
I glanced up at Cal as we strolled down the back hallways, hand-in-hand, and grinned. My husband wore his calm, calculated mask that revealed nothing that he felt. But only I saw the primal man underneath that.
We both still bore bruises from the animalistic vineyard sex that had pushed us both to our limits, both physically and emotionally. But it always made sense. Just another way to show the unconditional love and trust between each other.
I pulled him to a stop before we reached backstage. I sensed that he needed some kind of reassurance.
“Something is bothering you,” I stated, eyeing him scrupulously. “What is it, mon champion?”
He turned to me, releasing my hand to fold his arms across his chest, piercing blue eyes swimming with emotion. “I wanted to tell Dom before I announced it, but we keep missing each other.” He looked away, toward the doors leading to backstage. “He deserves that.”
I hummed. “It’s okay if it’s more than that, mon amour.
” That pulled his attention back to me as his brow furrowed.
I gave him a reassuring smile. “I know this is bittersweet for you. I know you’ll miss racing because it’s all you’ve known for so long, but your love and passion for the sport will never change.
And I know that you are also excited for what’s to come.
But both things can be true. Let yourself feel it all. ”
He sighed, and his shoulders dropped, like it being voiced aloud had set him free of the burden. “Yeah.” He chuckled. “That’s exactly it.”
“The time was always going to come. There is never a right or a wrong time, as long as it’s your decision.” I mirrored his pose and crossed my arms.
He rolled his eyes and smirked at me. “Must you always be so wise, Mrs. Fraser?” he teased.
Mrs. Fraser.
I was still adjusting to that. Still waiting on all of my pieces of identification to come in with my married name. But the rings on my finger and the name on my passport had little to do with what made me his.
My eyes caught on the sign by the door.
Zandvoort Media Day feat. Callum Fraser + Aurélie Dubois
Today’s topics were: where’s the rivalry now? How do you balance racing and romance? How is your relationship handling being in the public eye? What are your thoughts on the documents that were leaked that corroborate what you’ve said all season?
The only thing we had discussed was that we weren’t planning to announce the marriage just yet. Rings would come off before the conference started, and we’d sit next to each other respectfully and pretend that at the end of the day, we were a lot more than just rivals.
Footsteps echoed in the hall behind Cal. He turned just as I leaned around him to see Victor Reinhardt strolling toward us with determination.
Uh-oh.
This could only mean something had changed now that the truth was out.
I swallowed down my own nerves. I didn’t know what to expect, and didn’t want to add on to whatever this was.
Except… Reinhardt didn’t look like a man unraveling.
Not like the last time I’d seen him, rain-soaked and frantic in our hotel suite, asking for a moment of trust. No—this time, he looked composed.
Crisp navy suit, subtle tie pin, expensive dress shoes.
And new glasses that were understated and academic, like he’d stepped straight out of the boardroom.
He probably had.
“I’m glad I caught you two before you went in,” he said in his deep voice, sound almost relieved. He pinned me with an intense look. “Dubois. This was timed perfectly, Well done.”
I blinked. “You’re saying that to me?”
“You were the one they underestimated, the one they all ignored.” The corners of his mouth tipped up.
“Well, tried to, anyway. And now you’re the one they can’t look away from.
” He nodded once, almost like a bow, and delivered the blow.
“Morel’s been officially disqualified and banned from all FIA-affiliated sports. I just got the news.”
My heart stopped. For a second, so did the world. Cal’s hand found mine instinctively. We glanced at each other, stunned. We had braced for a slap on the wrist. A fine. A press release about “ongoing investigations.”
Not this.
“He’s already in custody,” Reinhardt continued.
“Sophie Mercer—the Interpol agent I told you about—is attending the race this weekend. She and her team apprehended him in his hotel room late last night. International charges are being filed: assault, coercion, conspiracy to harm another. Enough to ensure he never sets foot in a paddock again.”
My stomach tightened and my lungs burned, but my voice stayed level. “And the others?”
“Several implicated drivers will serve formal penalties. Two will be starting from the pit lane for the next two races, at minimum. It’s not the justice you deserve, but it’s public and visible. It sets precedent. We’ll build from there. Right now, we count that as a win.”
“Anything is better than nothing,” I murmured. “Morel was the biggest predator on the grid… it’s a relief knowing he’s out of the picture.” I swallowed. “And Henric?”
“Stepping down at the end of the season.” He hesitated. “Voluntarily. But we both know what that means.”
I exhaled slowly. It wasn’t everything. But it was happening—day by day, brick by brick.
Reinhardt glanced toward the press room doors, then back to us.
“And one more thing. This morning, the FIA board voted to approve internal reforms. Gender-equity measures across day-to-day ops. And new chain-of-command protections for driver safety and car performance. More transparency, more accountability, overall more eyes on every decision made about your lives.”
Callum huffed a sharp laugh, bitter but grateful. “About fucking time,” he muttered. “Took nearly losing three drivers and a public scandal, but… it’s something. At least I know she’ll be safer moving forward.”
I knew Cal was referring to my brother as the third driver. We’d talked about this a lot recently—how maybe my brother’s crash wasn’t entirely accidental. Morel had thrown the idea out there, and the more we reviewed the footage and listened to my brother’s comms, the more sense it made.
Especially because, for the two prior seasons, Morel’s biggest competitor was étienne.
Before I could say anything else, Victor Reinhardt smiled. A real, warm, human smile. Almost hopeful.
“I’m not done,” he told us as he reached into his jacket’s inner pocket and withdrew a thick cream envelope.
He held it out to me, and my fingers trembled as I took it. It was heavy, official, and sealed with FIA embossing.
“I’ll paraphrase what you’ll find inside,” he said gently. “One letter is a formal invitation to join the GPDA.”
My chest squeezed, and I stepped closer to Callum without thinking.
“And the rest,” Reinhardt said, “is a packet detailing the launch of a new women’s racing league.”
I froze. My ears rang, my heart stuttered, and my lungs suddenly couldn’t pull in enough air.
“It will begin as a junior league, building the same way Formula 1 once did,” he explained.
“A structured ladder system. International scouting. A progression model to create parity from the ground up. Women will, of course, still be able to compete in F4–F1, but this gives them more opportunity. More seat time. More visibility.”
I couldn’t speak at first. I didn’t trust myself to.
“And,” his voice softened, “there is an offer for your involvement. Not as a driver—you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be. You keep these men in check better than anyone.” A knowing smirk. “But the league needs a champion. A face. Someone the world already listens to.”
Cal slid his arm around my shoulders and pulled me against him. The second his body touched mine, the emotion hit hard and utterly overwhelming. Tears flooded my eyes before I could blink them back. I covered my mouth with my hand, my shoulders trembling, breath catching in my throat.
Suddenly I felt it. All of it.
I’d done something.
I’d changed something, in a place where nothing ever changed.
I had fought—for myself, for Ivy, for the women before us who were silenced, for the girls who would come after us and never know how close they came to inheriting a broken system.
I had fought for safety after almost losing my husband to dirty drivers. I had fought for fairness after being shoved into the mud for daring to exist here, for daring to speak out on something that almost killed me.
And now…someone was listening.
Maybe the fight wasn’t over yet. We’d face new battles, because that was life. But in this moment, yeah, this was enough.
It was more than enough.
Reinhardt’s gaze flicked downward to the hand Cal had on my shoulder. He lifted a brow. “Congratulations,” he said quietly. “On your nuptials.”
Cal and I both inhaled sharply. Reinhardt winked—a quick, conspiratorial thing.