They turned and walked inside the house. Behind me, Auri inhaled quietly, so soft no one else would hear it. But I did. Because her hand slipped instinctively into mine again, tugging me forward with her. We followed them, the air thick with polite distance and unsaid things, and I couldn’t shake the sense that the ground beneath us was shifting quietly, almost inevitably, as if the house itself knew what was coming.
And for that brief, suspended moment, the only steady thing between all four of us… was her. Her body lead mine. Her grip anchored me. Her presence bridged the gap between the life she came from and the life we were building.
And God help me, I let her guide me like she was the only compass I’d ever trust.
We hadn’t taken more than a handful of steps inside before someone appeared in the archway at the end of the hall, leaning a shoulder casually against the stone.
Étienne Dubois.
Still carrying himself like a driver—relaxed posture, lethal awareness, and his signature charming smile.
“Fraser,” he drawled, pushing off the wall.
The sound of my surname in his voice hit with an unexpected punch of nostalgia.
I huffed out a breath. “Dubois.”
He approached with a familiar swagger—half arrogance, half charm, the delicate balance only the French ever seemed to master.
Before I could offer my hand, he reached for mine first, gripping it in a firm shake, but then pulled me into one of those half-hug, half-back-slap greetings that racers default to when pretending they don’t have emotions.
It was weirdly grounding.
“I’ll be honest,” he murmured near my ear, “didn’t expect you to show up on this doorstep. Thought you’d run screaming.”
I snorted. “Trust me, mate. I considered it.”
He stepped back, laughing, then gave me a look—sharp, assessing, softening just slightly at the edges. “Good to see you again. It’s nice to see someone give you a proper fight on track.”
“Yeah, well, you were a pain in my ass, too,” I admitted, but there was warmth buried in it. He and I had always gotten along, because he’d been highly revered in the sport. He was the golden boy in the sense that he was the FIA’s picture-perfect, charismatic, beloved driver. I was their franchise, by-the-book driver. Treated similarly, but for different reasons.
His presence was missed on the grid.
“Likewise.” His grin widened. “You still brake too early.”
“Funny,” I shot back, “considering you were the one who sent your car into a wall at 150.”
His smile dimmed, but not badly. Just… honestly.
He exhaled. “Touché.”
For a moment, the weight of that crash hung between us—the one that ended his career, changed the trajectory of Auri’s life, and indirectly carved the path that led her straight into mine.
I still remembered passing the crash, making my way back to the pit lane, red flags waving. His steering column had seized from the piece of shit car Luminis claimed was drivable. His car was a mangled mess in the barrier, smoke and flames surrounding it. I had no idea in that moment whether he was dead or alive.
The memory sobered me. “How’s the recovery? Really.”
Étienne’s jaw shifted. Then he shrugged—not dismissively, but truthfully. “Regained about ninety percent. Strength is good most days. Pain…” His lips twitched wryly. “She’s a stubborn companion. But I’m alive. And I get to watch Ray finally have her moment. That part feels… worth it.”
Ray. Auri’s childhood nickname. The one only her siblings and Kimi had earned the right to use. Something in my chest tugged.
“She deserves every bit of it,” I said quietly. “And more.”
Étienne studied me for a long moment, stripping me down without cruelty. Then he nodded once, decisive.
“She does,” he agreed. “And she chose you.”
There it was—the unspoken test. Passed or failed in a single sentence.
