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 washappening—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 Reinhardtsmiled.A real, warm,humansmile. 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.Allof 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 intothe mud for daring to exist here, for daring to speak out on something that almost killedme.
