I broke from the interview without a second thought, dragged her into frame, and told the world the truth—that the only person I wanted beside me, rain or shine, win or loss, was her.
And that they were looking at another future champion.
Then I dragged her to my hospitality suite and fucked the adrenaline out of both of us.
Later that night, we ended up where the true celebrations always began: under the surface, behind closed doors, beneath the velvet-draped weight of something darker.
Velvet Hour—Maverick and Sophie’s hidden club inside Pillars—sat on the top floor with exclusive access. No press. No fans. Just shadows, silk, and surrender.
And in one of the back rooms, I gave myself to my wife in a way I never had for her.
Stripped down. Spine bowed. Bleeding for her just like she’d bled our life out of her. Restrained. Shaking. Riding the edge, over and over again.
She took me apart with reverent violence, every whispered praise a possession, every mark a promise, every kiss a reminder of the love and trust shared between us. She crowned me that night—not as champion of the world, but as hers.
And I wanted it. All of it.
The second-to-last race.
Not just with my husband, but with the man who'd been my idol for a decade.
Callum had already won the WDC. Vegas took care of that. There was nothing left to chase in these last two races. No records, no titles, no scoreboard to fight.
Just one last ride with the people who made me believe I belonged and gave me a family I never knew I needed.
Vanguard locked out the front. One-two. Living proof that two world champions were on that team.
I finished P3. Kimi right behind me in P4. The original Grid Gremlins, crossing the line one after the other. Like it was always meant to be.
It wasn’t even a competition anymore. But itwaseverything.
We waved to the stands like we were all rookies again. Laughed in the cooldown room like nothing was ending.Pretended it wasn’t the last time the four of us would ever share a celebration like this when I’d just gotten used to it.
But I felt it. God, I felt it in every inch of me.
The weight of ten years. The joy. The ache. The history.
The man I’d loved from afar… now my husband, my life teammate, my future, and the legend I had to learn how to let go of.
I didn’t cry on the track. Didn’t cry in parc fermé. But when he looked at me across the room, helmet off, sweat dripping down his temples, still grinning like I was the only thing he saw, I felt the breath catch in my chest.
Only one race left.
And I had no idea how to say goodbye, but when he stormed across the room at the sight of my tears and folded me into his embrace, I knew that it would all be okay.
The lightsof Yas Marina burned bright overhead, illuminating the paddock, the track, the moment. My final race.
The last time I would pull on my gloves. The last time I would tighten the straps of my helmet, hear my engineer’s voice through the radio, feel the rush of adrenaline in the seconds before the lights went out.
And I was fine. I was ready.
At least, I thought I was—until I saw my wife.
Auri stood at the edge of my garage, leaning against the wall, watching me with that small, knowing smile she always had when she was about to do something that would ruin me.
I took one step toward her and paused. She turned just slightly, just enough for the overhead light to catch the shimmer of the helmet in her hands.
My helmet. At least, a replica of my helmet. Not the one I had worn all season, or my special livery helmets. No, it was thehelmet I had worn when I won my first championship. Black, red, and silver, with sleek, sharp edges, and my old driver logo printed onto the back.
