Three.
Four.
Five.
Lights out.
I launched off the line, the car responding like an extension of my own body. Perfect start. No wheel spin. I was gone.
Fast, precise, perfectly controlled. I kept P1 through the first turn, barely able to defend my position against my wife.
Lap after lap, I dominated. Every turn, every overtake attempt behind me, every second shaved off my sector times.
The last pit stop of my career—flawless. I exited the box still in the lead, still untouchable.
I barely heard the radio. The voices of my engineers blurred together, fading beneath the roar of the crowd, the pulse of my own heartbeat. I was one with the car.
I took every corner like I had taken them my entire life.
I felt every second like I would never feel it again.
The entire paddock was on their feet. The engineers, the crew, the drivers who had fought me, raced me, loved me, hated me.
Then it all collapsed into chaos.
A late-race safety car bunched the field back together, erasing everything I’d built. Forty-five laps of flawless driving, tire management, pure pace—gone.
Auri followed close behind me for the final restart.
I could feel her energy from here. Not nervous.Coiled.Hunting.
The safety car returned to the pit lane. I crept toward Turn 1, and then I took off like fire.
But so did she.
This was the final lap, final corners. I was still ahead—barely—until Turn 9.
And that’s when she did it.
TheFraserswitchback. My move. The one I’d made famous. The one she’dstolenand perfected. She didn’t just pass me. Shehonoredme, and then she fucking flew.
P1.
Her first win since Mexico. The final win of the season. My last race, and she took it.
I have never—never—been prouder in my life to cross the finish line in P2. I was breathless, wrecked, and grinning like a goddamn madman.
Tears hit me the second I pulled into parc fermé. I tore at my belts, scrambling to climb out of the car. I ripped off my helmet and threw my hands in the air, holding up all five fingers to indicate five titles to the crowd.
I jumped down, and the second my feet hit the ground, the emotions I had been holding back all night crashed down like a tidal wave. I ripped my helmet and balaclava off, then spun in a slow circle, taking it all in—just like I’d taught Auri to do.
The lights. The crowd. The chaos.
My team rushed toward me. The chants, the cheers, the sound of my own name vibrating through the air, the familiar sting in my throat, the burn behind my eyes.
Twenty years racing. Ten in Formula 1. Five championships.
My vision blurred. I squeezed my eyes shut for half a second, grounding myself, inhaling deeply. When I opened them again, there she was. Running, jumping into my arms, wrapping her legs around my waist.
