He hadn’t taken Sienna to Nice. He never would.
That villa wasn’t just a house. It was Mia—coffee in bed at dawn, her laughing at his terrible French when ordering dinner, falling asleep on the balcony with her head on his chest while the sea whispered below. The only place in his life that had ever felt completely his. Completely theirs. Untouched by sponsors, family legacy, or the weight of expectation.
Handing that over—even to someone as uncomplicated as Sienna—felt wrong. Like betraying something sacred.
He exhaled slowly, forcing his shoulders down.
Sienna glanced up. “You okay? You went quiet.”
“Yeah,” he said. “Long weekend. Triple-header legs.”
She accepted it with a small nod. “Come on. Let’s get you to the room. You need sleep before Miami.”
They walked down the corridor. Her arm slipped through his. He let it happen. But his mind stayed in the lobby, replaying Mia’s quiet “Good luck in Miami,” the way her voice had cracked just enough to notice.
Sienna leaned into him. “She seems nice. Mia.”
“She is,” Lucas said quietly.
Sienna didn’t push.
She paused outside their door. “You sure you’re okay?”
He nodded, kissed her forehead. “I’m fine.”
She searched his face a second longer, then went inside.
Lucas followed.
He crossed to the window, looked out at Shanghai glittering below.
He thought about the villa again.
He pressed his forehead to the cool glass.
The season was young.
There was still racing to do.
He exhaled, long and slow.
Tomorrow he’d race. Tomorrow he’d keep moving forward.
???
CHAPTER FORTY
Lucas
The season had become Lucas’s again. Wins in Miami, Imola, Monaco—each one more commanding than the last. Pole after pole, flawless starts, untouchable pace. The points gap stretched wide; commentators stopped calling it a fight and started calling it a procession. Ashworth looked invincible, and Lucas looked unbreakable. Every press conference he smiled the same measured smile, answered the same questions with the same calm certainty. Inside, he felt the momentum like a tailwind—clean, relentless, carrying him forward. This was redemption. This was proof.
Barcelona was the last race before the summer break. The Circuit de Catalunya baked under a relentless sun, the air shimmering above the asphalt like a mirage. Lucas arrived early, focused, already in his race suit when his parents walked into the hospitality suite unannounced.
His mother hugged him first, eyes bright with unshed tears. “We couldn’t miss this one, darling. Look at you—leading the championship. We’re so proud.”
His father clapped him on the shoulder, grin wide and oblivious. “Finally living up to your grandad’s name, eh? He’d be grinning ear to ear seeing you dominate like this. About time the family legend carried on properly.”
The words landed like a punch to the gut. Lucas forced a laugh, but it came out tight, brittle. “Thanks, Dad.”
