“What’s all that?”
I followed his eyes to the desk.My first instinct was to wave it off—nothing, just work stuff—but I’d just asked him for honesty, and he’d given it.The least I could do was return the favor.
“Someone’s been leaving me notes.”
His eyebrows lifted.“Notes?”
“Well, threats.In written and virtual form, all anonymous.”
Ollie stood and crossed to the desk, not touching anything, just looking.His head tilted as he scanned the handwriting.
“Do you know who it is?”
The question lingered, and I watched his face carefully—the set of his mouth, the way his fingers curled at his sides as he read the notes.
“No.I have no idea.”
His shoulders relaxed, just barely.The change was subtle, barely perceptible, but I caught it—a release of tension he’d been holding since he walked over to the desk.His chest dropped half an inch with a breath he’d been keeping shallow.
“That’s creepy, Lily.Someone in the paddock following you around, leaving anonymous… Have you told anyone?Security, the FIA, your team?”
“No.”
He turned from the desk, disbelief plain on his face.“No?Lily, this is— Some of these are genuinely threatening.”
“I know what they say.I’ve read them enough times.”
“Then why haven’t you—”
“Because I don’t want to make a scene.”I pulled my knees up onto the bed and wrapped my arms around them.“I mean, you’re part of the media.They’ll make a circus out of this one.And then my sponsors… I don’t think BetHere Gaming will love this very much.No one wants to talk about how sports betting is affecting athletes.There’s no money in that.”
Ollie’s mouth opened then closed.He looked back at the desk, at the careful rows I’d arranged.
He ran his hand along his jaw and neck the way people do when they’re sorting through too many responses and none of them feel right.Then he stepped away from the desk and faced me.
“Look, I get it.I do.But if you change your mind—if you need someone to dig into this, or just someone to talk to about it—I’m here.Journalist hat off.Just as a friend.”He paused.“If you’ll still have me as one.”
I rested my chin on my knees and studied him.He wasn’t angling for anything, or so it seemed.No agenda behind his eyes, no calculation.Just a guy who’d screwed up and was standing in the wreckage of it, offering what he had left.He had a long way to go before I genuinely believed that, but forgiveness had to start somewhere, right?
“Thanks, Ollie.”
He nodded once, shoved his hands into his blazer pockets, and headed for the door.He paused with his hand on the handle.
“For what it’s worth, he’s lucky.Henri.”
Then he was gone, and the room felt enormous again, and I sat there on the bed with my arms around my knees, staring at the desk full of poison someone had written just for me.
Chapter Thirty
Lily
That night, I’d barely slept, tossing and turning while dreading the day ahead.When I finally woke, my phone buzzed incessantly.I picked it up, dread pooling in my stomach as I saw the notifications from my friends and family.My heart raced as I opened a link to an article Andy had sent me.The headline glared back at me.
The Dark Side of Racing: Female F1 Driver Faces HarassmentCampaign
Each word painted a picture of vulnerability I didn’t want to see.I recognized quotes, details, and anonymous notes that had never left my lips.Specific phrases from the notes—ones I’d only ever shown to a handful of people.Details about which races they’d appeared at, about the flowers they’d left, about the escalation.Things I didn’t remember telling Ollie yesterday.
How much had I spilled to him?
