But I was already up and moving toward the door, my vision tunneled, every sound magnified—the scrape of chairs, the rustle of notepads, the explosion of camera clicks that followed me like a swarm.The questions kept coming, voices overlapping into white noise, but I didn’t stop.
The hallway air hit me like a slap, cooler than the press room, and I forced myself to walk instead of run.To maintain some shred of composure even as my heart felt like it was about to explode.People stared as I passed: mechanics, engineers, other team personnel.I could feel their eyes tracking me; could practically hear the whispers that would start the moment I turned the corner.
I shouldered through the garage, past my car, and finally reached my driver’s room.The door had barely clicked shut before Ruth, Hermes’s Head of PR & Communications, materialized, as if she’d been waiting in the wings for exactly this moment.
“What was that?”No preamble or sympathy.Just Ruth in full crisis-management mode.
I didn’t answer.No part of me trusted any of the words that would come out.
“The FIA are probably drafting a reprimand as we speak.”Her voice was tight.
I yanked my team polo over my head, the fabric catching on my chin before I wrestled it off and threw it toward the couch.It missed, crumpling on the floor.“Then send me the fine.”
“It’s not about the money, Henri.”
“Then what?”I spun to face her.“I just spent thirty minutes being asked if I’m too traumatized to drive in the rain.If I’ve developed some psychological problem.Like one mistake erases everything I’ve done this season.Like I’m some fragile—”
“Stop.”Ruth’s voice cut through my rising anger.Her expression softened, but her tone stayed firm.The epitome of professionalism—everything I apparently couldn’t be today.“It’s about maintaining composure when they’re trying to get a reaction.Which is exactly what that journalist wanted, and exactly what you gave him.”
“Oliver.”His name tasted bitter.“And he’sbarelya journalist.”
“If he’s in the press room, then he matters.You’re a public figure.He has every right to ask difficult questions.”She took a seat on the armrest of my couch, perching there as she watched me.“This is the job, Henri.Racing is only half of it.The rest is managing your image, handling these questions with grace.”
“I’m not going to sit there and let people question my ability,” I said, but even I could hear how hollow and defensive it sounded.
Ruth studied me for a long moment, and I wondered what she saw.A driver cracking under pressure?A liability?A PR disaster waiting to happen?
When my sister joined Valkyrie three years ago, she was the paddock’s worst nightmare—impulsive, emotional, prone to exactly this kind of outburst.Now it was my turn to be the one who couldn’t hold it together.
“I don’t know what’s gotten into you this season, Henri, but we need you to snap out of it.Racing is only part of your job.Don’t forget that.”She stood with a sigh, giving me one last glance before exiting the room, leaving me with my thoughts.The door closed behind her with a finality that felt like judgment.
Silence crashed over the room like a tsunami.No more cameras or questions.No more eyes watching my every minute expression for signs of weakness.I stared at my reflection in the darkened television screen mounted on the wall.My hair stood in every direction where I’d run my hands through it, and my face looked almost unrecognizable with exhaustion.
Nothing this weekend had gone to plan.Absolutely nothing.
The hotel lobby was all polished marble and cold elegance, the kind of place designed to make you feel underdressed.Tonight’s post-race team dinner had run three hours longer than it needed to, and I was tired.Tired of everyone’s forced smiles over pasta, tired of awkward conversations about next weekend’s race, all while they carefully avoided mentioning today’s disaster.
I’d escaped as soon as was socially acceptable, citing my throbbing head as an excuse, which wasn’t entirely a lie.After practically sprinting to the elevator, I just caught the doors before they closed.
“Oh.”
The sound caught me off-guard, and my head snapped up.
There, standing in the corner, was Lily.
She wore a black dress that hugged her curves perfectly, and her hair was loose around her shoulders instead of pulled back in its usual ponytail.With her champagne-flushed cheeks and slightly smudged eyeliner, she looked more relaxed than I’d seen her all season.
My throat went dry, and the elevator felt several sizes too small.That floral scent she wore filled the enclosed space, cutting through the lingering smell of the team’s cigar smoke that clung to my jacket.It invaded my senses, making it impossible to think about anything except how close we were in this small space.
My finger found the button already illuminated.Thirty-first floor.Same as mine.
Merde.
I kept my gaze locked on the numbers climbing.Anywhere but at her.The walls seemed to press in with each passing second, the silence heavy enough to suffocate.
I made it exactly four floors before the quiet cracked me open.“You nearly took me out in Turn 9.”
Her laugh was brittle.“Well, you nearly took me out in free practice.”
