He let out a scoff.“We talked about pressure and mental health in the sport.Hermes wants clips for when they’re discussing the work they’re doing for mental health in racing.The usual documentary fodder.”He shook his head.“And Henri flat out said he doesn’t burn out on things he loves.That it’s not a problem for him.”
I went still, my fork frozen halfway to my mouth.
“Can you believe that?”Ollie continued, oblivious to my reaction.“Like burnout is just something that happens to other people.As if loving what you do makes you immune to the pressure, the exhaustion, the constant scrutiny.”
My mind flashed back to Monaco.To Henri sitting on that couch, his voice raw and vulnerable as he described seeing the crash every time he approached certain corners.The way his hands trembled slightly when he talked about lifting without meaning to, his body betraying him.That wasn’t someone who couldn’t burn out.That was someone already burning.
“That’s…” I said quietly.“That’s quite a statement.”
“It’s typical Henri,” Ollie said, taking a sip of his wine.“Always has to be the strongest, the most dedicated, the one who never cracks.”He paused, studying me.“We have history, you know.Not good history.”
I leaned forward slightly.“Oh?”Georgia had mentioned they’d raced together, but nothing about anything necessarily negative.
He hesitated, as if choosing his words carefully.“Henri and I go way back to F3 and F2.We were teammates.Shared data, spent long nights at the track, had dinners that turned into arguments about strategy, but still, we were friends.”A faint nostalgic smile crossed his face.“He was brilliant.Everyone knew he was going to be a champion.”
I took a sip of wine, saying nothing.
“But he was also intense,” Ollie continued.“Like if he relaxed for even a second, the whole world would fall apart.He never switched off.Never let anyone in.The pressure was eating him alive, and everyone could see it except him.”
I thought of Henri’s behavior this season, the way he seemed to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders.The way he’d looked at me in Monaco, like he was drowning and didn’t know how to ask for help.
“What happened?”
“He was burning out.”Ollie’s voice dropped lower, more intimate.“Skipping meals, sleeping in the simulator, pushing himself past any reasonable limit.And then, one day, he had this crash.He just… wasn’t the same, and as his teammate, I was worried.We were supposed to be friends, you know?I tried to help.”
I leaned forward, desperate to hear more.“How?”
“I went to our team principal,” he said quietly, almost reluctantly.“Told them I was worried about Henri.Didn’t give specifics, just said maybe he needed support, like from a sports psychologist, or to even take a break.Just something before he hurt himself or someone else on track.”
He took a sip of his wine, eyes fixed on the candle flame between us.“He found out and thought I’d betrayed him.That I’d gone behind his back to sabotage his career and make him look weak to the team.”Ollie took a moment to bite his lower lip as he seemed to debate what he was about to say next.“But the truth is, he saw me as a threat.There was only one open F1 seat with Hermes, and we were both fighting for it, even though it was pretty obvious Henri was going to get it.But that didn’t stop him from making me the enemy, just to make sure he’d get it.”
“What did he do?”I asked quietly.
Ollie scoffed.“He made up some story and told the team I’d gone to the press.That I was going to leak something.Well, they believed him, and they released me from the team.Just like that.And the following season, Henri got his seat.”
The silence stretched for what felt like days.I stared down at my plate, processing what he’d just told me.It didn’t fit with the Henri I knew—but then again, maybe I didn’t know Henri as well as I thought.
Or maybe Ollie’s version wasn’t the whole truth.
“That’s…” I struggled to find the right words.“I’m sorry that happened.”It sounded hollow even to my own ears, but what else could I say?I didn’t know what had really happened between them.I only had Ollie’s side of the story.
If this were true, why had Georgia been so inviting of Ollie into her home back in Monaco?Unless Henri hadn’t told her the truth about how his friendship with Ollie had ended.
Now, that did sound like Henri.
“Classic him, though,” Ollie said, leaning back in his chair, cutting off my racing thoughts.“When it comes to winning, to getting what he wants, he’ll do anything.Step on anyone in his way.”He paused, meeting my eye.“Even people who care about him.Even people trying to help.He needs this championship, Lily.And when Henri needs something, everyone else becomes expendable.”
I thought about Monaco again, about the kiss, about how he’d pushed me away immediately afterward.In Las Vegas he’d said he needed to focus on winning, that it was all that mattered to him.
That part I did believe.
My eyes watched Ollie and the way he absently ran his thumb around the rim of his wineglass as he talked, how the candlelight shimmered on his face, highlighting the shadow under his jaw.He kept glancing at me, as if checking to see if I’d react, or maybe to see if I already knew all this and was just politely waiting for him to finish.
“You talk like you’re warning me,” I said quietly.
Ollie reached across the table, taking my hand in his.His grip was warm, reassuring.“I just wanted you to know,” he said quietly.“It felt important to tell you.I believe in being open and honest, especially with people I care about.”
Something in my chest softened at that.Vulnerability.Actual, genuine vulnerability, the kind Henri had never once showed me—at least not willingly.Even in Monaco, when he finally opened up about the crash, it’d been like pulling teeth.He fought every word, guarded every admission like it was a state secret.
