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LUCIA

T he lights above the track in Qatar racetrack burned bright, reflecting the chaos and glory of the moment. Fireworks exploded in rapid bursts, painting the night sky in dazzling colors, but even they couldn’t outshine the man standing in the spotlight.

He did it.

The crowd roared, a thunderous, unrelenting wave of cheers that rolled through the circuit, louder than any engine on the grid. Tears stung my eyes, unbidden and unstoppable, but I didn’t bother wiping them away. There was no shame in this. Not tonight.

Gianna had stayed back at the hotel with Nicola, but Anna and I had been glued to the screen in the paddock club, barely breathing through those final laps. My fingers still ached from gripping the edge of the counter so tightly, and my heart had been pounding in rhythm with the race. I knew from the beginning, knew that he’d make it. He was Alexander Wright. Nothing stopped him.

But when that checkered flag waved and he crossed the finish line, securing not just the win but his sixth world championship, the air left my lungs. The garage erupted around me, cheers, shouts, hugs, but all I could do was stare at the screen. He was there, climbing out of his car, throwing his arms in the air with that blinding grin.

He did it.

Pride surged in my chest, so overwhelming it nearly knocked me off my feet. It wasn’t just pride for his achievement. It was for him, the man behind the wheel, the man I loved. He’d poured his heart and soul into this, and now, it was his moment.

The crew spilled out of the garage in a flurry of excitement, and before I knew it, my feet were moving. The noise around me blurred as I sprinted toward the podium area, my pulse racing with every step. I didn’t see the cameras or hear the cheers; all I saw was him.

And there he was, standing near the barrier, in his race suit, looking every inch the champion he was. His face was flushed with victory, hair damp with sweat, but his smile…God, that smile. It was pure joy, pure Alexander.

Without thinking, I broke into a run and threw myself into his arms. He caught me without hesitation, his grip strong and steady as he spun us around. My hands clutched at his shoulders, and my legs instinctively wrapped around his waist.

“Hey!” I laughed breathlessly, holding on tighter as he twirled me. “You did it!”

His laughter joined mine, bright and carefree, as he set me down but didn’t let go. His hands settled on my waist, grounding me in the storm of emotions swirling around us.

“I did it,” he said, his voice low but filled with wonder. His eyes locked on mine, wild and alive, but there was something else in them—something softer, just for me. “And you were right here with me, Lucia. Every step of the way. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

The weight of his words hit me, and tears welled up again. My hands found his face, fingers tracing the sharp lines of his jaw, as if trying to memorize him at this moment. My heart thundered in my chest, the three little words begging to be let out. Maybe it was the excitement of the night, the championship win, every single moment from when I joined them on the road in the Netherlands. But finding this feeling, finding my person, here among the high-speed life of Formula One, I couldn’t help but let the words slip from my lips.

“I love you, Alex,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “I’m so proud of you.”

Alexander froze at first, then his smile softened, and he leaned down, pressing his forehead to mine and closing his eyes. “I love you, too, angel.”

He kissed my forehead, the gentlest brush of his lips, but it was enough to make the world fade away. The crowd and the cameras, the fireworks and the noise—all of it melted.

I rested my head against his chest, breathing him in. There was still the faint scent of sweat and race fuel, but underneath it all was something that was simply him, the man who had captured my heart in ways I had never thought possible. I squeezed him tight before dropping my feet back to the ground.

“You’re amazing,” I murmured into his suit, a small smile pulling at my lips. “Six-time World Champion. I’m never going to get used to saying that.”

He chuckled, the sound vibrating through me. “I’m just getting started.”

I leaned back to look at him, my grin matching his. “Well, don’t forget about me when you’re winning the seventh.”

He laughed, that full, unrestrained sound that I loved. “And where will you be?”

“Right here,” I said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.