Page 10 of Overdrive (Speed Demons #1)

The daylight faded as I sank into a chair inside theLuminismotorhome, helmet still warm on the table beside me.

For a midfield team likeLuminis, this was no small feat. Last year, they had been solidly in sixth place in the Constructor’s Championship, battling tooth and nail just to hold the line. This year, we were aiming for fifth—a goal that demanded skill and, frankly, a shit ton of luck.

Today felt like a step in the right direction.

“Nice work out there,Aurélie,”Henricsaid, leaning against thedoorframe. “You gave us a great starting position for tomorrow.”

“Thanks,” I replied, still catching my breath and rolling my shoulders. “The car felt good. A bit twitchy through Turn 9, but manageable.”

“We'll tweak the setup tonight,” he said, jotting something down on his ever-present tablet. “And keep analyzing the telemetry. You've been a big help with that, by the way. Not every driver takes the time to dig into the data like you do. We'd appreciate it if Kimidid that, too.”

I nodded, pride swelling in my chest. I'd spent hours over the weekend pouring over telemetry, working closely with the engineers to fine-tune the car.

Midfield cars were finicky beasts, demanding constant adjustments to squeeze out every ounce of performance.

I loved it. The precision, the problem-solving, the challenge of finding those elusive tenths—it was all part of the game.

And it was paying off.

Henricducked out to join the team for the debrief, leaving me alone with my thoughts. I let out a deep breath, the tension in my shoulders easing as the day sank in.

I'd made a splash.

The press had been circling all weekend, their cameras tracking my every move. They loved the narrative. They didn’t just see a rookie—they saw a woman. And that made it all the more outrageous when I held my own against legends like Callum Fraser. It made them foam at the fucking mouth.

And, to my credit, I'd managed to rattleCallumhimself.

I twisted the cap off my water bottle and took a long sip, smirking at the memory ofCallum'sreaction.

He'd been polite, of course, praising my performance in that measured, calculated way of his.

Butthere'dbeen an edge to his voice that told me he wasn't entirely comfortable with the heat I was bringing.

Good. Let him squirm.

Suddenly, the idea of him squirming in a different way, both of us caught in a moment of lust?—

No. Bad girl.

My eyes closed as I forced myself to think about literally anything else.

The media, for instance. How they'd eaten up the pressure I put onCallum, dubbing us the new rivalry on the grid and christening us with that ridiculous nickname:Frabois. I couldn't decide if I hated it or loved it.

I stood, stretching out the stiffness in my legs. Outside, the paddock was still alive with activity as teams settled into their evening routines.

Tomorrow was race day. My debut GrandPrix. And for the first time in my life, I felt like I was exactly where I was meant to be .

The memory of today's practice flashed in my mind—Callum'scar haunting my mirrors, relentless, watching, testing.

I'd pushed, daring him to fight back, and when he did, it had been like fire meeting gasoline.

My heartbeat had kicked up, not out of nerves, but because I knew then—knew in my bones—that this was what I'd been waiting for.

A real fight. It was a silent challenge he'd thrown down.

He was good—no, he was incredible—but I wasn't here to worship at the altar of Fraser's greatness. I was here to race him. To beat him.

And maybe, just maybe, to enjoy getting under his skin along the way.

I stepped outside, the cool evening air brushing against my heated skin as I made my way toward the team debrief. The paddock lights glinted off the cars lined up in their garages, their sleek forms waiting like predators in the shadows—silent, ready, coiled.

This was it. My moment.

P6was just the beginning, and tomorrow, I'd make them remember my name.