Page 22 of Overdrive (Speed Demons #1)

The transition between races was always a whirlwind. Shanghai had barely finished, and the paddock was already disassembled, loaded onto planes, and en route toSuzuka. Yet, in the rare quiet moments between travel, training, and team meetings, my thoughts kept drifting to her.

Aurélie. Auri.

I hadn't expected the nickname to stick so quickly, but it fit her in a way that surprised even me.

Auri felt softer, more personal, like the version of her she kept hidden beneath the fiery exterior.

She hadn't protested when I called her that, and now the sound of it echoed in my mind every time I thought of her—which was far too often.

Scrolling through Instagram while on our private flight toSuzuka,after spending a few days in Monaco, I couldn't ignore the influx of tags and mentions.

Fans were going wild with their “Frabois” rivalry theories.

There were videos of our on-track battles, edits of her podium celebration, and a growing collection of memes speculating about what kind of chaos we'd bring toSuzuka.

Impulsively, I decided to lean into it.

I selected a photo of us from the podium, the champagne spraying, her face lit up with a mixture of relief and triumph. I tagged her public account and captioned it simply:

@cal_fraser19.96: P3 is no small feat, let alone a podium on your second race, @aurelie.dubois47. Keep bringing the heat—this grid needs it.

Within minutes, the likes and comments poured in.

@f1fanatic: This rivalry is already ICONIC.

@racingjunkie: Can we talk about how supportive Callum is?!!!

@teamfraser_96: He’s backing her HARD this season. Wonder what’s going on behind the scenes…

@gridgirl19: “Keep bringing the heat” boy SHE'S TRYING

I smirked at the responses, amused but also oddly satisfied.

It wasn't just about stirring the pot—though that was always fun—it was about setting the tone.

Auréliedeserved the recognition, and if my post helped silence some of the naysayers, then it was worth it.

Especially to the fucking twat drivers who seemed to despise her—they'd quickly realize they were making me an enemy.

The thought of her seeing the post made my stomach twist. Would she laugh? Roll her eyes? Message me to call me an ass?

Probably all three.

But deep down, I hoped she'd understand what I was really saying: You belong here.

I didn't need her to respond. I just needed her to see it. And maybe wonder if it meant more than it should.