Page 3 of Overdrive (Speed Demons #1)

Pre-seasontesting was routine. It was where engineers worked their magic, where drivers shook the rust off, and where journalists speculated about every tweak, adjustment, and rumor. But for me, it was all noise. This wasn't the stage for champions. It was a dress rehearsal.

I stood at the edge of theStratosGP garage, arms crossed, watching the pit lane come alive under theBahrainisun.

My team, Vanguard Racing, was already in rhythm, setting up the car that would hopefully take me to my fifth consecutive world championships.

I should have been focused. I should've cared.

Instead, my gaze drifted to theLuminisGP garage.

The mystery. The unknown.

Luminishad kept their cards close, refusing to reveal who would fillétienneDubois'sseat.

The media frenzy was relentless—names tossed around like confetti, each theory more ridiculous than the last. I didn't care much for rumors, but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't curious.

étiennehad been good. A real contender.

Whoever they'd chosen to replace him had big shoes to fill.

“Who do you think it'll be?” Marco asked, breaking me out of my thoughts. My teammate leaned casually against the wall, tracking the same garage .

“Does it matter?” I replied, keeping my tone indifferent. “They'll be midfield at best.”

Hiroshisnorted. “You're not even a little curious?”

I was, I just wasn't going to say it.Luminiswasn't a threat—not yet. Yet something aboutLuminis'ssilence felt intentional. Calculated. Either a bold move or a desperate one.

And then they stepped out.

My breath stilled. Not in shock. Something deeper. Recognition .

KimiBertolli,I recognized immediately—tall, confident, that stupidly easy grin spread across his tanned face. Half-Italian but born and raised in Finland, he was a driver with a lot of potential in a mediocre car. But the figure beside him?—

The first thing I noticed was the way she walked, hips swaying gently, confidence set in her shoulders.

It was like she already belonged here. Like the cameras, the desert weather, the weight of it all didn't touch her. Helmet dangling from one hand, chin held high against the scrutiny, sunlight catching on her golden blonde braids as they swished against her back.

My pulse fucking jumped.

A hundred moments flickered through my mind like an old reel of film.F2podiums. Post-race interviews. A stolen glance across the paddock when our leagues shared track weekends. Her name etched beside mine on championship trophies.

Aurélie Dubois.

It didn't feel like a realization. It felt like confirmation—like my brain was just now catching up to what my gut had figured out years ago.

“What the hell?” Marco muttered.

I said nothing. Just stared.

“Guess that answers the mystery,” I finally murmured, keeping my voice even, but inside I felt a fuck ton of turmoil. It felt surreal to have herright fucking in front of meafter all this time.

Marco turned to me, eyebrows raised. “You knew?”

“No,” I said. “But I should have.”

The words tasted wrong. Because I had known, just not in the way Marco meant .

I'd followed her career for years. Watched every win, every loss, every brutal comeback. No favors. No shortcuts. I watched because I respected her. Because she was really fucking good. Because she'd fought her way to the top.

And now, she was here.

She stopped to shakeHiroshi'shand, answering his and Max's questions with steady ease. Her voice was smooth, thick with a charming French accent. I should've looked away. Focused on my team. My car. Literally anything else but how gorgeous she was.

But I didn't, because when she finally turned, when her gaze lifted, when those golden-green eyes locked onto mine—my stomach clenched.

She looked different here. Sharper. Fierce. Ready to take on the world. I realized that now included me.

Marco pushed away from the wall to introduce himself, but I stayed put. I didn't trust myself to move. Not when all I could think about were all the post-race interviews she'd given, breathless and flushed.

Oh no. Not now, Fraser.

I think I did end up saying something to her, but I wasn't sure. I was distracted. By her. Fuck.

“Guess we'll see how she handles a real car,” Marco said, skeptical as ever, rejoining my side.

“She'll handle it,” I muttered before I could stop myself. He shot me a look, but I didn't elaborate. I knew she would. I knew it like the shape of every apex, the sound of my engine, the feel of the win.

And for the first time in years, I felt the thrill of something I hadn't experienced in a long time.

Not just competition.

Something else entirely.