Read Chapter 35: New Season

The paddock smelled of rubber and jet fuel, a combination Elise had once found overwhelming and now found as familiar as her own heartbeat. Melbourne in March. The season opener. New cars, new regulations, new faces in the garage—but the same two seats at the front of the timing stand, hers and Julien's, side by side.

She watched the screens as the field completed their installation laps, her fingers drumming against the carbon fiber table. Beside her, Julien's voice crackled through the radio channel, calm and measured as he reported tire temperatures.

"Rear left's coming up slower than expected," he said. "Might need another lap before qualifying push."

"Copy that," Elise replied, making a note. "We'll hold you out one more lap. Don't cook the fronts."

From the corner of her eye, she caught the new junior engineer—a young woman named Amara who'd joined over the winter—watching her with barely concealed awe. Elise had been that girl once, terrified and thrilled in equal measure. She offered a small nod, and Amara straightened, refocusing on her own screen.

The media scrutiny had been relentless since Abu Dhabi. The love story angle had been milked dry by every outlet from Monaco to Melbourne, and the new season had brought a fresh wave of interest. But it was the deeper dig into her past that had clawed its way back into headlines this week: an investigative piece questioning her rapid ascent, dredging up her sister's legal troubles, insinuating that Elise's success had come from somewhere other than talent.

She'd read it at five a.m. in their hotel room, her coffee going cold as she scrolled. Julien had woken to find her staring at the screen, jaw tight.

"Let me call our PR team," he'd said, already reaching for his phone.

"No." She'd closed the laptop. "I'll handle it. I always do."

He'd studied her for a long moment, then nodded. "Then I'll handle it with you."

The knock on the glass door of the engineering office pulled her back to the present. A media liaison stood outside, clipboard in hand, gesturing apologetically. Elise checked the clock—ten minutes before qualifying. She exchanged a glance with Julien through the viewing window. He gave a small shake of his head.

She stepped out into the corridor. "We agreed: no media until after the session."

"I know, I know." The liaison—young, flustered, probably new—waved a printed article. "But Reuters just ran a follow-up. They're claiming your sister's case file was sealed because of 'influence from team ownership.' It's gaining traction."

Elise took the paper. The headline read: *MOREAU'S ASCENT: QUESTIONS REMAIN OVER ENGINEER'S PAST*. She scanned the article, feeling the familiar heat rise in her chest. Her sister's addiction, the theft charge that was never her fault, the years Elise had spent quietly paying off debts and protecting a family secret that was never hers to bear.

"Who's the journalist?"

"Sarah Kim."

"Good. She's fair." Elise handed the paper back. "Tell her I'll give her an exclusive after the race. Full story, no restrictions. But only if she agrees to also cover our women-in-engineering initiative when we launch it."

The liaison blinked. "You want to give her more access?"

"I want to control the narrative." Elise's voice was steady. "The story is old. My sister is in recovery. I paid her debts. I didn't steal anything, and neither did she—she was set up by a dealer who framed her for his own theft. The case file proves it, and I have the documents. But I've been hiding it to protect her privacy. She's agreed it's time to tell the truth."

The liaison stared at her. "You're going to... just put it all out there?"

"The only way to kill a rumor is to outrun it." Elise glanced back at the garage. "Now let me get back to work."

She returned to her position just as Julien's car rolled to a stop in the pits. His visor lifted as the crew swarmed the car, and his eyes found her through the smoke and noise. She gave him a thumbs up. He returned it, mouthing something she couldn't read.

Qualifying went better than expected. Julien put the car on pole by two-tenths, and the team's celebration was restrained but genuine. In the debrief, Elise noticed Pierre working quietly alongside the new engineers, his earlier wariness fading into something like ease. She caught his eye and nodded toward the data sheets.

"You adjust the rear wing angle on that last run?"

"Half a degree," he confirmed. "Saw the wind shift on the telemetry. Thought it'd help."

"It did. Good call."

Pierre's smile was small but real. He was still nervous around the newer staff—Marta's betrayal had left scar tissue—but he was beginning to trust again. So was she.

That evening, Elise stood on the hotel balcony, watching the city lights flicker over the Yarra River. Julien joined her, two glasses of wine in hand. He passed her one and leaned against the railing.

"The interview request," he said. "I heard about it. You sure you want to do it?"

"I have to. It won't stop otherwise." She turned the glass in her hands. "I should have told you about my sister sooner. About all of it. I was ashamed, and I thought—I don't know what I thought. That it would make you see me differently."

Julien set his glass down and took her hand. "Elise. I watched you win a World Championship with me. I watched you rebuild an engineering team after a mole nearly destroyed it. You think a story about your sister could make me see you differently? It just tells me more about why you're so strong."

She looked at him, the softness in his eyes a stark contrast to the fierce competitor she'd first clashed with on that Monaco street. "You're not angry I kept it from you?"

"I'm angry you felt you had to." He squeezed her hand. "But we're past that now. We're not hiding anything anymore."

She exhaled slowly. "No. No, we're not."

---

The season unfolded in a blur of circuits and cities. Shanghai, Baku, Monaco—where Julien won for the third year running, this time with Elise watching from the pit wall with a diamond on her finger that caught the Mediterranean light. They faced setbacks: a mechanical failure in Montreal, a strategic error in Silverstone that Elise owned openly in the debrief, a controversial penalty in Monza that had Julien fuming for a full twelve hours before she talked him down.

Through it all, the media scrutiny slowly shifted. Sarah Kim's exclusive ran after Melbourne, and the response was overwhelmingly sympathetic. The story died down, replaced by narrative about Elise's transparency and resilience. Sponsors doubled down. New partners came calling.

But the real test came at the final race. Las Vegas, floodlit and garish, the championship once again down to the wire. Julien trailed by seven points going into the finale, and the pressure was visible in the furrow of his brow during the pre-race briefing.

Elise studied the data one last time. The track temperatures were dropping faster than projected, which meant tire degradation would spike in the final ten laps. Her conservative strategy would need to shift aggressive earlier than planned.

"I'm changing his pit window," she announced to the room. "We go two laps earlier than the sim suggested. He'll have more traffic to clear, but fresher rubber at the end. Trust me."

The engineers exchanged glances. Amara spoke up. "That's a gamble. If he gets held up—"

"He won't." Elise met Julien's eyes through the window. He smiled, a slow, confident curve that she'd come to know intimately. "He knows how to fight through traffic."

On the fifty-second lap, Julien pitted two laps earlier than every other front-runner. He emerged in P6, the leaders still to stop. For eight agonizing laps, the timing screens flickered as strategy unfolded. When the leaders finally pitted and rejoined, Julien was hunting them down on tires that had five fewer laps of wear.

He took P3 with four laps remaining. P2 with two. The championship leader—a young Brazilian driver whose arrogance had grated on everyone all season—fought back, but Julien's exit out of the final corner was cleaner, his traction superior.

He crossed the line P1. Championship secured by six points.

The radio exploded with cheers. Elise pulled her headset off and let the noise wash over her, her hand pressed to her chest where her heart thundered against her ribs. Through the chaos, Julien's car rolled to a stop, and he was out of the cockpit before the crew could even set the barriers.

He ran toward her, helmet still on, and lifted her off her feet in a crushing embrace. The crowd's roar drowned out his words, but she felt them against her ear: "Never doubted you. Not for one second since the day you proved me wrong."

When he set her down, she pulled his helmet off and kissed him, cameras flashing from every angle. Somewhere in the noise, someone was handing her a trophy-shaped bottle of champagne, and she took a celebratory swig before the crew dragged them both into the group photo.

Later, in the quiet of the winner's suite, Elise sat with her head against Julien's shoulder. Her phone buzzed with a message from Pierre: *Blueprint update ready. Team name possibilities attached. Open when ready.*

She smiled. The future was still unwritten—new team, new challenges, a wedding to plan. But for now, in this moment, the year's work was done. She had won.

They both had.