I can't .

~26~

POV y/n:

After secretly meeting Carlos several times over the summer break, we're finally back for the first race weekend after three long weeks. We're in Zandvoort, and the weather's been playing tricks on us—sunshine one moment, sudden rain showers the next.

I'm standing with George, discussing race strategy, when my eyes involuntarily drift toward the Ferrari pit box. That's when I spot her—Isa, walking confidently in their direction like she owns the place.

Without thinking, I pull my phone from my pocket and shoot Carlos a quick text.
"She's here."

His reply comes almost instantly:
"I know, I saw her. Don't worry, mi amor."

I quickly tuck my phone away and glance toward Ferrari's pit wall. We catch each other's eyes for a split second—he winks. My heart stumbles in my chest.

George raises an eyebrow. "Did he just wink at you?"

I scoff, a little too quickly. "Don't be ridiculous, George. Carlos and I are over."
I nod toward Isa. "Didn't you see her walk in just now?"

"She's back?" George frowns. "So he's with her again?"

"Yeah. Has been for a while, apparently."

George sighs. "That's a shame. He really doesn't know what he's lost."

I smile at him—genuine this time. His quiet loyalty means more than he knows. Together, we walk toward his car and I wish him luck for the race.

About 25 laps in, a red flag is suddenly called.

"What happened?" I ask, voice sharp over the radio.

"I think Carlos just crashed," George says, unsure. "Didn't catch it clearly."

I glance sideways. The Ferrari crew looks tense. My stomach sinks. My eyes flick up to the screen just in time to see the replay—Carlos's car clipping a curb, spinning, then flipping before slamming into the barrier.

My heart stops.

No—no, no, no. The track was nearly dry, the worst of the rain long gone. What the hell happened?

I barely manage to hold it together, forcing my face to stay neutral, professional, even though my insides are screaming. My fingers dig into the edge of the pit wall console. When the ambulance drives onto the track, I can't take it anymore.

I throw off my headset and run—past the Mercedes team, through the garages—until I reach Ferrari's pit box, just as Charles is stepping out of his car.

"Has anyone heard from him?" I ask breathlessly.

The Ferrari crew gives me strange looks. Isa is staring daggers into me. Her voice cuts through the air, dripping with venom.
"You're in the wrong garage, y/n."

I turn to face her slowly, eyes cold. My voice is steady, sharp.
"Fuck you, Isa. He doesn't want you anymore. He's with me now. Accept it."

There's more I want to say—so much more—but I stop when I see Charles walking over. He leans in close and murmurs, "He's okay."

Relief hits me like a wave. A tear slips down my cheek.

"They got him out safely," Charles continues. "He's being taken to the hospital for checks. If you want, I can pick you up at the hotel later, and we'll go together."

I nod, too overwhelmed to speak. With shaky steps, I return to the Mercedes pit wall, sliding into my seat beside my father. His eyes are burning with quiet fury, but I don't care.