Roads of Redemption | F1 | Toto Wolff

8.3. | Mercy in You.

The sound of hesitant footsteps invaded the kitchen, breaking the silence. Finally, he stepped in, likely calculating every movement, thinking about how to steer the conversation at just the right pace.

"What are you up to?" The question came with a curious glint in his eyes.

"Something totally unhealthy." I responded with a mischievous smile, surprised and a bit intrigued by the unexpected start to the interaction. "I'm starving," I added as he drew closer, trying to sneak a peek at what I was so focused on preparing.

Before he could say anything else, I pulled a chair over, climbed onto it, and reached for the jar of Nutella carefully hidden on the highest shelf. With almost childlike delight, I spread the creamy hazelnut generously on the bread, already imagining the taste on my tongue.

"You could've just asked. I would've grabbed it for you," he offered, a hint of irritation slipping out at my apparent insistence on pretending his presence was irrelevant.

"I don't need your help," I replied firmly, not taking my eyes off what I was doing.

He hesitated, then quickly changed tactics, raising an eyebrow. "You know that stuff's not good for you, right?"

"I know very well," I chuckled lightly, not hiding my satisfaction. "But everyone's got a guilty pleasure. Mine just happens to be sugar," I joked, my tone slightly teasing as I finished preparing my snack.

Still holding the spoon, I walked past him and sat on the counter, separating the kitchen from the living room. I placed my phone beside me and looked at him, the invitation to continue the conversation clear in my eyes. "Want some?"

He just shook his head, predictable as ever.

"Alright then," I murmured, trying to sound casual, though my voice betrayed a bit of hesitation. "Go ahead, talk."

Toto gave a small smile, a mix of relief and seriousness in his eyes. "I was waiting for you to say that." He lifted his hand, gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear before brushing his fingers against the corner of my lip, wiping away a smudge of Nutella and chuckling softly.

"I didn't come here to talk about the past," he began, the hesitation evident in his tone, as if treading on dangerous ground. "It's about the future. There's an opportunity I think you should consider..."

"No." The answer was sharp and direct, cutting through the air.

"Valen, Mercedes is restructuring their psychological support program and..." He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture that clearly showed his discomfort.

"No," I repeated firmly. "Anything else?"

Silence.

"Valen..." He finally broke the silence, his voice low, heavy with something I couldn't immediately identify.

I took a deep breath, cutting him off before he could continue: "I can refer some colleagues to you. But I'm sure the HR team won't have any trouble finding excellent professionals." I finished the sentence with a definitive tone. "If that's all, you didn't need this whole runaround."

"It's not just a job, Valen. I know how technical and impersonal that sounds, but... it's more than that. I'm trying to open a door that I closed the wrong way years ago."

"A door?" I repeated, sarcasm dripping from the word. "You locked that door and threw away the key. Now you think you can just show up with a rehearsed speech and expect me to open it again?"

"You're so stubborn," he countered, his voice laced with exasperation as he stared at me.

"And you're so naive if you thought I'd jump at your offer," I shot back, feeling the anger rising in my chest. "If you thought I'd toss aside four years of rebuilding myself and my new job just for this."