Criminal ~ OP81

19. Silence was never this loud before

Andrea Wolff

As I lay motionless on the plush hotel bed, my eyes are fixed on the window where brilliant sunlight streamed in, frowning as it seemed it was mocking my misery with its cheerfulness.

The world outside continued to spin, oblivious to the fact that mine had come crashing down around me.

My face felt tight and dry, skin pulled taut by the dried tear tracks that marked my cheeks. I could feel the puffiness around my eyes, a physical manifestation of the hours I'd spent crying and awake.

I hated myself for this display of weakness, a voice in my head chided me for not pushing through with a brave and stern face. But I couldn't help it. Everything I cared about had slipped through my fingers like grains of sand.

Oscar's face flashed in my mind, his eyes filled with hurt and betrayal. The memory sent a fresh wave of pain through my chest, so intense it was almost a physical ache that made me feel hollow.

I'd lost him, the one person who saw me for who I really was, not just as Toto Wolff's daughter or a potential pawn in the world of F1 politics she didn't even want to be apart of.

Or at least that's how he use to see me before I stupidly played into the same fantasy everyone put me in.

My phone chimed again, the sound grating on my already frayed nerves. I knew without looking what it would be - another notification, another cruel message from a stranger who thought they knew me based on sensationalized headlines.

The constant pinging had become a torturous rhythm, each sound a reminder of how quickly my world had unraveled.

I forced myself to look at the screen, immediately regretting the decision. The notifications were a mix of news alerts and social media mentions, each one more vicious than the last.

"Andrea Wolff: Seductress or Spy?" one headline blared.

"Piastri's Pit Stop Romance: A Ploy for McLaren Secrets?" another questioned.

The comments were even worse, a sea of faceless avatars spewing vitriol:

"Always knew she was just riding daddy's coattails. Pathetic."
"Poor Oscar, hope he comes to his senses and dumps her manipulative ass."
"Bet she's slept her way through half the grid. Disgusting."

Each word felt like a physical blow, chipping away at what little resolve I had left. The absurdity of it all would have made me laugh if I wasn't so numb.

Me, Andrea Wolff, who'd rather talk about anything but racing when I was with Oscar. Who'd found in him a refuge from the high-pressures of my life, a place away from disappointing gazes and questioning accusations.

But now that refuge was gone, shattered by misunderstandings and my own stupid fucking mistakes. And the fallout wasn't just either Oscar. I could feel my dad's disappointment like a physical weight, pressing down on me harder than before. His trust in me, always a fragile thing, had been irreparably damaged.

As if summoned by my thoughts, a knock sounded at the door.

I didn't move, didn't even blink.

Maybe if I stayed still enough, whoever it was would go away and leave me to my misery. The knocking persisted, each rap against the wood sending a jolt through my system.

"Andrea?" My dads voice, usually so commanding, sounded oddly hesitant. "Andrea, I know you're in there. We need to talk."

I remained silent, but I could hear him sigh on the other side of the door. The sound was so uncharacteristic of him that for a moment, I almost got up to let him in. Almost.