Redline | L.Norris

nine

What goes up must always come down, and emotions are no exception. Isla experienced this firsthand as she stood triumphantly on the second step, the exhilaration of the night swirling around her, champagne glistening on her skin like confetti in the air. The crowd roared with applause, her heart raced with joy—until the moment shattered, pierced by the flash of cameras and the invasive scrutiny of the media.

Suddenly, the cheers turned into whispers, and the glint of celebration dulled. Headlines threatened to overshadow her triumph, transforming her bliss into a battleground of speculation and judgment. The very platform that had once celebrated her now seemed like a precarious tightrope, and Isla felt herself teetering on the edge. How quickly the sweetness of victory could sour, how the world could twist a moment of joy into a spectacle of doubt.

"Isla, congratulations on your first podium. How does it feel to stand up there next to two seasoned drivers?" Max was P1 and Charles managed to stay within podium range after Isla overtook him.

"It feels great knowing that the hard work I've put in along with the team is paying off so early. To get a Red Bull 1-2 with the Ferrari's looking as good as they did is even better."

As she set the microphone down, soaking in the moment, the media shifted their focus. A reporter leaned forward, a glint of skepticism in their eyes. "Isla, some are saying your success today was just a matter of luck. What do you say to those who think you simply got lucky?"

The atmosphere shifted, the buzz of celebration now laced with tension. Isla took a breath, ready to defend her place on the podium, knowing that this was just the beginning of a much bigger race—both on and off the track.

Max beat her to answering. "What kind of question is that? Would you as me that or better yet, would you ask Kimi Raikkonen that? She earned her starting spot in qualifying yesterday and bettered the position today. What in all of that sounds like luck?"

The room was quiet, not knowing how to respond to Max's outburst. Isla took this moment to lean forward and say, "While it may have been pure luck for you to be in the spot you are. I worked my ass off for mine. Remember that next time you want to question my skill level."

Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted her PR manager and Max's frantically waving their hands, signaling them to cool it. Max took it as his cue to stand up, motioning for Isla to do the same. Charles, who had been watching intently, followed suit but paused to catch Isla before they exited the building.

"You raced brilliantly today," he said, sincerity in his eyes. "Your defensive skills are something I'll have to study because I couldn't find a way around you. Don't let them take this away from you." He gave her a reassuring pat on the back before heading out.

As their PR managers pointed them back toward the exit, Isla shook her head, disbelief swirling within her. Max caught her expression. "They're idiots. All of them."

The pair passed Lando, and he took a step towards them until Max pointed to the pair of angry managers behind them. This made Lando pause, and he glanced at Isla. He saw what should've been happiness from her win, but instead a blank expression. He met Max's gaze with a question. "Later." Is the word Max mouthed back, continuing back to the garage.

The two Red Bull drivers made it back and headed to their drivers rooms to get changed. Christian had just walked back in when the four of them returned, already knowing something happened in the postrace conference based on a few comments that others made.

"How bad?" He asked Max's manager. She sighed, "One of the journalists asked Isla another question about luck. Max answered first this time."

Christian sighed, but looked at Alice, "And why do you also look upset?"