Breaking the Grid

Blackmail

The roar of the crowd hums in the background, distant yet ever-present, as I sit in the VIP lounge at the Emirates Stadium. The massive floodlights bathe the pitch in bright white light, illuminating the players moving across the grass with precision. My fingers wrap around the warm ceramic cup, the heat from the hot chocolate seeping into my skin as I take a slow sip.

I exhale, rubbing my temple with my free hand before glancing at Alicia, who's standing beside me, arms crossed, eyes fixed on her phone.

"How many times?" I finally ask, my voice low, already knowing the answer but still hoping for some kind of negotiation.

Alicia doesn't even look up. "All night, Blair."

I sigh, placing the cup down on the table with a soft clink. "It's a big sponsor," she continues, adjusting her blazer. "We need them. And they want you."

I rub my nose in frustration, leaning back against the plush seat. Outside, the game is still going, Arsenal leading 2-0, the crowd alive with chants and cheers. But the noise—God, the noise—it's pressing against my skull, too much after the relentless weeks I've had. I push myself up from the seat and step inside the lounge, away from the open balcony, Alicia following behind.

"I was supposed to have dinner with friends tonight," I say, knowing it won't change anything but feeling the need to say it anyway.

Alicia pauses for a second before answering, softer this time. "I know you've been busy these last weeks, but you have responsibilities, Blair. You're an F1 driver. Did you forget?"

Her words hit like a cold reminder of the life I signed up for. The life I love, the life I fight for. And yet, at this moment, all I can think about is how I barely have time to just breathe.

"Next year is going to be even more intense," she adds, giving me that look. The one that says she's right, and we both know it.

I drag a hand through my hair, exhaling through my nose before finally nodding. "Fine. I'll be there."

"Good," Alicia says with a satisfied smile. "I booked the stylist."

Tonight was supposed to be a moment to disconnect, to feel like a person again. But there's no space for that, is there?

 I make my way back to my seat, my fingers tightening around the cup as I sink into the chair.

The moment I sit down, I hear my name being called.

I glance at Alicia, already knowing she's about to drop something else on me.

"I'm sorry, Blair," she says, leaning in slightly so I can hear her over the noise of the crowd. "I have to go. I've got a meeting for a future event, but I'll send you all the details for tonight."

I let out a small sigh, shaking my head slightly. "Of course you do."

Alicia smirks, not even a little guilty. "Someone has to keep your life together."

She steps away, but just before she disappears into the aisle, she turns back and yells over the sound of the crowd, "BUT BLAIR—THE STYLIST IS AT YOUR HOUSE IN TWO HOURS!"

I blink.

She's already gone before I can even protest.

I stare at the pitch, but my mind is already elsewhere. Two hours. So much for unwinding after the game. I rub my temple, taking another sip of the hot chocolate, now barely warm.

Next year's going to be even more intense.

I already feel it.

I turn my attention back to the pitch. I like watching football—not as much as watching F1, of course—but it's still a good sport. There's something about the movement, the way the game flows, the rhythm of the passes, and the energy of the crowd. It's actually the first sport I ever tried at school. I wasn't bad at it either, but racing was always what had my heart.