𝐆𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐄𝐍 𝐒𝐋𝐔𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑𝐒 | 𝐋𝐍𝟒

𝐗𝐗𝐈𝐗

Saturday - The Austrian Grand Prix

The paddock buzzed with urgency.

Engines roared in the distance, echoing through the circuit ..The Sprint had just begun. Cameras panned, pit crew sprinted, and still—despite the chaos—Milaine VanBoven walked in like a calm current slicing through a storm.

She wore a black fitted turtleneck tucked into a crisp white mini skirt, legs long and toned under matching white boots that made soft sounds against the pavement. A tan leather journal rested in her hand, clutched tightly against her chest, and her blonde hair flowed behind her like silk, catching the summer wind.

Viv walked beside her, her tone brisk but steady, talking her through the media bullet points again.

« So 30 minutes after the sprint , you head straight to the McLaren suite. Then it's the video shoot. Keep it playful—light. No drama. Then we're free to watch Quali anf then go back to the hotel.. You don't answer any reporter today if they ask you.. Just... try to keep your cool.»

Milaine didn't say anything. She barely listened, nodding now and then, her mind already further down the paddock, halfway into McLaren's hospitality suite.

They had scheduled the rehab session early at the hotel. Omar had worked through her shoulder with precision, and she'd trained lightly before heading straight here. She was tired—but feeling refreshed .

It was easier to walk through while the Sprint was on. Press was thinner, scattered, too busy streaming the race or glued to a screen somewhere. Still, a few eyes caught her—a mix of fans, photographers, staff. She kept her chin up and didn't slow down.

And then—there he was.

Mick.

He'd just exited a garage corridor, wearing Mercedes gear, hair slightly tousled, lanyard around his neck. He was waiting for her, She had let him know when she would be coming to the paddock , and he waited for her .. He caught sight of her first, and his face lit up.

«Milaine!»

She turned at the sound of her name, lips pulling into a slow smile. «Hey, Schumacher.»

They met halfway, and he gave her a warm, one-armed hug.

«You came at the perfect time,» he said, already turning a bit, waving for her to follow. «Sprint just started. Come watch it with me—we're in the Mercedes hospitality. Laila's there too, she's been dying to meet you.»

Milaine blinked, she had never been anywhere near Mercedes so she was slightly nervous.. Her grip on the journal loosened slightly.

«You sure?» she asked, eyes darting over his shoulder.

«Yeah » he grinned, nodding quickly. «She'll kill me if I don't bring you up. Come on, it'll be chill.»

Viv raised a brow but didn't interfere. «Go ahead» she said, pulling out her phone. «I'll be in the McLaren suite finalizing with PR. Just don't be late for filming.»

Milaine nodded, then looked back at Mick, smile returning. «Alright. Lead the way.»

And just like that, she turned and followed him—her steps lighter than when she arrived, now feeling less tense and more relaxed..

The Mercedes hospitality suite was calmer than the chaos outside, with wide screens broadcasting the Sprint..

Mick led her through it with ease, nodding to familiar faces, until finally he stopped near one of the corner seating areas. A girl sat there, half-perched on the edge of a leather sofa, long blonde hair tumbling down her back. She was animated even sitting still, clapping at something on the screen.