Until my Last Breath

73

Barcelona, Spain.

I walk out of Red Bull's PR office with my jaw locked, my expression unmoving. Every step feels calculated, every breath controlled. I don't allow myself to show even a flicker of emotion-not now, not out here, not after what just happened inside those glass walls. The hallway is quiet, too quiet, and my boots echo against the polished floor as I walk ahead, Marina one step behind me.

"I hope we never speak of this again," I say coldly, my voice cutting through the silence like a blade. "I made it clear where my personal life stands in my career."

My words hang in the air, final and heavy. I don't turn around. I don't need to. I know Marina hears me. Everyone does. Anyone still within earshot from that room knows this isn't up for debate. Not now. Not ever.

The door behind me clicks shut with the softest thud, but it still feels deafening. There's a tension in my chest that won't settle, like my lungs are trying to expand in a space that's suddenly gotten too small. My fists are tight at my sides, nails pressing crescents into my palms, and I focus on each step down the corridor, anything to keep from turning around and smashing that door off its hinges.

It was the way they looked at me. The way they framed it. Not with malice, not even with harshness-but with that performative professionalism that tells you they're used to dictating people's lives without consequence. Like they'd rehearsed it. Like I was supposed to nod, smile, obey.

They underestimated me.

"Are you sure it's for the best?" Marina's voice finally cuts through the tension, soft but cautious. She's not questioning me-she never does-but I can hear the concern laced beneath her words. She knows what this could mean. What it might mean.

I stop. Just for a second.

"Yes," I answer, clipped. Immediate. No hesitation. My voice doesn't waver. "There's nothing to rethink."

She nods behind me, even though I don't see it-I feel it. She knows me well enough to know I've already run the calculations, already accepted the risks, already drawn the line. And once I draw it, I don't erase it.

I start walking again, faster now, the tension still crawling under my skin like static.

They can scrutinize every lap time. They can analyze my braking zones and my telemetry. They can even control what logos go on my race suit. But they don't get to write my life. They don't get to frame him as a liability when he's been the only thing keeping me steady these past few months. When I'm the one bleeding for this career-when I've earned every second of this.

Whatever was said in that room-whatever they tried-stays there. I buried it the moment I stood up and made it clear I wasn't budging. That room might've tried to rattle me, to crack something open in me, but it didn't. I left with the same spine I walked in with.

When we reach the elevators, Marina doesn't say anything more, and I'm grateful. There's nothing left to explain. My silence now is not confusion. It's defiance.

The doors slide open with a soft chime. I step in, and as they begin to close behind us, I finally allow myself one breath. Controlled. Steady.

They tried to make me choose.

And I didn't flinch.
---

The moment I spot him-hood up, cap low, arms folded and waiting just past the barrier-everything else fades into static.

He doesn't hesitate when he sees me. He strides over, tugging his mask down just enough to let out a breath, and pulls me into him without a word. It's not rushed or frantic. It's grounding. His hands press into my back like he's anchoring me to something more real than the last forty-eight hours.