Thanks to Norris

part 34-

Monday – 9:07 AM, Training Center

Your alarm had gone off way too early for someone who'd spent the night laughing over Instagram comments and debating whether Charles was serious or just being a menace. But there was no avoiding it — Baku was coming up fast, and Monday meant back to work.

You threw your gym bag over your shoulder, grabbed a protein bar on the way out, and headed to the training center.

By the time you walked in, the familiar hum of machines and the sharp scent of antiseptic and sweat hit you like a reset button. No viral posts, no soft-launch chaos — just hard floors, tight schedules, and the quiet determination of a race week grind.

Your trainer, Luca, greeted you with a smirk.

Luca: "Monaco's most famous socialite returns."

You (dropping your bag): "Don't start. I saw the plan. You're evil."

Luca (grinning): "You said you wanted to feel sharp for Baku."

You: "I said I wanted to win. I didn't say I wanted to die."

The two of you got to work. Warm-ups, resistance drills, core stability, then a focused sim session to keep your reactions sharp. Baku's tight corners and long straights demanded a weird mix of precision and patience — and the strategy team had already started feeding you data on tire wear, possible weather, pit windows.

Between reps, your mind wandered briefly to the chaos of the weekend — the fans, the stream, Charles's comment. It felt like a separate universe from the sharp-focus rhythm of race prep.

You were midway through a plank hold when your phone buzzed again. You ignored it. Luca glanced at you.

Luca: "Another comment from the Ferrari prince?"

You (wheezing): "Push-ups. Now."

After a grueling two-hour session, you finally collapsed onto the bench, sweat-drenched and sore in all the right ways.

You picked up your phone.

One new message.

Charles: "Hope training's going well. I promise movie night raincheck if you podium this weekend."

You stared at the screen, then snorted — not because it was flirty (though it kind of was), but because it was exactly the kind of motivational threat you'd expect from him.

You typed back quickly:

You: "So now I'm racing for movies and your approval? Unbelievable."

Charles: "Yes. And snacks. Don't forget the popcorn."

You grinned, locking your phone.

Luca (walking past): "You're smiling. That means I didn't train you hard enough."

You: "No, it means I'm coming for Baku like it owes me money."

And just like that, the weekend faded into the background. There were still jokes, texts, and viral posts — but right now, the next race was calling. Fast straights, street walls, and 90-degree turns.

Baku was waiting.

And so were you — focused, ready, and quietly thinking about movie night motivation.

Training left you exhausted but buzzing — that good kind of tired where your muscles ached, your mind felt clear, and you knew Baku prep was officially in motion. As soon as you finished your cooldown, you texted Josi: