[Tessa's POV]
Sometimes, the most horrific truths are delivered in casual whispers, caught between the screech of tires and the roar of engines.
I've always been more comfortable with machines than people. Engines make sense, predictable, fixable, governed by laws of physics that don't change on a whim. People are messy, unpredictable, often cruel. Today proved why I prefer the company of carbon fiber and titanium.
My hands won't stop shaking as I stare at the replay of the crash on my tablet. The footage shows Blair's car slamming into Ivy's at Turn 1, sending both machines cartwheeling across the track in a ballet of destruction that should have killed them both. The red flag came out immediately, race suspended while they cleared the wreckage.
But I'm not trembling because of the crash.
I press my palms against my eyes, trying to erase what I overheard on the starting grid. I was underneath Olivia's car, making a last-minute adjustment to her diffuser when I heard Ivy's voice just feet away, speaking to Blair with that casual cruelty that makes my skin crawl.
"I cornered him in your trailer. I pinned him down, tied his hands to a table, and raped him."
The words replay in my head on a sickening loop. Nick. Sweet, gentle Nick with his kind eyes and self-deprecating humor. The boy I've watched grow into a man, always slightly hunched as if trying to take up less space in a world that never appreciated him enough.
I was always the awkward teenager hanging around the paddock while Nick was just a kid with skinned knees and a permanent look of wonder. Four years older than him, I existed in that strange peripheral space, too old to be his friend, too young to be an authority figure. Just Britney's nerdy older sister who could explain how the cars worked if anyone asked.
Which they rarely did.
Our families' lives intersected through racing. My sister Britney battled Nick's sister Melissa in go-karts all through their teens, their rivalry continuing right up until Britney abandoned Formula 3, deciding racing was more her hobby than career. I stayed in the paddock world, following the technical path while Melissa climbed the racing ladder.
Nick was always in her shadow, the soft-spoken brother of a rising star. I watched him grow from a distance, noticing how he seemed to fold into himself more with each passing year, how his smile became more practiced, less genuine.
I lost track of him after Britney quit, and during college, racing consumed my life, endless hours of telemetry, simulation data, and aerodynamic calculations. Relationships became theoretical concepts, something other people had time for.
Then, about four years ago, I was mindlessly scrolling through Twitch at 2 AM, brain too wired from caffeine and stress to sleep. That's when I saw him.
"DNF_Nick" was his awful username, streaming iRacing to an audience of literally seven people. There he was, grown-up Nick, with those same kind eyes and a nervous laugh I recognized immediately. He was absolutely terrible, spinning out on corners a twelve-year-old could handle, apologizing profusely to his non-existent audience.
Something about his kindness and genuine enthusiasm despite his obvious lack of skill touched me. Before I knew what I was doing, I'd created an account and started chatting. Within a week, I'd become his most active viewer and moderator.
My username makes me cringe a little now: "Nickismyhusbando." It was meant to be ironic, a joke he'd never get because he didn't know any Japanese terms. But watching him now, trapped in Ivy Hunt's web of manipulation and abuse, that silly username feels like armor.
"Tessa? Earth to Tessa."
A sharp voice cuts through my spiral of dark thoughts. I blink rapidly, reality rushing back as I find Morgan Stella standing over me, her tall frame casting a shadow across my workstation. The team principal's vibrant red hair is pulled back in her signature severe ponytail, green eyes studying me with that calculating gaze that's made her infamous throughout the paddock.
"Sorry," I mumble, straightening my glasses. "I was just reviewing the crash data."
"Clearly," Morgan says with a hint of amusement. "You looked about a million miles away."
I force a smile, closing the video replay on my tablet before she can see I've been obsessively rewatching the same footage for the past hour. "Just lost in thought."
"Well, snap out of it." Her hand rests on my desk. "I can't believe you're leaving us so soon, and for Zenith of all places."
I sigh, guilt twisting in my stomach. McLaren has been good to me, giving me my first real opportunity in F1 after years of grinding through lower formulas. "I'm sorry. You know how it goes, though."
Morgan's smile tightens slightly, never quite reaching her eyes. That's the thing about her, everything feels performative, like she's constantly auditioning for the role of "competent female boss" rather than simply being one.
"After the race today, I'll need you to sign some NDA paperwork regarding what you know about our car," she says, her tone casual but her eyes sharp. "Standard procedure."
"Of course," I nod. "Trade secrets and all that."
She hits my shoulder in what I suppose is meant to be a friendly gesture, though it lands a bit too hard. "Perfect! You get it. Alright, I'll see you later."
As Morgan strides away, I rub my shoulder absently, my thoughts immediately returning to Nick. When I first heard he was dating Ivy Hunt, I practically begged for the transfer to Zenith. I told myself I just wanted to keep an eye on him, make sure he wasn't getting in over his head with someone as intense as the three-time world champion.
But now, knowing what I know, that she has him trapped, emotionally hostage after what she did to him, I'm thrilled I made the move. He needs someone to save him from that monster. He deserves someone gentle, someone kind. Someone who can love him for everything he is, not what he can provide.
Someone like me.
*****
[Nick's POV]
There's a strange calm that settles over a paddock after someone tries to murder your fiancée. The Bahrain air hangs heavy with unspoken questions as I fold Ivy's racing underwear into neat squares, tucking them between layers of designer clothes in her suitcase. My engagement ring catches the light with every movement, the diamond still feeling foreign and excessive on my finger.
Three sharp knocks on our trailer door interrupt my packing rhythm. Ivy emerges from the bathroom, toothbrush hanging from her mouth, purple eyes narrowing with suspicion.
"I'll get it," I offer, setting down a half-folded purple Zenith team shirt.
When I slide the door open, Bridgette stands on the metal steps, tablet clutched to her chest like a shield. The team's press officer looks exhausted, dark circles highlighting eyes that have clearly seen too many crisis management situations for one weekend.
"Hey Nick," she says, offering a tight smile that doesn't reach her eyes. "Is Ivy available? The stewards have made their decision."
"Come in," I step aside, gesturing toward the interior where Ivy now leans against the kitchenette counter, arms crossed over her chest, toothbrush removed but her posture screaming defensive readiness.
Bridgette enters cautiously, like someone approaching a wild animal. "The stewards have reviewed all the telemetry data and onboard footage," she begins without preamble. "They've decided to give Blair a ten-position grid penalty for the Saudi Arabia race for causing avoidable contact."
"Ten positions?" I blurt out, unable to hide my surprise. "That's it?"
Bridgette's eyebrows rise slightly at my reaction. "It's actually quite significant," she explains, her tone professionally measured. "Blair has a completely clean record. No prior incidents in her entire Formula career."
I glance at Ivy, expecting to see outrage matching my own, but her face remains carefully neutral, those purple eyes calculating something I can't quite read.
"Fair enough," I mutter, turning back to my packing. The punishment feels laughably inadequate for what I know was attempted murder, but I can hardly explain that to Bridgette without revealing Ivy's pre-race mind games.
"The team will release a statement supporting the stewards' decision," Bridgette continues, tapping something on her tablet. "We're framing it as an unfortunate racing incident between teammates. Victoria wants you both to present a united front at the Saudi press conference."
Ivy, who's been staring absently at her phone, barely glances up at Bridgette's words. "Yeah, sounds fine," she mumbles, clearly disinterested in the PR strategy.
Bridgette looks between us, seemingly waiting for more engagement, but when Ivy returns to scrolling through her phone, she sighs. "Right, well... I'll leave you to finish packing then. Flight's at nine tomorrow."
The moment the trailer door clicks shut behind Bridgette, Ivy's demeanor transforms. She tosses her phone onto the counter and grabs me by the waist, her fingers digging into my hips with sudden urgency.
"Come on," she says, her voice low and determined. "Let's get this over with."
"Get what over with?" I ask, confused by her sudden intensity.
"Talking to Blair," she replies, already pulling me toward the door. "Before she starts a fire we can't stop."
My stomach drops. "Wait, now? Shouldn't we…"
But Ivy's already dragging me outside, her grip firm enough that I have to scramble to keep pace with her determined strides. The evening air hits my face as we emerge, the paddock quieter now as teams pack up their equipment.
We reach Blair's trailer in less than a minute, the identical purple Zenith logo gleaming under the artificial lights. Ivy knocks on her door.
For a moment, there's silence. Then, the door slides open, revealing Blair in team-issued loungewear, her electric blue hair damp from a recent shower. Her silver eyes widen when she sees us, first with surprise, then with something darker, fear, maybe, or determination.
Before Blair can speak, Ivy shoves me forward, pushing both of us into the trailer and slamming the door shut behind us. The sudden movement sends me stumbling into Blair's kitchenette counter.
"What the hell?" Blair backs away. Her gaze darts between us, lingering on me with an intensity that makes me uncomfortable. "Nick, are you okay?"
"He's fine," Ivy snaps, positioning herself between us. "We need to talk."
The trailer feels impossibly small with the three of us inside, the air thick with tension. Blair's silver eyes never leave mine, searching for something, a sign, a signal, anything to confirm whatever narrative she's constructed in her mind.
"Nick," Blair says softly, ignoring Ivy completely. "You don't have to stay with her. Whatever she's told you, whatever she's threatened you with…"
"Stop!" I interrupt sharply, my voice cracking with emotion. The word hangs in the air between us, stopping Blair mid-sentence.
I take a deep breath, steadying myself against the counter. This has to end now.
"Ivy never raped me, Blair. She completely made that up to get in your head before the race." The lie falls from my lips with surprising ease, my eyes fixed on Blair's face, watching as confusion replaces her concern.
Blair blinks rapidly, her silver eyes darting between Ivy and me. "But she told me."
"She told you what she thought would make you lose focus," I continue, stepping forward. "It was a sick mind game, yes, but it wasn't true. What happened between us was..." I swallow hard, forcing myself to maintain eye contact, "completely consensual."
Ivy stands motionless beside me, her expression unreadable. I can feel her eyes on me but can't bring myself to look at her.
Blair's face crumples, the realization washing over her like a wave. She staggers backward until her legs hit the small sofa, sinking down onto it as though her body suddenly weighs too much to hold upright.
"You tried to kill me over a lie," Ivy says, her voice eerily calm. "You could have died too, you know."
Blair covers her face with her hands, her shoulders beginning to shake. "I thought…" she starts, her voice muffled. "I thought I was saving him."
A strange mixture of emotions churns in my stomach, guilt for the lie, relief that we might defuse this situation, and a twisted gratitude toward Ivy for not contradicting me.
Ivy crosses her arms over her chest, her lips curling into that confident smile I've come to both love and fear. "So we're good here, right, teammate? Misunderstanding cleared up, we can all move on."
Blair's head snaps up, her silver eyes suddenly ablaze with fury. "Who the fuck lies about something like that?" She stands so quickly the sofa scrapes against the floor. "You told me you sexually assaulted him just to mess with my head during a race?"
"I wanted to race against the best version of you," Ivy shrugs, seemingly unbothered by Blair's growing rage. "Not some mopey, depressed little thing barely keeping it together. I thought anger might light a fire under you."
Blair lunges forward, her face contorted with rage. For a terrifying moment, I think she might actually strike Ivy, but instead she whirls toward me, silver eyes blazing.
"And you!" she shouts, jabbing a finger at my chest. "How can you just stand there? The Nick I knew would never tolerate someone using sexual assault as a mind game! What happened to you?"
Her words hit me like a physical blow. I take a step back, feeling the counter edge dig into my spine. The accusation in her voice makes my throat tighten, but as I glance at Ivy beside me, something hardens in my chest.
"People change, Blair," I say, my voice steadier than I expected. "Maybe I'm not the pushover you remember."
Ivy's hand finds mine, our fingers intertwining. The diamond catches the light as I squeeze her hand.
"The Nick you knew?" I continue, feeling a strange surge of confidence. "That guy was constantly walking on eggshells, terrified of disappointing you. I don't miss being him."
"This isn't you," Blair insists, her voice cracking. "She's turned you into something else. Something cruel."
I laugh, the sound surprising even me. "No, she's just the first person who's ever truly seen me. Who appreciates me." I pull Ivy closer, wrapping my arm around her waist. "I don't expect you to understand what we have."
Blair's face crumples, disbelief and disgust battling across her features. "You're defending her? After what she just admitted to doing?"
"Mind games are part of racing," I reply with a shrug that mimics Ivy's casual confidence. "Always have been. But trying to kill someone over them? That's crossing a line I can't even comprehend."
Ivy leans into me, her warmth against my side feeling like validation. The way she looks at me now, with that mixture of surprise and approval, fills me with a satisfaction I've never known before.
"We're done here," I announce, turning toward the door. "Come on, Ivy."
As we reach the door, Blair's voice stops us, small and broken. "She's going to destroy you, Nick."
"No. I really don't think she will."