His heartbeat was loud in his ears, his whole head pounding with a newfound headache as he listened to you talk. Miss Perfect. George Russell's mouthy sister. God, he'd never hated someone so much.

Your words dragged into one long continuous string of bullshit as you fed the media with what it wanted. Maybe in another life where he didn't already despise you wo much, he would've given you the benefit of the doubt. But now he couldn't stand another second of your voice echoing around his head.

"Bullshit." He abruptly lifted the microphone to his mouth, fixing the Redbull cap that sat proudly on his head. "When will we stop listening to her?" He pointed his sharp glare in your direction, but you were already looking at him with those same fiery eyes. He hated those deep emotional eyes so much.