I don’t remember the exact moment it changed. It wasn’t something loud. Not some dramatic switch. Just… quiet.

Like how night becomes morning. You don’t notice the light until it’s already there.

I’ve known her since she was a kid—his kid. The one always asking questions, hanging around the paddock like she belonged there. Too stubborn. Too bold. He used to shake his head and say, “She’s just like her mother.” But I saw him soften around her in ways he never did with anyone else.

We all did.

She was off-limits. Always.

So I never looked. Not really. Not until I did.

I think it started when she stopped trying to impress anyone. When she walked into the garage one season older, hair tied back, fire in her eyes, and told a race engineer he was wrong without blinking.

She didn’t look at me like I was Kimi Räikkönen. She looked at me like I was just another man who could be challenged. And I remember thinking, Shit.

She caught me watching her once. Didn’t smile. Didn’t flirt. Just raised an eyebrow and kept walking. And I felt something then—a pull. A problem.

But I ignored it. For months.