I don’t like change. Never have. Especially not on race day.

Everything has a rhythm, and it needs to stay the fuck in line. The feel of the race suit sliding over my skin, the weight of the watch I always take off right before my gloves, the angle of light in the briefing room. I like control. I like silence before the storm. I like knowing the machine under me was built by hands I trust.

Not—

“We’d like to introduce you to your new creative technical designer,” said Marco, five minutes ago. Too casually. Like he wasn’t about to slap a stranger between me and the only thing that makes sense in my life.

My jaw clenched. I didn’t even look up from my gloves. “Where’s Matteo?”

“He’s been reassigned. You’ll still see him around.”

Bullshit. I should’ve known when he didn’t reply to my message last night about the rear diffuser tweak. I don’t like people disappearing. I don’t like being blindsided. This isn’t a fashion show. It’s Formula fucking One.

And now she’s here.

Standing in front of me like she doesn’t feel the way I’m not looking at her. Like she doesn’t know she’s already in my way.

“Hi,” she says, with a voice that doesn’t belong in this paddock. It’s smooth. Warm. Dangerous. “I’m—”

“I know who you are.” I finally look up.

And that’s my second mistake.

Fuck.

She’s… goddamn beautiful.

Not in the forced, sponsor-PR-event type of way. In the way that makes your brain lag. Big eyes—serious ones. Like she’s used to being underestimated. Lips with a natural pout, and skin that looks like it’s never touched fluorescent light. She’s wearing the red jacket like she belongs in it, too, which pisses me off even more.

She shouldn’t.

She didn’t build this car. She didn’t sweat through winter testing. She didn’t sit with me and Matteo in the simulator at 3 a.m. drinking bitter espresso and arguing over front wing angles.

She’s not part of this. Not mine.

“I know change can be difficult,” she says evenly. She’s holding a tablet. Nails short. Smart move—not trying to look too polished around me. “But I’ve studied every adjustment Matteo logged. Nothing is going to feel foreign today. I made sure of it.”

I arch a brow. “That’s cute.”

Her mouth tightens. There it is—finally a crack in that diplomatic face.

“You don’t have to like me,” she says, voice lower now. “You just have to drive like usual.”

I take a slow breath through my nose. Smell of hot carbon. Engine grease. Tension.

My chest burns a little—not because I’m nervous, but because I’m furious. Furious that they keep treating this team like a puzzle to rearrange, like I’m not the one risking my neck for this badge. Furious that she’s got eyes like she’s already figured me out.

Furious that I want to keep looking at her anyway.

Focus, Charles. Focus, putain. Get your shit together.

“You think you can just step into this garage, flip through a few PDFs, and understand what I need?” I ask, stepping closer. I’m not trying to intimidate her. I just need to see if she blinks.