I grip the steering wheel, my fingers tightening as I exhale a slow breath. The garage is buzzing—engineers checking data, mechanics making last-minute adjustments. My heart is pounding, but not from the usual pre-qualifying adrenaline rush. No, this time, it’s different. Because as I turn my head, I see her. And she’s not okay.

She stands just outside the garage, arms wrapped around herself, breathing way too fast. Her eyes dart around like a trapped animal. I don’t need to ask what’s wrong. I already know.

I tear off my gloves, tossing them onto my seat, and stride over to her. The paddock is a mess of movement, but my focus is on her—only her.

“Hey, hey,” I murmur, placing a hand on her shoulder. She flinches but doesn’t pull away. “Talk to me. What’s happening?”

She doesn’t answer, just stares at something in the crowd. My stomach twists. I follow her gaze, and then I see him.

Her father.

The man who made her life hell. The reason she left home. The reason she moved in with me.

He’s standing in the grandstands, too far away to hear, but close enough to make her panic. His presence alone is enough to undo all the progress she’s made.

I step in front of her, blocking her view. “Look at me.”

She hesitates, her breath still uneven, but finally, her eyes meet mine.

“He can’t touch you,” I tell her, voice firm. “He doesn’t control you anymore. You’re safe here. With me.”

She swallows hard, and for a second, I think she might break down completely. But she doesn’t. Instead, she grips my wrist, her fingers ice-cold against my skin.

“Breathe,” I whisper. “I’m not going anywhere.”