Being Toto Wolff’s daughter came with its own unique mix of privileges and pressures. Sure, there were the perks—like skipping class to shadow George Russell’s PR manager or spending time in the garage, chatting with the engineers. But there were also the downsides: constant attention, barely any privacy, and the feeling that your life was always under a microscope. Over time, though, you’d learned to live with it.

But the one part you secretly cherished the most? Kimi Antonelli.

You two had grown close—sharing quiet conversations in corners of the paddock, exchanging glances that lingered a little too long, smiles that said more than words ever could. There were feelings there, unspoken but undeniable. Neither of you had the courage to admit it aloud, afraid of what might change.

And of course, your dad knew. He always knew. It was impossible to hide the way you both lit up when the other was mentioned. You talked about Kimi all the time, and Kimi—he never missed a chance to ask your dad how you were doing.

It was complicated. But it was also something real, something beautiful—quietly blooming in the heart of the racing world.