I don’t even remember walking back to the garage. My body moved on autopilot, the roar of the crowd dulling into background noise as if my brain refused to let the reality of it sink in. One moment, I was fighting for every tenth of a second, knowing Oscar was just up the road, and the next… warning lights. Radio crackles. The smell of burning oil. Then silence.

Out of the race.

Nine points down had turned into thirty-four. Just like that.

I did what I always do — smiled for the cameras, said all the right things. “Unlucky day.” “We’ll come back stronger.” “Great job to the team.” I congratulated Oscar, hugged him even, told him he deserved the win. I probably even convinced a few people that I meant it.

But she knew. She always knows.

The façade only lasted until the door to our hotel room clicked shut behind us. My back hit the wall, and I just… broke. The tears I’d been holding back all day burned my eyes as they finally fell, hot and angry and humiliating.

“I don’t get it,” I choked out, my voice raw. “Why is it always my car? Always me? I—” I dragged a shaky hand through my hair. “I drive my heart out every damn weekend, and it’s still never enough. Maybe I’m just—maybe I’m not meant to win.”

She didn’t say anything at first, just crossed the room in a few quiet steps and wrapped her arms around me. And I let her. I let my head fall onto her shoulder like I’d been desperate to do all day. I hated myself for crying — for feeling weak — but with her, I didn’t have to pretend.

“Hey,” she whispered, her fingers combing gently through my hair. “Don’t do that. Don’t give up on yourself.”

I shook my head against her. “It’s over. Thirty-four points. Nine races. If we just finish one-two, I’d still have to win seven of them. Seven. That’s impossible.”

“It’s not impossible,” she said softly but firmly, like she was anchoring me back to reality. She pulled back just enough to look into my eyes, her thumbs brushing away the tears I didn’t even realize were still there. “You’re Lando Norris. You don’t roll over. You fight. You still have a chance — but you have to take it. No more thinking about the team first. No more playing nice. It’s time to step into your villain era, babe. Think about you. Go take what’s yours.”

For a moment, I just stared at her, stunned into silence. And then — despite myself, despite the ache in my chest — I felt the corner of my mouth twitch up.

“Could’ve just said you’re into villains,” I murmured, my voice still hoarse but teasing, “and saved me the motivational speech.”