"Farrant is only lucky on track, it seems. That dude is always mixed up in some scandal or hilarious news because of how gullible he is. Asshole on track, but an odd dude outside of it." He chuckles.
"Speaking of luck," he says, voice dropping. "How are you really doing? You know..." He doesn't finish the sentence. Doesn't need to.
My hand instinctively flexes, the ghost of pain from healed bones a faint memory now. But he's not asking about my physical injuries.
"You saw it, didn't you?" I ask quietly. "The panic attack in the car."
He nods once, eyes scanning the empty hallway to ensure our privacy.
"Moment I found you out, I recognized it. Had them myself after... In the past." His admission surprises me. Oliver Lenox, the Ice King, vulnerable?
I take a deep breath, considering my answer. With most people, I'd deflect. With him, somehow, I don't need to.
"I'm better," I say honestly. "Happier. More relaxed. It feels like things are finally in tune, you know? Where they should be."
"The win helped, I imagine." His smile returns.
"Hey, speaking of wins—congrats on number five, by the way," I say, nudging him with my elbow. "Sealing the championship with seven races to spare? That's just showing off, Ollie."
He's already mathematically secured his fifth World Driver's Championship; an achievement that would normally dominate headlines if not for Colton Racing's dramatic resurgence. The paddock's talking about both—the established champion, and the underdog team climbing back from obscurity.
Oliver's cheeks color slightly. "Had strong motivation this time around," he says cryptically.
"Care to share with the class?"
He shakes his head, a small smile playing at his lips. "Maybe someday. Not yet." Then, with a mischievous glint: "Besides, Farrant was nowhere to be found this season, so..."
I burst out laughing. "True! That pompous ass has been missing from the podium for what, six races now?"
"Ten," Oliver corrects with satisfaction. "Ever since Monaco."
The mention of Monaco should sting, should bring back the darkness and fear. But standing here with Oliver, not just my idol or my savior, but now my friend, it seems like a chapter already closed.
"Karmic justice," I say. "Dominic's golden boy dethroned while Colton Racing rises. You couldn't script it better. The good guys are winning."
We approach the ballroom doors, the muffled sounds of conversation and clinking glasses growing louder.
"Ready for this?" Oliver asks, straightening his already impeccable tie.
"Born ready," I reply with more confidence than I feel. These sponsor events still make me itchy, but I'm getting better at them. "Though I'm surprised you agreed to come. Not exactly your scene."
He shrugs, his expression softening. "Consider it a thank-you."
"For what? You saved my life, remember?"
"For showing me it's okay to let people in sometimes," he says quietly. "Watching you and Violet... It's been eye-opening."
Before I can respond to this uncharacteristically personal admission, the doors swing wider, and Belforte himself emerges, his imposing frame breaking into a broad smile at the sight of us.
The ballroom that opens before us isn't just large—it's enormous, a cathedral to luxury that makes me momentarily forget how to breathe. Crystal chandeliers hang like frozen waterfalls from ceilings so high, they should have their own weather system.
Everywhere I look: marble, gold, glass, and Singapore's elite dressed in outfits that cost more than they should. I've been in nice places before—F1 takes you to the world's poshest locations—but Belforte Construction clearly didn't get the memo about restraint. And from the collective gasps around me, that's exactly the reaction they wanted.
"Impressed?" Belforte asks, clocking my wide eyes with satisfaction. His massive hand claps my shoulder with enough force to make me grateful for my training regimen. "This is nothing. Wait until you see the infinity pool on floor sixty-six. It has a glass bottom. You can swim while looking down at the city."
"I'll pass on that particular heart attack, thanks," I mutter, imagining the vertigo.
Belforte laughs, then turns to Oliver with genuine warmth. "Mr. Lenox! What a surprise to see you here. Not part of sponsorship, but always welcome."
