Maya stands slightly behind him, adjusting her glasses in that nervous way she does. "Perhaps we should continue this conversation inside? The press seems particularly... attentive today." Her eyes dart toward a cluster of journalists who aren't even pretending not to watch us.
"Good call," James agrees, exchanging quick greetings with everyone before nudging us toward the door. "The vultures are circling."
Felix throws an arm around my shoulders. "How are you holding up with all this circus?" he asks, his voice dropping to a more serious tone as he nods toward the cameras tracking our every move.
I don't get to answer before EJ grabs my arm. "Inside, now," he insists with unusual urgency. "Maya's right—they're reading our lips."
The five of us pile through the motorhome door, the cool air-conditioning a stark contrast to the Jeddah heat. Inside, the familiar hum of activity continues—engineers huddled over data screens, mechanics discussing setups, the coffee machine working overtime. What strikes me immediately is how...normaleverything feels. No awkward silence when I enter. No judgment in people's eyes. If anything, they seem more relaxed than I expected, given the storm raging outside.
Johnson looks up from a technical discussion with Tom, gives me a casual nod like it's just another race day. It's as if the tabloid explosion happened in some parallel universe that hasn't touched the inside of this pristine yet warm motorhome.
Something in my chest loosens slightly. I hadn't realized how tense I was, anticipating sideways glances or uncomfortable silences.
James notices, too. "See?" he whispers. "Told you the core team knows both of you."
But the normalcy, welcome as it is, doesn't erase the weight of responsibility I feel. These people—my people—shouldn't have to deal with this distraction. Not when we're fighting so hard for every point, every position.
I clear my throat, suddenly needing to address this head-on.
"Hey, um, could I have everyone's attention for a second?" I speak louder than intended in the confined space.
Conversations pause. Heads turn. My face heats, but I push forward anyway.
"I know you've all probably seen the... stuff... floating around online and in the press." I swallow hard, searching for the right words. "About me and... Well, about certain rumors."
Johnson sets down his tablet. Tom stops mid-sentence. Even the mechanics working in the back corner look up. The full attention of the room makes my palms sweat, but I need to say this.
"I just want you all to know that I care deeply about this team. About what we're building here. About every single one of you and the work you put in." I take a breath. "And of course, about Violet."
The words hang in the air. I'm not confirming anything, but I'm not denying it, either. Let them read between the lines.
"Whatever you might be hearing or reading, please know that nothing—nothing—is more important to me than the success of Colton Racing. I didn't fight this hard to get here just to create distractions."
I scan the room, meeting eyes briefly before continuing. "But most importantly, I need to ask something of all of you." My voice drops slightly. "Don't let any of this affect how you see or treat Violet. She doesn't deserve that."
Because I know how this works. I've seen it a hundred times. When a man and woman are involved, she always gets the worst of it. The judgment. The whispers. The implications about how she got her position or maintains it. It's bullshit, and a reality I hate. And it's probably why she's kept me at arm's length all this time, even before the photos leaked. The double standard makes my blood boil.
"She's the best Team Principal on this grid, and nothing about her personal life changes that. Mine, either." I push my hands into my pockets to hide their slight tremor. "I'm sorry that I've brought this kind of attention to the team. I know it's the last thing any of us needs right now. I just ask for your patience while we try to sort this out."
I lower my head, suddenly feeling exposed. The silence stretches for a beat too long, and I brace myself for the worst.
Then there’s footsteps on the stairs. Looking up, I see Belforte and Blake coming down from Violet's office. More engineers and mechanics join those already gathered. Their expressionsaren't what I expected. No judgment. No annoyance. Just... understanding. Support, even.
Blake gives me a small nod, something like approval in his eyes. Belforte actually winks. Tom claps me on the shoulder as he passes. Not a single face in the room shows the disappointment or irritation I'd feared.
"We're with you, man," EJ says, breaking the silence. "Both of you."
Maya nods emphatically beside him, her usual reserve momentarily replaced with fierce loyalty. "This team stands together."
I open my mouth to thank them when the sound of heels clicking on the metal steps coming down catches my attention. My heart jumps to my throat; a Pavlovian response I can't control.
It's her. I recognize those footsteps.
Violet appears in my gaze mid-conversation, speaking fluent Arabic with a man I don't recognize. She's wearing a deep-blue headscarf that frames her face perfectly, the color almost matching my racing number color, which does strange things to my heart. Her hands move expressively as she talks, passionately negotiating or explaining something.
I can't understand a word she's saying, but watching her switch effortlessly between languages reminds me yet again what a force she is. Brilliant. Multilingual. Commanding.How did I ever think I stood a chance of not falling for her?
The man beside her—tall, impeccably dressed, with a well-trimmed beard and keen eyes—stops abruptly when he notices our impromptu gathering. He says something in Arabic, eyebrows raised questioningly, before a slow smile spreads across his face. He turns to Violet and says something else, then laughs warmly and pulls her into a quick, friendly hug.
