Chapter 4
Jeddah Grand Prix
The paddock was alive with energy—team engineers rushing, tires rolling, last-minute adjustments being made.
But Vi?
She barely heard any of it.
She sat on a low concrete wall near the Red Bull garage, hands clasped together, fingers drumming anxiously against her knuckles. Her gaze was distant, staring past the track, past the floodlights, past everything.
Because today wasn’t just another race weekend.
Today was Jinx’s birthday.
Another year.
Another reminder that Jinx had disappeared from her life without a trace.
Another year of searching. Of hoping, of waiting, of finding nothing but silence.
Vi exhaled sharply, gripping the edge of the wall.
She had tried everything—calls that went unanswered, messages that were never read, old friends who shook their heads and said they hadn’t seen her.
Jinx was gone.
Not dead—Vi refused to believe that.
But gone.
Living somewhere far away, somewhere she didn’t want to be found.
Somewhere Vi couldn’t reach her.
"Vi?"
A voice pulled her out of her thoughts.
She blinked, turning to see Ekko watching her carefully.
His expression was unreadable, but Vi had known him long enough to know when he was worried.
"You’ve been quiet all morning," Ekko said, sitting beside her. "What’s wrong?"
Vi hesitated, fingers tightening in her lap.
Then, softly.
"It’s Jinx’s birthday."
Ekko’s face shifted—understanding, sadness.
He nodded slowly.
"You been looking for her again?"
Vi let out a slow, tired laugh.
"Like I ever stopped."
Ekko sighed, running a hand over his head. "Vi…"
"I know," she muttered before he could say anything. "She doesn’t want to be found."
Ekko didn’t argue.
Because they both knew it was true.
Instead, he bumped his shoulder lightly against hers.
"She’d want you to focus on your race," he said. "Even if she’d never admit it."
Vi exhaled sharply, rubbing her face.
"Yeah," she muttered. "Guess I better get to it then."
Ekko gave her a small, reassuring nod.
And for a second—just a second—the weight in her chest felt a little lighter.
The press was everywhere—cameras flashing, microphones shoved toward her, the familiar buzz of voices asking question after question.
Vi adjusted her earpiece as the interviewer turned toward her.
"Vi, you’ve been aggressive this season, constantly fighting at the front. Do you think you can take the win this weekend?"
Vi forced a smirk.
"I’m more than determined."
The reporter smiled, scribbling notes.
"You had an intense battle with Caitlyn Kiramman last week" they continued. "What’s your take on her as a competitor?"
Vi’s smirk faded.
Her grip tightened around the mic.
Of course they were going to bring up Caitlyn.
They always did.
Every damn interview.
Vi could already feel the frustration bubbling under her skin—why did everything have to be about Caitlyn?
She was about to answer.
Then she stopped.
No.
She wasn’t doing this.
She wasn’t giving them a quote.
She wasn’t wasting her breath talking about Caitlyn Kiramman.
So instead, she just tilted her head slightly, smirked, and stayed silent.
The interviewer waited.
Vi didn’t answer.
And after a long, awkward pause, they moved on.
Vi turned, stepping away from the cameras, her blood still running hot.
This race wasn’t about Caitlyn.
It wasn’t about rivalry.
It was about winning.
And Vi was ready.
The lights of the Jeddah Corniche Circuit were blinding, casting a harsh white glow over the track. The air hummed with the sound of roaring engines, the sharp screech of tires, the frantic voices over the team radios.
But Vi barely heard any of it.
Her thoughts were somewhere else.
Jinx.
It was her birthday today.
Another year. Another reminder that Jinx had walked away, cut ties, vanished into thin air—leaving Vi with nothing but questions and empty space.
It didn’t matter how many times she tried.
Jinx never answered. Never showed up. Never gave her a damn sign that she even existed anymore.
Vi had been left with nothing but her own guilt and a hollow, aching space where family was supposed to be.
Her grip on the steering wheel tightened.
She wasn’t thinking about racing anymore.
She was thinking about escape.
About pushing forward. About going faster.
Because if she went fast enough—maybe she wouldn’t feel the weight in her chest.
Maybe she wouldn’t hear Jinx’s voice in the back of her mind, reminding her of everything she lost.
Maybe she could just win and forget.
Final laps.
Vi’s Red Bull tore down the straight, the engine roaring as she closed in on the car ahead.
Caitlyn.
The four-time world champion was ahead, taking each turn with perfect precision, like she always did.
Vi clenched her jaw.
Not tonight.
She wasn’t going to let Caitlyn win this.
Vi slammed her foot down, forcing herself closer, the slipstream pulling her forward.
Caitlyn flicked her car through the corners like it was effortless—but Vi didn’t care about clean driving right now.
She was going to take pole position.
No matter what.
She dived for the inside line—too fast, too reckless.
Caitlyn’s mirrors filled with the Red Bull’s front wing.
"What the hell is she doing?" Caitlyn muttered into the radio.
For a split second—their wheels nearly touched.
Caitlyn reacted instinctively, adjusting just in time to avoid the collision.
But Vi—Vi wasn’t adjusting.
Vi was forcing the overtake no matter the risk.
She wasn’t thinking about consequences.
She was thinking about winning.
And then—
Everything went wrong.
Vi pushed too hard, took too much speed into the corner—
And her rear tires lost grip.
For a split second, she felt the car wobble beneath her—a slight twitch, a warning—
But by the time she reacted, it was too late.
The back end stepped out violently.
The car spun sideways.
Vi’s stomach dropped.
She barely had time to process it before she slammed into the barrier.
The impact rattled through her entire body—the sickening crunch of carbon fiber shattering, sparks flying, the violent jolt knocking the breath from her lungs.
Everything stopped.
The Red Bull sat motionless, one side of it crumpled against the wall.
Her radio crackled to life, but she barely registered it.
"Vi, are you okay?!"
Her ears were ringing.
Her hands trembled on the wheel.
She breathed—shallow, slow—trying to get her bearings.
She was fine.
Bruised, shaken, but fine.
Then—she heard screeching tires.
Another car had stopped.
And before she could process what was happening—
Caitlyn was there.
"Caitlyn, what the hell are you doing?!"
The voice in Caitlyn’s earpiece was furious, but she didn’t care.
She had seen Vi’s car slam into the wall, seen the smoke, the broken front wing, the lack of response on the radio.
Her body had moved before her mind could even catch up.
She had hit the brakes, parked her car off-track, and run.
Now she was standing at Vi’s car, gripping the cockpit.
"Vi!" she called, voice sharper than she intended.
For a second—no response.
Then—a groan.
The cockpit shifted slightly.
Vi’s helmeted head lifted.
Caitlyn exhaled, relieved.
She leaned in, scanning Vi for any obvious injuries.
"Vi, can you hear me?"
Vi groaned again, rubbing her forehead.
Caitlyn felt the tension in her chest ease just slightly.
Then Vi turned to look at her—confused, still catching her breath.
And the first thing out of her mouth was:
"You stopped your lap?"
Caitlyn blinked.
"Are you serious right now?"
Vi slowly unstrapped her belts, pulling herself out of the car.
"You abandoned your run for pole just to check on me?" Vi asked, disbelief in her voice.
Caitlyn frowned.
"You crashed, Vi. What was I supposed to do?"
Vi scoffed. "Uh, I don’t know—finish the damn session?"
Caitlyn’s frustration boiled over.
"You’ve been reckless the entire night," she snapped.
Vi rolled her eyes. "Yeah, so what? That’s how I drive, Kiramman."
Caitlyn shook her head.
"No," she said, voice firmer. "This was different. This wasn’t just your usual aggression—you were out of control."
Vi stiffened.
Caitlyn stepped closer.
"You almost took me out twice," Caitlyn continued, voice sharper now. "You weren’t thinking. You were just throwing yourself into every gap like you didn’t care if you crashed."
Vi’s jaw tightened.
She felt the words sting.
Because Caitlyn was right.
She hadn’t been thinking.
She had just been pushing. Running. Escaping.
Vi’s lips parted, like she was about to say something.
Then—she didn’t.
Instead, she said something cold.
Something she didn’t even fully mean.
"Why do you even care?"
Caitlyn’s face went blank.
The hurt flashed so quickly that Vi barely caught it.
A flicker in her blue eyes—real, unguarded, raw.
Then—just as fast—
Caitlyn shut down.
Expression blank. Composed.
Like Vi’s words hadn’t cut deeper than they should have.
Before either of them could say anything else, the marshals arrived.
And just like that, it was over.
Caitlyn stepped back.
Didn’t say another word.
She turned and walked away, her shoulders tense, her steps sharp.
Vi watched her go.
And for the first time, she regretted what she had said.
But she wasn’t sure if she could take it back.
Caitlyn sat rigid in her chair inside the Mercedes garage.
The air was thick with tension, the overhead lights casting harsh shadows against the walls.
Her race suit was still damp with sweat, the adrenaline of the last hour refusing to fade.
But that wasn’t why she felt like she couldn’t breathe.
It was the silence.
The heavy, unforgiving silence of an entire team staring at her like she had just made the biggest mistake of her career.
Because maybe—she had.
She looked at the board.
Q3 Results:
P9 – Caitlyn Kiramman (Mercedes)
P10 – Vi (Red Bull)
She had been on pole pace.
Until she stopped.
Until she ran to Vi.
And now, instead of starting at the front, she was buried in the midfield.
A deep voice broke the silence.
"You had the pace to take pole."
Caitlyn turned her head slowly.
Ambessa Medarda—Mercedes’ team principal—stood with her arms crossed, her gaze sharp and unreadable.
She was not an easy woman to impress.
She was even harder to please.
Caitlyn held her ground, lifting her chin.
"A car crashed," she said. "Someone could’ve been hurt."
Ambessa tilted her head slightly.
"And instead of trusting the marshals to do their job, you chose to abandon your own?"
Caitlyn felt a flicker of irritation but forced herself to remain calm.
"You think I could’ve just ignored that?" she asked.
A quiet scoff came from one of the engineers.
"Do you want to lose this championship?"
Caitlyn’s jaw clenched.
"Of course not."
"Then start acting like it," Ambessa said flatly.
Caitlyn stayed silent.
Because she knew the rules.
She knew that stopping mid-session wasn’t just reckless from a competitive standpoint—it was practically unheard of.
F1 was ruthless.
You didn’t stop unless you had to.
Unless you were forced to.
But she had stopped.
For Vi.
Ambessa stepped closer, voice lower, sharper.
"You need to understand something, Caitlyn," she said. "This? This won’t win you races. It won’t win you titles."
Caitlyn’s hands curled into fists.
"You think I should’ve just left her there?" she asked, voice quiet, but dangerous.
Ambessa watched her carefully.
Then—shrugged.
"I think you need to learn how to make hard decisions," she said.
Caitlyn said nothing.
Because she knew.
She knew Ambessa was right.
And yet—she didn’t regret what she did.
Not one bit.
---
Post-Qualifying Interviews – Under Fire
The media room was hot, buzzing with tension.
Caitlyn adjusted her headset, her fingers tight against the table.
She wasn’t in the mood for this.
She could still hear Vi’s words playing over and over in her head.
"Why do you even care?"
She shouldn’t care.
She should be thinking about the race, about recovery, about strategy.
But instead, her thoughts kept dragging her back to Vi.
To the way she had crashed.
To the way her voice had sounded when she snapped at her.
To the way Vi had looked at her like Caitlyn stopping was the most unbelievable thing in the world.
"You abandoned your lap. For what?"
Caitlyn exhaled slowly, forcing herself to focus.
The first journalist started.
"Caitlyn, you were on pace for pole, but you stopped your lap after Vi’s crash. Can you explain your decision?"
Caitlyn met their gaze, voice even, but firm.
"I saw a car crash," she said. "Someone could have been seriously hurt. I made a choice."
The journalist nodded, but there was a hint of judgment in their eyes.
"You’ve been in F1 for years. You know that stopping in Q3 is almost unheard of—"
"So is abandoning someone when they could be injured," Caitlyn cut in.
The room went still for half a second.
The journalist shifted slightly.
"I’m not saying it was wrong," they clarified. "But do you think this decision could cost you in the championship battle?"
Caitlyn clenched her jaw.
"It’s a long season," she said simply.
Another journalist jumped in.
"But would you do it again? If the same thing happened tomorrow, would you stop?"
Caitlyn exhaled sharply.
Her gaze hardened.
"Yes."
A murmur spread through the room.
She could feel the weight of her words.
The implication that she wasn’t just here to win at any cost.
That there was something more important than trophies.
The next question came in, sharper.
"Do you think Vi’s aggression tonight was responsible for her crash?"
Caitlyn’s stomach twisted.
Vi had been reckless.
Vi had been desperate.
Vi had nearly taken them both out.
But Caitlyn also knew the truth.
Something was wrong with her tonight.
Something beyond racing.
And Caitlyn wanted to know why.
So she didn’t answer directly.
Instead, she tilted her head slightly.
"I think Vi is one of the most talented drivers on this grid," she said. "But tonight—" She paused, just for a second. "Tonight, she wasn’t herself."
More murmurs.
The journalists picked up on it immediately.
"Are you saying there was another reason behind her driving tonight?"
Caitlyn’s jaw tightened.
She wasn’t going to air Vi’s struggles to the media.
So she just said, "You’ll have to ask her that."
The interview ended shortly after.
Caitlyn stood up, the tension still coiled in her chest.
She needed to focus on tomorrow’s race.
But her thoughts kept drifting back to Vi.
To what had pushed her that far.
And to the way Caitlyn had felt when she saw that Red Bull slam into the barrier.
The way her heart had stopped.
The way she had forgotten about everything else.
And to one simple, undeniable truth.
Caitlyn had never stopped for anyone before.
Not like this.
Not until Vi.
The lights were blinding.
The cameras stared her down, unflinching.
The room was hot, thick with the scent of tension and sweat.
Vi sat rigid, arms crossed, fingers curling into the sleeves of her race suit.
Her breathing was steady, but her pulse—her pulse was a goddamn war drum in her chest.
She wasn’t ready for this.
She wasn’t in the mood.
She wasn’t even sure she could form a full sentence without snapping.
Because no matter how much she tried to block it out, it was still there.
The crash.
The smoke.
The second of suffocating silence before she moved.
And then—
Caitlyn.
Caitlyn, who had stopped.
Who had thrown away everything for her.
The interviewer spoke, and the sound of his voice made Vi’s skin crawl.
"Vi, can you take us through what happened during qualifying?"
Vi barely blinked.
Her response came sharp, clipped, void of anything but irritation.
"Lost the car. Hit the wall."
Short. Dismissive.
She wasn’t playing their game.
Not today.
The journalist didn’t let up.
"You were locked in a tight battle with Caitlyn before the incident. Do you think her presence on track played a role in what happened?"
Vi clenched her jaw.
Her presence?
Like Caitlyn was the problem?
Like she hadn’t been pushing too hard for reasons that had nothing to do with Caitlyn?
Like she hadn’t been driving like someone who didn’t care if she crashed?
She could already hear the headlines.
"Vi blames Caitlyn for her crash."
"Red Bull rookie struggles against Mercedes ace."
Vi wasn’t giving them that.
So she leaned back in her chair, eyes sharp, unforgiving.
"Racing is racing."
Simple. Cold.
The journalist tilted his head, studying her.
"Would you say you were overdriving?"
Vi’s fingers twitched.
She wanted to laugh.
Overdriving?
No.
She had been running.
Running from the way her chest felt too tight all day.
Running from the fact that today was Jinx’s birthday and she still didn’t know where the hell her sister was.
Running from everything she didn’t want to feel.
She forced her smirk back, but it didn’t reach her eyes.
"Next question."
The journalist hesitated.
Then—the words that made her stomach turn.
---
The Question That Shattered Her Composure
"Caitlyn was asked about your crash in her interview," the journalist said, his voice almost too casual. "She said—and I quote—Vi is one of the most talented drivers on this grid. But tonight, she wasn’t herself."
The moment the words hit her, Vi’s entire body went still.
Her breath hitched.
Her fingers curled into fists.
"She wasn’t herself."
Her lungs squeezed tight.
Her ears rang.
Because Caitlyn had seen it.
Had noticed.
Had known something was wrong.
Had been paying attention.
And Vi hated it.
Hated how easily Caitlyn could read her.
Hated how she had said it out loud, like it was fact.
The journalist was watching her closely now, waiting for a reaction.
Vi forced herself to relax her shoulders, to mask the fact that Caitlyn’s words had landed like a goddamn gut punch.
She let out a short, bitter laugh.
"She said that?"
The journalist nodded.
"So do you agree?"
Vi scoffed, shaking her head.
"I think Caitlyn should focus on her own race."
The words came out sharp, cutting.
But the journalist wasn’t done.
"And what about her decision to stop her lap for you?"
Vi felt it again.
That ugly, twisting feeling in her chest.
The part of her that couldn’t understand why Caitlyn had done it.
Why she had thrown away pole position.
Why she had run to Vi like she—
Like she mattered.
Her throat felt tight.
She needed this conversation to end.
Now.
She met the journalist’s gaze, eyes cold, distant.
"That was her mistake," she muttered. "Not mine."
The silence that followed was suffocating.
The journalist waited for more.
Vi gave him nothing.
And finally—finally—he moved on.
But Vi?
Vi was still stuck on Caitlyn.
Still stuck on the fact that she had stopped.
Still stuck on the way she had looked at her after the crash.
And for the first time in a long, long time—
Vi wasn’t sure if she was mad at Caitlyn.
Or if she was mad at herself.