My Formula 1 System

Chapter 697 697: A New Girl

The whole racing world was finally starting to tilt toward the Netherlands.You could feel it everywhere. The fan pages were waking up early, and the sponsors were starting to act all professional while hiding how much they actually wanted a win. After months of flying from one country to the next, the calendar finally brought everyone to a place that felt like a real turning point. The Dutch Grand Prix isn't the loudest or the fanciest race, but this year, it felt heavy.

That's because there were only four races left.

Four.

That number alone makes everything feel different. We've reached the part of the year where every single lap matters more than it did back in March. Every point feels like a memory, and every mistake is a disaster because there's almost no time left to fix it. Even the commentators sound different, like they're already trying to miss the season before it's even over.

For some people, it makes the season feel stressful. For others, it's just cool to watch.

And for me, the author, writing Luca and Victor's story, it's kind of a weird feeling. It's like when you realize a story has been in your head for so long that the ending is finally standing right there in the doorway, waiting for you. It's like the last sunset of a summer that changed everything. You want to keep the light around for a bit longer, even though you know the shadows of the end are creeping close.

Getting ready for the Dutch Grand Prix was different from any other race. It wasn't just an event; it was like the whole country was moving toward the coast. The dunes at Zandvoort were turning into a loud, bright mess of neon orange. Everyone was bracing for the noise, the freezing wind coming off the North Sea, and those narrow, steep turns that are so dangerous you have to be a little crazy to take them at full speed.

When Victor landed in the Netherlands, the air felt different—cold, salty, and sharp. After the chaos of Mexico and finally getting those P7 points, he didn't feel like the new guy trying to break in anymore. He felt like he actually belonged. You could tell just by the way the airport staff looked at him; they actually knew his name now.

With his personal team handling all the boring travel details like a perfectly timed pit crew, Victor actually found himself with some free time again. Before all the technical meetings and track walks started, he headed into the middle of Amsterdam.

He spent his afternoons just roaming around, looking like any other guy in a designer hoodie. He walked along the canals, watching the sunlight hit the dark green water. He ate bitterballen at a cafe by the water and watched the endless stream of bicycles fly past like a school of silver fish. He even went into a high-end shop and bought an expensive coat he didn't really need, mostly just because he could. For the first time in a while, his mind wasn't just stuck on lap times and tire compounds. He was just here, a normal dude, looking at old buildings and the way the light hit the streets.

He was progressing—not just on the leaderboard, but as a person.

But he wasn't doing it alone.

Following him around like an expensive, high-fashion shadow was Paulette. If Victor was the quiet one, Paulette was the bright chrome. She was loud, flashy, and impossible to ignore.

She was the kind of person who treated the word "no" like it was just a weird suggestion she didn't have to listen to. "Arrogant" wasn't even the right word for her; she had this way of acting like she owned everything, treating Victor less like a rising F1 star and more like a prized dog she'd just bought at an auction. She was the kind of person who could ruin the mood of a room just by walking into it.

The whole headache of having her in his life had started three weeks ago in Berlin. It was at one of the mansions Mr. Andrade kept just to prove how successful he was.

Andrade had thrown a simple party to celebrate signing Victor as his newest athlete. However, in Andrade's world, "simple" meant a three-story ballroom and enough expensive champagne to drown a village.

Victor was the guest of honor, but he spent the whole night feeling like a man trying to decide how much of his old self he could keep now that he was becoming famous. The mansion was too much in every way, featuring high ceilings, polished floors, and art that looked like it was chosen for status rather than its aesthetic.

Eventually, Victor escaped to the massive suite he'd been given upstairs. After a long evening of polite conversations he didn't want to have, he just wanted a hot bath and some peace.

He had just finished and stepped out into the bedroom, dripping wet with a towel wrapped around his waist, when the heavy door opened without warning. A girl stepped in like she had every right in the world to be there.

Both of them froze.

"What the hell?" Victor snapped, pulling the towel tighter. "Can't you knock? This is my room."

The girl didn't answer right away. She didn't look embarrassed, or sorry, or even surprised. She just stood there, looking him up and down like she was checking the price tag on a piece of furniture she wasn't sure she wanted to buy.

She was around his age bracket, likely younger, and looked completely unimpressed. Clicking her tongue, she voiced a dismissive sound.

"Technically," she said, "everything in this house belongs to me. Including the air conditioning you're enjoying."

She was Paulette Andrade. She had spent the last six months telling her father that this specific suite was to be hers once the mansion's renovation was complete. When she heard it had been given to someone "important"—some driver her father was grooming—she hadn't come to introduce herself. She had come to inspect the interloper.

Paulette held up her thumb, wiggling it slightly. In all of Andrade's properties, the locks were biometric too, and her fingerprint was a master key. There wasn't a door in the world that was supposed to stay closed to her.

Behind her, a group of servants finally caught up, their faces pale with terror. They hovered in the doorway, pleading with her in hushed, desperate voices.

"Please, Mademoiselle Paulette, Mr. Surmann's privacy... please... the gold room is ready for you..."

"This one is only temporary, he is Mr. Andrade's client—"

Paulette didn't move. She kept her eyes on Victor, staring at him with a look that felt heavy and testing. It wasn't like she liked what she saw; it was more like she was studying a weird specimen under a microscope. She seemed to be memorizing how uncomfortable he was, filing it away to use against him later.

Finally, she let the servants lead her away, but not before she gave him one final, slow look over her shoulder.

Victor wasn't just annoyed; he felt like he'd been assessed and found either too weak or too amusing, and he wasn't sure which was worse.

It wasn't even the fact that she'd seen him half-naked—he was a driver, he'd changed in front of mechanics his whole life. It was her stare. It was the look of someone who had found a new toy and wanted to see how hard she had to pull before it snapped.

He had a feeling in his gut that this wasn't over. And he was right.

During his three days there, his room wasn't even his anymore. Because of the fingerprint locks, Paulette treated his privacy like a suggestion. She'd barge in at 7:00 AM while he was still half-asleep, demanding he listen to her complain about the breakfast menu. She'd also show up at midnight to talk about "inferior" German buildings compared to the ones in France, while demanding that both of them have dinner in the room.

Paulette talked because she wanted to talk, and she expected the entire world to pause and listen. Victor suspected she actually liked the fact that he tried to ignore her. That was the game she enjoyed. It was invasive and completely ridiculous, but he couldn't exactly kick out the daughter of his manager, who thought the rapport was fun.

Victor left Berlin with the uncomfortable sense that he hadn't just met a girl, but he'd been targeted by one.

Now, in the Netherlands, the game had moved to a new arena.

As he sat by a canal in Amsterdam, trying to enjoy the quiet, he heard the sharp click-click-click of heels on the cobblestones behind him. Victor sighed. He didn't even have to turn around to know she was there.