Redline

Ridiculous jealousy

Barcelona woke beneath a heavy layer of heat and a grayish sky that seemed to press even more weight onto the tension inside the paddock.

From early morning, reporters and camera crews had occupied every corner, desperate to get any statement about the alleged sabotage at Moreau Racing.

The press department had been operating on the verge of collapse for hours, and Valentina was beginning to feel like the entire weekend depended on keeping the media distracted long enough to prevent another disaster.

She was reviewing headlines on one of the hospitality screens when a folder landed on the table in front of her.

“This stopped being a normal crisis a long time ago.”

Valentina looked up.

Olivia Bennett sat across from her, a coffee in one hand and her phone in the other.

Olivia had been working in Formula One for several years, and it showed in everything she did. The way she moved through the paddock. The confidence in her steps. The complete lack of surprise whenever chaos erupted around her.

She was blonde, with soft features and an alert expression, carrying the kind of outgoing energy that somehow survived even after sleepless nights.

She had the sharp humor of someone who spent most of her life putting out media fires and an annoyingly accurate ability to notice the things people tried to hide.

Valentina had connected with her almost immediately after joining the team.

Maybe because Olivia was one of the few people there who still seemed genuinely human.

“Is it really that bad?” Valentina asked.

Olivia let out an incredulous laugh and slid her phone across the table.

“Conspiracy theories are everywhere. Look.”

The headlines appeared one after another.

“Sabotage Inside Moreau Racing?”

“Dante Moreau Loses Control.”

“What Really Happened in Monaco?”

And once again, Luca Bianchi’s name appeared in almost every article.

Valentina opened one of the posts.

An old photograph filled the screen.

Dante and Luca, covered in grease and dust after a karting race, laughing like two teenagers who had no idea what the future would bring.

The image gave her a strange feeling.

Dante looked different there.

Younger, yes.

But also lighter.

There was no tension in his shoulders.

No constant darkness behind his eyes.

Only careless happiness.

Valentina stared at the picture a few seconds longer than she should have.

“It’s strange seeing him like that, isn’t it?” Olivia murmured.

Valentina looked up.

“Like what?”

“Normal.”

She didn’t answer immediately because she understood exactly what Olivia meant.

The entire paddock had turned Dante Moreau into a character.

The arrogant driver.

The constant problem.

The impossible man.

But the more time Valentina spent around him away from the cameras, the clearer it became that there was something far more complicated behind that image.

“The sponsors are panicking,” Olivia continued, opening another folder. “And Dante is getting worse.”

As if she had summoned him, the hospitality doors suddenly opened.

Dante walked in accompanied by two engineers, speaking quietly but intensely.

The tension arrived with him before he even said a word.

“I’m not canceling the race.”

“The FIA recommends caution,” one of the engineers insisted.

“The FIA can go to hell.”

Several employees looked up for a second before quickly returning to work.

An assistant dropped a stack of papers from the sudden tension, and the sound seemed far too loud inside the room.

Nobody wanted to be caught near Dante when he was like this.

He kept walking while the engineer followed him.

“They’re trying to protect you.”

“I don’t need protection.”

The answer came too quickly.

Too sharply.

Dante seemed to realize it himself because he closed his eyes for a moment and ran a hand through his dark hair, exhaustion flashing across his face.

Valentina noticed something uncomfortable.

It wasn’t just anger.

It was exhaustion.

The kind that came from carrying something for far too long.

Dante continued walking until his eyes found hers.

He stopped for a brief second.

And once again, Valentina had that strange feeling that somehow, in every room full of people, he always ended up finding her.

“We need to talk.”

Olivia immediately raised both eyebrows.

Valentina deliberately ignored her amused expression and stood up.

“Don’t start,” she muttered as she walked past her.

“I didn’t say anything.”

That was worse.

Valentina followed Dante toward one of the side corridors of the paddock, away from the main hospitality area.

Only the distant echo of engines and team radios reached them there, mixed with the suffocating Barcelona heat.

“What’s wrong?” she asked once they stopped.

Dante automatically looked around before answering.

Checking cameras.

Access points.

People coming and going.

Valentina was beginning to notice that he did that constantly.

“I want you to avoid talking to reporters these next few days.”

She frowned.

“That’s literally my job.”

“I know.”

“Then I don’t understand what you’re trying to say.”

Dante held her gaze for a few seconds.

“If someone really is behind this, they might try to get close to the team.”

Valentina crossed her arms.

“Am I part of your paranoia now?”

The words came out harsher than she intended.

Dante kept looking at her.

“I’m not paranoid.”

They both knew he was.

Valentina watched the way his eyes moved through the corridor again, automatically searching for threats.

“You can’t control everything that happens around you,” she finally said.

Dante let out a humorless laugh.

“I learned that too late.”

For a few seconds, neither of them said anything.

The words remained between them, heavy and uncomfortable.

For a moment, Dante no longer looked like the famous driver surrounded by scandals and cameras.

He looked like someone who was genuinely being chased by something that hadn’t caught up with him yet.

Before Valentina could answer, several excited voices interrupted the moment.

“Dante!”

A small group of fans appeared near the security barriers.

They were all wearing black team caps, and one of them looked like she could barely contain her nerves.

“Can we take a picture with you?”

Valentina expected him to keep walking.

Instead, Dante approached them.

He didn’t smile much—he rarely did—but he stayed there for several minutes, signing autographs and taking pictures with a patience Valentina hadn’t expected from him.

One of the girls actually started crying the moment he took the marker from her hand.

“I’m sorry,” she said nervously. “I’ve been a fan of yours for years.”

Dante immediately looked uncomfortable, almost unsure how to react to that kind of emotion.

“Don’t cry,” he murmured as he handed her back the signed cap.

The girl laughed softly, embarrassed.

Valentina watched the scene, completely confused.

Because this version of him didn’t match the cold, impossible man who constantly appeared in the media.

Around fans, Dante was different.

Quieter.

Almost shy sometimes.

And somehow, that only made everything more confusing.

Then Valentina noticed a woman approaching.

Tall.

Blonde.

Perfectly styled.

Too confident.

She walked like someone who was used to every head turning the moment she entered a room.

Dante recognized her immediately.

“Sofia.”

The woman walked closer and kissed his cheek with a familiarity that annoyed Valentina in a completely irrational way.

“It’s been a while,” Sofia said with a smile. “I saw the news. Are you okay?”

“I’m still alive.”

She laughed softly.

Too comfortably.

Too naturally beside him.

Valentina immediately looked away toward the paddock, trying to ignore the ridiculous irritation growing in her chest.

She had no right to feel that way.

Dante could date whoever he wanted.

Kiss whoever he wanted.

And considering his reputation, he probably did.

Then Olivia’s amused voice appeared beside her.

“Oh, this just got interesting.”

“Shut up.”

Olivia let out a quiet laugh.

“I literally haven’t even said anything.”

Valentina grabbed a bottle of water just to have something to do with her hands.

She hated feeling like this.

Especially because it was about Dante Moreau.

He was complicated.

Arrogant.

Emotionally impossible.

Probably the worst person in the world to get involved with.

So why did she keep looking for him every few seconds?

Olivia watched the scene for another moment before slowly smiling.

“Now I understand.”

“You understand nothing.”

“Of course.”

Valentina shot her a warning look.

“I’m not interested in Dante.”

“Perfect.”

“Olivia.”

“Relax. I’m not judging you.”

“I’m not jealous.”

Olivia’s smile widened.

“I never said you were.”

Valentina opened her mouth to respond, but at that exact moment, Dante turned his head.

His eyes went straight to her.

And somehow...

That only made everything worse.