ACROSS THE FINISH LINE [Complete & Revised]

Chapter 6: The Cost of Clarity

Monaco was behind them, but the aftershocks weren't.

The media frenzy hadn't quieted since Luca's victory and the moment he and Elena had been spotted on the harbor together, a photograph of their clasped hands splashed across every racing blog and gossip site from Italy to Japan. Moretti and Reyes: From Rivals to Romance?

Elena hated it.

Not because of what it implied.

But because it made something that still felt fragile—still undefined—into something the world could dissect. And in Formula 1, anything under scrutiny became fair game.

Especially when it could affect performance.

Especially when you were a woman in a man's world.

The Barcelona paddock buzzed under the Spanish sun. The European leg of the championship had begun, and the energy had shifted—more technical, more strategic. The Circuit de Barcelona-Catalunya wasn't just about speed. It was about precision, endurance, and relentless development.

FalconTech had brought upgrades. A new front wing, adjusted diffuser, and lightweight body panels. On paper, it gave Jean-Luc an edge.

But so far, nothing came easy.

Elena stood in the heart of the Falcon garage, her arms folded as Jean-Luc pulled into the pit box at the end of FP2. His voice crackled through the comms.

"Front still feels twitchy at high speed. Aero balance isn't quite right."

"We see it," Elena said, eyes flicking across the data. "You're losing stability through the fast corners. Could be airflow separation near the endplate."

Jasmin stepped forward. "Want to switch to the older spec wing?"

Elena hesitated. "Not yet. Let's try the revised flow conditioning vanes first."

Jean-Luc groaned. "You're killing me with these test setups, Reyes."

Elena smirked faintly. "That's the price of glory."

The moment she took off her headset, a familiar voice cut through the garage buzz.

"Reyes."

She turned, pulse skipping.

Luca stood at the entrance, hands on hips, sunglasses pushed onto his head. He wasn't in his race suit—just team polo and jeans—but he still made the air shift. Even now, even with everything hanging between them.

"You're not supposed to be here," Elena said, trying for stern.

He lifted a brow. "You going to call security?"

She rolled her eyes. "Maybe."

"Then I'll talk fast."

She motioned toward the back exit of the garage. "Five minutes."

They stood under the shade of a transporter awning, out of earshot but not entirely out of sight. Elena kept her arms crossed, not to block him out—but to block herself in.

"So," she said. "This isn't about telemetry, is it?"

Luca leaned against the wall. "No. It's about... Monaco."

Her heart beat louder. "What about it?"

"I meant what I said." His voice dropped lower. "I want this. You. Us."

Elena swallowed. "You make it sound simple."

"Isn't it?"

"No, Luca. It's not." Her voice cracked with restraint. "You're Ferrari. I'm Falcon. We're in the middle of a championship. And now the media's decided we're some Romeo and Juliet drama."