❝They call him the Dutch Lion.❞
❝Yeah? To be honest, I think he's more like Scar from The Lion King, but whatever.❞
In the high-pressure world of Formula 1, Red Bull Racing is crumbling. Half the team has quit, morale is at an all-time low, and Max...
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CHAPTER ELEVEN;
Dancing Queen
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The Red Bull Racing headquarters in Milton Keynes hummed with a subdued, almost somber energy. The room was alive with the kind of quiet tension that only a team recovering from a disastrous weekend can create. The Japan Grand Prix had been a nightmare—Max and Daniel had finished outside the top ten, a blow that had reverberated far beyond the numbers on the board.
The results had done more than hurt their standings; they had left deep, jagged cracks in their confidence. There was no denying it—egos had been bruised, spirits had been rattled, and the once-electric atmosphere that had characterized the team for so long was now suffused with the heavy weight of defeat. The usual fervor that burned in the hallways was now replaced with silence, conversations hushed, laughter absent.
The aftermath of Suzuka had been a punch to the gut, and Max was still reeling from it. He'd been a poor companion to everyone around him—grumpy, distracted, and more closed off than usual.
That's why the shouting match with Emilia had been inevitable. They were both so wound up from the weekend that it had been only a matter of time before the tension snapped. It had started over something simple enough - McLaren's comments in the press about Max and Daniel, the usual petty jabs about how McLaren was on the up while Red Bull was losing its shine. Max had barely been able to keep his cool, but Emilia had fired back with a fury Max hadn't expected.
"I'm going to fucking end their careers," she'd spat, her voice low and dangerous, filled with the kind of unrestrained passion he only ever saw when she was truly riled. "I'll set the McLaren garage on fire, and then we'll see who should fucking retire. They haven't won a championship since Lewis, the insufferable pricks. We should remind them who they're talking to."
He'd been too caught up in his own frustration, too consumed by the sense of failure to care much for anything else. But hearing her words now, he realized there had been something fierce in them—a fire, a hunger to protect, to fight back. She wasn't just angry on their behalf; she was angry because she cared. He'd seen that side of her before, but it was rare. It made him feel something he didn't often let himself feel—vulnerable, unsure, caught off guard.
He had barely registered the start of the meeting, his mind still locked in the chaos of the weekend, until the unmistakable click of heels echoed through the room. He lifted his gaze without thinking, knowing exactly who it was.
