The sun was unforgiving overhead, casting gleaming highlights off the polished garage floors and chrome-finished paddock signage. Nicole clicked her boots against the concrete, a rhythmic, calculated annoyance to anyone within earshot. Her black hair—sleek and stick-straight—whipped ever so slightly in the breeze, framing her pale face like a wicked afterthought. Oversized sunglasses shielded her sharp eyes, and her lip gloss—black cherry and unapologetically glossy—gleamed every time she sucked her teeth in irritation.

Bored. Fucking bored.

Tate was off doing whatever insufferable thing she usually was doing when not with Nicole—probably filming TikToks in the McLaren hospitality suite—and Avery had ghosted her for some cryptic recording session or maybe Minjun’s lap. Either way, her usual chaos crew was indisposed, and the paddock was far too tame without them. She had even contemplated wandering over to Fawn’s motorhome but—ugh, no. That would only end in drama she wasn’t in the mood to digest just yet.

Nicole had nothing to do, and Nicole with nothing to do was a menace in stilettos.

Her eyes flicked lazily across the paddock. Drivers. Engineers. PR girls with fake smiles and too-tight polos. Media people sweating through linen. Nothing caught her attention—until she did.

A new face. Alone. Not quite trying to blend in, but not flaunting anything either. And in this world, where everything was coded and categorized and known, someone unknown stood out like blood on snow.