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“You can’t be more grateful than I am for you,” he says. Mason pauses, gathers himself, and then speaks again. “I love you, Catherine. You were brave enough to tell me what you thought about my dad. You were brave enough to tell me the truth. You’re the only person in my life who has loved me enough to do that. You were right. My dad doesn’t give a shit about me outside of driving a car. He doesn’t care about Ruby, either. Other than to criticise her choice of degree or tell her how much money he’s had to spend on her, too. When I stood there in front of him, trying to bare my soul, he said if he hadn’t been ruthless with me on the karting circuit, I’d be a loser.”

Fury ignites in me. “How dare he say that to you!”

“No, no, I’ll give him some credit on that point. He pushed me. Made me drive until sometimes I hated it. Part of the driver I am now,” Mason says, lifting one hand and brushing some of my hair back behind my ear, “is because of that. But what Dad is doing now? No. I won’t do this anymore. I told him if he can’t respect me as his son, if he can’t love me outside of that cockpit, we won’t have a relationship.”

Mason stops and gently wipes the tears that are falling down my face. “He began to rail again, this time saying I secured my seat by dating you, and that’s why I’m casting him off now. That’s when I got angry. I told him you have nothing to do with this and to never ever weaponise you against me. He fought back. And then I just snapped. I told him I was done. I called my financial advisor right in front of him. Told him his investment would be repaid in full. I said he’s not welcome in the paddock or at any races, and I’d have security pull his paddock pass immediately. You should have seen the look on his face. He never ever thought I’d do something like that. It was like I punched him.”

My heart thunders against my ribs. Mason did it. He broke free and did it in a way so his father can never control him again.

“I thanked him for pushing me and taking me across Europe to race,” Mason continues. “I thanked him for investing in my career, and I’m officially paying him back for that. And if he has an idea about going to the media and talking about me and how awful I am? I told him I have receipts. I’ve saved his greatest hits. His very worst text messages and voicemails. I have them all. And if he goes that route, I’d pull the pin on that grenade and bury him.”

“Oh my God.”

“He saw me then,” Mason says softly. “For so long, I was desperate for him to see me outside of a race car. Well, he finally did. He saw me as a threat.”

“You fought back,” I say.

“I did. From the look on his face, he wasn’t ready for that. Which only told me how long I had minimised his behaviour. Pushed it aside. Excused it. That was the first time I addressed it, and he didn’t know what to do.”

“How did it end?”

“I played one of his most recent verbal tirades for him from my voicemail. He went white. I said I expect to hear nothing from him in the media or online. If he wants to talk to me as his son, if he wants to try and build some kind of relationship with me, I will be open to that. But that’s all. Then I wished him a good trip back to London and left. And I felt relief. I don’t have to pretend my dad is something he’s not. I don’t have his expectations weighing on me. I don’t feel this obsessive need to prove his investment was worth it.

“I always thought I was racing for myself before, but I wasn’t. But now I am. And it’s all because you loved me enough to help me see the truth. And you gave me a whole new life.”

I reach up and draw his mouth to mine, kissing him. Slow. Gentle. Growing into something deep and searching. New tears slip from my eyes. When I break the kiss, Mason nuzzles his nose against mine. “You’ve given me so much,” he whispers. “I don’t know how I can ever repay you for what you’ve done.”

He lifts his head. I smile up at him. “You don’t have to repay me, Mason. But there are two things you can do for me.”

“Anything.”

“Continue to love me,” I say.

“Always. What’s the second?”

“Show Singapore who Mason Clark really is,” I say, “when he’s racing for himself.”

Chapter Thirty-Six

It’s an unbearably hot night in Singapore. The temperature is a steamy thirty degrees Celsius. The air is thick with humidity—nearly eighty percent—but also tension, as this race has been a close battle between the top four drivers. Archer Ashwell and Romeo Vittorio are in a fight for third. And under the bright lights of the Marina Bay Circuit, against the glittering skyline of this city, Xavier and Mason are locked in a battle to see who will win the Singapore Grand Prix.

There are only seven laps to go. And Xavier is ahead of Mason by 0.5 seconds.

I can’t fight the anxiety in my stomach as they fly past the starting line for another lap. This has been a battle of wills, tyre strategy, and pit-stop calls. Xavier qualified for pole and has not relinquished the spot, but Mason has fought his way up from fourth to second. He went longer on his tyres, taking the gamble that his team called for, and is now chasing Xavier for the lead.

I have my headset on, standing next to my grandfather, who is intently watching the action on the monitor. My grandmother is by my side, as is my dad. Isla is also here, closely tracking Caleb, who is currently in P5 and closing on Romeo.

Missing, of course, is my mum. She could be here, cheering on her son, spending time with her family, and watching a dramatic grand prix unfold, but she’s back home in Monaco.

That’s her choice. And this is mine. To be here, in this garage, with my family by my side, watching Mason fight for the podium in the most brutal race of the year.

Just one overtake, I think, staring at the screen. Just one.

Suddenly, I see a driver radio communication pop up on the screen showing the network coverage. I read the communication from Xavier to his engineer:

The f**** tyres are dead.

My heart leaps. Now is the time for Mason to go for it. He’s driven a brilliant race, and he can win this.