Page 73 of My French Love Affair

Frederic

The engine roars in my ears, the sound artificial yet still enough to send a familiar pulse of adrenaline through my veins.

My grip tightens on the wheel, every muscle coiled as I throw the car into the next turn, feeling the simulated resistance of the tires as they fight for grip.

Monaco. Tight, technical, punishing.

There’s no room for error here. No runoff areas, no space to breathe.

Just barriers waiting to punish the slightest misstep.

Good job I don’t make missteps.

"Sector two was cleaner that time," Matthieu’s voice crackles through the comms. "But you’re still losing a tenth in the hairpin."

I exhale sharply, jaw tight.

Not good enough.

"Box this lap," he continues. "Let’s adjust the brake bias and -"

"No." My response is clipped. "Run it again."

There’s a pause, then a sigh. "Frederic…"

"Run. It. Again."

A small shuffle of movement from the engineering desk, then another voice. It’s Gilles, one of my performance engineers.

"Moreau, your tires are cooked," he says, not unkindly. "You won’t get better traction on this run. We should reset."

Iknowthey’re right. Iknowthat I should come in, tweak the setup, run the data. That’s the efficient way to do it.

But I don’t give a fuck about efficiency.

I give a fuck aboutwinning.

And if I can’t nail this lap inanycondition, then what’s the point?

"I’ll adapt," I say firmly, rolling my shoulders back. "Run it again."

Matthieu mutters something under his breath - probably about my stubbornness, knowing him - but the screen flickers as the sim resets.

I exhale, flexing my fingers against the wheel.

Nothing exists outside of this car.

Not the pressure. Not the crowd. Not the sponsors.

Anddefinitelynot a hot little blonde with a sharp mouth and sharper eyes.

I slam the throttle down as the lights go green, pushing harder this time, trusting the car, trusting myself. The world narrows to nothing but the track. Every bump, every turn, every inch committed to memory.

I brake later into Mirabeau, feeling the weight shift,feathering the throttle to keep the car steady. The low-speed sections are tricky, demanding precision rather than aggression.

There’s always understeer in Monaco.

I anticipate it before it comes, adjusting my angle through the hairpin.

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