Chapter Text
The man's smile widened the second we stepped in. He had perfect teeth and a very nice trimmed beard.
Of course he did.
Zak gestured with his hand. "Oscar, Lando, this is Victor de Vos, the founder and CEO of V-Technologies. They're coming on board as one of our new digital innovation partners for the next year and hopefully many more after that."
The name hit me like a fucking punch to the gut. Victor.
Victor de Vos.
I blinked once. Twice.
And now he was standing in my team's office. Shaking hands with me.
"Nice to meet you both" Victor said, his voice smooth. Charming. Everything I instantly hated. "Big fan of what you're doing this season. Lando," switching his gaze toward him "I really hope you can challenge Verstappen for the driver's championship, we need some diversity around Formula 1."
Lando stepped forward, extending a hand. "Thanks. Appreciate the support."
Then it was my turn. I shook his hand, firm but not too eager. His grip was strong, deliberate. His eyes locked on mine a fraction too long.
I gave him a tight smile, professional. Controlled.
Victor's gaze didn't move from me. "Oscar Piastri. Quite the rising star."
"Trying to keep the car out of the wall" I said, dry. "That's always step one."
Zak chuckled behind me, placing his hands on my shoulders. "He's being modest. Oscar's been brilliant this season."
Victor nodded, then tilted his head slightly. "I imagine it takes a lot of discipline. Balance. Especially with all the... attention. Not just on track, but off it."
My pulse thumped once, deep in my chest.
Lando, clueless, just grinned. "Oh yeah, Oscar is quite a driver, calm, grounded, steady behind the wheel, excelent I may add, considering it's only his second season."
I gave him a glare to stop with the praise. It was really unnecessary.
Victor's smile didn't move. "I imagine certain... distractions... come with the job. You manage that well?"
The room suddenly felt smaller. Stiller.
No. I won't cave.
I took a slow breath. "I keep the people close to me away from the circus."
That made his smile twitch. Just slightly.
"Well, I hope the team brings you both more wins" he said finally, looking at us both. But it was me he was talking to. "And I look forward to seeing more of you. Around."
Lando stepped back, clearly ready to bolt. "We'll leave you guys to talk business."
I nodded politely and followed him out.
Once the door closed behind us, Lando turned to me, brow furrowed. "What the hell was that?"
I turned and walked away, big steps. My jaw was tight. Every muscle in my shoulders locked. I was already calculating how to get Olivia on the phone without sounding like I was spiraling. Which I might've been.
Behind me, Lando jogged a few steps to catch up. "Wait...hold on. That guy. Victor...Victor de Vos?"
Lando's eyes widened. "Dude. That's Olivia's last name."
I kept walking. Like I hadn't heard him.
But of course I had. He continued casually, but there was a hook in his tone. "You think they're related?"
I shrugged. "Don't know."
He narrowed his eyes at me. "Come on. Same last name? You're telling me that's just a coincidence?"
I gave him a sideways glance and threw in my most convincing deadpan. "Lando, de Vos is probably like the Smith in the U.K."
He blinked. "Is it?"
"No idea. Sounds plausible, though, doesn't it?"
He snorted. "You're a terrible liar."
I didn't answer. Just kept walking.
Because as far as Victor was concerned, he didn't know. He didn't know I'd been kissing his ex-wife. He didn't know I'd been inside in every goddamn way a man could be inside a woman.
And until I had a clearer picture of what the hell Victor was doing here, I wasn't giving anything away.
Not to Zak. Not to Lando. Not even to the walls.
And I wasn't sure if I should tell Olivia quite yet.
—————
Back in my hotel room, the silence felt heavier than usual.
The first thing I did, after tossing my keys somewhere near the minibar and yanking my hoodie off, was reach for my laptop. Not for Netflix. Not for a race replay. But for something way more reckless.
Victor de Vos.
I typed it into the search bar, watching the results load in a rapid-fire blur of links, headlines, magazine features, financial reports, political donations, and... Forbes.
"Top 50 Most Influential European Tech Entrepreneurs Under 45."
"The Mind Behind V-Technologies: Victor de Vos on AI Sovereignty, Legacy, and Power."
"Belgium's Quiet Giant: A Man Who Speaks in Billions."
Jesus. This man wasn't just rich, he was dynasty rich. Old money tangled with new power.
There were mentions of his family owning half of West Flanders' land in the 1800s, luxury estates, private equity ties in London, and... some deeply polished, too-clean photo of him shaking hands with a government minister.
No wonder Olivia had that tension in her voice every time his name came up.
I shut the laptop before it could spiral further. No good would come from scrolling his goddamn LinkedIn endorsements.
My phone buzzed in the hoodie I'd discarded. Her name lit up the screen.
Olivia. FaceTime Incoming.
I ran a hand through my hair, exhaled, and answered.
She appeared immediately. Her beautiful honey-colored hair loose, lips bare, her eyes warm but tired, propped somewhere in a softly lit hotel room. I caught a glimpse of stacked books and a coffee cup behind her.
"Bonsoir" she said, tilting her head like she was about to say something clever. "Shouldn't you great me with 'hola' instead?"
She chuckled "Guess who just read three pages too fast and spilled hot coffee on her own dress in front of fifty people?"
"Let me guess" I said, leaning against the wall, trying not to smile. "A wildly talented Belgian author with very little balance and even less self-preservation instinct?"
She pointed at the camera. "Correct. You win a prize."
"What kind?"
She smirked. "A long-distance kiss and a dramatic retelling of the tragedy."
"Go on. I'm listening."
She recounted the moment, dramatic hand gestures included, and by the time she mimed the coffee cup flying through the air, I was laughing.
"You know" I said, "I was expecting your big Barcelona reading to be all smooth and Parisian, not performance art."
"Well, I'm versatile. I can write, read, and humiliate myself simultaneously."
I grinned. "You forgot one thing."
"What?"
"You look really fucking good while doing it." She gave me a suspicious look. "And you? How the meeting went at the MTC?"
I blinked, pausing but not enough to give myself away.
"Usual talk about the next race, what are the expectations, the advantages of our car on a race track like Baku. Then the Netflix crew came, we had to re-do the meeting but acting, but not disclosing too much."
She nodded at every word and smiled softly.
God, she is gorgeous.
I shrugged. "Nothing new."
Her eyes narrowed slightly. "Are you okay?"
"I just..." I tried, rubbing the back of my neck. I didn't want to plant seeds of panic, not while she was floating on post-event adrenaline and still wearing that sleepy, gorgeous smile "miss you a bit more than usual tonight."
Her expression softened.
"Well" she whispered, leaning closer to the screen, "I was planning to wear your oversized hoodie for this evening. The one that still smells like you, because...I'm kinda missing you too."
"You're trying to kill me. Barcelona is just two hours flight away. Don't tempt me like that."
"Tempt you?" she replied, voice smooth as sin. "Oscar, I'm just saying I'll wear an oversize hoodie. I had no idea you were so... distractible. Besides, if I really wanted to tempt you... I wouldn't be wearing anything at all."
My throat went dry. "You want me to get on a plane, don't you?"
"Of course not" she said sweetly. "You're supposed to be focused, sharp, disciplined. Baku's coming."
I stared at her. "You're evil."
"I prefer the term motivational." Her smile deepened.
I tilted my head back with a groan. "You are actually trying to ruin my life."
She laughed. God, I loved when she laughs like that. Carefree and wicked but still not aware of the chaos she caused in me.
"Focus, Piastri" she teased, using that sharp, commanding tone that only made it worse. "Win me a race. Then maybe I'll consider rewarding you."
I leaned closer to the screen. "Careful. I take those deals very seriously."
"Good" she murmured. "Because I wasn’t bluffing."
I looked at her for a long second. She was glowing, even through pixels. "You were made to ruin men, you know that?"
"And you were made to win races and walk into the wrong bookstore and start talking with the wrong women."
"I didn't walk into the wrong bookstore" I said. "I dove. And it was the best decision of my life."
We stayed there in silence for a moment, both holding it in, like a breath too tender to release.
She smiled and shook her head. "Go eat something, Piastri. Then have a goodnight sleep."
"Only if you promise to dream about me."
"I already do."
The screen faded to black, and I stood there a moment longer, heart in my throat, wondering when this thing would finally stop feeling so unreal.
After I hung up with Olivia, I sat in the dark for a while, still on the edge of my bed, phone balanced in my hand, screen black.
I told myself I wasn't overthinking it.
That it was just... curiosity.
That it didn't matter that the man I shook hands with today, suited, polished, and full of smug charisma, happened to have been married to the woman currently wearing in my hoodie.
But the longer I stared at the screen, the more that feeling crept in.
Not jealousy. Not exactly.
Wariness.
The kind of quiet edge you feel when another driver gets close to your gearbox in the middle of a corner. You don't panic. But you pay attention.
Before I could talk myself out of it, I opened my contacts and tapped on Zak.
He picked up on the third ring.
"Oscar" he answered, chipper as ever, even though it was late. "What's up? Don't tell you are sick or something."
I laughed softly. "No, no. Nothing about that."
"Everything alright?"
"Yeah. I was just wondering..." I leaned back in the chair and tried to sound casual. "That guy today. Victor de Vos. How big is his involvement with us?"
Zak exhaled. "Ah. The V-Tech deal."
I didn't say anything. Just let him talk.
"He's not involved on a day-to-day basis. He's more of a principal investor through one of his holding companies. Branding partnership, tech alignment, potential R&D crossover in the longer term. Classic big-money optics. Nothing inside the garage. Why?"
"Just curious" I said with a shrug, knowing he couldn't see me. "The guy looked like someone I might've seen before. On a panel, or maybe a magazine. Wondered if he was going to be around more." Zak chuckled. "If he is, I hope he brings his wine cellar with him. He owns a vineyard in Provence."
Of course he does.
"Anyway" Zak added, "if he were to get more involved, I'd tell you boys. But don't worry, he's not going to be sitting in your strategy briefings or anything. He's PR sparkle, not pit lane muscle."
"Got it" I said, nodding. "Just making conversation."
"Hmm," Zak hummed. "You never just make conversation, Piastri. What's the angle?"
"No angle" I lied smoothly. "Just had a weird vibe."
"Well, don't let weird vibes mess with your head before Baku. Lando's already convinced you're overthinking everything because of a woman."
My stomach tensed.
"He said that?"
"Not in those exact words" Zak chuckled. "But close."
I gave a dry laugh. "I'm fine. Focused."
"Good. Keep it that way. We need both of you sharp."
"Always am."
We hung up, and I set the phone down, heart still tapping an uneven rhythm beneath my shirt.
So Victor wasn't embedded in the team. Not yet. Not officially.
But he was there. Which meant proximity. Which meant risk.