chapter 19 Aug 7, 2025 Diana's words hang between us like a signed confession I never asked for. Charles loves me. According to his sister. Not him. Because God forbid the man actually use his words like a functioning adult. "That's…" I swallow hard. "I appreciate you telling me." But I don't. Not really. I want Charles stumbling over declarations, not his sister playing messenger pigeon for his emotional constipation. Diana's watching me with those Weinberg eyes-too smart, too knowing. I need out. Now. "I don't want to talk about it." The words come out sharper than intended. Standard defense mechanism: activate bitch mode when cornered. We stare at each other. The vineyard suddenly feels like a cage made of grapevines and good intentions. "I just hope that because of his emotions, he doesn't ruin his career." I'm deflecting, but it's true. "The team is giving him everything." Resources, strategy, loyalty-Charles has the full force of Apex Nova behind him, and still he's risking it all. And he's throwing it away chasing ghosts in storage rooms instead of championships on track. Sneaking around, confronting teammates, letting his temper flare in data rooms instead of letting his talent speak on the circuit. I see the cracks forming, the tension coiling in his shoulders. And I want to shake him, to remind him that potential doesn't last forever, that talent without focus burns out fast. Salvation appears in the form of Lorenzo De Marco, standing alone like a disappointed Italian monument. My father. My problem. My escape route. "I have to go." I'm already moving, but Diana catches my hand. Her grip is gentle but firm-Charles's determination in feminine form. "If you ever need support, or just someone to talk to, you can count on me." Her smile could melt glaciers. "I know how unbearable Charles can be sometimes." My chest goes tight. In another life, Diana would be my best friend. We'd bitch about her brother over wine, share racing gossip, be the kind of close that survives anything. But in this life? I'm lying to her face while fake-dating her brother's rival. She leaves before I can respond, probably sensing I'm two seconds from emotional combustion. I scan the terrace before stepping out-paranoia or caution, I can't tell anymore. No cameras, no teammates, no wandering eyes. Just Papa, alone, framed by the manicured sprawl of the vineyard. It's safe. Or as safe as anything can be in a life where secrets leak faster than oil on a bad gearbox. Papa doesn't turn when I approach. Just stands there, surveying the vineyard like a general examining a battlefield. His silence is heavier than any accusation, and somehow more cutting. I used to crave his approval. Now I'd settle for a neutral ceasefire. "You stopped messaging me." Straight to the point. De Marco family tradition. "Did I?" His voice carries that particular Italian parent's disappointment that could guilt a stone into apologizing. "Is everything okay between us?" He finally looks at me, and Christ, I'd rather face a grid penalty than that expression. "I'm trying to understand what drives you, stellina. You refuse to work for me, claim you need independence. Yet here you are, falling for my driver." Falling for. Present tense. Like it's ongoing. Like it's real. "It's-" "Elio remains remarkably composed about it all." He continues like I haven't spoken. "What Charles does now? This recklessness? This is what I expected from Elio. Being involved with you is dangerous, yet he seems… unaffected." The observation lands like a punch. Because Papa's right. Elio should be losing his mind dating his boss's secret daughter. Instead, he's winning races and playing boyfriend like it's easy. "Why is Charles Weinberg behaving so recklessly?" Papa's question isn't really a question. It's an accusation wrapped in curiosity. My stomach churns. "I don't know." "Don't you?" His eyes bore into mine. "Tell me, Daniella, do you plan to be remembered as Formula 1's most talented mechanic? Or as the woman who destroyed brilliant drivers?" His words slice deep, cut with surgical precision, not because they're cruel, but because they reflect a reality I've been trying to outrun. I came here to build something separate from his shadow. To prove I'm more than a last name and a legacy. That I belong in this world not because of Lorenzo De Marco, but because of the grease under my nails and the hours I've clocked in the garage. Instead, I'm becoming a paddock cautionary tale. The girl who thought she could rewrite her story by hiding her past. The mechanic who blurred too many lines. Now I'm the whispered name behind turned backs and pitying glances. The one who got too close, too fast, and burned everything down. "That's not fair…" "Fair?" His laugh is bitter. "You're playing with careers, stellina. With hearts. With legacies. What's fair about any of this?" I want to argue. Want to scream that it's not my fault Charles can't process emotions or that Elio's manipulated me. But the words stick in my throat because underneath it all, he's right. "I'm disappointed." He says it simply, like stating the weather. Then, because he's still my father despite everything: "But I still love you." He walks away, leaving me among the grapevines with those words echoing in my skull. Disappointed but still loves me. The tears come before I can stop them. Hot, angry, exhausted tears. Everything's fucked. Charles loves me but won't say it. Elio's fake dating me but treats me better. Papa's disappointed. And I'm becoming exactly what I tried to avoid-a scandal instead of a success. Arms wrap around me from behind. Familiar cologne, steady presence. "Don't," I manage between sobs. "Not going anywhere." Elio's voice is soft against my hair. "Cry if you need to." And I do. Cry for the life I wanted versus the one I'm living. For Charles's unspoken feelings and Papa's spoken disappointment. For Diana's friendship I can't accept and Elio's comfort I shouldn't want.