what a plot twist you are

“If I get a pole, you’re gonna go to Wimbledon with me.” George smirked looking at her, and she rolled her eyes, not amused.

“Why would I want this?” She asked with arms crossed on her chest.

“Because you wouldn’t want me to tell Susie, that you’re flirting with Toto on daily basis.” George knew about the flirting and he also knew, that she wouldn’t want to destroy the Wolffs marriage.

Clearing her throat, she looked over the people around. “You wouldn’t do this. The last thing I want is to destroy people’s lives.”

“Then you’ll go with me to the Wimbledon if I win or not.” George smirked again knowing that she’s trapped in this.

“You’re an asshole.” She said feeling little embarrassed.

“But you like it, don’t you?” He said in low voice brushing past her getting himself prepared for race. Toto saw their interaction and was curious what left her in that shook state.

“Are you okay?” Toto’s voice interrupted her reel of thoughts as she put on her okay face again.

“Yes, yes, I’m okay. I need to get back to checking the car.” She avoided his eyes as she walked quickly towards the car looking over it.

Susie walked in to the garage, surprising everyone by her presence. George smirked, he was in the process of putting on his helmet, she was looking at him with stern look while Toto was greeting Susie as a good husband would do.

“The car is okay. I think today is a good day to get you to that pole.” After a while she came to George while writing something to her papers.

“I’m gonna do everything I can to get that. Wish me luck, princess.” He said as he hopped in the car.

She just smiled a little. Maybe she was attracted to his cocky persona. Maybe she wished deep down for him to get the pole to be with him at Wimbledon.

———

And that was it. They were sitting together at the royal booth along with other celebrities. Social media were already full of their photos together and she tried to put on her best smile. Wearing the silk creamy dress with cardigan over her shoulders, she screamed royalty along with him wearing striped dark blue blazer with white shirt underneath along with tie and white pants. Like they were born to be beside each other.

When she was focused on the game, George was watching her through his sunglasses. As the one of the players won the set, she gasped in excitement. Was it from the game or from the feeling of George’s hand on her bare knee?

She turned her look at him only to see his smirk plastered on his face as he tried to look invested at the game.

She let out a little huff, placing her hand on his, nonchalantly sneaking her fingers around his palm. He squeezed her fingers lightly.

“That game is pretty interesting, don’t you think?” She leaned closer to his shoulder, speaking in low voice. He felt her breath on his neck and it made him shiver a little.

“Yeah, very intense, I would say.” He said calmly with smirk. His hand on her knee moved a little up her thigh. She took in a sharp breath. Quickly she carefully looked around them, if someone seen what he’s doing. Her hand tried to get his hand away but it resulted only in his getting even higher moving her dress to reveal more of her skin.

She looked up at him in disbelief and he was already looking at her with smirk.

“What? I thought that you find this game interesting.” He said in amused tone.

“Are you trying to embarrass me? This is not appropriate.” She said nearly whispering.

George only chuckled, averting his gaze at the court as his hand moved back adjusting her dress. Then he placed his hand in her lap, finding hers and intertwining with it. She cleared her throat being slightly calm with the outcome.

After the game, they were up to meet a Novak Djokovic, George took many photos with the fans around as she watched it. She knew there was also a people snapping photos of her with him, already conspiring what they are.

Meeting with Novak was great, she already met with him a few times.

“So, you two together here at Wimbledon, that’s something.” Novak said amused. Oh no, he’s also the one to tease it, she was thinking.

“Yeah, I needed to get my girl into that nice dress when the only thing we wear is race suits or Mercedes merch. Also we’re fans of tennis so…” George chuckled as she looked at him in slight disbelief and Novak noticed.

“Oh, your girl. I didn’t know that you’re official. Took you long enough.” Novak grinned.

“We’re not-“ she tried to have a word in this, but was interrupted by George’s hand around her waist.

“We’re not used to all that attention, so we kept it a secret for a while, but I think the Wimbledon was a great chance to get into that spotlight, don’t you think love?” George smirked looking down at her, something loving in his eyes.

She felt trapped, but understood the assignment. “That’s true. We tried to be secret for so long, that we grew tired of it. It was really exhausting.”

“Congratulations. You two are a good match, I saw it coming.” Novak winked as he walked away to prepare for his game.

She parted from George quickly, going for the champagne from the nearest bar. He just followed her calmly, because there was no chance of her escaping him.

As she gulped a champagne, he was standing beside her, getting a cup with strawberries, she knew that it was his strange tradition, getting strawberries at the Wimbledon.

He slowly took a bite from one of the berries looking around them at other people.

“So, what if I don’t want to be your girl?” She said turning her body to face him.

He scoffed looking at her. “If you really didn’t want this, you’d be fighting like a lioness back there to assure Novak, that we’re not dating. You wouldn’t be standing here with me, you wouldn’t want to be near me. So. Do you want to be my girl?” George ate another of the berries, there was something about the way he just bit into them that made her mind go wild.

“Are you serious or is it one of your games? Because I’m not some play toy, Russell.” She said in serious tone. Ah, there it was, her calling him by his surname. It was always a turn on for him.

“I’m dead serious, princess.” He grabbed another berry and gestured for her to open her mouth and she obeyed, still holding his gaze. As he was about to place a berry in her mouth, he quickly put it away and kissed her lips instead. She gasped surprised, but quickly gave into the kiss, her hands sneaking around his neck. He smirked into the kiss, feeling of her soft lips shook his entire body. She tried to deepen the kiss, her tongue softly licking on his lips, he tasted like strawberry.

They parted after a while, her hands placed on his chest to steady her in her place as his rested at her hips.

“You really are unbelievable, Russell.” She chuckled.

“If you call me Russell one more time, I’m not gonna last to the hotel room.” He said with dark gaze.

“We wouldn’t want that, right, Russell?” She leaned closer to him just for whisper into his ear with chuckle.

That was the last straw. In one hand, he held the cup with strawberries, and in another her hand as he guided them through the crowd to the parking lot, where the driver was waiting for them. When they got to the car, George took off his blazer like a gentleman, pulled off his tie, navigating the driver to their hotel. Then he averted his attention to her, getting strawberry into his hand and then to her mouth. She took it in her mouth, chewing and finally gulping. With that his lips was on hers for another round of kissing. This time it was passionate, wild and sweet. His hand on her neck, steadying her in place as she was holding him by his upper arm.

“Oh, George, you’re… really something.” She said in between the kisses when she tried to catch her breath.

“Wait until we get to the hotel. You’re gonna be more surprised.” He whispered as he bit on her lower lip.

———

The clock hit midnight, she was sitting on the edge of the bed, her body wrapped in the sheets as George was getting her a glass of water. He sat beside her, watching how she downed the whole glass.

“You’re a beast, George.” She exhaled with chuckle, her face showing how she’s tired from their evening activities.

“I didn’t expect you being this wild. I clearly underestimated you.” He chuckled jokingly.

“So. Are we a thing or is this some friends with benefits kind of stuff?” She looked at him with serious look.

George retrieved the glass from her hand, putting it down on the bedside table. Then he cupped her face with his hands.

“I told you already, that you’re my girl. I would scream it to the whole world, if I could. This is not some one time thing, I really want to cherish you, take care of you, love you. Because you mean so much to me, you can’t even imagine.” His eyes were full of love, he was truly mesmerised by her.

She was ready to melt on the spot from his words.

“Beside all the teasing and banter we had to this day, I had a crush on you since you were racing for the Williams. But as time progressed I thought that you’re just cocky asshole, who wouldn’t even talk to me. And then you got to Mercedes and my head was spinning every time I needed to talk to you. That’s why I started to flirt with Toto, to clear my head and get some fun. From my side it was harmless, but I think you stepped in in right time, because he seemed to take the flirting on another level.” She ran her hand through her hair with sigh.

“You don’t need to worry now about Toto. I knew that you would never want to hurt Susie, I just wanted to poke that feelings in you, to get them to the light. And it worked.” He smirked.

“I’m so happy you did it. My heart is fluttering right now.” she chuckled leaning against his shoulder. He pulled her closer, kissing her temple.

“I was actually taken aback by you from the moment I saw you around the paddock. But I was so young and you always had that unavailable face.”

“That’s my mask to unwanted attention.” She chuckled.

“We need to get to Hungary in the morning. It’s the media day, would you like to fly with me or by yourself?” He teased her.

“You’re already trying to get rid of me this soon. Shame on you, Russell.”

“You know what it’s doing to me, you calling me that.”

———

Media day went pretty well, all eyes and cameras were on them, as they tried to keep their composure. She was stuck in the garage, preparing George’s car for the practice session, and George was sitting with the press, smiling and talking like he usually did.

“So, you and George, huh?” Toto stood beside her looking over the car casually.

“Wha- Yeah.” She was little startled by his sudden presence but she kept it cool.

“I didn’t know that you’re a thing.” Toto said a little saddened?

I didn’t know either, but here we are, she thought.

“It may seem confusing, yeah.” She chuckled while writing something to the data sheet.

“I thought that we… You know.” He leaned closer.

She took in the sharp breath pointing her pen to him, looking serious. “As much as it was flattering to talk with you, you have a family, a wife. We can’t talk like we used to. I’m sorry I let you misunderstood the situation.”

In that moment George appeared at the entrance of the garage seeing how she pointed her pen towards Toto, who looked at her with furrowed brows.

“Hey, baby.” George walked to them, standing beside her, kissing her temple, which caused her to smile happily. Toto saw that and his face softened a little.

“You’re really a good match, I see it now. But don’t let your personal life into work. You know I’m strictly against that.” Toto said with slight smile and went after other teammates.

She let out the breath she didn’t know she was holding.

“What did he want?” George asked with concern.

“He was surprised that we’re together and that he thought me and him are something more. I reminded him, that he has a wife and family.” She shrugged her shoulders.

“I’m so proud of you.” He said with a teasing smirk.

Silverstone gives George a trophy and takes the rest of him apart.

Second place. Home podium. Champagne on his fireproofs, camera flashes in his eyes, the crowd chanting his name like they can pull victory out of his bones by force alone.

He smiles. He raises the trophy. He plays the part beautifully, because George Russell has spent years becoming the kind of man who can bleed behind perfect posture.

Inside, something goes quiet and ugly.

Because he knows. He knows the car is wrong.

He knows it from the way it drags out of slow corners, from the way it refuses to bite when he asks for rotation, from every tenth he loses in places where Kimi’s Mercedes looks sharp enough to cut glass. He knows it from the data his body collects before any engineer can dress it up in graphs and careful language.

And he knows it from Toto’s voice on the radio.

“I don’t have the same pace as Kimi,” George says during the race, clipped and breathless, fighting the car through Silverstone like it owes him money. “There’s no way this is the same performance.”

A pause.

Then Toto, calm and cold, “We don’t see that, George. Both cars are in the same window. Focus on your race.”

Focus on your race.

George almost laughs in his helmet.

He does focus.

He focuses until his hands ache. He focuses until the tyres scream. He focuses until Kimi picks up front wing damage, drops back through the field, and still the garage reacts like the sun has fallen out of the sky.

George finishes second.

Kimi finishes in 16th place.

And still, Toto’s first look is toward the wrong side of the garage.

That is the moment George stops lying to himself.

The media pen smells like rain, champagne, sweat, and expensive panic.

George stands in front of the microphones with his damp hair pushed back, race suit tied around his waist, white fireproof top clinging to him. His PR officer hovers just out of frame, eyes sharp, already sensing danger.

A journalist asks about the title fight.

George breathes once. Then he smiles. “It’s difficult to fight for a championship when one car clearly doesn’t have the same pace as the other.”

Several cameras shift closer. Someone inhales.

The PR officer goes very still.

George keeps his face clean and polite, because that makes it worse.

“I drove the race I had,” he continues. “Second at Silverstone is a strong result. The team did a great job operationally. But if we’re being honest, I can’t keep pretending everything is equal when the lap time says otherwise.”

A beat. Then another journalist asks, “Are you saying Kimi has been given a better package?”

George looks straight into the camera.

“I’m saying I know what I feel in the car.”

Behind the camera line, Toto Wolff watches him. No expression. No movement. Only those dark eyes fixed on George with the kind of stillness that once made George feel chosen.

Now it feels like a warning.

George walks away before anyone can save him.

By the time evening falls over Silverstone, the Mercedes hospitality has turned too polished.

The public celebration is controlled. The champagne is measured. The laughter sounds rehearsed. George moves through it like a ghost in team kit, accepting congratulations, shaking hands, smiling at sponsors, watching every head turn toward Toto when he enters.

Toto does not look at him once.

That hurts.

George hates that it still hurts.

Two years ago, Toto’s attention felt like oxygen.

George had been twenty-something, hungry, desperate to be seen by the one man in the building whose approval could make the whole world tilt. Toto had known exactly how to give it. A hand at the back of George’s neck after qualifying. A quiet good boy in his ear after a perfect stint. A watch left on his hotel nightstand because George had admired it once. A private dinner after a podium. A hotel room door opening before George even knocked.

George had given him everything.

His mouth. His body. His loyalty. His silence.

His whole stupid heart.

Toto had taken it with the elegance of a man who never needed to ask twice.

From the start, he had been clear.

“This is desire, George. Trust. Control. Nothing softer.”

George had nodded, breathless, eager, already falling.

Because Toto could say “nothing softer” while touching him like ownership. Toto could say “don’t love me” while learning exactly how George came apart. Toto could say “this is only sex” while giving him gifts, praise, access, private tenderness in dark hotel rooms where George was young enough to mistake possession for devotion.

And George let him... God, George let him.

Then Kimi arrived. Young. Brilliant. Fragile in the way people wanted to protect.

Toto turned toward him with frightening ease.

At first George understood. Kimi needed support. Kimi needed patience. Kimi needed someone powerful standing between him and the teeth of Formula One.

Then Toto’s hand began to settle on Kimi’s shoulder.

Then Toto’s praise softened.

Then Toto started smiling at Kimi after debriefs with that same slow warmth George used to chase like a drug.

Good work.

That was brave.

I’m proud of you.

George heard those words and felt something inside him rot.

He waited for Toto to notice.

Toto never did. Or worse, Toto noticed and enjoyed it.

The message arrives at 21:17.

Toto: My office. Now.

No please. No name.

George stares at it until the letters blur.

Then he goes. Of course he goes.

That is the sickest part.

Toto’s office is dim when George enters. Only the desk lamp is on, throwing gold across black leather, glass, silver edges, the quiet violence of wealth. Toto stands near the window with his sleeves rolled to his forearms, collar open, phone in one hand.

He looks composed. He always does.

George feels ruined just standing in front of him.

The door clicks shut behind him.

Toto does not turn immediately.

“You embarrassed me today.”

George’s laugh comes out too sharp. “Congratulations on my podium, by the way.”

Toto turns then. Slowly.

“You accused this team of favoritism in front of the world.”

“I told the truth.”

“You gave them a headline.”

“You gave me the reason.”

Toto’s eyes narrow.

There he is.

That dark thing beneath the expensive shirt and controlled voice. The man who can make a room go silent without raising his tone. The man George used to find irresistible because being wanted by something dangerous makes a person feel powerful right up until the teeth close.

“You are emotional,” Toto says.

George feels his throat tighten. “No.”

“You had a hard race.”

“I had a slower car.”

“We looked at the data.”

George steps closer. “You looked at the story you wanted to tell.”

Toto sets his phone down on the desk. Carefully.

George knows that gesture.

Toto emptying his hands means someone else is about to lose control.

“Careful, George.”

The name lands low and heavy.

Once, that voice could make George sink to his knees without a second thought. Once, it made him feel beautiful, wanted, rewarded. Once, Toto could look at him across a room and George’s whole body would answer before his brain caught up.

Now his body still remembers.

His chest burns with the humiliation of it.

“You don’t get to do that anymore,” George says.

“Do what?”

“Use that voice and expect me to forget I have a spine.”

Something flickers in Toto’s face.

Amusement, maybe.

Pride, maybe.

Danger, absolutely.

“You had plenty of spine when you spoke to the media.”

“Yes.” George’s breath shakes. “Finally.”

Toto walks around the desk, each step measured. He stops close enough that George catches the familiar scent of his cologne. Clean. Dark. Expensive.

George hates how much he has missed being this close.

“You will clarify your comments tomorrow,” Toto says. “You will say the team provides equal machinery. You will say the emotion of Silverstone got the better of you.”

George looks at him. “No.”

Silence.

The word hangs there, ugly and alive.

Toto tilts his head slightly. “No?”

“No,” George repeats. “I’m done cleaning up the mess you make and calling it loyalty.”

Toto’s mouth hardens.

George feels tears pushing hot behind his eyes. He blinks them back violently.

He will not cry. He will not.

“You think this is about the car,” Toto says.

George’s pulse kicks. “It is about the car.”

“No.” Toto’s voice lowers. “It is about Kimi.”

The name cuts through him.

George’s face twists before he can stop it.

Toto sees. Of course Toto sees.

A cruel softness enters his eyes.

“There,” Toto murmurs. “That is the truth.”

George’s hands curl at his sides. “Don’t.”

“You are jealous.”

“I’m angry.”

“You are hurt.”

“I’m finally awake.”

“You are replaceable and you are only just understanding what that feels like.”

George goes still. For one second, even Toto seems to recognize the brutality of what he has said.

Then his expression closes again.

Too late. The words have already entered George’s blood.

George laughs once, broken and small. “That’s what I was?”

Toto says nothing.

“Replaceable?”

Toto’s gaze stays fixed on him. “Everyone is replaceable in this sport.”

George nods slowly.

His eyes burn.

He looks down because if he keeps looking at Toto, the tears will fall. His pride has already taken enough punishment tonight.

“I wasn’t talking about the sport,” George says.

Toto exhales through his nose. Tired now. As if George’s heartbreak is an inconvenience in a packed race calendar.

That is what finally breaks him.

“I defended you,” George says, voice cracking. “For two years. I defended every cold morning after. Every time you left first. Every time you gave me just enough to keep me hungry and never enough to let me rest.”

Toto’s jaw tightens.

George keeps going because stopping now means dying with it still inside him.

“I told myself you were honest. That it was my fault for wanting more. That you never promised me anything. That you respected me. That you valued me.”

“I do value you.”

George looks up sharply.

A tear falls.

He wipes it away with the back of his hand, furious.

“No. You value obedience.”

Toto’s eyes darken.

George steps closer, breathing unevenly. “You liked that I looked at you like you were the whole world.”

Toto says nothing.

“You liked that praise from you could make my week. You liked that one touch from you could shut me up. You liked knowing I would come when you called.”

“George.”

“No.” His voice breaks on the word. “You don’t get to say my name like you own it.”

Toto moves fast enough that George’s breath catches.

He does not grab him. He only steps in, close, too close, until George’s back meets the edge of the desk behind him.

The old instinct hits hard. Stay. Yield. Look up.

George hates himself for obeying the last one.

Toto towers over him, one hand braced on the desk beside George’s hip. His face is calm. His eyes are merciless.

“I told you what this was,” Toto says.

George’s mouth trembles. “Yes.”

“I told you there would be no feelings.”

“Yes.”

“I told you not to confuse attention with love.”

George’s tears fall freely now.

He cannot stop them. He tries to breathe around the pain and fails.

“And I loved you anyway,” he says.

Toto inhales.

For the first time all night, the mask cracks. Only for a second.

George sees it.

George wishes he had not. Because beneath the coldness there is something alive, and that is worse. If Toto felt nothing, George could hate him cleanly. If Toto is capable of feeling something and still chooses this, then the cruelty has shape. Intention. Teeth.

“I loved you,” George repeats, quieter. “I have loved you for so long that I forgot what I sounded like before I started waiting for your approval.”

Toto’s gaze drops to his mouth.

George sees it.

The memory moves between them, hot and rotten. Hotel rooms. Locked doors. Toto’s hand in his hair. Praise given like a leash. George desperate, eager, glowing under attention that always had an expiry date.

Then Toto looks back into his eyes.

“You were warned.”

George flinches as if struck.

Toto does not soften.

“I cared for you,” Toto says. “I protected you. I gave you access, trust, opportunities.”

George laughs through tears. “You bought me pretty things and called it care.”

“You accepted them.”

“Yes,” George snaps. “Because I was in love with you. Because every gift felt like proof. Because when you looked at me, I thought maybe I mattered.”

“You did matter.”

“Until Kimi.”

Toto’s face goes cold again.

George nods, tears on his cheeks, smile trembling and bitter.

“There it is.”

“Kimi has nothing to do with us.”

“There is no us. You made sure of that.”

Toto’s hand lifts.

George freezes.

For one heartbeat, it almost looks tender.

Then Toto touches his chin and tilts his face up. It is gentle enough to hurt.

“You need sleep,” Toto says. “You need to calm down. Tomorrow, you will fix this.”

George stares at him.

The touch burns. His body wants to lean into it. His heart wants to break its own knees and crawl back. His mind is screaming.

He turns his face away.

Toto’s fingers fall from his chin.

“You don’t get to touch me after that,” George says.

Toto’s expression hardens. “You are making a mistake.”

George wipes his face again. “I’ve made one for two years. At least this one is new.”

Toto straightens.

There is the team principal now. The strategist. The man with contracts and boardrooms and lawyers and enough influence to turn a driver’s future into smoke.

“You should think carefully,” Toto says. “About your career. About your seat. About what happens when a driver becomes unstable in public.”

George’s stomach drops.

The threat is quiet. Clean. Undeniable.

He looks at Toto and finally understands the architecture of the trap.

Sex was never the most intimate thing between them.

Power was.

Toto had always held it.

George had mistaken being allowed close enough to touch it for being trusted with it.

“You’d do that?” George asks.

Toto’s eyes do not move.

“I will protect the team.”

George nods. His face changes then.

The tears remain, but something underneath them goes still.

“Of course,” he says. “The team.”

Toto watches him carefully now, as if searching for the compliant George underneath the wreckage.

George reaches beside him, picks up the podium cap he must have dropped without noticing, and holds it in both hands.

His fingers shake. He lets them.

“I hope he’s worth it,” George says.

“Kimi is a driver.”

“So am I.”

“Yes.”

George’s smile is awful. “Just not your favourite anymore.”

Toto says nothing. That silence is answer enough.

George moves toward the door.

Each step feels strange. Too light. Too painful. Like walking out of a room where he has left his own body behind.

At the handle, he stops. He does not turn around.

“If you wanted obedience,” George says, voice hoarse, “you should have been more careful with the man who loved you.”

Behind him, Toto is silent.

Then his voice comes, low and dark. “And if you wanted love, George, you should have chosen someone kinder.”

George closes his eyes. There it is. No apology. No regret. No rescue. Just the truth, stripped clean.

He opens the door.

The corridor outside is quiet, pale, ordinary. Somewhere in the building, people laugh. Someone drops a glass. The world continues because George Russell’s heart breaking does not earn a safety car.

He walks out.

This time, when Toto lets him go, George understands it as the final cruelty. Or the first mercy.