Welcome to Paddock Wars — where Formula 1 meets utter chaos, sarcasm, and suspiciously attractive team principals.
When Milena Kremser, a retired Polish army major and single mother of two kids, gets an offer to lead Red Bull after Horner’s zipper-gate scandal, she thinks it’s a prank. Spoiler: it’s not. Suddenly, she’s in charge of a team full of egos, engines, and her opponent is a certain very tall Austrian from Mercedes whose biceps deserve their own sponsor.
Warnings (get ready for):
🚨 Uncontrolled banter & mutual teasing & excessive sarcasm
💋 Dangerous levels of sexual tension (blame Toto) — enemies to lovers
❤️🔥 Flirting that could cause global warming — slow burn
👶 Mischievous kids with too much access to team garages and plotting pranks at FIA level
💅 Horner behaving like a cartoon villain
💥 Major explosions (sometimes emotional, sometimes literal)
😎 Flirty, charming Daniel Ricciardo who really doesn’t know when to stop
🏠 Unexpectedly strong family vibes
🎖️ The ex-husband — also military, also a menace
👠 The ex-wife — Susie Wolff, classy, clever, and now besties with Milena
🔥 Add a sprinkle of chaos, a dash of scandal, and a whole lot of paddock drama
🏁 read on: AO3 - Wattpad - or read below
chapter 1: The Major
chapter 2: Welcome to the Circus
chapter 3: The Major and the Wolf
chapter 4: The War Begins
chapter 5: Battle Lines
chapter 6: Panel Warfare
chapter 7: Operation Flamingo
chapter 8: Dinner, Danger & One Very Jealous Austrian
chapter 9: Horner's Trap
chapter 10: Headlines
chapter 11: Scooter Wars & Elevator Confessions
chapter 12: Waltzing with the Wolf
chapter 13: Great Glitter War
chapter 14: Storm Season
chapter 15: Exes and Chaos: The Spa Sitcom GP
chapter 16: The Principal GP Nobody Asked For
chapter 17: The Scooter Wars: Monza Edition
chapter 18: Operation Fridge Love
If you want to continue reading Paddock Wars, the story is available on AO3 and Wattpad
❋ pairing: Toto Wolff x OC (major Milena Kremser / Red Bull Team Principal)
❋ chapter summary: Spa weekend turns into a full‑scale telenovela: Toto becomes an emotional support wolf, Milena falls asleep on his shoulder, breakfast turns domestic... until her ex‑husband Markus storms in like a Special Forces peacock. Cue jealous Toto, smug Markus, confused kids, and Susie enjoying the chaos like premium entertainment. F1? Forgotten. Drama? Immaculate.
❋ warnings: enemies to lovers, slow burn, age gap (38/53), humor, f1 chaos, strong female lead, witty banter, emotional damage (and healing), found family, chaotic children, fluff with spice, soft!Toto, Toto Wolff is doomed and knows it.
❋ read on: AO3 - Wattpad - or read below
🎧 Spotify playlist -> Paddock Wars Playlist
A/N: this and next chapter are one of my fav 🤭
fyi — Markus is German, and whenever I write about him... I always picture Michael Fassbender 😅
Chapter 14: Storm Season
The skies over Spa were the color of steel. Thick clouds hung low over the Ardennes, and the rain had that relentless Belgian persistence — not dramatic, not torrential, just constant. A fine mist that soaked everything and everyone, including tempers.
By Friday morning, the paddock looked more like a battlefield than a racetrack.
Mechanics trudged through puddles. Umbrellas flipped inside out. Drivers complained. PR teams panicked over frizzy hair and wet suits. And in the middle of it all, Milena Kremser walked through the rain like it was just another mission.
Her hood was up, her boots splashing through puddles, her two small shadows, Leon and Maya, skipping happily beside her in matching raincoats. They were loving it. She was pretending to.
"Alright, you two," she said, pushing the Red Bull garage door open. "No running, no climbing, no—"
But before she could finish, both kids were gone — straight toward Daniel, who was trying to balance a coffee cup and a box of doughnuts.
"Mini Majors incoming!" he yelled, laughing as they crashed into him.
Milena sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Why did I think bringing them would calm me down?"
*
By the time she reached her office, her phone was buzzing again. She checked the screen and couldn't stop the small, involuntary smile.
Toto: Rain again. Spa never changes.
Milena typed back quickly:
Milena: You complaining, Big Bad Wolf? Thought Austrians liked miserable weather.
It took less than a minute for the reply to come.
Toto: We do. But only when we're not trying to run a race in it.
Milena: Maybe you should try smiling more. Works for your drivers.
Toto: George smiles too much. It's suspicious.
Milena: I'll tell him you said that.
Toto: You wouldn't dare.
She smirked at the screen. Oh, she definitely would.
But when the laughter faded, so did her good mood. The tension between them since Austria hadn't gone away, it had just shifted.
Now, every time they crossed paths, every accidental brush of hands, every glance in the paddock carried the same spark of something dangerous and unspoken. Something that neither of them had the time, or courage, to deal with.
During the afternoon briefing, when Toto walked past the Red Bull pit wall, she caught him looking at her from beneath his umbrella.
Just a flicker of eye contact, no words. Enough to make her heart stumble, just a little.
"Boss?" Daniel asked beside her, waving a hand in front of her face. "Earth to Milena? You still with us?"
"What? Yes. Absolutely."
"You sure?" He grinned. "Because unless you were strategizing a staring contest with Toto, you kinda zoned out."
She shot him a glare. "Do me a favor, Daniel... go hydroplane somewhere."
*
The rest of the weekend didn't improve. Rain. Delays. Red flags. Every session turned into chaos.
Max spun. Daniel nearly aquaplaned into the barriers. And Milena, soaked to the bone, could only think one thing: This track hates me.
Late Saturday evening, the paddock was quiet again, only the soft patter of rain and the faint hum of generators.
Milena sat alone in her motorhome, staring out the window.
Her phone buzzed once more. Another message.
Toto: How's the Major holding up?
She hesitated, then typed back:
Milena: Cold. Tired. Covered in mud. But not dead yet.
Toto: Good. I'd hate to lose my favorite rival before Sunday.
She smiled despite herself.
Milena: You're insufferable, Wolff.
Toto: You like it.
Milena set her phone down, staring at the rain streaking down the glass.
Yeah. Maybe she did. And that was exactly the problem.
*
The rain had turned to a downpour, a heavy, relentless drumming against the Red Bull motorhome that drowned out even the faint hum of the paddock generators. Lightning flashed over the trees beyond the circuit, followed by a crack of thunder that made the windows shake.
Inside, chaos of a smaller kind. Leon was sprawled on the couch, headphones on, pretending to be unfazed. Jack was building a Lego car at the table, concentrating with the intensity of a young engineer in training. And in the middle of it all, Maya sat curled up on the seat beside Milena — wide-eyed, trembling, clutching her stuffed wolf.
Another rumble — loud, close.
Maya jumped and buried her face in her mother's shoulder.
"Shh, it's okay, little one" Milena whispered, stroking her hair. "It's just the storm. Nothing to worry about."
A flash. Another crash.
Maya whimpered softly. "I don't like it. It sounds angry."
Milena exhaled, holding her tighter. "I know. It's just clouds talking to each other. They're loud, but harmless."
The truth was, she'd been through enough actual explosions to know this wasn't helping.
Then the door opened, and a familiar, deep voice cut through the storm.
"Permission to enter, Pani Major?"
Toto stood there, rain dripping from his coat, hair damp, the faintest smirk on his lips. He held a small box of pastries in one hand and an umbrella in the other, though both were equally useless now.
"Toto?" Milena blinked, surprised. "What are you doing here?"
He shrugged, stepping inside. "Your garage lost power. Figured I'd check in before you decided to rebuild the paddock by hand."
Then he noticed Maya, clutching her toy with tearful eyes, and the teasing expression softened instantly.
"Hey," he said gently, crouching down beside her. "What's wrong, kleine Maus?"
Maya sniffled. "The thunder's shouting. I don't like it."
Toto glanced at Milena, she gave a small shrug, helpless.
So he took off his soaked jacket, sat down next to the little girl, and said in that low, steady tone that somehow made even chaos sound manageable, "Do you want me to tell you a story?"
Maya nodded hesitantly. "About what?"
He thought for a moment. Then smiled. "About a big wolf."
Leon looked up, amused. "You mean yourself?"
Milena shot him a look. "Leon."
But Toto only chuckled. "Maybe. Maybe not."
He leaned back, his voice soft, rhythmic — half Polish, half German, laced with warmth.
"There was once a big wolf who lived in the mountains. He looked scary, because he was tall and strong, but he wasn't mean. He just wanted to protect his pack, even the little ones who thought they didn't need him."
Maya peeked up, listening now, eyes wide. "Was he lonely?"
Toto smiled faintly. "Sometimes. But one day, he met a little fox who was very brave. She told him that even strong wolves need friends. So he stopped howling at the moon alone."
Milena felt her throat tighten.
Maya's eyes grew heavy, her small body relaxing against him as thunder rolled again, softer this time, or maybe just less frightening with Toto's voice filling the silence.
A few minutes later, she was asleep. Her tiny head resting against his chest, her stuffed wolf wedged between them.
"She said I'm like her dad," Toto murmured quietly, almost to himself.
Milena looked up, their eyes met in the dim light.
"She's right," she said softly. "He is a soldier. Big heart, calm hands, always made her feel safe. You did too."
Toto glanced down at the sleeping girl, then back at her.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The sound of rain softened outside, replaced by the gentle rhythm of Maya's breathing.
Jack and Leon, both asleep on a sofa, looked like twins under the same blanket.
It was a rare kind of silence, the kind that didn't need words.
Toto looked at Milena again, his expression unreadable but full of something warm and fragile. "You've done a good job with them," he said quietly.
Her lips curved into a tired smile. "Some days better than others."
He hesitated, then brushed a loose strand of hair from her forehead, the gesture so natural, so tender, it startled them both.
His fingers lingered for just a second too long. Her heart skipped. His breath caught.
For a moment, they just looked at each other — long, searching, caught in the hush between thunder and rain, the world outside fading to nothing but the quiet, electric space between them.
When Toto finally let his hand fall away, the absence of his touch left Milena strangely hollow, a small ache where his warmth had been.
She almost leaned after it, but stopped herself, biting back the urge to close that distance again.
Outside, thunder rumbled again, but this time, it didn't sound frightening at all.
For a long while, neither of them spoke. The thunder softened into a steady rain, the kind that lulled rather than startled.
Maya's breathing was slow and even against Toto's chest.
Milena sat beside Toto on the sofa, her head resting lightly against the back of the seat, close enough to feel his warmth, not quite close enough to touch. Exhaustion crept in, the kind that came after adrenaline, after too many days of running on willpower alone.
"Get some rest," Toto murmured quietly, eyes still on the window, the rain tracing soft lines down the glass.
"I should—" she started, but he shook his head. "Just for a bit."
Her protest faded somewhere between one breath and the next.
The rain whispered against the glass, the soft hum of the paddock generators filled the silence.
Before she knew it, Milena's head had drifted to his shoulder, the faint rhythm of his heartbeat steady beneath her ear.
And just like that, they both fell asleep, the soldier and the wolf, surrounded by sleeping children, the storm outside guarding their fragile calm.
*
When the light returned in the morning, it was soft, pale, cautious, sneaking through the fog like it didn't want to wake anyone. The rain had stopped. The air smelled of wet asphalt and coffee brewing somewhere in the distance.
Milena stirred first. Her neck ached slightly, something warm and solid was pressed against her back. She blinked, disoriented for a moment, then remembered.
Toto.
He was still there beside her, head tipped back, eyes half-open, his arm resting protectively near Maya. His usual sharpness had melted away in sleep, he looked softer, younger somehow.
When he realized she was awake, his eyes met hers, quiet and unguarded.
For a moment, neither of them moved. Everything outside the motorhome, the rivalry, the cameras, the noise, felt impossibly far away.
Milena's lips curved slightly. "Morning."
Toto's voice was low, rough from sleep. "Morning, Milena."
His gaze softened even more, a faint smile touching his mouth as he shifted just enough to turn toward her. For a heartbeat, his eyes dropped to her lips, then back to her eyes, like he was memorizing the moment. His fingers moved, hesitant, unsure, and brushed the back of her hand where it rested on the cushion between them.
It was nothing. Barely a touch. And yet it sent a quiet warmth through her chest, the kind that made breathing feel different.
"Did you sleep at all?" he asked softly.
She nodded. "Enough."
He hummed, unconvinced, and squeezed her fingers once, gentle, before letting his hand fall back, duty and restraint returning just a second too soon. She felt the absence immediately, the echo of his touch lingering longer than it should have.
Then Maya yawned and stretched like a cat, her small voice cutting through the stillness.
"Mum... is it breakfast time?"
Leon stirred too, blinking. "I smell toast."
Jack popped up next, hair sticking up like static. "Who's making it?"
Milena chuckled, rubbing her eyes. "I suppose I am."
Toto stood slowly, straightening his shirt, trying to shake off the haze of sleep. "You've got competition," he said, nodding toward the small kitchenette. "I make decent coffee."
"Decent?" Milena teased. "We'll see about that."
*
The paddock was still half-asleep, steam rising from coffee cups, mechanics yawning into their radios.
Inside the Red Bull motorhome, it smelled like toast and peace, a combination Milena hadn't experienced in years.
Maya sat cross-legged on the couch, eating pancakes with more chocolate than actual pancake. Leon and Jack were hunched over a tablet, arguing about who built the faster Lego car. Toto, impossibly, had managed to make coffee without breaking anything.
Milena leaned against the counter, arms folded, watching the scene with a faint smile. It was... nice. Too nice.
"You look suspiciously relaxed," Toto said, passing her a mug. "That's dangerous for a woman who runs a Formula One team."
She smirked. "And you're dangerously smug for someone who got zero points last weekend."
He grinned. "Touche."
Maya tugged on Toto's sleeve. "Can we have another story tonight, uncle Toto?"
"Depends," he said, pretending to think. "Does your mum let wolves tell bedtime stories two nights in a row?"
Milena rolled her eyes. "If it gets them to sleep, I'll allow it. Even if you improvise."
They laughed soft, easy, the kind of laughter that made the walls feel less like steel and more like home. And for a fleeting second, Milena caught herself thinking: This is what normal feels like. A breakfast. A family table. Coffee. Laughter. Something warm and terrifyingly human.
Then, of course, came the knock. Three hard, precise knocks that instantly killed the peace.
Milena frowned. "Who the hell—?"
Before she could reach the door, it opened.
And there he was. Markus Steiner.
Tall, broad-shouldered, still carrying that soldier's stance — all command and charm, even in civilian clothes. His sharp blue eyes scanned the room, immediately landing on Milena... and then on Toto.
"Good morning," Markus said smoothly, that familiar edge in his voice. "I hope I'm not interrupting... breakfast?"
"Oh, for... Markus?" Milena sighed. "What are you doing here?"
He smiled that infuriating smile. "Passing through Belgium on assignment. Thought I'd visit my kids. You didn't think I'd miss a race, did you?"
Leon's eyes lit up. "Dad!"
Maya jumped up and ran straight into his arms.
Toto straightened, polite but guarded, his tone clipped. "You must be Markus Steiner."
"And you must be the famous Mr. Wolff," Markus replied, still holding Maya but eyeing him with the kind of silent assessment men reserve for potential threats. "I've heard a lot about you."
"I'm sure you have," Toto said evenly.
Milena stood between them now, rubbing her temples. "Alright, enough testosterone. Markus, coffee?"
"Black," he said, sitting down like he owned the place. "Just the way I like it. Unless Herr Wolff makes it... then I'll pass."
Leon looked between them. "Mum, are they going to fight?"
Milena took a long sip of coffee. "Not yet."
The kids chattered happily, oblivious to the icy undertone in the air. Toto remained composed, but Milena saw the flicker of tension behind his calm.
Markus, on the other hand, looked smugly comfortable, leaning back in his chair as if he were still in command.
"So," Markus said casually, eyes narrowing just a bit, "you're spending a lot of time with my family, Wolff."
Toto's answer was polite but firm. "Your family is part of my team's paddock, Mr. Steiner. And I respect them... very much."
Milena's jaw clenched. "Markus, stop."
But he didn't. "Relax, Milena. I'm just saying... he seems... fond of you."
Milena shot him a glare. "You're five minutes in and already starting a war. Impressive, even for you."
Markus grinned. "Old habits die hard."
Maya, still hugging her stuffed wolf, looked up. "Mum, is Daddy gonna fight the Big Bad Wolf?"
The silence that followed nearly killed Toto.
Milena burst out laughing first, then tried to compose herself. "No, sweetheart. They're... talking."
Markus chuckled, though his pride took a visible hit. Toto, however looked on her.
Milena met his eyes, something unspoken passing between them again, that same quiet warmth, even through the awkwardness.
Outside, the rain had finally stopped. Inside, the storm was just beginning.
*
After that delightful breakfast ambush earlier, Milena had hoped Markus would simply pat the kids on the head, make a few sarcastic comments, and leave.
But no. The man had decided to stay for the race.
"For the children," he'd said, flashing that grin that made Milena want to throw her espresso in his face.
And now, as she stalked through the paddock in her Red Bull jacket, she was seriously considering it.
*
By noon, the paddock looked like an absurd crossover between a war zone and a soap opera.
Markus, ex-husband, war hero, walking headache, was strolling through like he owned the place.
And everywhere he went, trouble followed.
Daniel trailed him at a suspicious distance, whispering to Max, "Watch this. I bet he's about to say something that makes Toto explode."
Max didn't even look up from his phone. "He's a soldier. They live to cause explosions."
And then it happened. Toto was outside the Mercedes hospitality suite, headset around his neck, mid-conversation with Bradley when Markus approached, casual as ever, hands in pockets, smirk firmly in place.
"Well, if it isn't Herr Wolff himself," Markus said smoothly. "Still standing. Impressive."
Toto gave him a polite nod, instantly on guard. "Colonel Steiner."
"Ah, no need for ranks here," Markus said, eyes twinkling. "We've already done the pleasantries this morning."
Then, with the kind of grin that screamed I'm enjoying this too much, he added, "Be careful, Wolff. She's got a type — tall, smart, terrifying."
Bradley nearly spat out his coffee.
Toto blinked, caught completely off guard. "I— I beg your pardon?""
Milena, who'd just arrived mid-scene, groaned audibly. "Markus, for God's sake."
Markus raised a brow. "What? It's a compliment."
Milena crossed her arms. "It's harassment."
"Semantics," he said cheerfully.
Daniel, passing by with a doughnut, chimed in, "So I'm guessing I don't fit the type?"
Max muttered without looking up, "You fit the clown type."
"Excuse me," Daniel protested. "This clown brings joy to millions."
Milena pinched the bridge of her nose. "I command troops. I survive board meetings with Helmut. And yet this is what breaks me."
*
As if the circus wasn't enough, the situation escalated when Susie Wolff arrived for the F1 Academy race. Elegant. Composed. Utterly unprepared for Markus Steiner on charm overdrive.
"Ah," he said, straightening immediately. "The famous Susie Wolff. I've heard so much about your work... and your driving days, of course."
Susie smiled politely. "You flatter me, Mr. Steiner."
"Flatter?" Markus grinned, taking her hand and kissing it. "I call it admiration."
Milena froze mid-step, coffee halfway to her lips. "Oh for God's sake."
Toto, standing a few meters away, looked like his brain had short-circuited.
Daniel coughed loudly. "Well, this got interesting."
Susie... actually blushed. "Well, Milena, your ex certainly knows how to make an impression."
Milena put her head in her hands. "He's been doing that since 2008. Usually right before something explodes."
Toto muttered, "He's efficient, I'll give him that."
"Well," Markus said with a small bow, "I do my best to serve... all kinds of causes."
Susie blinked, then laughed softly, the sound of a woman genuinely amused. "I might have to recruit you myself, Colonel."
"Relax, Wolff," Markus said, grinning. "We both have good taste, apparently."
Susie, of course, was thriving, watching the unfolding testosterone showdown with open amusement, like someone who'd just found front-row seats to the best reality show in the paddock.
Markus gave Toto a once-over, clearly amused by the immaculate suit, the posture, the icy calm.
"So tell me, Wolff," he said, crossing his arms. "Do you ever relax, or are you always... this Austrian?"
Toto didn't even blink. "Only when I'm surrounded by chaos." He tilted his head toward Milena. "Which, coincidentally, happens every time she's in the room."
Milena folded her arms. "I'm right here, you know."
"I noticed," Toto said, dry as champagne.
Markus chuckled. "Careful, she bites."
"She already has," Toto shot back.
"Gentlemen," Susie said between laughs, "should I get measuring tape, or are we still pretending this is a civilized conversation?"
Markus smirked. "I'm military, Mrs. Wolff. I've been through drills far more intimidating than this one."
Toto's mouth twitched. "I don't doubt it. Though in my experience, precision beats brute force."
"Oh, we're talking about precision now?" Markus teased. "You mean that famous Mercedes efficiency? All numbers, no passion?"
"Passion without control is chaos," Toto countered smoothly. "And chaos doesn't win championships."
Milena groaned, rubbing her temples. "Oh my God. You two sound like you're flirting."
Susie snorted. "They are flirting."
Markus grinned at her. "Jealous?"
"Please," Milena said. "The only thing I'm jealous of is the peace and quiet of Racing Bulls right now."
Toto crossed his arms. "For once, we agree, Major."
"Oh, don't start with Major now," she said. "Every time you use that tone, someone ends up following your orders."
"Maybe that's because I give good ones," he said under his breath.
Markus burst out laughing. "This is amazing. He's definitely your type, Mil."
Susie nearly dropped her glass from laughter. "If you two keep this up, FIA will have to sanction it as an unofficial team rivalry event."
Milena raised her hands. "That's it. I'm done. I'm taking the kids, and I'm leaving before one of you decides to start a dominance display with a stopwatch."
"Stopwatch?" Markus smirked. "Please, I'd win on reaction time alone."
Toto looked at him, utterly deadpan. "You seem like the type who... finishes too fast."
The room went silent for one beat, then Susie howled with laughter, actually clutching her stomach.
Milena stared at Toto, half-shocked, half-impressed. "Did you just—?"
He straightened his jacket. "Just stating facts, Major."
Markus opened his mouth, then closed it again, realizing there was no comeback strong enough.
Susie raised her glass. "Well, gentlemen, congratulations. You've both proven that maturity is optional in motorsport."
Milena sighed, rubbing her face. "Next time, I'm bringing a tranquilizer gun."
Toto smirked at her sideways. "Make sure it's set for large predators."
She glared at him, but the corner of her mouth betrayed a smile.
Markus, still smirking, leaned toward Susie. "I think I like your ex, Mrs. Wolff. He fights dirty."
Susie winked. "Oh, you have no idea."
And somewhere between the laughter and the chaos, Milena realized, this was her life now.
God help her.
===========
Next -> Chapter 15: Exes and Chaos: The Spa Sitcom GP
===========
🏁 Tagged readers: @mjcrumster | @gardeniarose13 | @jnywolff (ask to be added/removed!)
❋ pairing: Toto Wolff x OC (major Milena Kremser / Red Bull Team Principal)
❋ chapter summary: Milena and Susie turn the "Women in Motorsport" panel into a live-fire comedy roast, vaporizing Christian Horner while Toto sits there looking like a man experiencing every stage of an existential crisis at once. Zak provides commentary, the moderator regrets his career choices, and by the end everyone agrees on one thing: the grid is officially run by two terrifying blondes and Toto is in so much trouble.
❋ warnings: enemies to lovers, slow burn, age gap (38/53), humor, f1 chaos, strong female lead, witty banter, emotional damage (and healing), found family, chaotic children, fluff with spice, soft!Toto, Toto Wolff is doomed and knows it.
❋ read on: AO3 - Wattpad - or read below
🎧 Spotify playlist -> Paddock Wars Playlist
Chapter 6: Panel Warfare
Three days after the Australian Grand Prix, the internet had spoken, and it had crowned a new monarch of the paddock.
Major Milena Kremser.
The woman who shouted down Jos Verstappen on camera and made it look like a motivational speech.
The headlines were everywhere:
"Major Moves: Red Bull's New Boss Turns F1 into Boot Camp (and It Works!)"
"Fans Are Obsessed With the Woman Who Told Jos to Sit Down."
"The Major and the Honey badger - Ricciardo's Twirl of Triumph Breaks the Internet."
There were gifs. Memes. TikToks with dramatic music. Someone even edited the clip of Milena yelling "OUT!" at Jos into a remix with techno beats.
Meanwhile, in Brackley, Toto Wolff sat at his desk, coffee in hand, expression hovering somewhere between annoyed executive and existential crisis. Across from him, Bradley Lord leaned against the wall, trying... and failing, not to grin.
"Have you seen this?" Bradley asked, holding up his phone. "She's trending worldwide. #MajorEnergy is the top tag."
Toto sighed. "I've seen it."
"She's gone full pop-culture icon," Bradley continued cheerfully. "Look... someone edited her onto a tank with the caption 'She came, she saw, she strategized.'"
Toto didn't look up from his laptop. "Wonderful. That's exactly what Formula 1 needed. More tanks."
Bradley scrolled again. "Oh! And here's Daniel Ricciardo spinning her around. They call it 'The Ricciardo Spin of Love.'"
Toto froze mid-sip. "...They call it what?"
"The Ricciardo Spin of Love. There's even a slowed-down version with romantic music. Someone added sparkles."
Toto's jaw tightened. "Sparkles."
"Yep. Look."
Bradley held out the phone. There it was - Milena laughing, Daniel twirling her, Toto in the background with a face that screamed CEO.exe has stopped working.
The internet had lovingly labeled it: "When your crush gets hugged by the class clown."
Bradley was now openly laughing. "I mean, they captured your expression perfectly."
Toto leaned back, deadpan. "I wasn't expressing anything."
"Of course not, boss. You were radiating... corporate calm."
Toto gave him the look. "Bradley."
Bradley cleared his throat, still grinning. "Right, sorry. Totally professional. Anyway, people love her. Even rival teams are impressed. She's got that... energy. You know... fearless, no-nonsense, throws men out of garages-"
"She's a commander," Toto interrupted flatly.
"Exactly. Fans are calling her the 'F1 Drill Sergeant.'"
Toto finally looked up, arching a brow. "You're enjoying this far too much."
Bradley shrugged. "Can you blame me? It's nice to see someone terrify Jos Verstappen without needing a helmet."
There was a pause. Toto turned his chair slightly toward the large monitor on the wall. The viral clip was still playing in the background - Milena, calm but lethal, pointing at Jos with surgical precision as she ordered him out of the garage.
He didn't even realize he was smiling until Bradley said, "You've watched that about eight times."
"I'm analyzing her leadership style," Toto replied smoothly.
"Uh-huh. Sure."
Another pause.
"She's efficient," Toto continued, ignoring the teasing tone. "Firm but fair. Doesn't crumble under pressure."
Bradley leaned forward, smirking. "And she looks good doing it."
Toto inhaled slowly through his nose. "Bradley."
"Right, right. Strategy meeting tone only. Got it."
He stood, pocketing his phone. "Well, since Red Bull's on a PR high and you're definitely not jealous-"
"I'm not."
"-I'll go brief comms. Maybe we should hire a major too. For morale."
Toto gave him a thin smile. "You can be the volunteer."
Bradley laughed all the way out the door.
Left alone, Toto turned back to the video one last time. Milena - confident, commanding, laughing as Daniel spun her around, camera flashes exploding like fireworks.
He couldn't help the faint chuckle that escaped.
"Niedobrze," he muttered, shaking his head. "Very, very niedobrze."
Then he sipped his coffee, still watching, still smiling despite himself.
And in the privacy of the Brackley control room, the most disciplined man in Formula 1 quietly admitted, to absolutely no one, that the Major might just be the most dangerous opponent he'd ever faced.
*
For the first time in weeks, the world was quiet. No radios. No engines. No Verstappens. Just the sound of the Baltic waves hitting the shore and the laughter of two small tornadoes named Maya and Leon building an aggressively lopsided sandcastle.
Milena sat on the porch of her wooden beach house, coffee mug in hand, finally breathing like a normal human being again. The salty wind tangled her hair, the sun warmed her skin, and for a whole twenty minutes she allowed herself to believe that peace was possible.
Then her phone rang.
She looked at the screen and groaned. "Oh no. Not now."
But it was Marcus. Her ex-husband. Colonel "Six-Pack-and-a-Plan" Steiner.
She sighed, answering anyway. "What's up, soldier?"
His laughter exploded through the speaker before she even finished the sentence.
"Mil! You magnificent menace! I saw the video! The entire damn battalion saw the video!"
Milena pinched the bridge of her nose. "Please don't tell me it's been circulating on military channels."
"Oh, it's a classic already," Marcus said proudly. "You yelling at Verstappen's old man like he's a rookie recruit? Gold. Absolute gold. Half the army's calling it 'Operation Jos-Out.'"
"Oh my God."
"And I quote," Marcus continued between laughs, "'Major Kremser showed the enemy what real chain of command looks like!' Even General Wójcik said you had bigger balls than most of the officers he's ever met."
Milena tried not to laugh, but it was hopeless. "Tell the General I appreciate the... anatomical compliment."
Marcus snorted. "You always had that tone, you know. That voice that makes grown men snap to attention and reconsider their life choices. And now you're using it in Formula 1. Beautiful."
"Marcus-"
"No, no, listen. The guys in the unit? We're all Red Bull fans now. We even have a bet running. Every time you shout at someone on camera, we donate to the veterans' fund."
She chuckled. "You're incorrigible."
"You're terrifying," he countered. "In the best way. Keep it up, Major. And for the love of God, tell your drivers to stop breaking wings, do you know how hard it is to defend that in the mess hall?"
"I'll add it to my to-do list," she said dryly.
"Good. Oh, and the kids... how are the mini-majors?"
Milena glanced toward the beach, where Maya was burying Leon in the sand. "Currently committing war crimes against each other."
Marcus laughed again. "Just like their parents."
"Goodbye, Marcus."
"Take care, Mil. And congrats again. We're proud of you."
She hung up, smiling despite herself. Marcus had been a disaster as a husband, but as a friend, and cheerleader, he was oddly perfect.
She was about to reclaim her peace when her phone buzzed again - this time, an email notification.
Subject: Invitation - Women in Motorsport Panel (Saudi Arabia GP)
She clicked it open. The message was polite, corporate, and far too cheerful. But then her eyes landed on the guest list.
Confirmed participants:
- Milena Kremser, Team Principal, Red Bull Racing
- Susie Wolff, Managing Director, F1 Academy
- Toto Wolff, CEO, Team Principal, Mercedes-AMG Petronas
- Christian Horner, Team Principal, Cadillac Racing
- Zak Brown, CEO, McLaren Racing
Milena stared at the screen. Then she said one word.
"...Shit."
From the beach, Leon called, "Language!"
She ignored him, muttering to herself. "Perfect. The ex-wife, the ex-nemesis, the current headache, and Zak bloody Brown for comic relief."
Maya peeked in. "You look worried."
Milena forced a smile. "No, sweetheart. Just... strategizing."
"About racing?"
"Something like that."
She put her phone down on the side table, rubbed her temples, and leaned back with a groan.
"So that's the next mission," she said to herself. "Panel discussion, public speaking, and trying not to punch Horner before dessert."
Leon looked up from the sandcastle. "You can do it, Mum."
Maya nodded solemnly. "You yelled at Verstappen's dad. You can handle anyone."
Milena laughed, ruffling their hair. "You're right. How bad can it be?"
Then her phone pinged again - another alert, this time a press release titled:
"Women in Motorsport: First Joint Appearance of Milena Kremser and Toto Wolff Since Viral Race Moment."
She groaned into her hands. "Very bad. It's going to be very bad."
And as she looked out at the calm Baltic waves, Milena couldn't help but laugh. She'd traded army drills for grid wars, combat boots for stilettos, and gunfire for gossip - and somehow, she was still in the middle of a battlefield.
Only now, the uniforms were designer, and one of the enemy generals happened to be a maddeningly handsome Austrian with biceps that should be illegal.
"Alright," she muttered, grabbing her coffee again. "Saudi Arabia, bring it on."
Jeddah | Thursday morning
The conference room gleamed with chrome and fake politeness - all smiles, PR, and microphones.
Milena Kremser adjusted her blazer, squared her shoulders, and sat down right between Susie Wolff and Christian Horner. Because of course fate had a sense of humor.
To her right, Susie looked elegant and unbothered, the kind of woman who could destroy a man's career with a smile and then offer him tea.
To her left, Christian Horner was already smirking, oozing charm like it was cologne.
Across the table, Toto sat at the far end, perfectly composed, looking like he was secretly waiting for someone to set something on fire just so he could watch.
The moderator cleared his throat.
"Welcome, everyone, to the Women in Motorsport panel! Today, we'll discuss collaboration, equality, and leadership in Formula 1."
Zak Brown raised his hand. "Question - am I here for comic relief?"
"Exactly," Milena muttered, earning a grin from Susie and a glare from Horner.
The moderator began with Susie. She spoke about inclusion and visibility, smooth and confident, her tone pure masterclass.
Milena followed, crisp and dry. "Leadership means being able to say 'no' and mean it - even when half the room assumes you'll fold."
Christian leaned toward his mic, smirking. "And sometimes leadership means keeping a sense of humor. We wouldn't want the paddock to turn into a boot camp, would we, Major?"
Milena smiled sweetly. "You'd be surprised how efficient that would make people. Especially men who have trouble keeping things zipped."
The audience burst into laughter.
Susie didn't even try to hide her grin. "Oh, Christian's allergic to zippers. Occupational hazard, I suppose."
Toto covered his mouth with his hand. Zak nearly spat out his water.
Christian's smile faltered. "I'd prefer we keep this professional."
"Oh, we are," Susie said innocently. "You're just allergic to professionalism too."
Milena tilted her head, mock concern in her eyes. "Don't worry, Christian, no one's judging. HR already did that."
The laughter turned into applause. Even the moderator looked like he was reconsidering his life choices.
Trying to regain footing, Horner said stiffly, "Look, mistakes were made, lessons were learned. The key is moving forward and working together respectfully."
Susie leaned forward. "Respectfully. That's a nice word. We should put it on a banner. Right over your old office door."
Milena added, "Or stitch it onto your next team polo. You know - as a reminder."
Toto coughed suspiciously. Zak was crying from laughter. "You two are savages. I'm living for this."
Christian tried to laugh along, voice tight. "You know, it's easy to gang up on a man in this environment."
"Oh, don't flatter yourself," Milena said smoothly. "We gang up on incompetence, not gender."
The crowd howled. Even the moderator gave up pretending to control the situation.
Toto finally stepped in, tone mild, eyes sparkling. "I, for one, think collaboration is alive and well - at least between the ladies. Christian, consider this a learning experience."
Christian forced a chuckle. "Always a pleasure, Toto."
"Hmm," Toto said, still watching Milena with a faint, proud smile. "I imagine that depends on which side of the table you're sitting on."
The moderator, now sweating through his suit, tried to bring back control.
"So, uh... moving on-!"
But it was far, far too late. Milena and Susie were in full formation - a two-woman strike team armed with charm, wit, and zero mercy.
Christian Horner, caught in the crossfire, was starting to resemble a man seriously reconsidering his career choices.
"So," the moderator said, forcing a laugh, "let's talk about collaboration! What does that word mean to each of you?"
Susie smiled sweetly. "To me, collaboration means respect, trust, and accountability."
Milena added, perfectly straight-faced, "And boundaries. Especially professional ones."
The room erupted in knowing laughter. Horner grimaced.
He leaned toward his mic. "Oh, come on, you two. Don't make it sound like I've committed war crimes."
Susie arched an eyebrow. "Define 'war crimes.'"
Milena shrugged. "Depends if HR was involved."
The laughter hit a new decibel. Zak nearly choked on his water. Again. Toto tilted his head, amused, eyes sparkling.
The moderator panicked. "Right, right - and, uh, Christian, how would you describe collaboration?"
"Teamwork," Horner said quickly. "Knowing when to lead and when to step back."
Susie leaned in, mock earnest. "Ah, so you can step back?"
Milena nodded. "Good to know. Progress."
The audience howled. Horner's smile twitched.
He turned desperately to Zak. "You're awfully quiet, Zak."
Zak grinned, leaning into his mic. "I'm just staying out of friendly fire range, mate. It's a bloodbath out there."
Toto chuckled under his breath. "You're wiser than you look."
Horner swung toward him next, pleading. "Toto? A little solidarity here, maybe? Man to man?"
Toto pretended to think for a second, then said calmly, "Christian, when I see a tactical disaster unfolding, I don't run toward it."
The crowd lost it. Even the moderator covered a laugh with his hand.
Milena smirked. "That's collaboration for you - everyone knows when to retreat."
Susie grinned. "And who to follow."
"Usually the women," Zak added helpfully.
The moderator tried again, voice an octave higher. "Alright, alright! Let's maybe... maybe shift topics! Inclusion, yes! Inclusion!"
Susie turned to him, still smiling. "We're including everyone. Even Christian."
Milena nodded solemnly. "That's what inclusion means."
Horner threw up his hands. "You realize this is supposed to be my redemption arc, right?"
Zak patted him on the shoulder. "Yeah, about that - you might need a spin-off show, buddy."
Toto, sipping his water, murmured, "A very short one."
The audience howled again. Cameras flashed. Social media interns were typing like their lives depended on it.
Every time Horner tried to defend himself, Milena or Susie would counterattack with sniper-like precision - calm tone, cutting punchline, perfect delivery.
At one point, Susie leaned toward Milena. "Remember when they said women couldn't lead Formula 1 teams because we're too emotional?"
Milena smiled. "Yes. And yet look who's red in the face now."
Christian was indeed very red.
Zak wheezed with laughter. Toto actually laughed out loud - just once, but enough to make cameras snap toward him instantly.
The moderator looked like he wanted to fake a fire drill.
The "Women in Motorsport" panel had turned into the comedy event of the season.
Christian sagged in his chair, muttering something about betrayal.
Milena and Susie exchanged a victorious high five.
Zak leaned toward Toto, whispering, "Mate, I think they just redefined teamwork."
Toto smirked, watching the two women bask in their victory. "No. They just reminded everyone who really runs the grid."
As the applause roared on, Christian sighed dramatically. "Next time, I'm sitting between Zak and a fire extinguisher."
Milena grinned. "Next time, bring protective gear."
Susie added, "And an HR representative."
The audience exploded in laughter again. The moderator gave up entirely, lowering his mic with a sigh of defeat.
Somewhere in the back row, someone whispered, "This was better than qualifying."
They weren't wrong.
By the end, Milena and Susie were a tag team, Horner was outnumbered and outgunned, and Toto was clearly enjoying every minute of the show.
When the applause finally died down, Susie leaned over and whispered, "Drinks later?"
Milena grinned, adjusting her mic. "As long as Horner's not invited."
Behind them, Toto was still smiling to himself - equal parts impressed, entertained, and slightly concerned that the two most formidable women in the paddock had just joined forces.
And somewhere in the back of his mind, one quiet thought lingered: God help whoever crosses them next.
*
The moment the moderator declared the panel "officially concluded," Christian Horner was already halfway to the exit.
He mumbled something about "tight schedule," tripped over a cable, waved awkwardly at a cameraman, and disappeared faster than a Red Bull pit stop.
Zak Brown, on the other hand, was in hysterics. He clapped Milena on the shoulder so hard she almost spilled her water.
"That-was-beautiful!" he wheezed. "I haven't seen a man retreat that fast since I beat Christian in a go-kart race."
Milena smirked. "I didn't plan it. He just volunteered as target practice."
Zak laughed louder. "Major, I'll admit it - I thought all this military stuff was PR talk, but you? You're a damn revelation for this fossilized paddock."
Milena raised an eyebrow. "I'll take that as a compliment."
"It is!" Zak grinned. "Next time, I'm bringing popcorn."
Across the room, Toto lingered by the refreshments table, pretending to inspect a bottle of sparkling water while very obviously watching the scene.
Bradley wasn't there to tease him this time, so Toto had to narrate his own internal commentary in silence.
Alright, Wolff. Stop staring. She's talking to Susie. You're just... making sure no one dies.
But they were talking. Laughing, even. And somehow, that was more dangerous than the entire panel.
Susie had her arm looped through Milena's, both women still glowing from victory.
"I have to say," Susie said, "that was magnificent. I haven't seen Christian that flustered since the FIA audit."
Milena laughed. "I wasn't sure if I should spar or salute."
"Oh, you did the right thing," Susie assured her. "If you can survive Marko, Jos, and Daniel Ricciardo's sense of humor, you'll be fine. Red Bull's a circus, but you're clearly the new ringmaster."
"Feels more like I'm herding caffeinated lions," Milena replied.
Susie chuckled. "Oh, I know that feeling."
They clinked glasses with water, and instantly looked like old allies who'd been trading war stories for years.
Then Susie leaned in conspiratorially.
"So," she said, voice low, "have you had your first argument with Toto yet?"
Milena blinked. "Argument?"
Susie grinned. "Don't act innocent. He's probably already tried to 'help' you with some unsolicited strategic advice."
Milena smirked. "Let's just say we've had... exchanges."
"Oh, trust me," Susie said, laughing, "that's exactly how it starts. He'll test your patience, analyze your soul, and then get all broody when you outsmart him."
Milena's eyebrows lifted. "So... standard Austrian behavior?"
"Exactly." Susie took a sip of water and added with a knowing glint, "And between us, my dear... Toto has one weakness."
Milena leaned in, amused. "Let me guess. Spreadsheets?"
"Ha! No." Susie winked. "Strong, independent women who don't take his nonsense... and blondes."
Milena froze, trying not to smile. "Blondes, huh?"
They both burst out laughing, the kind of laughter that drew a few curious stares from nearby journalists.
Meanwhile, across the room, Toto was doing a spectacular job of not looking like he was eavesdropping. He casually adjusted his cufflinks, then his watch, then the water bottle he wasn't drinking.
Why are they laughing? Why is Susie winking? Why is Milena blushing? No. Don't ask. Don't-
Zak appeared beside him, clapping him on the back. "You okay, big guy? You look like a man watching his past and future gang up on him."
Toto exhaled through his nose. "That's because I am."
Zak grinned. "I'll get popcorn for that sequel."
Across the room, Milena and Susie were now leaning closer, chatting animatedly, plotting something that Toto was absolutely certain would ruin his week.
Fantastic, he thought. They're friends. This can only end in catastrophe.
Susie noticed him watching and gave a cheerful wave. Milena followed her gesture, met his eyes... and smiled.
Toto's internal alarms went off immediately.
This is it. This is the moment everything goes wrong.
Zak chuckled beside him. "She's dangerous, huh?"
Toto's answer was a low murmur, half warning, half confession.
"You have no idea."
===========
Next -> Chapter 7: Operation Flamingo
===========
🏁 Tagged readers: @mjcrumster | @gardeniarose13 | @jnywolff (ask to be added/removed!)
Paddock Wars | Chapter 16: The Principal GP Nobody Asked For
🏁 Paddock Wars Masterlist | 🏁 Main Masterlist
❋ pairing: Toto Wolff x OC (major Milena Kremser / Red Bull Team Principal)
❋ chapter summary: Monza weekend is chaos as F1 team principals are roped into a scooter Grand Prix, with Milena's kids engineering the Red Bullet and Mercedes plotting "pimp my ride" upgrades for Toto. Rivalry, glitter, and pure ridiculousness ensue, because at the Temple of Speed, sometimes the real race is who survives the circus with their dignity (and their scooter) intact.
❋ warnings: enemies to lovers, slow burn, age gap (38/53), humor, f1 chaos, strong female lead, witty banter, emotional damage (and healing), found family, chaotic children, fluff with spice, soft!Toto, Toto Wolff is doomed and knows it.
❋ read on: AO3 - Wattpad - or read below
🎧 Spotify playlist -> Paddock Wars Playlist
Chapter 16: The Principal GP Nobody Asked For
Monza. The temple of speed, noise, and collective chaos.
Milena had woken up that morning with one thought: This weekend, Red Bull has to deliver.
Two pointless races in a row had left her hungry for redemption, and facing Toto Wolff across the pit wall was not exactly the easiest way to find peace of mind.
Still, if she was going to go down in flames, at least she'd do it laughing.
*
By noon, she was in the briefing room with the other team principals, a cup of espresso in hand and mild dread in her stomach. Zak Brown had greeted her at the door with that suspicious grin he usually wore right before announcing something catastrophic.
"Morning, Major," he'd said, all too cheerfully. "Hope you're ready for... entertainment."
"Define entertainment," she replied, narrowing her eyes.
Zak had only grinned wider. "You'll see."
She did see. Ten minutes later, in the meeting chaired by Stefano Domenicali.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Stefano said brightly, clapping his hands. "Before we move on to technical updates — we have some exciting news!"
The room collectively tensed. "Exciting" from Stefano usually meant "deeply concerning."
"The fan response to our paddock scooter race idea was overwhelming!" he continued. "So, I'm thrilled to confirm... the Team Principal Grand Prix is officially happening!"
There was a pause. A long, collective what-the-hell silence.
Then Zak whooped. "Finally! I've been training for this my whole life!"
Fred Vasseur slapped the table, laughing. "Mon Dieu, I'm in! This I can do without worrying about tires exploding!"
Even Ayao Komatsu cracked a grin. "Count me in too. I'll borrow Ollie's helmet."
Milena blinked. "Wait, you're serious?"
"Entirely serious!" Stefano said, beaming. "Saturday evening, after F1 qualifying. Laps around the service road. You may decorate your scooters, but no engines, no DRS, no Verstappens involved."
"Pity," muttered Fred. "Could've used one to block Christian."
All eyes turned to Christian Horner.
Horner crossed his arms, face like thunder. "I refuse. I'm not taking part in this circus. It's ridiculous."
Stefano didn't miss a beat. "That's fine. You're busy enough with your FIA investigation, aren't you?"
The room erupted. Fred was practically wheezing. Zak snorted his coffee. Even Toto coughed, covering his mouth to hide a grin.
Christian turned red, muttered something about "professionalism," and sank lower in his chair.
Milena leaned toward him, resting her chin on her hand.
"No one asked for your opinion anyway, Christian."
A ripple of laughter went around the table.
Toto glanced sideways at her, half-smiling. "Remind me never to get on your bad side."
"Too late," she shot back.
Stefano, looking delighted, continued, "Perfect! So far we have McLaren, Ferrari, Mercedes, Haas, Williamis, Audi, and Red Bull confirmed!"
Milena blinked. "Wait, me?"
"Of course," Stefano said, grinning. "You can't deprive the fans of their Major!"
Fred chuckled. "Ah, la Major contre le Wolff. This, I must see."
Zak added, "My money's on her."
"Mine too," said James Vowles, raising his hand. "She's got combat training. The rest of us just have egos."
Milena smirked. "Thanks for the vote of confidence, James. But fair warning... I don't plan to lose."
Toto leaned back in his chair, utterly calm. "Neither do I. And I've seen your kids ride. I know where they get it from."
"Oh, it's on, Wolff," she said, pointing at him across the table.
He smiled that maddeningly composed smile. "Looking forward to it, Major."
By the end of the meeting, Stefano looked like the happiest man alive.
"Excellent! So it's settled. The Scooter Grand Prix — Saturday night! I expect full participation, good humor, and no lawsuits."
As the room emptied, Horner muttered, "What a joke. This sport's turned into kindergarten."
Milena paused at the door, turned slightly, and smiled sweetly.
"Perfect, Christian. You'll fit right in."
Fred burst out laughing again. Zak high-fived her on the way out. Even Toto shook his head, smiling to himself as they left the room together.
*
The moment the news hit the paddock, chaos erupted. Not the usual kind, no angry engineers or blown engines, this was happy chaos. Actual laughter. Mechanics whistling. Drivers placing bets.
Formula 1, for one glorious weekend, turned into a carnival.
And at the center of it all stood Milena Kremser — team principal, former major, and now... scooter racer in the making.
Her Red Bull garage had never looked more alive. Maya and Leon had taken complete command of the art department, spreading glitter and stickers across every flat surface like it was a military operation.
Daniel was on the floor, holding the scooter steady while Maya plastered the deck with tiny red bulls. Leon supervised from above like a foreman, arms crossed, expression deadly serious.
"Okay," Daniel said, squinting. "We've got flames, bulls, and... is that a unicorn?"
Maya nodded proudly. "For luck."
Daniel grinned. "I love it. This thing's gonna go so fast it'll make Toto's hair move."
Milena stood back, arms folded, shaking her head, but smiling so hard it almost hurt.
"You all know this is supposed to be a fun race, right? Not an engineering arms race?"
Daniel looked offended. "Excuse me, boss, there's no such thing as too much performance optimization. It's Red Bull!"
"Right," Milena said dryly. "I should've known."
Across the garage, Max leaned against a tool chest, munching on an apple and observing the madness.
"You realize," he said to Milena, "your biggest threat is going to be Toto."
Milena raised an eyebrow. "Is that your expert analysis, Verstappen?"
Max shrugged. "He's tall. He's got the physics advantage. But you're lighter... so, if you start inside line and lean into the corner early, you can take him."
Daniel laughed. "Or just distract him. Flash that winning smile, boss."
Milena rolled her eyes. "I'm not weaponizing my face, Ricciardo."
"Then use your legs!" he said cheerfully.
"Daniel..."
"Fine, fine," he said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "But you can't deny it'd work."
From behind them, Helmut Marko's grumbling voice cut through the laughter like static.
"This is a circus on wheels," he muttered, glaring at the scooter like it had personally offended him.
Milena smiled sweetly. "Helmut, Formula 1 is a circus on wheels. Always has been."
Someone snorted, she didn't even need to look to know it was Daniel.
And then, as if the gods of chaos wanted an encore, Jos Verstappen wandered in, already frowning.
"What's this nonsense?" he demanded. "You think the fans care about this? It'll take attention away from the real race, from Max!"
Daniel clasped his chest dramatically. "Oh no, Jos, you mean it's not always about you two? I'm shocked!"
Jos glared. "Don't test me, Ricciardo."
Max rolled his eyes. "Dad, relax. It's fun. I think it's great."
Milena smiled warmly. "Thank you, Max. I appreciate that."
He nodded seriously. "No problem, boss. If you want, I'll be your team principal for this race."
That earned a laugh from everyone, even the mechanics.
"Deal," Milena said. "But only if you promise not to crash my scooter."
"Don't worry," Max said smugly. "I'll save that for George."
Daniel nearly choked laughing.
"Not fair," Daniel said quickly. "If Max is your team boss, I get to be your personal cheerleader."
Milena sighed. "Oh no."
"With pom-poms," he added. "And matching shorts. For morale."
Maya clapped. "Yes! Uncle Daniel, do it!"
Daniel winked. "See? The next generation believes in me."
Helmut groaned. "I'm surrounded by lunatics."
"Welcome to Red Bull," Milena said brightly.
By the time evening fell, her scooter gleamed like a masterpiece, polished chrome, sparkling horns, the words Red Bullet emblazoned across the side in glitter paint. The mechanics had even tuned the bearings for "maximum glide efficiency."
Milena stood there, speechless. "You all did this?"
Daniel shrugged. "What can I say? We take pride in our insanity."
Max grinned. "You'd better win, boss."
Leon puffed out his chest. "She will win."
Maya nodded fiercely. "Because she's the fastest and prettiest!"
Milena blinked rapidly, swallowing back the lump in her throat.
"Well," she said softly, "with a crew like this, how could I lose?"
From the doorway, Toto's voice carried over, dry and teasing.
"That's what I was about to ask."
She turned, and there he was, arms crossed, that infuriating half-smile on his face.
Daniel whispered under his breath, "The enemy approaches."
Milena smirked. "Toto, what brings you to the Red Bull lair? Come to spy?"
He raised an eyebrow. "Just checking if your weapon of mass decoration passes FIA safety regs."
Daniel snorted. "Jealous because his doesn't have stickers."
Toto ignored him entirely, eyes flicking to Milena. "See you at the start line, Major."
She folded her arms, smirking. "Try to keep up, Wolff."
He tilted his head slightly, the faintest glimmer of mischief in his eyes.
"Oh, I fully intend to."
And as he walked away, Daniel whispered just loud enough for her to hear, "He's so into you."
Milena glared. "Daniel."
"Just saying," he grinned. "If this were a rom-com, that'd be the part where the music swells."
She threw a rag at him. He ducked, laughing.
*
When Toto stepped back into the Mercedes garage, he was still shaking his head, half in disbelief, half in amusement.
"Unbelievable," he muttered. "They're actually taking it seriously."
Bradley glanced up from his tablet. "Who? Red Bull?"
Toto dropped his notebook onto the table. "Red Bull, the mechanics, the drivers, the children. They've turned their garage into a scooter factory. It looks like Christmas and an engineering convention had a love child."
Before Bradley could respond, Jack piped up from the corner, grinning from ear to ear.
"Told you, Papa! They're all in!"
Kimi Antonelli peeked around the scooter rack, smudged with grease but clearly proud. "Speaking of all in... look what we made!"
Toto turned, and froze.
Right there, propped against a crate, was a scooter freshly decorated with a hand-painted banner draped above it.
The banner read in bold, messy letters: GO BIG BAD WOLFF!
Right next to it was a huge cartoon wolf baring its teeth... wearing Mercedes headphones.
Bottas leaned on the wall, smirking. "Admit it. It's art."
Toto rubbed his forehead. "It's... something."
Jack beamed. "I helped with the teeth!"
"Clearly," Toto said dryly.
George Russell strolled in just in time, grinning like a cat. "Oh, don't look so horrified, boss. I've already spoken to the mechanics. They're working on a pimp my ride special for you."
Toto's head snapped toward him. "You what?"
George tried to look innocent. "Just a few upgrades. Maybe some chrome. A horn. Possibly LED lights."
"George."
"Yes, boss?"
"If my scooter flashes like a nightclub in Ibiza, you're walking home from Monza."
Bradley and Andrew were barely holding back laughter.
Andrew cleared his throat. "Jokes aside, have you planned your race strategy? Because rumor has it Max himself is running strategy for Milena's team."
Toto blinked. "Of course he is."
Bradley grinned. "So, expect an aggressive start and a protest after every turn."
"Standard Red Bull procedure," Toto muttered, folding his arms. "Noted."
Right then, the garage door swung open, and Susie swept in, radiant, amused, and already holding a cappuccino.
"Well, well," she said cheerfully. "Isn't this adorable? I heard about the scooter race, and I had to see the madness myself."
George immediately pointed at Toto. "He's pretending he's not into it."
"I'm not into it," Toto said automatically.
Susie arched an eyebrow. "Oh please, you've already got your 'serious competitor' face on. I can see it from space."
Bradley laughed. "She's not wrong."
Susie set her cup down and leaned against the workbench. "I've just walked through the paddock... it's wild out there. James was literally practicing behind the Williams motorhome. I think he's been watching GoPro tutorials."
Toto blinked. "James?"
"Oh, and Fred?" she continued, smiling. "Fred's been lecturing his mechanics about scooter weight distribution. I swear I heard him say, 'We must optimize zee airflow, mes amis!'"
Bradley wheezed with laughter. "That sounds like him."
"And Zak Brown," Susie added, "has plastered McLaren flags everywhere. He's even got pit crew shirts that say Scooter Daddy."
George nearly choked. "No, he didn't!"
"He did," Susie said solemnly. "And now half the paddock is calling him that."
Toto just sighed. "Ist kein Wunder... the sport has lost its mind."
"Correction," Susie said sweetly, "the sport's having fun for once."
"Fun," Toto repeated, like the word personally offended him.
George clapped him on the back. "Come on, boss. You can't let the Major and her crew steal the show. Mercedes pride is on the line!"
Kimi nodded earnestly. "You have to win, boss. It's the law."
Bottas smirked. "Yeah, imagine the headlines if Red Bull beats Mercedes on scooters. We'll never live it down."
Toto sighed. "This is absurd."
"Absurd," Bradley echoed, "but good PR."
Jack, meanwhile, had sidled up to Susie, tugging at her sleeve. "Mum, who are you cheering for?"
Susie smiled down at him, pretending to think. "Hmm. I should be neutral, shouldn't I?"
Jack nodded seriously.
She looked back up at Toto, and grinned mischievously. "But honestly? I can't wait to see Milena wipe the floor with all these men and their overinflated egos."
Toto froze. "Excuse me?"
"Oh, don't be dramatic, Toto," Susie said lightly, sipping her coffee. "It'll be fun watching someone else put you in your place for once."
The entire garage erupted.
Toto stared at her. "Et tu, Susie?"
She winked. "Always."
Jack was giggling now. "I think Mum's Team Milena!"
Susie tousled his hair. "Shh, don't tell your dad."
Toto threw his hands up. "Wonderful. My ex-wife, my drivers, and my child are all conspiring against me."
George grinned. "Welcome to the team, boss."
"Which team?" Toto asked darkly.
"Team Chaos."
As laughter filled the garage, Toto just exhaled, a reluctant smile tugging at his lips.
"Fine," he muttered. "If they want a race, they'll get one."
Bradley looked up. "Should we start calling you 'Big Bad Wolff' for luck?"
Toto glared. "Don't you dare."
Too late, George and Jack were already chanting it under their breath, grinning like maniacs.
"Big! Bad! Wolff!"
Susie chuckled. "Oh, this is going to be delicious."
And somewhere in the Red Bull garage across the paddock, Milena sneezed, the universal sign that someone, somewhere, was tempting fate.
*
Even with the chaos of the upcoming Scooter GP, Monza's paddock was still buzzing with real business.
The roar of engines from FP2 shook the air, engineers ran like caffeinated ants, and Milena Kremser, ever the soldier, was back in full commander mode.
"Okay, team," she said firmly in the Red Bull garage, pointing at the data board. "We need points this weekend. No more excuses."
Daniel sat on a stool, spinning lazily in circles. "You mean like 'I was distracted by Toto's arms' kind of excuses or—"
Milena gave him the look.
Daniel immediately sat up straight. "—right. Focus. Pure professionalism. Got it."
She smirked. "Good. Because I need you on form today, Ricciardo. Max I don't worry about. As long as he doesn't see George in his mirrors, we're safe."
From the other side of the garage, Max called out dryly, "Very funny, boss."
"I wasn't joking," Milena replied, and the crew burst out laughing.
*
Meanwhile, out in the paddock, the ground started to tremble, not from the cars, but from pure chaotic energy. Because striding in with his trademark grin and loud voice was none other than Günther Steiner.
He was back.
And he looked like a man who'd just won the lottery and a lifetime supply of Italian espresso.
"Holy shit," someone whispered as he passed. "He's here."
The whispers spread like wildfire. Rumors said he was about to replace Christian Horner as team principal for Cadillac's Team.
Günther didn't bother hiding it. He greeted everyone with bear hugs, curses, and laughter, shaking the paddock back to life.
"Ah, Toto!" he boomed, spotting the tall Austrian first. "Still brooding? You look same as ever. Just more gray hair!"
Toto sighed. "Nice to see you too, Günther."
"You still take everything too serious," Steiner said, clapping him on the back. "Relax! Go crash a scooter or something!"
Then he turned, and saw Milena approaching from the Red Bull side. His face split into a massive grin.
"Aha! So this is the famous Major Kremser!" he declared, arms spread wide like he'd found a long-lost friend. "The woman who turned the Red Bull circus into an actual army!"
Milena blinked, then smiled. "That's one way to describe it."
"I read everything," he continued loudly. "You kicked Jos out of the garage, you roasted Horner on a panel, you made half the paddock shit themselves with that look of yours... brava!"
Milena laughed. "You really do keep up with the gossip."
"Of course! Gossip is half of Formula 1. The other half is bullshit," Günther said proudly.
Toto, standing nearby, raised a brow. "That's a bold statement."
Günther pointed at him. "See? That's why nobody invites you to parties, Toto. Too serious! You scare the champagne."
Daniel, eavesdropping nearby, snorted so hard he almost dropped his energy drink.
"Oh, and Toto," Günther added with mock sincerity. "Don't take it bad, ja? You have... how do I say? The height. The biceps. But you need more spice. You're like pasta with no salt."
He grinned, winking at her. "Maybe. But you... you're exactly what this sport needed! Finally someone who makes F1 fun again! When I was boss, I used to yell. You? You smile and people still run. I like that."
Horner, who had been sulking by the hospitality area, caught sight of them, and his face turned the exact shade of Ferrari red.
Günther noticed him immediately. "Ah! Speaking of boring bastards! Hello, Christian!"
Horner froze. "Günther..."
"You look stressed," Günther said sweetly. "Still pretending you didn't get caught?"
Milena bit her lip, trying not to burst out laughing. Toto coughed to hide his grin.
"Oh, I will," Günther said, voice booming again. "Because soon, I'll be working here again... and maybe even sitting in your office!"
Christian's eye twitched. "Over my dead body."
Günther clapped him on the shoulder. "Eh, FIA might make that happen sooner than you think."
The Red Bull engineers had to turn away to hide their laughter. As Horner stormed off, Günther turned back to Milena, still grinning.
"I see why you're the new star of the show. You make this sport less boring and, hell, maybe even prettier!"
Milena raised a brow, amused. "Careful, Günther. My mechanics might quote you on that."
"Good!" he said cheerfully. "Tell them Günther said the Major is the best team principal since... well, since me!"
"Since you?" Toto asked, half-smiling.
"Of course," Günther said without missing a beat. "But I retired from fame. I leave it to the new generation." He turned to Milena. "You're the new rock star. Just don't forget to yell sometimes, people like it."
Milena laughed. "I'll keep that in mind."
As he walked off toward the Cadillac garage, still greeting everyone like a celebrity, Toto leaned closer to Milena.
"I forgot how exhausting he is."
She smiled. "He's a breath of fresh air."
"He's a hurricane," Toto said. "But fine... at least it's not another Horner."
Milena smirked. "True. And admit it... he's got better hair."
Toto glared. "Don't start."
She grinned. "Relax, Wolff. Even Günther thinks you've got potential."
He sighed dramatically. "Remind me why I came to Monza again?"
"To lose a scooter race to me," Milena said, patting his arm.
Daniel's voice called out from the back, "And to be pasta with salt!"
The garage erupted in laughter, and Toto just closed his eyes, muttering in German under his breath while Milena smiled, the kind of smile that meant trouble was coming.
*
The air in Monza buzzed with that familiar mix of adrenaline and chaos, a thousand engines, a thousand voices, and one woman barking orders like she was commanding an air strike.
"Pit in, Daniel — box, box, box!" Milena's voice cut through the Red Bull radio. "We're switching to softs for the last run. And someone tell Max not to murder George in Sector 2."
"Copy that," came Max's dry reply. "No promises."
From the garage window, Milena watched the final seconds of qualifying tick down. Mechanics crowded around the monitors, the tension so thick you could've cut it with a torque wrench.
And then, the roar.
"Russell's done it!" the commentator's voice boomed from the TV. "George Russell takes pole position for Mercedes, by eight hundredths over Max Verstappen!"
Milena exhaled sharply, running a hand through her short blonde hair.
"Damn it," she muttered.
Max rolled into the garage, helmet still on, shaking his head.
"So close," he said flatly. "But tomorrow, I'll fix it."
The way he said it made even Daniel whistle.
"Oh boy. Russell's doomed."
"Don't even think about revenge," Milena warned, pointing at him.
"I'm not thinking," Max said with a perfectly straight face. "I'm planning."
Daniel snickered from the corner. "That's worse."
*
Across the paddock, the Mercedes garage was in party mode. George hopped out of his car, grinning ear to ear.
"Woo! Let's go!" he shouted, pulling off his helmet. "That's how it's done!"
Kimi Antonelli, who'd qualified P4, gave a quiet nod of approval. "Good pace,".
Toto allowed himself a small smile. "Well done, gentlemen."
George turned, still buzzing with energy. "Now it's your turn, boss! You've got to keep the winning streak alive — Scooter GP is yours for the taking!"
Toto raised a brow. "The... winning streak?"
"Absolutely!" George said with a grin. "I got pole, Kimi's right behind Max, the car's on fire... it's your time to shine, boss. Show them what Mercedes is made of!"
Kimi nodded solemnly. "You can win, Toto. You have long legs. Advantage."
Bottas leaned on the pit wall, smirking. "Yeah, and enough stubbornness to outlast the apocalypse."
Toto sighed, trying to sound composed while his entire garage was losing its collective mind.
"I appreciate the confidence," he said dryly. "But let's remember... it's a scooter race, not Le Mans."
George grinned. "That's the spirit, boss! Denial first, victory second."
Bradley chimed in from his laptop. "Honestly, Toto, he's right. You've got the stride for it."
Andrew added helpfully, "And the core strength."
Toto shot them both a glare. "You people are insufferable."
Jack popped up next to him, holding a little flag with "GO BIG BAD WOLFF!" written in uneven letters.
"Papa's gonna win!" he declared.
Toto crouched down, a small smile sneaking through. "I'll do my best, Schatz."
From the back, Susie's voice floated over. "No pressure, Toto. Just remember... if you lose to Milena, I'll never let you forget it."
George laughed so hard he had to pretend to cough.
"Noted," Toto said, straightening up, pretending his ex-wife hadn't just publicly declared war on him. "Now let's focus on tomorrow's race. The real one."
"Sure, boss," Bradley said, barely hiding his grin. "Whatever helps you sleep tonight."
Toto rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath in German.
*
Back at Red Bull, the debrief was all grit and focus. Max leaned against the wall, calm but with that spark in his eye that screamed revenge is coming.
Milena glanced up at him, catching the expression. "Don't say it."
He smirked. "I didn't say anything."
"You're planning something," she said flatly.
"I'm planning to win," Max replied smoothly. "And maybe... annoy Russell a little while I'm at it."
Daniel chuckled. "Ah, the traditional Verstappen double."
Milena rolled her eyes, fighting a smile. "Fine. But no heroics. We need points, not headlines."
"Headlines come free with the victory," Max said, already walking off.
Daniel leaned closer to her and whispered, "I love it when he gets that murder-glint. So productive."
She smirked. "Remind me why I agreed to manage all of you again?"
Daniel shrugged. "Because we're adorable."
Milena shook her head. "You're insufferable."
He grinned. "And yet you keep me."
*
A few garages down, Toto stood at the Mercedes wall, arms folded, watching the replay of George's pole lap. Pride flickered behind his calm expression, but so did something else, the quiet, hungry drive to match it.
Bradley nudged him. "You're thinking about her."
"I'm thinking about winning," Toto corrected.
Andrew looked up from his tablet. "Same thing at this point."
Toto didn't answer, just smirked slightly and glanced across the pit lane toward the flash of Red Bull blue where Milena stood talking to her team.
There where still two wars to fight, one on track, one on scooters. And Toto Wolff had no intention of losing either.
===========
Next -> Chapter 17: The Scooter Wars: Monza Edition
===========
🏁 Tagged readers: @mjcrumster | @gardeniarose13 | @jnywolff (ask to be added/removed!)
❋ pairing: Toto Wolff x OC (major Milena Kremser / Red Bull Team Principal)
❋ chapter summary: Milena goes to a fancy Monaco gala, accidentally slow dances with Toto like it's a rom-com, crashes the internet, and wakes up to discover F1 now ships "the Wolf and the Major" harder than any team rivalry.
❋ warnings: enemies to lovers, slow burn, age gap (38/53), humor, f1 chaos, strong female lead, witty banter, emotional damage (and healing), found family, chaotic children, fluff with spice, soft!Toto, Toto Wolff is doomed and knows it.
❋ read on: AO3 - Wattpad - or read below
🎧 Spotify playlist -> Paddock Wars Playlist
Chapter 12: Waltzing with the Wolf
The hotel room was lit only by the warm glow of the bedside lamp when Milena walked in. Leon and Maya were sprawled on the couch, eating fruit from the minibar and watching a cartoon in French, as if they'd been living there for years.
"Hey, Mum!" Leon grinned, mouth full. "We watched the scooter race again on YouTube! You went viral!"
Maya added proudly, "Everyone says you're the coolest team boss ever!"
Milena dropped her bag and smiled tiredly. "That's... comforting."
"Are we going with you tonight?" Maya asked hopefully.
"Not tonight, my loves." She knelt between them, brushing a crumb off Leon's cheek. "Mum has to go pretend to be civilized for a few hours. Sponsors, cameras, fancy food... very boring."
Leon wrinkled his nose. "Sounds terrible."
"It will be," she said, standing with a sigh. "But I'll survive."
She stepped into the adjoining room and closed the door behind her. For a moment, she just stared at her reflection in the mirror, hair slightly messy from the day, a faint smudge of oil still on her wrist from the garage.
Her thoughts kept circling back to the elevator. The way Toto had looked at her when she told him about that night on the mission, not pity, not shock, just... understanding. How steady his voice had been when he said she was remarkable. How his hand felt when he helped her up.
She shook her head, muttering under her breath, "Pull yourself together, Kremser. You're not a teenager."
And yet, her pulse still quickened at the memory of his eyes, his calm, the rare gentleness behind that granite composure.
She'd thought what drew her to him was pure attraction — the height, the presence, the quiet authority that filled every room he walked into.
But that moment in the elevator had cracked something open. He'd seen her weakness, and hadn't flinched. That realization unsettled her more than she wanted to admit.
Milena exhaled and forced herself into motion. She slipped into the dark dress laid out on the bed — simple, elegant, fitting her like it had been made for her. A pair of black heels, light makeup, a hint of perfume.
When she emerged, Leon's jaw dropped.
Maya's eyes went round as saucers.
"Wow!" Maya gasped. "Mum, you look like a princess!"
Milena snorted, adjusting one of her earrings. "More like a princess who could win a bar fight."
Leon grinned. "Still counts."
She bent down to kiss them both on the forehead. "You two behave. No night scooter races, understood?"
"Yes, Mum," they chorused in unison, the same mischievous sparkle in both pairs of eyes.
As she left the room, Milena felt strangely nervous. She could handle reporters, political mind games, even Jos Verstappen's temper. But gala events? That was another battlefield entirely.
When she arrived at the port, the yacht glittered like something out of a movie, all champagne light and polished chrome, music drifting over the water. The crowd was already thick with tuxedos, designer gowns, and photographers lurking near the edge of the red carpet.
And then she walked in. The chatter dimmed, just a little. Heads turned.
For once, there was no leather jacket, no combat boots, no aura of battle-readiness. Just Milena Kremser in black silk, shoulders bare, short blond hair styled to catch the light, her tattoo faintly visible against the neckline.
Fred Vasseur, halfway through a drink, almost choked. "Mon Dieu... that's our Major?"
Bradley Lord elbowed Toto, who was standing near the bar with Mercedes staff. "You might want to breathe, boss."
Toto blinked once. "What?"
"You stopped breathing," Bradley said cheerfully. "Understandable, though."
Because Toto Wolff, perfectly collected, master of composure, was, in that moment, completely undone.
He watched as Milena made her way through the crowd, every movement precise but unpretentious. She looked both out of place and perfectly in control, like a soldier who'd infiltrated high society just to remind them who really held the power.
And then, of course, Daniel Ricciardo appeared out of nowhere like a golden retriever in human form.
"Major K!" he exclaimed, sweeping in dramatically. "You look absolutely stunning! Monaco might not survive you tonight."
Milena rolled her eyes, though a laugh escaped her. "Daniel, don't start."
He bowed low, caught her hand, and kissed it with mock chivalry. "Forgive me, but I must honor beauty when I see it."
"Honor it quietly," she shot back. "Before someone takes a photo and ruins both our careers."
Too late. Several flashes went off.
From the bar, Toto watched the scene with a mix of amusement and something sharper, a flicker of jealousy he didn't care to name.
Bradley leaned closer, "You know, she's technically Red Bull's problem."
Toto didn't look away from her, "You say that like it changes anything."
Milena caught his gaze then, across the crowd, over glasses of champagne and swirling conversation.
For a heartbeat, it was as if the noise faded. Just the two of them, seeing each other clearly in a room full of masks. And maybe, she thought, for the first time in years, she didn't mind being seen.
*
The party was in full swing. Strings of golden lights hung from the yacht's mast, champagne flowed like an open tap, and the hum of expensive laughter filled the air. The harbor glittered beneath them, Monaco in all its decadent, self-satisfied beauty.
Milena was standing near the edge of the deck, half-listening to a sponsor talk about wind tunnel data, when Daniel appeared again, all charm and mischief, like he'd been waiting for his cue.
"Boss," he said smoothly, "I'm starting to think you're avoiding me."
"I'm starting to think you like being avoided," she shot back, smiling faintly.
"Touché," he said, leaning one hand on the railing beside her. "You know, you clean up dangerously well. I might need to warn the rest of the grid."
She gave him a look. "Warn them about what?"
"That you could ruin them with a look."
She chuckled. "Daniel, you're impossible."
"Correct," he said brightly. "But irresistibly so."
She rolled her eyes but didn't hide her grin. Her attention, however, kept slipping past him, to the other side of the deck.
Toto stood there, surrounded by a few Mercedes engineers and a glass of whiskey. The suit fit him too well — broad shoulders, perfectly tailored lines, and that effortless authority that drew every eye without him even trying.
He wasn't laughing. He wasn't flirting. He was just watching her.
And God help her, it did something to her pulse.
Daniel followed her gaze, smirked knowingly. "Ah. So that's why you're distracted."
"Don't start," she warned again, heat rising in her cheeks.
"Oh, I won't," Daniel said, grin stretching wider. "But if he keeps staring like that, I might start charging him rent for standing this close to you."
"Daniel—"
Too late. He was already waving across the deck like a lunatic. "Hey, bossman! Careful with that death stare, you'll melt the champagne!"
Toto didn't flinch. He simply raised his glass in Daniel's direction, the kind of gesture that said try me, Ricciardo.
Daniel leaned closer to Milena, stage-whispering, "Yup. Definitely terrifying. I think my soul just left my body."
Before Milena could add something, the situation got louder, and dumber.
Across the deck, Max Verstappen and George Russell were arguing. Again.
"No, you cut me off in Turn 3," Max snapped.
George folded his arms. "I had the line, mate. You dived like it was bumper cars."
"Because you braked like my grandmother," Max shot back.
"I beat you on pace."
"In your dreams!"
"Would you two stop flirting and fight properly?" Fernando Alonso called from the bar.
The nearby crowd burst out laughing.
Toto muttered something in German under his breath and pinched the bridge of his nose. Milena shook her head. "Children. All of you."
When she looked back up, Toto was crossing the deck toward her, every step deliberate. The air seemed to thicken around him.
Daniel, noticing the shift, blinked. "Oh. Oh no. The Wolf's coming."
Milena arched an eyebrow. "You afraid of him?"
"Not afraid," Daniel said quickly. "Just... respectfully terrified."
Toto reached them, glass still in hand, eyes flicking from Daniel to Milena. "Daniel."
"Toto," Daniel replied, smile too wide.
There was a beat, the kind of silent power exchange that made even the air feel tense.
Then Toto turned to Milena, voice calm, smooth as ever.
"Milena..." he said, setting his glass down. "Would you care to dance?"
Daniel blinked. "Wait—what—"
Milena hesitated. "Is that a good idea?"
Toto's lips curved in the faintest smile. "Why not? It's just a dance. I'm told I'm quite good at it."
He extended his hand.
Milena's instinct told her to decline, to stay guarded, professional. But something else, deeper, whispered yes.
She placed her hand in his.
Daniel threw his hands in the air. "Unbelievable! I spend half the season charming her, and you just... what... wolf-nap her?"
"Looks like it," Max muttered, biting into a canapé. "You got outraced again, mate."
"Oh, shut up," Daniel groaned.
Toto led Milena onto the dance floor just as the band started a slow, sultry rhythm, the kind of music made for Monaco nights.
He rested one hand on her waist, the other holding her hand. She followed easily, moving with that soldier's precision, but there was something new in her posture, a softness, an awareness.
Neither of them spoke for a while. The world outside blurred, just the rhythm, the closeness, the faint sound of waves against the hull.
Finally, Milena looked up at him. "You really can dance."
"I told you," he said, voice low. "I only dance when it matters."
She smiled slightly. "And does this matter?"
He met her gaze, steady and intense. "I think it might."
For once, she didn't have a clever comeback.
They just kept moving, slow and deliberate, each step a silent confession neither dared to say aloud.
The music slowed, and the crowd around them faded into a blur of glitter and champagne light.
Toto's hand rested gently on Milena's waist, the other holding her palm against his chest. She felt the steady, unhurried rhythm of his heartbeat, too close, too deliberate.
Her perfume was subtle, cedar, smoke, and something faintly floral, the kind of scent that lingered, not shouted.
He couldn't remember the last time someone had made him lose his composure so effortlessly.
They moved together in perfect time, not practiced, but natural. Her body fitted against his as though it had been meant to, her breath brushing his jaw every time they turned.
Toto leaned closer, voice low enough that only she could hear.
"You look..." He paused, searching for the right word. "Different tonight."
Milena smiled faintly, eyes flicking up at him. "You mean without the boots and the attitude?"
He chuckled under his breath. "Something like that."
Then, more softly: "I didn't think you could surprise me anymore, Pani Major."
"Then you don't know me very well," she murmured.
They fell into silence again, the music carrying them through it, soft strings, the hum of the sea beyond.
Toto's gaze drifted to her face — the curve of her cheek, the faint scar near her temple, the small dog tag glinting just above the line of her dress. Every detail drew him in. She was fire contained in calm, chaos disguised as control.
He wanted to say something else, something he shouldn't. Instead, his thumb brushed the back of her hand, a quiet gesture that said too much.
Milena noticed, of course she did, but didn't pull away.
For a moment, neither of them looked anywhere else.
Then Toto broke the silence, his voice softer, almost reverent.
"That conversation we had... in the elevator."
She lifted her eyes to his, and the warmth between them deepened.
"It stayed with me," he admitted. "You didn't have to tell me any of that, but you did. It... meant something."
Milena exhaled slowly. "I'm not sure why I told you. I don't talk about that night. Not even to people who knew me then."
He nodded, his hand tightening slightly at her back. "Maybe you needed someone who hadn't been there. Someone who would just listen."
She studied his face, the way his expression softened when he said it, the quiet strength in his eyes.
"I don't open up easily," she confessed. "Not anymore."
"I know," he said. "That's why it mattered."
For a brief, suspended moment, neither of them moved. The air between them changed, thicker, charged, full of the kind of silence that carried every unsaid thought.
He wanted to reach for her again, just to keep her close, to make the world stop spinning for a few more seconds. But then the music began to fade.
Stefano Domenicali's voice cut through the air, cheerful, oblivious. "Ladies and gentlemen! A toast... to another incredible season of Formula 1!"
Applause broke out around them. The spell shattered.
Toto's hand slipped from hers, reluctantly. Her palm felt suddenly empty, the air colder. For the first time that night, Milena didn't know what to do with herself.
He took a small step back, eyes still on her. There was a flicker of something like regret in his expression, quiet, but unmistakable.
"Thank you," he said softly. "For the dance... and for everything else."
Milena gave him a faint, wistful smile. "You're welcome... but don't get used to it."
He laughed quietly, but when she turned away to rejoin the crowd, his gaze lingered, tracing the path of her dress as she moved through the glittering room, back straight, chin high.
She, too, felt the absence of his hand, the warmth still ghosting across her skin, the ache of something new and uninvited taking root in her chest.
Neither of them noticed Bradley watching from the bar, shaking his head with a grin.
"Oh, this," he muttered, raising his glass, "is going to end beautifully and disastrously."
*
The gala was winding down. The string quartet had traded waltzes for softer jazz, the champagne had lost its fizz, and the sponsors had begun drifting toward the exits, satisfied with their share of handshakes and photo ops.
Toto was still there, talking with a small group of executives near the bar, nodding politely as they discussed logistics for the upcoming races. But his mind wasn't on tire strategy or sponsor contracts.
Every few moments, his gaze drifted... always to her.
Milena stood across the deck, half-listening to Zak Brown's story about "the world's most expensive coffee machine," her polite smile fixed but her attention elsewhere. When she laughed, Toto's chest tightened, when she brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, he felt it like a physical pull.
She wasn't trying to be captivating. She simply was.
When she finally excused herself from the conversation, collecting her clutch and murmuring something about early meetings, Toto's decision was instantaneous.
He stepped away from his group before anyone noticed.
"Milena," he called softly.
She turned, surprised, but not displeased. "Toto..."
He closed the distance between them in a few long strides, his tuxedo jacket now slightly undone, tie loosened just enough to make him look disarmingly human. "Leaving already?"
"It's been a long day," she said, the hint of a smile tugging at her lips. "And tomorrow won't be easier."
"Then I'll walk you," he offered.
She tilted her head. "You don't have to."
"I know," he said simply.
And that was that. They descended the ramp from the yacht, the lights of Monaco shimmering over the water like a thousand tiny secrets. The air smelled of salt and perfume and night-blooming jasmine.
Milena slipped off her heels after the first few steps on the promenade, sighing in relief. "God, I forgot how much I hate these things."
Toto chuckled quietly beside her. "You've fought in combat zones, and this is your breaking point?"
"Blisters," she said seriously, holding one shoe by its strap. "The enemy no one warns you about."
He laughed, shaking his head. "You're remarkable."
"Don't start with that again," she teased, bumping his shoulder lightly as they walked. "You'll ruin my reputation as a hardass."
"You do a fine job of maintaining it," he said, glancing sideways, that faint grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.
They reached the hotel, the grand facade glittering under soft light. The lobby beyond was nearly empty, hushed in the late hour.
For a moment, they just stood there at the entrance. Neither moved to leave.
Milena hesitated, clutching her shoes loosely in one hand. "Well... this is me."
Toto nodded, his usual composure softened by something warmer. "Get some rest, Milena."
But when she looked up, her eyes met his, and the quiet between them deepened, that same electricity from the dance humming just beneath the surface.
Toto took a slow breath, then reached for her hand. His touch was deliberate, steady. He lifted her fingers to his lips and pressed a light kiss against her knuckles... formal, restrained, but somehow achingly intimate.
"Goodnight," he murmured, his voice lower now, gentler. "Milena."
Her name on his tongue sounded different. Softer. Like a secret.
She swallowed, her heartbeat a little too loud in her ears. "Goodnight, Toto."
He lingered a second longer, as if committing her to memory, then let her go.
Milena turned toward the elevators, walking barefoot across the marble floor, her heels dangling at her side. She didn't look back, though every instinct told her to.
Toto watched until she disappeared from sight, the ghost of her name still in his mind, still on his lips.
*
Monaco slept in fragments, the hum of the city never quite gone, the sea whispering against the pier. The streets were quiet when Toto finally returned to his apartment overlooking the harbor.
Inside, the lights were dim. A small blanket was half-slipped from the couch where Jack lay fast asleep, clutching a toy car in one hand, the picture of peace.
Toto paused for a moment, just watching him, the rise and fall of his small chest, the faint snuffle that came with deep sleep. He adjusted the blanket, brushed a lock of hair from Jack's forehead, and exhaled softly.
For all his control, for all his order, tonight had undone him.
He moved to the balcony, undoing his cuffs and letting the sea air hit his face. The night shimmered over the marina, a thousand lights reflecting on the black water. He could still feel the warmth of her hand against his, the whisper of her dress brushing against him as they'd danced, the way her laugh had settled under his skin and refused to leave.
He'd known attraction before, fleeting, shallow, easily shelved behind work and reason. But this wasn't that.
The memory of the elevator, her voice, raw and unguarded, had cracked something open in him.
The dance had shattered it completely.
Toto Wolff, the man who lived by logic... had fallen.
He ran a hand through his hair, half-laughing under his breath. "Scheiße."
There was no point denying it anymore. He'd fallen for her, completely, hopelessly, without strategy or plan.
He sat down at his desk, phone in hand, thumb hovering over the screen for a moment before he finally typed:
Thank you for tonight. For the dance. For everything. Sleep well, Milena.
He hesitated, then added one more word — softer, more personal.
– T.
He hit send before he could overthink it.
The reply came almost instantly, as if she'd been waiting.
Goodnight, Toto. And thank you... for walking me to the hotel.
He stared at the screen, a slow smile spreading across his face, one he couldn't quite suppress even if he'd wanted to.
He leaned back in his chair, still smiling, shaking his head at himself.
"Brilliant," he muttered. "Absolutely brilliant. You've gone and done it, Wolff."
Outside, a yacht horn sounded faintly in the distance. The city glowed, restless and golden.
Toto finished the last sip of his drink, still thinking of her voice, her eyes, the way she'd said his name.
He looked back toward Jack, asleep and safe, and then out toward the sea, the reflection of lights rippling on the surface like stars underwater.
"Fallen," he murmured to himself, half-laughing. "Completely fallen. Like a damn fool."
And when he finally went to bed, it wasn't the numbers, data, or deadlines of Formula 1 that filled his thoughts. It was Milena... her scent, her voice, her laughter still echoing in his chest.
Toto Wolff, master strategist, ruthless operator, immovable force, had fallen in love. Like a stone from the sky. Or, as his mother used to say: like a plum into compote.
And... he didn't mind at all.
*
Sunlight spilled through the curtains, the kind that didn't ask permission. Monaco mornings were always too bright, too perfect, the kind that made hangovers, memories, and regrets stand out with painful clarity.
Milena blinked awake, her mind foggy for a moment until she reached for her phone on the bedside table.
One message still glowed on the screen.
Thank you for tonight. For the dance. For everything. Sleep well, Milena. – T.
She stared at it for a long moment, thumb hovering over the glass. The words were simple, but the warmth in them lingered, the echo of his voice, low and rough with sincerity.
Her pulse quickened as the images from last night returned: the music, his hand steady at her waist, the way his breath brushed her ear when he'd said her name — Milena — like a secret he wasn't ready to let go of.
And then, that final moment under the hotel lights, his lips brushing her hand, his voice soft, controlled, but full of something he hadn't dared name.
She smiled to herself, a small, private thing. This wasn't fascination anymore. She'd known fascination before, fleeting, surface-deep, born of adrenaline and proximity.
This felt different. Deeper. Dangerous. Real.
Before she could spiral further into thought, the door burst open.
"Mum! Wake up! It's race day!" Leon shouted, launching himself onto the bed.
Maya followed, clutching her stuffed wolf. "And we're allowed in the garage, right? Uncle Daniel said we can!"
Milena groaned, though the corner of her mouth lifted. "You two are the only people in the world who can yell at seven a.m. and still be adorable."
Leon grinned. "You have to get up! Monaco GP! You can't be late!"
"Yes, sir," she said, saluting him playfully as she pushed herself up.
Twenty minutes later, the small suite had turned into organized chaos, Milena in her Red Bull polo and sunglasses, Maya braiding her doll's hair, Leon pretending his juice box was champagne for the podium.
As they headed out toward the waiting car, Milena checked her phone again, the message still glowing there like a secret only she knew.
*
By the time they reached the paddock, chaos had already erupted.
Bradley Lord from Mercedes was pacing near the hospitality units, phone pressed to his ear, muttering something about "narrative control."
Red Bull's comms chief nearly dropped her tablet when she saw Milena walk in.
"Morning," Milena greeted, already sensing the tension. "What happened now?"
Her assistant paled. "You... haven't seen?"
Milena frowned, took the tablet, and there it was.
Every news outlet. Every gossip page. Photos of last night, her dancing with Toto, his hand at her waist, that smile she hadn't seen on him before, and worst of all, the shot of them walking together barefoot through the Monaco promenade.
Headlines screamed across the screens:
"The Wolf and the Major: F1's Forbidden Pair?"
"Rivalry Turns to Romance — Inside the Monaco Waltz."
"Toto Wolff and Milena Kremser Caught in Late-Night Stroll."
Milena pinched the bridge of her nose, muttering, "Oh for God's sake."
The PR head hovered nervously. "We're issuing a statement, right? Just to clarify that it was professional... polite conversation, public event, nothing more?"
Milena sighed. "Yes. Professional. Dinner. Public. Nothing more," she repeated like a schoolteacher reciting bad propaganda. "Though at this point I could wrestle a bear in the paddock and it would still look less scandalous."
From across the lot, Toto was already surrounded by cameras, calm, composed, saying absolutely nothing. The perfect poker face. But when their eyes met for a brief second, he gave the smallest nod. A silent promise: I've got this.
She nodded back, pretending to focus on her notes.
*
Later that morning, during the driver briefing, Max slouched in his chair, scrolling through his phone with a grin.
"Nice pictures, boss," he said.
Milena didn't even look up. "Don't start, Verstappen."
He shrugged, grin widening. "I'm just saying, Toto's a good guy. You could do worse."
"Max—"
He winked. "Relax, Major. You've survived war zones. You'll survive another gossip."
She sighed, muttering, "Barely."
*
When the lights went out that afternoon, all of Monaco roared to life. It was chaos, pure and beautiful, strategy duels, pit stops timed to perfection, and tension thick enough to cut with a tire blade.
Mercedes and Red Bull fought like predators on a single line of asphalt. Max versus George, Daniel against Kimi. Every corner was a clash of pride and horsepower.
When the checkered flag finally dropped, Red Bull celebrated, Max on the top step, Daniel fourth, grinning like he'd just stolen the world. Mercedes wasn't far behind — George second, Toto on the pit wall, silent and unreadable.
As the anthem faded and the champagne sprayed, Milena stood near the garage, arms crossed, sunglasses hiding the exhaustion and the faintest ghost of a smile.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket.
Toto: Congratulations, Major. A well-fought victory.
She read it twice, then let out a small, helpless laugh.
Even after the madness, even after the headlines, he still managed to sound like himself.
She typed back quickly, before she could think better of it:
Milena: Thank you, Wolff. And congratulations to you too. Seems we both survived the morning.
A moment later, her screen lit up again.
Toto: Barely. But I'd rather face the tabloids than face you on strategy.
She smiled, shaking her head.
For all the chaos and speculation, one thing had become clear, somewhere between rivalry and war, between the chaos and the cameras, something real had begun. And neither of them wanted it to stop.
===========
Next -> Chapter 13: Great Glitter War
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🏁 Tagged readers: @mjcrumster | @gardeniarose13 | @jnywolff (ask to be added/removed!)
Paddock Wars | Chapter 8: Dinner, Danger & One Very Jealous Austrian
🏁 Paddock Wars Masterlist | 🏁 Main Masterlist
❋ pairing: Toto Wolff x OC (major Milena Kremser / Red Bull Team Principal)
❋ chapter summary: Qualifying goes great, Daniel drags Milena to "totally professional" pasta, and the internet immediately marries them. Toto pretends he doesn't care (fails miserably). A podium, a wild party, a missed flight, and somehow Milena ends up on Toto's jet with a headache, three kids, and one tall Austrian whose self-control is circling the drain.
❋ warnings: enemies to lovers, slow burn, age gap (38/53), humor, f1 chaos, strong female lead, witty banter, emotional damage (and healing), found family, chaotic children, fluff with spice, soft!Toto, Toto Wolff is doomed and knows it.
❋ read on: AO3 - Wattpad - or read below
🎧 Spotify playlist -> Paddock Wars Playlist
Chapter 8: Dinner, Danger & One Very Jealous Austrian
The next afternoon, the paddock pulsed with energy. The heat of Jeddah shimmered off the tarmac, and every mechanic, engineer, and team principal was riding the high or low of qualifying.
For Red Bull, it was pure euphoria. Max Verstappen on pole position. Daniel Ricciardo, grinning like the human embodiment of sunshine, in fourth.
The garage exploded with cheers as the final times flashed across the screens. Max gave his usual understated fist pump. Daniel, on the other hand, jumped straight onto a mechanic's back and yelled, "She's the lucky charm! The Major's magic, baby!"
Milena rolled her eyes but couldn't help laughing. "Get off before you break him, Ricciardo!"
He dropped down, all grin and sweat and pure chaotic energy. "Come on, boss, admit it. You love the chaos."
"I tolerate it," she said, trying to sound stern but failing miserably.
The post-qualifying buzz was still thick in the air when the crowd in the paddock began to thin. The reporters drifted off toward press conferences. Max disappeared toward the media pen, and Milena stepped aside for a moment to check a message from the factory.
That's when Daniel reappeared — showered, clean, and wearing that mischievous grin that usually meant trouble.
"So," he began, leaning casually against a crate. "You, me, dinner tonight. Celebration for the Major's first qualifying success. My treat."
Milena blinked. "Dinner?"
He nodded eagerly. "Yeah! You've been working nonstop, you deserve a proper meal. No spreadsheets, no Verstappens, no chaos. Just pasta, wine, and some good company."
She crossed her arms. "You do realize that the moment someone spots us, the internet will explode, right? They'll turn it into some 'forbidden romance' headline before the appetizers even arrive."
Daniel put a hand dramatically to his chest. "Let them. I need to boost my market value somehow. A dinner with the most powerful woman in Formula 1? Instant PR glow-up."
Milena laughed. "You're insufferable."
He grinned. "You love it."
"Don't count on any bonuses for this charm offensive," she said, amused.
"Oh, I'm not doing it for a bonus," Daniel said with mock sincerity. "I'm doing it for the art of celebration."
Milena shook her head, still smiling. "Fine. One dinner. Friendly. Strictly professional."
"Scout's honor."
"Daniel," she said, narrowing her eyes, "you've never been a scout."
"Exactly," he said cheerfully. "That's why I'm so trustworthy."
They both burst out laughing.
Across the paddock, Toto Wolff stood beside the Mercedes garage, reviewing telemetry with an engineer, or at least pretending to. He wasn't exactly subtle about glancing up when he heard Daniel's voice carry across the space.
"Dinner, Major! I'll pick the restaurant!"
Milena's laugh followed, light and warm, drifting on the dry evening air.
Toto's jaw tensed slightly. His engineer, glancing at him, caught the faint flicker of a smirk trying to hide irritation.
"Everything okay, boss?"
Toto straightened, perfectly calm. "Fine. Just... monitoring Red Bull's post-session morale."
The engineer hesitated. "You mean Daniel Ricciardo asking your rival out for dinner?"
Toto shot him a look sharp enough to cut titanium.
"Telemetry, Stefan. Stick to telemetry."
But even as he turned back to the screen, he caught sight of Milena again, laughing as Daniel bowed dramatically, still playing the clown, still charming everyone within a ten-meter radius.
Toto sighed quietly.
This woman is going to destroy me, he thought.
And then, like a man resigning himself to an unavoidable storm, he allowed the smallest hint of a smile.
*
Toto hadn't planned to end up in a restaurant that evening. He'd planned to grab a quick meal with the Mercedes engineers, go over tire strategy for tomorrow's race, and retreat to the quiet of his hotel room, far away from the circus of the paddock.
But the universe had other plans. The moment he stepped inside the trendy Italian place — all warm lighting, low music, and far too many people whispering about Formula 1, he froze.
Because there she was. Milena Kremser. Sitting at a table near the window, wearing a simple black dress and that calm, commanding aura she couldn't hide even off-duty. And across from her, Daniel Ricciardo, grinning like he'd just won Monaco.
Toto's stomach sank.
"Table for six?" the host asked brightly.
Toto blinked. "Yes. Mercedes."
He followed the host to a corner table, the engineers chatting behind him about strategy, but the words blurred. He could see them from here, laughing, leaning in, Daniel gesturing animatedly with a fork while Milena threw her head back and laughed.
That laugh. He'd heard it last night at the bar... so soft, warm, genuine. And now it wasn't for him.
He forced his gaze back to his menu.
You're ridiculous, Wolff. She's having dinner. She's allowed to laugh. You are a grown man. You have no right to feel...
"Boss?"
He looked up. Bradley, was watching him with a knowing grin.
"Perfectly fine," Toto said, in a tone that could cut glass.
But as the laughter from her table drifted over again — utterly sincere, Toto could feel the jealousy rise, sharp and stupid.
You absolute idiot, he thought. You're too old for this.
He exhaled through his nose, forcing himself to focus on anything else. Numbers. Strategy. The fact that Ricciardo was probably telling a story about a kangaroo.
But none of it worked. Because every time Milena laughed, he found himself smiling too, quietly, bitterly, like a man who already knew he'd lost the battle he never meant to fight.
When Daniel reached across the table to pour her more wine, Toto's grip on his fork tightened just slightly.
Bradley noticed. "You sure you're fine, Toto?"
Toto's voice was calm, smooth, controlled. "Of course. Why wouldn't I be?"
Bradley followed his gaze toward Milena's table and grinned. "Because Red Bull's PR team just posted a photo of them with the caption 'Dinner after domination.'"
Toto's eye twitched.
"Fantastic," he muttered. "Truly. Fantastic."
Across the room, Milena caught his expression, the mix of polite restraint and pure irritation, and tried not to laugh again.
Daniel, oblivious, grinned at her. "You know what's funny? I think Toto's watching us."
Milena sipped her wine and smiled faintly. "He's probably calculating how much of a PR disaster this dinner will be."
Daniel winked. "Or how jealous he is."
Milena rolled her eyes. "Don't push it, Danny."
But as she glanced back at Toto, the faint crease in his brow, the stiff way he held himself, she couldn't stop the small, treacherous smile that curved her lips.
And for the first time that weekend, Toto Wolff wished he'd skipped dinner.
Or maybe, he thought bitterly, wished he'd taken that empty seat at her table instead.
*
Milena Kremser walked into the Jeddah paddock that morning with her head held high and her sunglasses hiding the dark circles under her eyes.
It was race day, their day. Max on pole, Daniel starting fourth. The strategy was sharp, the data flawless, and for once, the garage felt calm, controlled, perfectly tuned. Everything should've felt perfect.
And yet, beneath all the confidence and caffeine, one annoying thought kept circling her brain like an uninvited mosquito.
That look on his face last night. Toto, standing across the restaurant, pretending to study a wine list while clearly watching her and Daniel laugh over dinner. That mix of cool restraint and something else, irritation, maybe. Or jealousy.
And the stupid part? She'd caught herself wishing Daniel wasn't the one across from her.
She shook her head, muttering under her breath, "Get it together, Kremser."
This was Formula 1. Not a romantic drama.
Toto Wolff was the competition. A rival. A neatly two meter Austrian distraction with perfect posture and a ridiculous jawline who spoke Polish far too well for her own good. And sure, when he called her Pani Major in that accent, her pulse did something stupid.
And maybe, maybe, when she saw him last night, she'd imagined what it would be like to be on his side of the table, wine in hand, arguing about strategy instead of pretending to laugh at Daniel's kangaroo stories.
But that was insanity. He was Mercedes. She was Red Bull. And she had a race to win.
Still... damn it, that look.
"Morning, boss!" Daniel's cheerful voice snapped her out of it. He was bouncing toward her in full race suit, grinning from ear to ear. "You ready to make some magic?"
"Always," she said, smiling. "Just keep your tires alive and your mouth shut on lap one."
"Harsh," he said, hand to chest. "You wound me."
"Good," she shot back. "I'd hate for you to get too comfortable."
They laughed, and for a moment, the world was easy again.
Daniel really was like a little brother all energy, optimism, and endless charm. She liked him, genuinely, but not like that.
Unfortunately, the internet disagreed. Because overnight, their innocent "team dinner" photo had exploded online, tabloids running wild with headlines like:
"Major Hearts Ricciardo? Red Bull Boss Spotted in Romantic Dinner!"
"The Major and The Smile — New F1 Power Couple?"
"Red Bull's Milena Kremser Steals Another Heart."
Her PR team had assured her it was "great fan engagement."
She'd rather call it a disaster.
Now, every time she opened her phone, there were memes, ship edits, and comments like "#MajorRicciardo confirmed."
She sighed. "If one more fan asks when I'm marrying Daniel, I'm firing the social media department."
"Please don't," Daniel laughed. "They love it. My fanbase is growing by the minute. I'm practically a national treasure."
"National pain, maybe," she said, rolling her eyes.
As they reached the garage, the familiar noise of engines, chatter, and distant crowd cheers surrounded them. Mechanics waved, engineers hustled, and two favorite troublemakers, Leon and Maya, were already there, wearing oversized headsets and Red Bull caps.
"Go Max, go! Go Daniel!" Maya shouted, fist-pumping.
Leon jumped next to her, chanting, "Let's go! Let's go!"
"Hey!" Daniel crouched to give them both high-fives. "My lucky charms are here! Don't let anyone touch the car, okay? Especially George Russell's shampoo."
Maya giggled. "We promise!"
Milena laughed softly, adjusting Maya's cap. For a moment, the chaos around her felt like home, a mix of family, noise, and adrenaline.
Then she looked up. Across the paddock, by the Mercedes garage, Toto stood in his usual white shirt, arms crossed, face unreadable.
He was listening to someone, maybe an engineer, but when his eyes met hers, everything else faded for a heartbeat.
No smirk. No teasing. Just a faint nod. Professional. Distant.
He turned and walked away before she could even raise her hand.
Something in her chest dropped.
"Good morning to you too," she muttered under her breath.
Daniel glanced at her. "You okay?"
"Perfectly fine," she said quickly. "Just focused."
"Focused looks suspiciously like brooding," Daniel teased.
"Focus, Ricciardo," she said, her voice sharp enough to end the conversation.
He held up his hands, smiling. "Aye, aye, Major K."
As she turned back toward the pit wall, the crowd began to chant, the engines roared, and the tension of race day took over. She forced herself to push every other thought — every sharp Austrian glance, every stupid flutter in her chest, out of her head.
Because this was war. And if she let herself think about Toto Wolff now, she'd lose her edge. But as the lights above the grid flickered to life, she couldn't help the ghost of a smile that crossed her face.
You really are an idiot, Kremser.
*
The Jeddah night glowed with fireworks and engine heat, the air thick with the electric hum that only came after victory.
Max Verstappen had done it — P1, flawless from start to finish.
And Daniel Ricciardo, smiling like a man possessed, had brought the second Red Bull to the podium.
It was, without question, Milena Kremser's night.
The team garage had exploded in chaos the moment Max crossed the finish line — champagne spraying, mechanics yelling, engineers hugging. Daniel had jumped into her arms, nearly knocking her over.
"Major K, you absolute legend!" he shouted, spinning her once before she could protest.
"Daniel!" she laughed. "Put me down before PR has another heart attack!"
He just grinned wider. "Too late, they're already trending!"
Later, when the podium ceremony ended and the trophies gleamed under the lights, the party moved to the Red Bull hospitality suite, now transformed into a dance floor full of mechanics, engineers, and exhausted drivers running on champagne and adrenaline.
Music thumped through the walls. Max, for once, wasn't sulking in a corner, he was laughing, a real, relaxed laugh, surrounded by crew members.
When Milena entered, the cheers went up again.
"MAJOR! MAJOR! MAJOR!"
She rolled her eyes but raised her glass anyway. "Alright, alright... no ranks tonight. Just don't wreck the place, or I will make you do push-ups."
That got another roar of laughter.
Daniel, already halfway to tipsy, appeared with two glasses of champagne. "For the woman who tamed Red Bull."
"I didn't tame it," she said, taking a sip. "I just organized the chaos."
"Same thing," he said, offering his hand. "Come on, dance with me, boss. You can't run an empire and not celebrate properly."
"I don't dance," she said automatically.
He grinned. "Neither do I, so we'll be terrible together."
Before she could refuse, he'd already pulled her toward the makeshift dance floor. The whole team cheered again, phones flashing, music blaring.
"Ricciardo!" she laughed. "If I fall, you're fired."
"Deal," he said, spinning her, badly, but with enthusiasm.
They were both laughing when Max appeared beside them, arms crossed, smirking.
"Unbelievable," he said. "First she yells at me, then she yells at my dad, now she's dancing. What's next, Major... invading Ferrari?"
Milena smirked. "If they keep stealing our staff, maybe."
Max laughed. "I'll admit, I doubted you at first. Thought you'd last three races, maybe four."
"How generous," she said dryly.
He grinned. "But now? You've got the whole team in line. Even Helmut's scared of you."
Daniel snorted. "Especially Helmut."
Max raised his glass. "Even my father wouldn't cross you again, though he'd rather die than admit it."
Milena chuckled. "Then I've done my job."
"Yeah," Max said, clinking his glass against hers. "You're a great boss. Kind of terrifying. But great."
That, coming from him, meant something.
She smiled, more touched than she expected. "Thanks, Max. Now go enjoy your win before I make you review telemetry."
He rolled his eyes, muttering something in Dutch about her being scarier than race control, before disappearing back into the crowd.
Daniel leaned closer, his grin playful. "See? Even Max likes you now. That's basically sainthood in F1."
"Or witchcraft," she said, sipping her drink.
"Either way," Daniel laughed, "you're unstoppable tonight."
They danced — badly, freely, laughing like idiots. The music was too loud, the champagne too sweet, the night too bright to care.
Of course, someone caught it all.
Within an hour, social media was ablaze with new photos and clips:
"Major Kremser celebrates Red Bull's double podium!"
"Daniel Ricciardo and the Major dancing the night away — power duo?"
"Max Verstappen calls his new boss 'terrifyingly brilliant' — fans agree."
Milena saw the notifications flash across her phone and groaned. "Oh, fantastic. Another round of fanfiction headlines."
Daniel just laughed. "You love it."
"Do I look like I love PR disasters?"
"You look like someone who's finally having fun," he said softly, genuine this time.
And maybe, just for a second, he was right.
For once, Milena wasn't the soldier, the strategist, the "Major."
She was just herself, laughing, surrounded by her team, victorious under the Jeddah lights.
Somewhere else in the paddock, Toto was sitting alone on his hotel balcony, scrolling through the same photos. He stopped at one — Milena, laughing mid-spin, champagne in hand, Daniel looking at her like she was the sun.
Toto stared at it for a long time. Then quietly set his phone down and poured himself another glass of whiskey.
"Get a grip, Wolff," he muttered. "You're not twenty anymore."
But the tightness in his chest didn't go away.
*
Morning came much too soon. The sunlight stabbed through the curtains, her head throbbed like a drumline, and somewhere nearby a small voice chirped,
"Muuum, wake up! We're gonna be late!"
Milena cracked one eye open and groaned. "Oh no... No, no, no..."
Leon was already dressed, backpack on, Maya half-asleep but clutching her stuffed wolf. The clock on the wall confirmed her worst fear, their flight back to Europe had left twenty minutes ago.
Right then, her phone started vibrating across the nightstand. She snatched it up without looking at the caller ID.
"Hello?" she croaked.
Susie's cheerful voice came through instantly. "Finally! I was starting to think you were still unconscious."
Milena winced. "I might be."
"Judging by the videos from last night, I'm not surprised," Susie teased. "You looked like you were having a very good time. Tell me, did Daniel at least survive the dancing?"
Milena groaned into her pillow. "Barely. I think he pulled something."
Susie laughed, then added, "Well, I just heard you missed your flight. Don't panic. I'll sort something out, leave it to me."
"Susie, really, you don't have to—"
"Too late," she said, her tone bright and bossy. "And Milena?"
"Yes?"
"I'm proud of you, Major. Even if you've already started a PR crisis before breakfast."
Milena couldn't help but smile, even as Susie hung up.
"Brilliant," she muttered, dragging herself out of bed. "Your mother is a responsible adult who planned everything perfectly. Including the hangover."
Maya giggled. "You smell like party."
"Because I was the party," Milena said grimly, grabbing her phone.
Dozens of notifications blinked — race recaps, PR messages, and at least fifteen new articles with headlines like:
"Red Bull's Major Celebrates Big Win with Ricciardo – Sparks Fly on the Dance Floor!"
She groaned. "Oh, for God's sake."
There was a knock on the door.
When she opened it, there stood Toto, crisp as ever in jeans and a white shirt, holding a coffee in one hand and Jack's little backpack in the other. Jack peeked from behind his leg, waving at Leon and Maya.
"Morning," Toto said, in that maddeningly calm tone of his. "Heard someone missed their flight."
Milena squinted. "How—"
"Susie called me," he said simply. "I've got a jet leaving in an hour. Plenty of room for you and the kids. It's not exactly regulation Red Bull colors, but it flies."
She blinked. "You're serious?"
"Always," he said, faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Unless you'd prefer economy class with three connections."
"Fine," she sighed. "But I'm buying the next coffee."
"Deal."
*
An hour later, they were airborne, the soft hum of the engines filling the silence between bursts of laughter from the kids.
Leon and Jack were comparing Lego cars on the floor, Maya was curled up with her stuffed wolf and juice box, and Toto and Milena sat next to each other, finally still.
He glanced over the rim of his coffee cup. "I heard you had quite the party last night."
She groaned, hiding behind her sunglasses. "If one more person mentions it, I'm defecting to Ferrari."
"I'm sure they'd love that," he said, smirking. "Though I suspect the afterparties would be even worse."
She rolled her eyes. "You sound like you're jealous you weren't invited."
"I was invited," he said. "I chose survival instead."
She laughed quietly. "Probably smart."
For a while, they just sat, the comfortable kind of silence that happens when both people are too tired to argue.
Until Toto, still watching her carefully, said, "There's something I should mention. About last night."
Milena frowned. "If this is about Daniel's dancing—"
"It's about Daniel," he said. "And the headlines."
She groaned. "Oh no."
"Don't get me wrong," Toto continued gently. "You handled it perfectly. But the media's... already spinning a narrative. You and Ricciardo, the team principal and the charming Red Bull boy. It's... dramatic. And dangerous."
Her brows furrowed. "Dangerous how?"
"People like Horner, Marko, even Jos... they'll twist it. Say you're too close to your drivers. That it affects your judgment."
Milena's jaw tightened. "And you think they wouldn't say the same thing if I were a man?"
Toto hesitated.
"I'm only saying—"
"No," she interrupted, voice sharper than she meant. "You're saying that because I'm a woman, I have to watch how I laugh, how I stand, who I talk to... or it'll be used against me. You, meanwhile, can hug your drivers, call them family, spend half the season on the pit wall with George and Kimi, and no one bats an eye."
Her tone was cold steel, her green eyes flashing. "But if I dare to dance with one of mine, I must be sleeping with him. That's the game, right?"
Toto opened his mouth, then stopped. For a moment, the only sound was the low drone of the engines and the distant murmur of children playing.
Then, quietly, he said, "You're right. I'm sorry."
She exhaled, rubbing her temples. "I didn't mean to bite. I just... It's exhausting sometimes."
"I know," he said softly. "And I didn't mean it like that. I only wanted to warn you."
She glanced at him, her voice quieter now. "Warn me, or are you jealous?"
That earned her a raised brow and the ghost of a smile. "Would it matter if I was?"
She tilted her head, smirking faintly. "Maybe."
He leaned back, looking out the window with a chuckle. "You're impossible."
"Thank you," she murmured, sipping her coffee.
After that, the conversation faded into easy silence. The kids grew quieter, Jack nodding off first, Leon following soon after. Maya was asleep against her mother's arm, clutching her stuffed wolf.
And slowly, as the clouds drifted past and the hum of the jet deepened, Milena's eyelids grew heavy. She didn't even notice when her head tilted sideways, until it came to rest against Toto's shoulder.
He froze for half a heartbeat, then exhaled, barely moving. Her hair brushed against his jaw, the faintest scent of her shampoo reaching him — chamomile and something warm he couldn't name.
He looked down at her, at the woman who'd yelled at half the paddock into submission, now asleep against him like the world had finally stopped spinning.
A small, unguarded smile tugged at his lips.
"Sleep, Pani Major," he whispered. "You've earned it."
And as the jet carried them toward another race, another battle, Toto Wolff sat still, the Austrian who prided himself on control, knowing deep down... that control was already slipping.
===========
Next -> Chapter 9: Horner's Trap
===========
🏁 Tagged readers: @mjcrumster | @gardeniarose13 | @jnywolff (ask to be added/removed!)
❋ pairing: Toto Wolff x OC (major Milena Kremser / Red Bull Team Principal)
❋ chapter summary: Milena becomes a fan-favorite cult leader in Jeddah, the kids turn George into a flamingo, and Max pretends he's innocent. Susie ships her with Toto, and Toto officially stops pretending he's not obsessed. The Major conquers the paddock... and one very tall Austrian's peace of mind.
❋ warnings: enemies to lovers, slow burn, age gap (38/53), humor, f1 chaos, strong female lead, witty banter, emotional damage (and healing), found family, chaotic children, fluff with spice, soft!Toto, Toto Wolff is doomed and knows it.
❋ read on: AO3 - Wattpad - or read below
🎧 Spotify playlist -> Paddock Wars Playlist
Chapter 7: Operation Flamingo
The Jeddah sun was merciless, the air thick with heat and the sound of engines roaring back to life.
Milena Kremser stepped out of the car and into the paddock — dark sunglasses, messy hair, crisp Red Bull polo, and that unmistakable "don't mess with me" walk that had already become legend.
She hadn't even reached the team garage before it started.
"MAJOR! MAJOR! WE LOVE YOU!"
A wave of fans pressed against the barrier, holding signs that read "Queen of the Paddock," "Red Bull Major Energy," and, most impressively, "Send Jos Home 2.0."
Someone had even brought a cardboard cutout of Christian Horner with a "TIME OUT" sticker on his forehead.
Milena froze mid-step, blinking, then laughed under her breath.
"Oh for God's sake."
A teenage girl shouted, "You're our hero! You and Susie are the queens of F1!"
Milena raised her coffee cup like a toast. "Behave yourselves, soldiers!"
The crowd went wild.
Right on cue, Daniel Ricciardo appeared beside her, leaning casually against the barrier with his usual grin.
"Well, well, look at you, Major K. Fan favorite already."
She shot him a sideways glance. "Don't start."
Daniel ignored her. "No, seriously, I saw the panel. Absolute gold. The internet is still recovering. Horner's PR guy probably faked his own death."
Milena smirked. "He deserved it. And so did Jos."
"Speaking of..." Daniel looked around exaggeratedly. "Where is papa Verstappen? Usually he's lurking somewhere like a Bond villain."
Milena shrugged. "He's smart enough to stay away from my garage this time."
"Good," Daniel grinned. "I'd hate to see you commit an actual war crime on live TV."
She raised an eyebrow. "Don't tempt me."
A flash of blue caught her eye — Max, emerging from the hospitality suite, helmet under his arm.
He gave her a small nod, respectful and perfectly neutral.
"Boss," he said simply, in that understated way of his.
"Max," she replied.
For them, that was practically a heart-to-heart.
Daniel leaned toward her, stage whispering, "He's terrified of you, by the way. It's beautiful."
"Good," she said with a smile. "Means I'm doing my job."
As they walked toward the garage, mechanics waved, fans kept shouting, and even the rival engineers looked impressed.
Helmut Marko peeked out from the briefing room, caught her eye and immediately turned around and vanished like a cartoon villain disappearing into a trapdoor.
Milena sipped her coffee. "Excellent. One pest down."
Daniel chuckled. "I think he pretended to get a call from the Red Bull CEO just to avoid you."
"Smart man," she said, deadpan.
Inside the garage, everything was smooth, for now. Max was focused, Daniel was cheerful, and Milena could finally breathe.
Her phone buzzed.
She pulled it out, expecting some logistics update — but no. It was a message from Susie Wolff.
Susie: Heard you've achieved cult leader status. Drink tonight? 🍸
Milena: Only if we can toast to Horner's nervous breakdown.
Susie: Oh, absolutely. I'll bring the champagne.
Susie: PS. Toto might "coincidentally" show up. Try not to kill him. 😉
Milena rolled her eyes, smiling despite herself.
"Trouble?" Daniel asked, noticing her expression.
"Susie wants to celebrate."
"Ah, your partner in crime. I'll drink to that."
Milena pocketed her phone, straightened her shoulders, and looked around the bustling garage.
The season was just beginning, but already, she was no longer just "the new boss." She was Major Milena Kremser: destroyer of egos, commander of chaos... and apparently half the internet's new favorite meme.
As she walked past the Red Bull logo, the crowd outside started chanting again: "MAJOR! MAJOR! MAJOR!"
Daniel grinned at her. "See? Told you. You've created a monster."
Milena smirked. "Good. Let's keep feeding it."
*
The paddock in Jeddah was already loud, but today, it sounded like a rock concert. Fans waved flags, shouted, and held up handmade signs that read:
"ALL HAIL THE MAJOR!"
"RED BULL'S NEW QUEEN 👑"
"SUSIE + MILENA = GIRL POWER F1"
Toto Wolff walked through the chaos, cool and composed in his signature white shirt and sunglasses, George Russell beside him.
"Wow," George said, whistling low. "Looks like Red Bull's got themselves a celebrity. She's practically Beyoncé with combat boots."
Toto didn't reply. He just glanced toward the Red Bull garage, where fans were chanting Milena's name and someone had actually brought a cardboard cutout of her in army gear holding a steering wheel like a weapon.
He exhaled through his nose, lips twitching slightly.
Then he heard a girl near the barriers squeal, "Susie and Milena are the Queens of F1!"
That one did it. The corner of his mouth betrayed him. A smirk. Barely there, but real.
George caught it immediately.
"Oh-ho-ho. You're smiling, boss! You fancy the Major."
"I am not smiling, George," Toto said in his best deadpan.
"You're totally smiling. That's the smile of a man plotting emotional damage."
Toto adjusted his watch. "Focus on the track, not my facial expressions."
"Sure thing," George said, grinning. "Just saying, she's kind of a legend now. Put Jos in his place, roasted Horner alive, has the fans worshipping her—"
"I've noticed," Toto muttered, though the small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth didn't go unnoticed.
George chuckled. "Well, I'll go get ready for the session. Try not to fall in love with the enemy, boss."
Toto gave him the look. "Out."
Laughing, George headed toward the motorhome, still humming some pop tune under his breath.
Toto exhaled, straightening his cuffs and turning back toward the engineers waiting with tablets and data sheets.
"Alright," he said briskly. "Run me through the new brake setup. I want every variable checked before we hit the track."
They began briefing him, but halfway through the report, a sudden commotion erupted from the Mercedes motorhome — shouting, laughter, and the unmistakable voice of Kimi Antonelli cracking with amusement.
Toto froze mid-sentence, glancing toward the noise. "What now..."
And then came George. Charging out of the motorhome. In full race suit. With bright pink hair. Like, cotton-candy pink.
Toto blinked.
Kimi was doubled over laughing, trying to breathe. "Boss... I swear... I didn't do it... he... he looks like a flamingo!"
George's voice cracked. "WHAT IS THIS?! WHAT DID YOU... WHO... WHY IS MY HAIR..."
Toto pressed a hand over his mouth, very deliberately not laughing.
"George," he managed, "why do you look like a member of a 90s boyband?"
"Because," George hissed, "someone switched my shampoo with pink dye!"
Kimi wheezed louder. "It's... it's so vibrant! You're glowing!"
"I'm not glowing!" George snapped. "I look like a bubblegum sponsorship!"
Toto exhaled through his nose, trying to hold his composure, but there was only so much professionalism a man could maintain while his driver looked like he'd been assaulted by a unicorn.
"Calm down," Toto said, rubbing his temple. "We'll fix it before qualifying. Do you have any idea who..."
The door creaked. Three little heads peeked out from behind a nearby crate.
Maya. Leon. Jack.
The Little Paddock Gang.
They were whispering furiously and giggling even more. Leon held an empty bottle of "Aloe Silk Shampoo," except the label was peeling to reveal "Temporary Hair Color – Neon Pink."
Toto turned slowly. "Jack."
Jack froze. "Yes, Papa?"
"Explain."
Jack looked at Maya. Maya looked at Leon. Leon looked at the heavens for mercy.
Finally, Maya cleared her throat. "We just wanted to make George... um... sparkle."
"Yeah!" Leon added helpfully. "He's too serious! Now he looks happy."
"Like a flamingo," Jack whispered, which set them all giggling again.
Toto pinched the bridge of his nose. "You three..."
Kimi was dying in the background, literally leaning against a wall for support.
George was inspecting his reflection in a window, looking like a man questioning all his life choices.
"This," Toto said, "is sabotage."
Maya gasped dramatically. "No! It's art."
Leon nodded. "Team morale, Mr. Wolff."
"Papa, morale!" Jack added proudly.
Toto pulled out his phone. "We'll see about morale when your mother gets here."
He dialed. One ring. Two.
"Milena Kremser," came the voice on the other end, calm and professional.
"Major," Toto said tightly. "Your soldiers have attacked my driver."
A pause. Then laughter, glorious, unrestrained laughter.
"Oh God," she said between chuckles. "What did they do now?"
"They turned George into... a flamingo."
There was a long, blissful silence. Then Milena said, "Send pictures."
"Milena..."
"I'll be right there," she said, still laughing. "Don't kill them before I arrive."
By the time Milena reached the garage, the sight that greeted her was pure chaos: George fuming, Toto glaring, Kimi crying with laughter, and three very proud children trying to hide behind a tire rack.
Milena crouched down to their level, biting her lip to keep from laughing.
"Okay, troops," she whispered. "Mission accomplished. But next time, maybe sabotage someone from Ferrari, not Mercedes."
"Yes, ma'am," they chorused, saluting.
Behind her, Toto crossed his arms, finally breaking into a reluctant smile.
"Your troops have potential," he said dryly.
Milena looked up at him, smirking. "Told you. I train the best."
George groaned. "Can we at least get me a hat?"
Kimi raised a hand. "I have glitter!"
"NO!" everyone shouted at once.
*
The Red Bull motorhome was buzzing, half the garage had already seen the photos of George Russell: Bubblegum Edition.
Milena marched in with Leon and Maya.
"Alright, troops," she said, hands on her hips. "Debrief time. No more creative experiments in anyone else's garage. Understood?"
Maya tried to look innocent. "Yes, Mum."
Leon nodded quickly. "Of course, Mum."
Milena pointed a warning finger. "You two are lucky Toto didn't lock you in a broom closet for the weekend."
From across the paddock, a familiar voice cut through the noise.
"Hi, Boss."
Max Verstappen stood leaning against the garage doorframe, arms crossed, eyes glinting with amusement. He'd seen everything.
Behind him, Daniel Ricciardo was laughing so hard he could barely breathe.
"Major," Daniel wheezed, "please tell me your kids didn't just prank George Russell. Because if they did, I owe them candy for life."
Milena groaned. "Don't encourage them."
Max, still smirking, bent down slightly to give Maya and Leon a high-five. "Nice work, soldiers. You've done the grid a service."
Maya giggled and slapped his hand, Leon following proudly.
Max winked at them both, and Milena immediately narrowed her eyes.
"Max," she said slowly, "you didn't happen to... inspire this little operation, did you?"
He looked way too calm. "Me? No, no. I just... appreciate artistic expression."
"Uh-huh."
Milena folded her arms, giving him that Major stare. "Because it's funny how my children suddenly know where George Russell keeps his shampoo."
Daniel nearly fell over laughing. "Oh my God, this is better than Netflix."
Max held up his hands, feigning innocence. "Swear on my lap times, boss. I'm clean."
Maya and Leon exchanged a quick glance and zipped their lips tight.
Milena sighed. "Fantastic. I'm raising spies."
Her phone buzzed. A message from Toto.
Toto: Your troops owe me one bottle of dye remover. Minimum.
Milena: Consider it reparations.
Toto: Reparations? I should charge for psychological damage.
Milena: You looked amused. Don't lie.
Toto: ...Maybe a little.
She smiled at the screen, shaking her head.
*
By the time the day wound down, the kids were yawning, and the paddock lights were dimming. Milena packed them up, grabbed her jacket, and headed for the car back to the hotel.
As she crossed the lobby, she nearly bumped into Susie Wolff — elegant as ever, phone in one hand, little Jack in the other.
Susie smiled. "Well, well. I hear we've got ourselves a little sabotage team running around."
Milena blinked. "Jack told you?"
"Oh, of course," Susie said, amused. "He gave me the full mission report. Apparently, it was a 'strategic prank operation.' With objectives. And a code name."
Milena groaned. "Please don't tell me they named it."
"They did," Susie grinned. "Operation Flamingo."
Milena burst out laughing, covering her face. "Oh God."
Jack, standing proudly beside his mum, chimed in. "Papa said George looked like cotton candy!"
Susie ruffled his hair. "He wasn't wrong."
Milena sighed dramatically. "Between Toto, my kids, and your son, I'm running a daycare for chaos."
"Welcome to Formula 1," Susie said with a wink. "Now, come on. Drink? You've earned it."
Milena smiled. "I won't say no."
They dropped the kids off in their suites, Jack waving goodnight to Maya and Leon, and headed down to the hotel bar.
It was quiet, dimly lit, with low jazz humming in the background and the faint clinking of glasses. They picked a corner table by the window. Two glasses of wine appeared within seconds, courtesy of a bartender who clearly recognized those faces.
Susie raised her glass. "To strong women."
Milena clinked hers. "And to pink hair."
They both laughed, the tension of the day melting away like ice in the glass.
"So," Susie said, leaning back, swirling her wine. "How are you holding up? You've survived Verstappens, Horner, and media mayhem. That's more than most men have managed in years."
Milena chuckled. "It's like command again, just with better catering. I'm used to chaos. My kids call it Tuesday."
Susie grinned. "Oh, I know that feeling."
Milena tilted her head. "You've got Jack, right? He's adorable."
"He's my anchor," Susie said softly. "And Toto's too, actually. We're—" She paused, taking a small sip of wine. "We're recently divorced. Trying to make it work for Jack. Co-parenting, joint custody, all that complicated grown-up stuff."
Milena's expression softened. "I didn't know. I'm sorry."
"Don't be," Susie said with a faint smile. "It was... inevitable, I think. We were good for a long time, but Formula 1 has a way of consuming people. The team came first, the marriage second. You know how it goes."
Milena nodded slowly. "I do. My ex-husband's in the army. We met on deployment. Loved each other, but we were both... soldiers, not partners. He's still serving. I retired, he didn't. That was the split line."
Susie raised her brows, impressed. "Two power careers under one roof? I'm surprised the walls survived."
"Oh, they didn't," Milena said dryly. "We tried. We yelled. Then we laughed. Now we're friends, somehow. He still calls to check if I'm terrorizing men in my new job."
Susie laughed out loud. "Well, he's not wrong."
They sipped their wine, trading stories about stubborn men, travel chaos, and their mutual inability to relax for more than six hours. It was easy, too easy, the kind of friendship that forms instantly between two women who've seen the same storms from different angles.
"I have to say," Susie grinned, "you and Toto are hilarious to watch. You're like... two thunderclouds pretending you're just passing by."
Milena smirked. "Thunderclouds?"
"Oh yes. You glare, he smirks. You insult him, he compliments you by accident. It's adorable."
Milena groaned. "He's infuriating. The way he just stands there all calm and tall, like he's observing a specimen. Drives me insane."
"That's him flirting," Susie said matter-of-factly.
Milena blinked. "What?"
"Oh, trust me," Susie said, laughing. "That man flirts like he's negotiating a peace treaty. If he starts talking logistics in a low voice, run."
Milena nearly snorted into her drink. "You're evil."
"Realistic," Susie corrected, still laughing. "And you? You have that whole commander energy going... straight back, sharp eyes, zero tolerance. He doesn't stand a chance."
Milena raised an eyebrow. "You make it sound like a battlefield."
"Everything in F1 is a battlefield."
They both laughed again, right as the bar door opened.
Toto Wolff walked in. Hair slightly tousled, sleeves rolled up, expression that said I didn't come here to socialize but somehow ended up here anyway.
He scanned the room, and froze for half a second when he saw them.
Milena and Susie, laughing together, glasses half-full, looking perfectly at home.
Susie's smile widened. "Well, look who the cat dragged in."
Toto blinked, clearly processing this tableau. "I... what are you two doing here?"
"Networking," Susie said sweetly. "Or as Milena calls it, therapy."
Milena grinned. "Want to join the session, Herr Wolff? You look like you could use it."
Toto hesitated, then sighed. "Only if the therapy includes wine."
Susie raised her glass. "Always."
He walked over, pulling a chair, but not before muttering, "This feels like an ambush."
Milena's lips quirked. "If it were an ambush, you'd already be down."
Susie laughed so hard she nearly spilled her drink. "See? Thunderclouds. Told you."
Toto gave her a long-suffering look. "You're enjoying this too much."
"Oh, absolutely," Susie said cheerfully. "It's not every day my ex-husband and my new favorite person share a table."
Toto frowned slightly. "New favorite person?"
"Don't look so alarmed," Milena said with mock innocence. "Apparently I'm very charming."
"I've... noticed," Toto muttered under his breath, earning a grin from Susie.
"See?" she whispered to Milena. "That's the voice. The peace treaty flirt."
Milena nearly choked on her wine, trying not to laugh. "Stop."
Toto looked between them, suspicious. "What's so funny?"
Susie smiled, utterly unbothered. "Oh, nothing, Toto. Just women in motorsport... collaborating."
He sighed, leaning back in his chair. "This will end in disaster."
Milena raised her glass, smirking. "Then let's make it a spectacular one."
Susie grinned between them.
"So," she said, eyes glinting, "remind me why you two aren't working together again? The tension would fuel a power plant."
Milena laughed, trying not to choke on her drink. "Because the paddock would spontaneously combust."
Toto gave her a sideways look. "You assume it hasn't already."
Susie grinned, swirling the last of her wine. "You say that like you don't enjoy it."
"I enjoy peace," Toto said. "Unfortunately, no one lets me have it."
"Peace is boring," Milena countered. "You'd go mad within a week."
He arched a brow. "You seem very sure of that."
She smirked. "You strike me as the type who doesn't rest unless there's a challenge to conquer."
Susie chuckled softly. "Now you see why I liked him."
Milena shot her a playful look. "And why you divorced him?"
"Exactly," Susie laughed. "I needed less spreadsheets, more sunlight."
Toto sighed dramatically. "I am surrounded by traitors."
Milena raised her glass one last time. "Welcome to the new order, Herr Wolff. The matriarchy."
He clinked it lightly, eyes holding hers for a beat too long. "Then I suppose I should learn to surrender gracefully."
"Oh, you'll try," she said, lips curving. "But you won't."
Susie smirked. "And that, my friends, is why I'm going to bed before this turns into foreplay."
Toto blinked. "Susie!"
She stood, laughing, gathering her clutch. "Goodnight, you two. Don't do anything I wouldn't do... which leaves you plenty of options."
Milena groaned, face in her hands. "She's enjoying this way too much."
"Completely," Toto agreed, amused.
Susie waved at them both and vanished toward the elevators, leaving the air behind her warmer, quieter... charged.
Toto cleared his throat. "You should let me walk you up."
"That's not necessary," Milena started, but he was already standing, holding her jacket.
"Humor me, Pani Major."
The way he said it — low, precise, with that rough Austrian edge, made her pulse skip like an idiot's.
She took the jacket silently. The walk to her suite was quiet — comfortable, somehow.
In the elevator, she caught their reflection: her shoulders relaxed, his posture still perfect, his hands in his pockets. If anyone had seen them, they'd have thought it was a date.
At her door, she turned to him. "Thank you for the escort. I'm fairly sure I could've handled it alone."
"I'm sure you could've," he said, smiling faintly. "But I wanted to."
She blinked. "You always like having the last word, don't you?"
He chuckled softly. "Only when it's worth it."
And then he nodded, that small, gentlemanly tilt of the head that somehow felt far too intimate.
"Goodnight, Pani Major."
She swallowed. "Goodnight, Herr Wolff."
He walked away, slow, deliberate, and she stood there for a moment, completely still, her brain trying to reboot.
When she finally closed the door, she leaned back against it, exhaling hard.
"Oh, brilliant," she muttered. "Kremser, you absolute idiot."
She kicked off her boots, paced once, and flopped onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. All she could think of was that half-smile, the way he'd said her title in that accent, smooth and clipped all at once.
It shouldn't have made her heartbeat do that.
"Do not fall for that Austrian," she said aloud to the ceiling. "Repeat: do not fall for the Austrian."
Her phone buzzed. A message from Susie.
Susie: Told you he has a type.
Milena: What type?
Susie: Strong blondes with a death stare and a sense of humor.
Susie: You're doomed 😘
Milena threw the phone onto the pillow, groaning. "Fantastic. Just what I needed."
But she was smiling when she turned off the light. And somewhere down the hallway, Toto Wolff was staring out his window, glass of water in hand, replaying the sound of her laugh, wondering why it had followed him all the way back to his room.
===========
Next -> Chapter 8: Dinner, Danger & One Very Jealous Austrian
===========
🏁 Tagged readers: @mjcrumster | @gardeniarose13 | @jnywolff (ask to be added/removed!)
❋ pairing: Toto Wolff x OC (major Milena Kremser / Red Bull Team Principal)
❋ chapter summary: Three tiny masterminds weaponize a fridge, intentionally trap Milena and Toto in subzero tension.
❋ warnings: enemies to lovers, slow burn, age gap (38/53), humor, f1 chaos, strong female lead, witty banter, emotional damage (and healing), found family, chaotic children, fluff with spice, soft!Toto, Toto Wolff is doomed and knows it.
❋ read on: AO3 - Wattpad - or read below
🎧 Spotify playlist -> Paddock Wars Playlist
Chapter 18: Operation Fridge Love
The party was still in full swing. But in the corner of the Red Bull hospitality, three small figures huddled together, whispering with suspicious seriousness. Leon. Maya. Jack.
Leon tapped a spoon against a cup like a general calling his troops.
"Okay," he whispered. "Mission: Get Mama and uncle Toto together. Phase one: distraction."
Maya nodded, braids bouncing. "Phase two: lock the door."
Jack frowned thoughtfully. "Which door?"
Leon pointed toward the catering area, where Toto and Milena were both standing, deep in separate conversations — Toto with George, Milena with Daniel.
"That one. The cold room. Perfect place for adult talk."
Jack's eyes widened. "But that's the fridge!"
Leon smirked.
"Exactly... Alright," Leon whispered, looking every bit the tiny general he imagined himself to be. "Maya, you handle Mama. Jack, your dad's your target. No mistakes, soldiers."
Leon grinned like a little devil. "Then we make them go."
*
Maya skipped over to Milena, who was mid-conversation with Daniel. "Mama!" she chirped, tugging her sleeve. "The desserts are melting!"
Milena blinked. "What? Melting?"
"Yes! The fancy chocolate ones from the sponsor!" Maya's eyes went comically wide. "You said we can't waste food, remember?"
Daniel, already laughing, waved his hands. "Go, Major K, save the desserts! I'll keep the troops entertained."
Milena sighed but smiled. "Fine, fine. One minute." She followed Maya toward the catering area.
*
Across the room, Jack tugged Toto's jacket. "Papa?"
"Yes, Jack?"
Jack pointed seriously toward the same direction. "Bradley said the fridge is broken again. The drinks are getting warm. He said you're the only one who can fix it."
Toto frowned. "The fridge? That's catering's job."
Jack gave him the deadliest pout known to man. "Please? Everyone said you're the boss of everything."
Toto sighed, defeated, as usual, by his son's logic. "Alright. Show me."
Jack smirked. "This way, Papa."
*
Thirty seconds later, the trap was set. Maya pushed the door open just as Jack guided his father down the same corridor.
"In there!" she said innocently, "That's where they keep the desserts!"
Milena stepped inside first, muttering about spoiled pastries. "It's freezing in here, Maya, what—"
Then she turned. "Toto? What are you—"
The kids exchanged a glance from the doorway.
"Now!" Leon whispered.
Together, Maya and Jack slammed the door shut. Click. Locked.
Inside the cold room, silence fell, followed by a very familiar deep voice.
"Let me guess," Toto muttered. "Your children?"
Milena groaned, pressing her forehead against the cold metal wall. "Yours helped."
Outside, Leon dusted off his hands. "Mission accomplished," he said proudly.
Maya grinned. "Operation Fridge Love successful."
Jack frowned a little. "Should we... unlock it later?"
Leon shrugged. "Eventually. Maybe after dessert."
*
Milena rubbed her arms, breath fogging in the icy air.
"Bloody hell, it's freezing in here," she muttered through chattering teeth, trying the door again. "Locked. Great. Absolutely fantastic."
Toto exhaled, his calm more infuriating than the situation itself. "Seems your little soldiers are smarter than they look."
She glared at him over her shoulder. "Don't you start. Your son is a part in it too."
"Ah," he said mildly, "a joint operation. Very efficient."
"Efficient?" she snapped, rubbing her hands harder. "We'll be ice sculptures by morning."
Toto hesitated only a moment before moving closer. "Come here."
She turned, startled. "What?"
"You're shaking." He didn't wait for permission, just sat down against the metal wall and gently pulled her down with him, wrapping his arms around her shoulders. "You'll warm up faster like this."
Milena tensed for half a second, then gave up. The cold was brutal, and his body heat radiated like a furnace. Her back pressed against his chest, and she could feel every slow, steady breath he took.
"This is ridiculous," she murmured, voice quieter now.
"Probably," he said near her ear, "but it works."
She could hear the smile in his voice. The bastard knew it worked.
After a long silence, she sighed. "You're warm."
He chuckled softly, his breath stirring a strand of her hair. "You say that like it's a surprise."
"Maybe it is."
Something in his tone shifted, softer now, almost careful. "You don't let people close easily, do you?"
Her body stiffened slightly. "...Not anymore."
Toto's voice dropped, calm but honest. "I know what that's like."
She tilted her head, their faces now only inches apart. "Do you?"
He nodded. "After Susie and I separated... I thought I was done. That kind of closeness—" he paused, exhaling slowly, "—it felt like a risk I couldn't afford again."
Milena's voice was barely a whisper. "And now?"
He hesitated, then admitted quietly, "Now I'm not so sure."
Her pulse skipped. She wanted to joke, to deflect, but instead she just sat there, breathing in the faint scent of his cologne, the warmth of him seeping through her skin. She turned slightly, close enough to feel the brush of his breath against her temple.
"Toto..." she murmured, not sure if it was a warning or a plea.
He lowered his head, his lips hovering just above her hairline. "Milena..."
Her name sounded different when he said it... softer.
Milena's breath caught before she could stop it. The room felt suddenly too small, too quiet, as if the world outside had paused just to watch them hesitate.
His hand slid up her arm slowly, fingers warm through the fabric of her sleeve, until his thumb found the line of her jaw. He did not force her to look at him — he waited. And when she finally lifted her head, her green eyes met his brown ones, dark and unreadable, yet impossibly close.
Neither of them spoke.
The space between them shrank with every shallow breath. She could feel the heat of him, the quiet tension coiled in his body, the restraint in the way his hand rested against her skin instead of pulling her closer. His thumb brushed her cheek, barely there, but it was enough to send a shiver through her.
For a heartbeat, maybe two, she forgot where they were. Forgot who they were supposed to be.
His gaze flicked to her lips. Hers followed, betraying her before she could stop herself.
Just a little closer.
The moment stretched, fragile and electric. The kind of moment that changes everything if allowed to exist one second longer.
And then...
The door burst open.
"Mon dieu!" Fred's voice rang through the room. "I found them! The lovers of the North Pole!"
Milena jolted back as if burned, "What the hell—"
Toto's hand dropped instantly, the air between them snapping like a broken wire.
Reality rushed back in all at once.
Behind Fred, Susie stood, trying, and failing, not to laugh.
"We've been looking for you two everywhere! The kids finally confessed they locked you in here. You've been missing for almost an hour!"
Toto stood, straightening his shirt like nothing had happened. "We were discussing strategy," he said smoothly.
"Uh-huh," Fred said, smirking. "Sure. Strategic spooning, I see."
Milena turned crimson. "We were trying not to freeze!"
Susie crossed her arms, eyes sparkling with mischief. "Well, looks like you found a very creative way to stay warm."
Toto coughed. "It was... effective."
Fred burst out laughing. "I bet it was!"
Milena groaned, burying her face in her hands. "I'm going to strangle those kids."
Susie grinned. "Don't bother. They've already won. Operation Fridge Love was a complete success."
Toto met Milena's eyes, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
She exhaled, cheeks flushed, trying not to smile back. And though the cold room was finally behind them, the warmth between them lingered long after they left.
*
The music finally faded into the night. The lights of the paddock dimmed, laughter drifting away with the last bursts of applause and clinking glasses. Mechanics were packing up, the catering staff collecting empty glasses, and even Daniel Ricciardo, the unofficial life of the party, had run out of jokes.
Milena gathered the kids, who were half-asleep on a couch in the Red Bull motorhome. Maya's head rested on her brother's shoulder; Leon was clutching a half-deflated balloon that said MAJOR GP WINNER.
"Alright, troops," she said softly. "Time to go."
Daniel appeared, rubbing his eyes. "Need help carrying them?"
She smiled. "No, I've got it. Go to bed, Daniel."
"Major's orders," he said with a salute, and stumbled toward the exit.
*
The hotel was quiet when they arrived, a rare calm after days of chaos. The lobby smelled of lilies and strong espresso, the receptionist smiled knowingly as Milena shepherded two sleepy kids toward the elevator.
By the time they reached their room, Maya was already out cold, and Leon was fighting to keep his eyes open.
"Goodnight, Mama," he mumbled.
She tucked them both in, kissed their foreheads, and sat for a moment on the edge of the bed, watching them breathe. Peaceful. Unaware of how insane the world outside their dreams was.
Then, finally, the silence hit her, the kind that comes after too much noise, too much adrenaline, too many feelings you can't name.
She sank into the armchair by the window, exhaling slowly. She'd won the ridiculous Scooter GP. She'd survived Günther's commentary, Horner's bitterness, and Stefano's endless speech.
She'd laughed until her ribs hurt.
And then... the cold room.
Milena closed her eyes. The memory was still so vivid, the icy air, the hum of the refrigerator, the way his breath had brushed against her cheek when he leaned in.
That moment. That almost.
Her heart had raced then, not from fear, not from surprise, but from something else. Something that felt dangerous and warm and right.
The way he'd held her, the calm strength in his arms, the heat of his body against her back when everything else around them was frozen.
She hadn't realized how much she'd needed that. Not the warmth, but the closeness. For a woman who'd built her whole life on control, that had been terrifying. And intoxicating.
Milena rubbed her temples and muttered to herself, "Get a grip, Kremser."
But her chest ached with the truth she couldn't push away, she'd wanted that kiss. Every fiber of her had screamed for it.
And worse, for a few seconds, she'd stopped thinking like a team principal, or a soldier, or a mother. She'd just been a woman. Her woman's instinct, the one she'd buried under duty and resilience, wanted him.
Not because he was Toto Wolff, Mercedes boss, the rival, the legend. But because when he'd held her, she'd felt safe. Not untouchable. Not in control. Just... safe. And that scared her more than any battlefield ever had.
She glanced at her phone on the table. No new messages, though part of her hoped there would be one.
A simple "Goodnight, Major." Something to anchor that moment, to prove it wasn't just in her head.
But the screen stayed dark.
Milena leaned back, letting her head fall against the chair. The hum of the city outside lulled her, the faint buzz of distant traffic and laughter reminding her she wasn't alone, even if she felt like it.
Tomorrow would bring chaos again. The race, the press, the whispers. She'd have to pull the armor back on, smile for the cameras, and face Toto like nothing had happened.
But tonight... she let herself remember. The quiet. The warmth. The look in his eyes before the door opened.
She sighed softly, smiling to herself.
"Goodnight, Toto," she whispered into the dark.
*
The clock on the bedside table flicked past midnight, its green digits glowing faintly in the dark.
Toto lay still, staring at the ceiling, eyes wide open. Sleep refused to come, it never did when his mind was this loud. He tried everything. Breathing slow. Counting the hum of the air conditioner. Nothing worked.
His thoughts kept circling back to one thing. One woman. Milena Kremser.
He sat up, rubbing a hand over his face, muttering under his breath, "Scheiße."
It had been hours, but he could still feel the chill of that cold room on his skin, and her warmth pressed against him. The sound of her breath. The way her head fit against his shoulder. Her voice when she'd said his name — soft, hesitant, but full of something that had hit him harder than any argument ever could.
He'd almost kissed her. And he would have. He would have.
If that idiot Fred hadn't burst in like some comedy relief in a French farce.
Toto exhaled sharply, shaking his head with a half-smile. Maybe it was for the best. He was supposed to be the level-headed one, the man who didn't mix business with emotion. She was Red Bull's team principal. He was Mercedes'. Rivals, competitors — enemies on paper. But that was just it. On paper. Because somewhere between the late-night strategy calls, the quiet texts, and the laughter that always found them when they least expected it... they'd stopped being enemies a long time ago.
He swung his legs out of bed, pulled on a hoodie, and slipped quietly out of his room. The corridor was silent, the hotel dimly lit. Downstairs, he pushed open the glass doors leading to the garden.
Cool night air hit him, fresh and grounding. The pool shimmered faintly under the moonlight, and the hum of distant traffic felt almost peaceful.
He sat down on a bench beneath a tree, elbows on his knees, staring at the reflections in the water.
He thought about how she'd looked up at him, wary but trusting. About how his hands had fit around her like they were meant to be there. About how, for a few minutes, he hadn't been Toto Wolff, CEO of Mercedes-AMG F1.
He'd just been a man holding a woman who'd seen too much of the world and somehow still kept fire in her eyes.
He looked down at his phone. The screen was dark, but his thumb hovered over her name in his messages.
They'd exchanged dozens of texts these past weeks — sarcastic memes, late-night comments about race strategy, the occasional "you up?" disguised as a joke.
Now, he wanted to write something real.
You okay?
Can't sleep either?
I can still feel your heartbeat.
But his fingers froze. None of it felt right. Too much. Too soon.
He sighed, leaning back on the bench, looking up at the stars barely visible above Monza's glow.
What was he even doing? He was a grown man, for God's sake. He'd just nearly lost his head over a woman he was supposed to outsmart on track. And yet, here he was, wondering if she was lying awake too.
Finally, he whispered into the quiet, "Goodnight, Milena," as if she could hear him.
He slipped his phone back into his pocket and walked toward the hotel doors. His chest felt heavy, but warmer than it had in a long time.
In the elevator, he caught his reflection — tired, rumpled, and, for the first time in years, a little lost. Maybe it wasn't the worst thing.
When he reached his room, he finally lay down. This time, when he closed his eyes, the image of her stayed — soft, close, smiling at him the way she had before Fred burst in.
And as he drifted off, one thought settled like a whisper.
Maybe next time, I won't stop.
*
Next day. Sunday morning at Monza.
The sun rose over the Autodromo like a spotlight, flooding the paddock with golden heat and chaos. Tifosi roared from behind the fences, waving flags, blowing horns, chanting names. Red. Silver. Orange. The air smelled like rubber, espresso, and adrenaline — the holy trinity of Italian race weekends.
And somewhere in the middle of it all, Milena Kremser, freshly caffeinated and slightly terrified, was trying to make her way to the Red Bull motorhome.
"Signora Major! Sign here!"
"Major! One selfie, please!"
"Red Bull Queen! Scooter Champion!"
She couldn't help but laugh, this was insane. After the scooter race, she had somehow become a cult hero. Tifosi were waving cardboard cutouts of her face, one even had "OUR MAJOR" painted across his chest in red and blue.
Maya squealed beside her, waving like a celebrity. Leon marched proudly next to his mother, holding a small flag that said TEAM MAMA.
Even the security guards were grinning.
"Oh God," Milena muttered. "I'm turning into Ricciardo."
And as if on cue, Daniel appeared from nowhere, sunglasses on, grin wide. "You say that like it's a bad thing, boss."
"Go. To. Work." she said, but she was smiling.
Then, over the roar of the crowd, another cheer exploded — louder, deeper.
She turned instinctively. Toto Wolff.
He'd just stepped out of the Mercedes motorhome — tall, calm, terrifyingly composed in his white shirt and dark trousers. He waved once, said something to George, and the crowd went mad.
Phones flashed. Fans screamed his name. It was chaos, Austrian efficiency versus Italian hysteria.
Their eyes met for a second across the paddock. Just a second. But it was enough.
Her stomach flipped, her cheeks warmed. She blinked, looking away fast.
"No, I'm overheating," she replied too quickly. "It's Italy. It's hot."
Maya giggled. "It's not that hot."
Milena exhaled sharply. "Both of you... no dessert for a week."
*
By the time she reached the Red Bull motorhome, her heart was still beating too fast. She ducked inside, took a long breath, and pressed her palms against the table.
"Okay," she muttered. "Now you're Major again. Focus. Tires, wings, telemetry. Not almost two meters Austrians with arms like... no. Focus."
Daniel poked his head in. "Everything okay, boss?"
"Fine," she said with a smile that was far too tight. "Perfect. Let's win this."
*
Meanwhile, across the paddock, the Mercedes motorhome buzzed with energy. George was hyped, Kimi focused, and the engineers surrounded the strategy screen like generals before battle.
Toto stood at the head of the table — sharp, poised, and... absolutely not paying attention.
Bradley was explaining the undercut scenarios. Andrew was reviewing tire degradation data. And Toto... was staring at the reflection in the glass wall.
Not his. Hers.
Across the paddock, through the glare, he could see her silhouette, moving fast, confident, in control.
He blinked, forced his eyes back to the screen.
Focus, Wolff. She is the enemy. The Red Bull principal. The rival. The one you're supposed to outsmart, not... daydream about.
He cleared his throat. "Right. Let's—uh—let's stick to Plan B if temperatures rise. George, you know what to do."
George grinned. "Of course, boss. Eyes on the prize."
"Exactly."
George leaned closer to Kimi and whispered, "He means Milena, right?"
Kimi didn't even look up. "Definitely."
Toto gave them both the patented Wolff glare, the one that usually froze interns and frightened journalists. But even he knew it lacked its usual force today.
He rubbed the back of his neck, muttering to himself, "Get a grip, Wolff. You're here to win. She's Red Bull. She's chaos."
A pause.
"Beautiful, infuriating chaos."
Bradley coughed to cover a grin. "What was that, boss?"
"Nothing," Toto said quickly. "Meeting finished."
*
Engines roared to life under the burning Italian sun. The grandstands shook as the crowd erupted — Monza, the temple of speed.
Tifosi banners rippled like waves, the smell of fuel and espresso thick in the air.
On the grid, George Russell sat at the front, cool and focused, visor down. Behind him — Max Verstappen, laser-eyed and hungry for redemption.
Fourth: Kimi Antonelli, the young wolf of Mercedes.
Fifth: Daniel Ricciardo, grinning under his helmet like the world's happiest chaos agent.
And somewhere on the pit wall, two figures stood at opposite ends of the paddock — Toto Wolff and Milena Kremser — each clutching their radios, pretending their hands weren't shaking.
In the pit wall, Milena's headset was already on. Calm, sharp, in her element.
"Alright boys," she said, voice firm. "Remember, we don't win turn one. We win the last lap. Stay clean."
Max's reply came through the radio, confident as ever.
"Copy that, boss."
The lights went out. The track exploded. The Tifosi's roar hit like thunder.
Twenty two cars launched forward, the sound a deafening symphony of fury. Max lunged forward, George cut across, wheels almost touching into Turn 1.
A heartbeat of silence, then the deafening scream of engines as George fought back around Curva Grande.
"Russell leads! No — Verstappen takes it back!" the commentator shouted over the chaos.
In the Mercedes garage, Toto's jaw tightened.
"George, keep the line clean, he'll come at you again in Turn 4. I don't want a repeat of Austria."
Meanwhile in Red Bull, Milena's calm voice broke through the storm.
"Max, hold your head. Don't waste tires. You'll get him on the next lap."
She leaned forward, elbows on the wall, eyes fixed on the screen. The world had shrunk to data, radio chatter, and the pounding of her heart.
Around her, engineers scrambled, Daniel's race engineer shouting times, mechanics holding their breath.
Then the call came — "Box, box, box."
Max in. 2.1 seconds. Perfect.
"Nice work, boys," Milena said, half-smiling.
Across the paddock, Toto scowled.
"Russell, box this lap."
3.3 seconds. A hesitation with the rear right tire.
George's voice came through, tense.
"Bit slow there, boss."
"I noticed," Toto replied dryly, earning a nervous laugh from Bradley.
Back on track, Max retook the lead with a clean overtake on lap 43 — Red Bull pit wall erupted.
Milena didn't, she only clenched her fist once, silent, composed.
"Eyes forward, Max. No mistakes."
Behind them, Kimi Antonelli was flying, the young Italian holding P3 after a brilliant move past Lando Norris. Daniel followed close behind in P4.
The laps ticked down. The radio crackled with tension. And when the chequered flag finally dropped:
P1 — Verstappen.
P2 — Russell.
P3 — Antonelli.
P4 — Ricciardo.
"Max Verstappen wins the Italian Grand Prix!"
The crowd went wild. Red, silver, blue — a sea of flags and chaos. The Red Bull garage exploded into cheers.
Milena stood still for a moment, letting it wash over her. Her headset felt heavy, her throat dry, but the corners of her mouth lifted — slow and proud.
Then Max's voice came through the radio, full of glee:
"Boss, you're coming to the podium? C'mon, Major, you earned this one."
She laughed. "Alright, Verstappen. Just don't ruin my hair with that champagne."
"Oh, no promises!"
*
The podium glistened in the sunlight, champagne bottles already waiting like loaded cannons.
Milena climbed up beside Max, the noise from the fans deafening. Confetti burst, cameras flashed, and for a moment, the world narrowed to the spray of champagne and the echo of victory.
Below, Toto clapped, slow and steady.
Yes, George and Kimi were on the podium. Yes, Mercedes had done well. But his eyes weren't on them. They were on her.
She looked radiant — laughing, soaked in champagne, raising a trophy she hadn't expected to hold. And when her eyes met his, just for a heartbeat, something in his chest softened.
He clapped harder.
Beside him, Susie nudged him with a grin, waving enthusiastically toward Milena, giving her a thumbs-up and a knowing smile.
Milena couldn't help but laugh.
"Don't pretend you're not proud of her too." Susie said to him.
Toto shot her a look, but couldn't help the smile tugging at his lips.
"I'm proud of... efficiency," he said, a little too quickly.
"Uh-huh," Susie teased. "Sure. Efficiency."
A few steps away, Günther Steiner cupped his hands and bellowed, "MAJOR! SPRAY THAT CHAMPAGNE LIKE A SOLDIER!"
The whole paddock erupted into laughter. Even Fred nearly fell over, and James Vowles shouted, "She's got better aim than half our drivers!"
Max, George, and Kimi all turned their bottles on her, and Milena screamed, laughing as the cold champagne drenched her hair and her jacket.
She spun, spraying Max back, the crowd going wild.
At that moment — soaked, laughing, glowing — she'd never looked more alive.
Toto watched her from below and thought, not for the first time, that maybe falling for his rival was the most dangerous thing he'd ever done.
By the time Milena stepped off the podium, her hair was soaked, her makeup gone, and her heart lighter than it had been in months.
She'd won the scooter race. She'd survived Monza GP. And now — Red Bull was back on top.
As she walked back through the tunnel, she heard Toto's voice somewhere behind her, low and amused.
"Not bad for a soldier."
She didn't turn, just smiled.
"Not bad for a wolf," she whispered under her breath.
*
The chaos of Monza had finally gone quiet. No more engines, no more chants, no more champagne explosions, just the soft hum of the city outside and the faint buzz of the minibar fridge.
Milena and Susie sat curled up in the corner of the hotel suite, a half-empty bottle of red between them. The kids had crashed on the couch an hour earlier, Jack snoring softly, Leon sprawled like a starfish, and little Maya hugging her stuffed wolf.
The two women clinked glasses.
"To survival," Milena said.
"To domination," Susie countered with a grin. "And to the only two women in this paddock with the guts to make Christian Horner cry."
They both burst out laughing so hard that Milena almost spilled her wine.
When the laughter died down, Susie tilted her head, studying her friend with that mischievous glint that usually meant trouble.
"You know," she said, swirling her glass, "you're doing brilliantly. Really. You've got half the grid terrified of you and the other half secretly in love with you. Even Toto said—"
Milena groaned. "Don't start."
"Oh, I am starting," Susie said sweetly. "He talks about you with that tone."
"What tone?"
"That tone," Susie said, mimicking a deep Austrian voice. "She's... competent. Strategic. Very... capable." She smirked. "Trust me, when Toto says capable, it's not about strategy meetings."
Milena choked on her wine, coughing. "Susie!"
Susie laughed so loud she had to cover her mouth. "Oh come on, Milena, I was there when Fred and I found you two in the cold room. His face looked like he'd been caught stealing state secrets. I've never seen him so red."
Milena raised a brow. "You're imagining things."
"Am I?"
"Yes. And for the record," Milena said, pretending to sound dignified, "nothing happened."
Susie leaned closer, grin widening. "But you wanted something to happen."
Milena paused just long enough to make it obvious, then took a long sip of wine. "We're not discussing this."
Susie gasped theatrically. "He didn't kiss you, did he?"
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Oh my God," Susie whispered. "He didn't. He chickened out. That's so Toto."
Milena laughed, shaking her head. "Susie, stop psychoanalyzing your ex-husband."
"Sorry, force of habit," Susie said with a wink. "He just hasn't looked at anyone like that since... well, since before. And I'll be honest... it's kind of nice to see him look alive again."
That softened Milena. She smiled quietly into her glass. "He's... something else."
They sat in companionable silence for a moment, the city lights flickering through the curtains.
Then Milena, perhaps a little tipsy, decided to flip the script.
"So... speaking of trouble," she said innocently. "I talked to Markus."
Susie froze mid-sip. "You... what?"
Milena smirked. "He asked about you. Said you're 'a remarkable woman' and that he'd love to, and I quote, take her up on that hot lap she promised."
Susie nearly spat out her wine. "He said what?!"
Milena burst into laughter. "Oh come on, he was harmless. Maybe a little too charming, though."
Susie's cheeks turned bright red. "Well, for the record, he is very polite. And he did call me to say he'd be at the Hungarian Grand Prix..."
"Of course he did," Milena said, trying not to grin. "So, let me get this straight... my ex-husband is flirting with my friend who happens to be my rival's ex-wife, and somehow this is my life now?"
Susie clinked her glass against hers again. "Welcome to Formula 1, darling. We're all a little dysfunctional here."
Milena laughed, leaning her head against the back of the couch. "You realize if Markus and you hit it off, family dinners will be absolutely insane."
"Oh, I'm counting on it," Susie said, smirking. "You bring Toto, I'll bring Markus. It'll be chaos."
"Worse," Milena said with a grin. "It'll be entertainment."
They laughed until their sides hurt, the sound soft and real. When they finally quieted, Susie sighed, smiling into her glass.
"Seriously, though, Milena... you're doing incredible. You've made this sport better."
Milena looked down, touched. "Thanks. But I think I just made it louder."
"Same thing," Susie said warmly. "Now get some sleep before tomorrow turns into another circus."
Milena stood, stretching. "Susie?"
"Yeah?"
"If my ex-husband flirts with you again... don't you dare tell Toto."
Susie laughed, pulling the blanket over herself. "Deal, Major. Sleep tight. And if you dream of a certain tall Austrian, I won't judge."
Milena smiled, shaking her head. "Goodnight, troublemaker."
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Next -> Chapter 19: BIG BAD WOLFF 🐺✨💗
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