Summary: Sofina faces challenges on the first race of the season and sees the face of the person she fears the most.
Warnings: Cursing/Abusive language and actions
Previous Chapter
Notes: A bit of a heavy chapter but nothing too extreme. Please let me your thoughts on this chapter and if you want to be added in the tag list.
The paddock had always been a place of refuge to Sofina. An escape from fast-paced life she had been subjected into. Her love for motorsports started when she witnessed Charles raced in France at merely 7 years old, on her birthday. Sofina would do well to think he was the reason for her ongoing pursuit to aid him and Ferrari with their needs. There was no hesitation on her part when it came down to providing and she would happily do whatever it takes in the goodness of her heart.
Today, as the bristling sounds of engines and cheers filled her hearing, she stood from the stool she had been wilting on. The point in her brow more prominent than ever, matching the deep scowl settled on her lips as she focused her gaze on the screen where the race was being projected.
It was lap 38 of the Bahrain Grand Prix. Unlike the promising result from the Pre-Testing Season, the current state of the team was far from successful.
Charles was a position lower than where he started and a surprise to no one, Max was leading by an obscene number of seconds.
Sofina slammed her hands on the wooden table, and despite having those massive headphones in the ears, the occupants flinched at the sudden explosive reaction from their dearest sponsor.
“What the hell is happening?” Sofina roared, whipping her head to Charles’s race engineer, Xavier “Xavi” Marcos Padros.
Blood pumped rapidly in her veins at the lack of response, seemingly worsening when she heard the grating sigh Xavi had the audacity to release.
Her eye twitched, not able to stopped herself as she shoved Xavi’s shoulder, fingers gripping at his Ferrari shirt. She ignored Fred Vasseur’s useless attempts behind her to calm her down.
It was probably the adrenaline and stress that all came with tonight’s race, when she saw the fear slowly creeping into Xavi’s feature’s she could not explain the overwhelming amount of elation she had experienced.
“Tell me.” She gritted, wrinkling Xavi’s shirt to the point of no return.
The Spanish race engineer swallowed the lump on his throat, as he trembled under the furry of Sofina’s glare, unable to look elsewhere in the fear of having his eyes possibly gouged out by the her devilish hands.
“Th-There seems to be pr-problem with the b-brakes—” He nearly lost all the taces of masculinity in his body when she responded.
“What?”
Her icy tone froze the whole room, and silence bounced on the walls, everyone afraid to move a muscle as if they’d be burned on a stick if they dared to try.
The people in the garage cringed at the ear-piercing scoff Sofina gave Xavi. They were aware of how the female business magnate perceived errors in the team. Sofina believes that a failure isn’t done by one person but rather every single one responsible of overseeing the car. Not only that, there was not a soul in that garage who wasn’t aware of Charles’s importance to Sofina.
Her ferocity towards them was, in fact, reasonable.
“You sent him out there with broken brakes?” She hissed, releasing her death grip on Xavi with a push strong enough to send him leaning back on his seat. “What now, then? We just let him race like that and hope for the best?”
Sofina’s attention was now at Fred, craning her neck towards him for answers but the solemn look on his face was enough before he even got to whatever daft explanation he had.
“It were working well earlier as well as it did in the Qualifying . . .” Fred sighed, confusion and disappointment flooding his face. “I-I don’t know how this happened.”
“Is that right?” Sofina laughed, dripping with anger. “Charles has done nothing but nearly break track limits at every corner!”
They’re all in luck. Sofina thought.
If he was less of the brilliant driver he was, he would’ve crashed ages ago and their heads would be served on a silver platter on her father’s desk.
A chill ran down her spine at the thought of her dad. The reason for her prickly attitude and the bane of her existence. She began to unwilling peddle back to his demand for a better performance from Charles and didn’t help that the team was currently deteriorating in the first race of the year.
Sofina didn’t have to be in her father’s presence to hear the infuriated thoughts and colorful words radiating from him wherever he was right now. He had made it known to her that he would be watching this Grand Prix and if he was here physically, she could see him stating the embarrassing position she had put him in, how irresponsible and idiotic she was to ever consider putting her trust in this time and again.
Defeated, she had no choice but to let her thoughts simmer and see how everything pans out.
Who knows? Perhaps the universe will finally take a look at her pitiful self and decide she deserves a break.
Admittedly, wishing for the universe’s mercy was and will forever be a deluded move. The universe turns a blind eye, or Sofina would dare say, stare while her body bursts into flames and laughs at her misfortunes.
However, as much as her initial instincts grappled against her throat, yelling through the seams of her sanity to spout her dilemma and make this about her. In a different setting, maybe she would have but the choking dismay on Charles’s face once he entered the garage made her resolve crumble in a second.
She watched from afar as he patted and nodded at the team, thanking them for a job well done. His smile didn’t match the obvious disappointment that swam in his eyes, seemingly wavering as it met hers.
Sofina started to stand, meeting him halfway into an embrace. The mixture of heat, sweat and the smell of smoke filled her lungs as she pulled him closer.
The pat she laid on his back differed from the ones the team gave him, Charles notices. While he was grateful for the intent and support of it, it was full of pity that made him feel terrible and guilty. Beyond those, was the soft caress of Sofina’s delicate hands on him. He sagged in her arms, promptly tightening his coiled arms around her waist.
“I’m so proud of you!” She beamed, fingers traveling up the nape of his neck. “You were fantastic!”
Charles pulled away, catching her gazing immediately. “You looked pretty mad, though.”
Sofina snorted, smirking at his frowning face. “Oh? Where’d you see?”
“A reporter showed it to me,” He said, judgmental eyes staring down at her.
While she nodded, Charles slowly leaned down to level of her ear. As if there’s a magnetic force, Sofina automatically gravitates towards his waiting lips. Hot breath trickled on her skin as he whispered, “I was about to feel bad for them but I remembered I almost destroyed the car at every turn.”
Sofina contained the shiver that was to ripple down her spine when Charles chuckled lowly in her ear. Despite having the one that in a speeding car merely a few minutes ago, she felt as if the heat coursing through her veins equaled to that of Charles’s post-race adrenaline.
“You shouldn’t feel bad,” She assured, ignoring abrasive pounding in her chest as she glanced at the Ferrari crew and Fred chatting with each other just a few feet away from them. “They shouldn’t have let drive a car that could’ve killed you in the first place.”
Charles followed the turn of her head, agreeing at the obvious. “They try.”
This of course, was met with a sharp scoff. “They always try. When will they actually—” Sofina stopped, catching her unbecoming annoyance come to the surface. She took in a long breath and shifted her gaze back to Charles. “Let’s just forget about it . . . Are you finish?” She glanced over his body that was blocking the cameras from the outside.
“I am.” Charles tilts his body to shadow the curve of her spine as she looked forward, hoping to snatch her attention back. He frowned as Sofina’s eyes zeroed in on the object of her distraction, staring stright ahead and not regarding his presence, enough for Charles to search for what it might be.
Oh.
It was indeed a distracting sight. He squinted at the sudden outpour of clicks and flashes, along with the rowdy voices of the ocean of journalists, shouting through the atmosphere with their entire chests.
Sofina, on the other hand, started to go deaf. The bleary volume of the noises plummeted in her hearing, similar to water accidentally entering her ears at the figure that approached her. And as the distance got smaller, the more lightheaded she felt.
The celebratory cheer she had practiced for Charles thrown out her brain, leaving her helpless and lost. She began to feel the wetness of her palms from sweat, making her close it into a fist.
“Dad.” At nearly sounded like a question. As if her eyes had deceived her. She wished it did. The notion of her possibly hallucinating was far more comforting than the horrible reality of her father standing in front of her at this moment.
“Sofina.”
Comes the curt greeting and ever-so downward curve of his lips as he stared down at her. The wrinkles on his forehead deeper as his brows pulled with his unpleased scowl.
“I didn’t think you’d be able to make it!” She mustered up her best effort to be enthusiastic, giving him a wide smile despite the grueling knot in her stomach.
“How could I not?” Sofina cringed at the piercing loudness of his voice, booming into the walls of the garage as he glared at her. If she were to listen hard enough, the sound of his teeth chafing could be heard from their distance.
Sofina held a breath as she took into account the several prying eyes burning into her still figure. The urge to avoid her father’s scorching glare was nearly as intense as her will to save the bits of her dignity but she chose the latter.
She managed to look him in the eye, softly muttering. “I think it would be better to talk about this in private.”
It was unclear whether anyone away from their radius would’ve heard her but if they did, one could account for the slight quiver of her voice as she spoke to him. The thought of being seen as a weak vulnerable woman sent her sanity into a crazed blinking red light, alarms in her head going off to retreat away from this exposed scene.
Her pending humiliation was cut short as her father agreed to her request. Her relief came in a flow of fresh water, sighing into ease. She led the way, in the hopes to find an empty room.
She resisted to strong desire to look back at the green orbs she could feel staring at the back of her head and although she wished someone would rescue her from the terrifying flames of her father’s wrath, she wasn’t selfish enough to let Charles touch the fire that was meant for her.
“When will you start using that godforsaken brain of yours?”
The moment the door locked into place and the slightly flickering lights of the empty office steadied, the lump obstructing Sofina’s throat began to expand. Heat seared on her entire body at the cutting hiss of her father’s deafening roar.
She rubbed her hands together, as if to ebb away the quake in them before she spoke unable to lift her head from the ground.
“It hasn’t happened yet, I can still cancel—”
"You should not have given them the chance to think that you’d even consider to ally yourself with them!”
Sofina flinched back, the echo of his voice setting her a few paces behind as he suddenly turned into her direction.
“Do you have any idea how degrading this is for our family?” He stalked forward, and Sofina could barely register their proximity until his black polished oxfords came into her view.
Her breath picked up, swallowing immensely as her throat began to dry. She tried to focus, noticing her hearing becoming scattered and cloudy as blood pouded wildly into her ears.
It was a moment of desperation. When she had heard about Maximilian Rothchild’s interest to support Ferrari, nothing else seemed to matter. Thus, she failed to see the flaws of this plan which would have been more obvious if she was in the right mind.
Sofina was someone who took her work very seriously. The one listed and made notes about every single error or improvement at the moves she was to make. The perfectionist among her siblings and the person who thought everything through. She was supposed to prevent mistakes before they got the chance to happen.
Embarrassment wrung on her neck as her actions became clear in her mind and she couldn’t help but groan in discomfort at her own idiocy.
“I wasn’t thinking—" She was immediately cut off at her admission and she couldn’t do more than accept her fate.
“You were not thinking!” Her father yelled, cementing his heavy hand on each side of her shoulder as he leaned down to her face. When she refused to give him her gaze, he squeezed her shoulders.
“Look at me when I’m talking to you!”
Sofina whimpered as the ponderous palms that weight her down dug into her skin, deep enough to be felt in her bones. The pain forced her to look up, teeth gritting as nervousness gripped at her sanity as she came eye to eye with the ferocious beast and if it wasn’t for the same mahogany eyes he had inherited from him, she would have forgotten her relation to him.
“Are you trying to humiliate me? Huh?” He shook her, rattling the resolve she had been building up. “I sent you to the finest schools and you’ve topped your classes but I’m going to tell you right now, it all amounted to nothing. You’re just as brainless as you were before I sent you away.”
He released her from the blood cutting grip, forceful enough to push her to the ground. Sofina grunted as she landed on the floor, the shock somehow erased her instinct to catch herself. A small crack, clicked at the air as she twisted her wrist.
But without a care, her father continued to stare at her, towering over her injured figure. “You will fix this. I will not have those pesky journalists see you work with a Rothchild. Do you understand?”
With her abled hand holding the other, she nodded, taking deep breaths as she answered. “More than anything.”
He began to reach for the door, but turned back. “Tell your Charles to get it together before I replace him.” And he shut the door behind him with a loud bang.
The silence Sofina was left with was soon disturbed when she began to feel the pain of her wrist. She groaned as she got to her feet, clutching the damaged area to her body. She only let go to twist the doorknob and peak her head through the hallway to make sure no one was there to witness her pathetic self.
She skipped out the room, adrenaline soaring to her veins as she tried conceal the pain from showing in her face whenever she would pass people. She was looking the other way when she turned the corner and to her misfortunes, she bumped into someone, her hand instinctively coming out to push the person away, making her jerk back at the sudden pressure she applied on her wrist.
She hissed, retracting her hand back to cradle it on her chest. Her head snapped towards the person, ready to reprimand him. It all but died in her throat as she was met by the same oceanic leafy orbs that was filled with unmistakable worry.
“Hey!” Perhaps to compensate for her wavering nerves, her greeting came unnaturally loud.
It was useless, as it didn’t deflate the worry in his eyes as he glanced down at where she had her hand clutched to her heart. She was about to hide it at her back but was stopped by Charles’s soft grip on them.
Mortification drew on her face as she maintained a firm gaze on her and she felt flustered under his intense eyes as if trying to draw her out of her mind.
“What happened?”
Sofina stared back at him, brows furrowing in a feign confusion. “What are you talking about?”
He scoffed, frown deepening at her attempt to lie. “Are you hurt? Let me see—”
“I’m fine, Charles.” She insisted, ripping her arm from his grip as she paid no mind to the igniting ache crawling through her bones. “Just leave it.”
Charles was no stranger to Sofina’s display of hostility when it came to asking for help. In times like this he would often try to extract the problem from her defensive system before she completely shuts down any source of aid. However, the sight of her purpling wrist was enough to disregard his usual respect for her space as annoyance began to creep through his veins.
“Come with me.” Before Sofina can respond, he pulled her in tow, keeping a solid grasp on around her waist, carefully navigating them until they reached the parking lot.
As the wind outside hit her face, Sofina pulled back. “I’m not going to a random hospital!”
“I’m not taking you to one. Calm down.” He mumbled, glancing back at her apprehensive expression. He sighed, halting his movements as he realized the roughness of how he handled her. “I have a first aid kit in my car. Whatever happened to you, I can try and dress it then we can go home and call your doctor if that’s what you want. Is that okay?”
The heaviness of her chest subdued at the softness and understanding in his voice, prompting her to nod at his proposition.
“Good. Now come on. Let’s see what we can do about your hand.”
Sofina reached for his hand with her uninjured one, gripping it and relishing the comforting hear it radiated on her palm.
The previous fear and nervous state she had been in slowly decreased as the time of them together passed by. She often wondered what were to happen to her had she refused to celebrate her birthday on a racetrack back in 2005.
How different would her life be if that day didn’t happen? Would she have been happier? Perhaps her father would still love her like he did.
Either way, she will never be permitted to turn back time no matter how many birthday wishes she wastes on it. She was here now and the only thing she can do is live through it even with the hallow ache in her heart where her father's affection used to reside.
So, have you been jerking us around, Disney...pretending to have his back while making concessions to the RDJ camp? Your company certainly is still crawling with the LGBTQ Mafia. Benedict looks dead enough, already and I'll see you ALL BURN IN HELL FOR THIS.
*Militarized Stock Funds descended from Anglo-American Whig Mercantilism may own the banks now. But the controllers of the index funds, the algorithms, the AI’s, the Market, the Banks—-are unified and manage it all
The voices faded abruptly into silence and the image darkened to blackness as the rotating maroon globe of the BBC arrived out of the void, ‘BREAKING NEWS’ emblazoned boldly across it.
"We interrupt this scheduled programme with reports from BBC London,” the television said.
A pot of messy hummus slid across my thigh as I scrambled across the couch and dug through some old clothes to find the remote. I aimed it through the darkness at the bright screen and jammed my thumb into the rubber ‘+’ button.
The image cut to Bedford Square Garden from above focusing on a long black vehicle at it rounded a corner and pulled to a stop at the gates of The British Museum in Bloomsbury.
A reporter spoke loudly into the living room as she commented on the scene. “So it seems that the vehicles we can see here outside of The British Museum do in fact hold members of the Rothschild families, the vehicles have arrived separately, from different locations, but we’re not sure yet as to why.” Three cars jutted across the road at the black gates, like weighty logs across a stream, blocking off the road but remaining inanimate, waiting.
The name rang a bell. As I mulled over it, my phone lit, recalling the information much quicker than me. The beat of news notification sounded while a descending grey box read, ‘MEMBERS OF INTERNATIONAL BANKING FAMILY ARRIVE FROM WORLDWIDE LOCATIONS AT BRITISH MUSEUM. CLICK HERE TO FOLLOW THE STORY.’ My mind raced.
“Ground reports just in confirm that the latest arrival there is that of Andrea and Emmet de Rothschild of the French Rothschild Dynasty. Again, we’re not sure exactly why members of the family are congregated here but reports coming in are claiming that word reached the Museum a few hours ago informing that family members would be arriving and the museum should close ahead of this, however it doesn’t seem that the request was actioned and the Museum does remain open at this time, many people inside probably not aware of these events”.
The television showed shots of police officers on horseback shepherding the gathered onlookers like ants onto the roadsides along Great Russel Street while chains of police cars arrived at the scene, blocking the black vehicles between the gates and the masses, lines of police offers on foot standing along the curbs.
“We seem to have a member of the police force exiting one of their vehicles there. She is approaching the Rothschild cars, and now chatting with one of the passengers there. That is believed to be Constable Simran Bennett of Bloomsbury police department.”
Then reporter became excited, “and we have one of the Rothschilds exiting their vehicle. That appears to be Edward de Rothschild of the English Dynasty. He’s clearly discussing with the Constable how to proceed here - and they’re approaching the pedestrian exit of the museum, bypassing the security positioned at the gate. And who’s that? Okay, I’m getting that the figure heading down the steps from the entrance toward Mr de Rothschild and Constable Bennett is Sir David Roach, Chair of the Trustees of the British Museum... they’re chatting there in the square of the gardens, people there having a spot of lunch looking up at the helicopters. And Mr de Rothschild is waving over to the vehicles of his family members outside. And they’re all getting out of their vehicles and heading into the grounds too. We have Sofia de Rothschild there, followed by Adalberto and Aurora de Rothschild. Behind them, we can see Brunelle and Cretien de Rothschild heading up the stairs and into the Museum. That’s sixteen members of the international Rothschild Family heading up the stairs into the British Museum and out of site there now, we’ll be coordinating with the ground teams to get you the full coverage.”
