pairing: Toto Wolff x Emilia Horner (Christian Horner daughter)
short summary: Fallen Time is a Titanic x Formula 1 crossover fanfiction. Set aboard the doomed ship in 1912, it follows familiar F1 faces reimagined in a world of class divides, forbidden love, and looming disaster. A story of passion, sacrifice, and what remains when the ocean takes everything.
warnings: age gap, forbidden love, tragedy, angst, major character death, minor character death
word count: 71 k
read on: AO3 - Wattpad - or read tumblr
🎧 Spotify playlist -> Fallen Time playlist
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Prologue
This is me for forever
One without a name
These lines the last endeavor
To find the missing lifeline
Oh how I wish
For soothing rain
All I wish is to dream again
My loving heart
Lost in the dark
For hope I'd give my everything
Nemo - Nightwish
Titanic, April 10th, 1912 — Southampton, England – Day of Departure
The air above the harbor hung heavy with fog and the mournful wails of ship sirens. Amid the throng of onlookers, porters, and ladies with ivory-handled fans, a murmur of multilingual conversations and echoes of joy rose from those boarding the most magnificent ship in history — the Titanic. The greatest of the great. The richest of the rich. The most deluded in their belief that they were untouchable.
Chaos reigned on the pier, but she paid no attention to it. Emilia Maria Horner — with her pale, aristocratic face and eyes the color of clouded skies — was untouched by emotion. Clad in an expensive gown, laced tightly in a corset, she waited as the servants dealt with her trunks. She walked slowly, her chin raised, gaze fixed somewhere above the heads of the gathered crowd. She didn't want anyone to see her eyes – too clear, too sad, too pure to belong in the world that surrounded her. Echoing in her head was the rustle of the wedding dress her fiancé's mother had made her try on a week earlier. White lace, golden thread, a suffocating future.
Beside her walked her father – Lord Christian Horner – as upright as a sword, laughing heartily with Lawrence Stroll over the promising ventures between their families. Just behind followed his wife Geri – wrapped in a blood-red coat, her face a porcelain mask. Emilia hated that woman almost as much as she hated herself – for not being able to say no.
Emilia wasn't listening to their conversation. She stopped. Something caught her eye. Or rather – someone.
A silvery automobile pulled up next to the first-class boarding area. From it stepped a man – very tall, striking – with a kind of elegance one cannot be taught. Dressed in a black coat with silk lapels and gloves made of leather so soft it looked like velvet. His profile was sharp – a straight nose, clenched jaw, and a steely, focused, merciless gaze. His very presence seemed to cut through the air.
Torger "Toto" Wolff. A man whose name meant nothing to the London aristocracy, but whose fortune was known to every banker from Vienna to New York. He had come here to expand his ventures in America. He never imagined he would encounter the daughter of the woman who had once broken his heart.
Behind him stepped another man – shorter, red-haired, with a scar on his cheek and a wry smile. There was something fox-like about him. He glanced at Emilia and nodded politely, but he wasn't the one who held her attention.
It was him. The first one.
The one who said nothing — but whose gaze sliced through her like a blade.
For a heartbeat, their eyes met — she, wrapped in her false composure, and he — like a shadow from the past. And something inside her trembled. Something that had been buried deep for years.
"Who is that?" she whispered.
Geri frowned.
"Wolff. Torger Wolff. An Austrian industrialist. Made his fortune in steel, railways, and shipping. Nouveau riche. A widower. And unfortunately, the object of sighs for half the mothers with marriageable daughters."
"Just make sure he stays away from our table," Christian added with disdain. "That man is a parody of a gentleman. He once had the audacity to..." he broke off, as if recalling an insult long buried. "Never mind."
Emilia said nothing. Her heart beat faster, though she didn't know why.
She didn't yet know that this man had not only known her mother — but had loved her.
She didn't know that in his coat pocket lay a folded portrait of the woman she thought belonged only to the past, her mother.
She didn't know that in the coming days, everything she thought she knew would shatter — with a crash louder than any nightmare she had ever dared imagine.
That the Titanic, the pinnacle of mankind's triumph over nature, would become their prison.
That his gaze would be the only thing she could cling to when the night arrived.
The night when everything would go under.
Everything except love.
Forbidden. Final. Indestructible.
A Deck – Toto Wolff's Cabin, First-Class Luxury Suite
The Titanic was not only a marvel of engineering, but a palace upon water — for those whose pockets knew no bottom. The moment Toto Wolff stepped aboard and gave his name, the crew all but bowed before him. A steward immediately had his luggage brought to one of the grandest cabins on the uppermost deck — with an ocean view, a marble bathroom, and a lounge complete with a mahogany piano.
The interior of suite A12 dazzled with golden embellishments, silk curtains, and a perfectly polished parquet floor. From the marble fireplace drifted the scent of freshly melted wax, while the muffled thud of closing trunks echoed from the sitting room.
Toto Wolff stood by the window, watching the last groups of passengers board. A dark cashmere coat draped over his shoulders, and in his hand he held a silver cigarette case — though he hadn't smoked in years. It was a keepsake. A gift he had never returned.
Behind him came the scrape of a door.
"Luxury so inflated it makes your teeth ache," muttered Niki Lauda as he shut the door to his adjacent cabin. He too wore cashmere, and bore the expression of someone long immune to glitter and grandeur. "Seems we managed to board without fanfare or flower petals. Small miracle."
Niki shrugged off his coat and sprawled into the armchair as if it were his own study. His nose was slightly too large, his face marked with a few old scars, and his gaze held the quiet weight of a man who had seen more than he ever said.
"In your case, I'm sure some widow in Liverpool is crying that she missed her chance," Toto replied, a note of amusement in his voice.
"Or the widow of a bankrupt from Westminster," Niki smirked. "I saw who else is aboard. Lord Christian Horner. With his entire troupe. Wife... and daughter."
Toto raised a brow, but didn't turn around.
"Horner?" he asked coolly.
"Yes. Saw him with my own eyes. Stepped down from his carriage like he still owned half of Gloucestershire. Except — not anymore." Niki's grin curved. "Not after you bought up his favorite estate. Still stings, doesn't it?"
Toto closed his eyes for a moment and tilted his head back with a quiet sigh.
"I didn't do it purely out of revenge."
"But you didn't cry signing the deed either."
"No," he admitted calmly. "I didn't cry. Though he deserved it. He spent decades looking at me like I was filth. Forced Anna into the role of a porcelain lady while he bedded the governess and the maid. Let him watch now — as his empire crumbles in my hands."
A pause settled between them. Niki took a slow sip of brandy, placing the glass back down with the precision of a surgeon. He studied Toto again.
"But that's not all, is it? That girl... the daughter?"
Toto finally moved. He turned, and a shadow crossed his face — as though someone had tugged open a locked drawer of memory he'd tried to forget for over twenty years.
"I think so," he said, voice low and gravelly. "Same curve of the lips. Same eyes. But younger. More fragile. Like she's made of porcelain. And lonelier."
"She looks like her mother's ghost." Niki walked over to the bar. "Her mother... was yours. Before—"
"Before she decided to be sensible," Toto finished bitterly. "Anna chose him. The title. The name. The safe life. And then she died. Too early."
"And now that idiot's trying to marry her off to Lance Stroll," Niki scoffed. "I saw them too. A whole family fit for a circus. Lance puffed up like a peacock, and his father — Lawrence — shouting aristocratic names like he's reciting the alphabet."
Toto's jaw clenched as he looked away.
"So Horner's bartering again. This time, with his own daughter."
Niki eyed him sharply.
"And that gets to you, even though it shouldn't."
"Because it's not her fault. She shouldn't have to pay for her father's sins... but she will," Toto murmured. "I saw her on the dock today. She stood so still, like someone had locked her inside a painting. There was sorrow in her eyes — older than she was. And something else. Something I recognized."
"What?"
"Defiance. But quiet." Toto lifted his head. "She knows she's in a cage. She just doesn't know yet that it can be opened."
"And you want to be the one to show her the escape?"
Toto didn't reply right away. He walked over to the desk and pulled a silver cigarette case from the inside pocket of his jacket. He opened it. No cigarettes. Just a photograph. A yellowed portrait of Anna. The only picture he owned of her. Unmarried. Still his. In a pale dress, with a soft smile. Young. Restless. A promise that had never come true.
"No," Toto said at last, eyes fixed on the photo. "But if that clown Stroll so much as lays a finger on her—"
"And then?"
"Then he'll go overboard. And not necessarily by accident."
Toto looked out the window again, where the ocean had already begun to play with the light of the setting sun. In his eyes, there was silence. And something more. A shadow of a decision not yet made — but already taking root.
Titanic – B Deck, the Horner Family Suite
The door slammed shut. Too loud for aristocratic standards, yet far too quiet to truly express the fury hanging thick in the air. Emilia crossed the marble threshold of their B Deck suite with a face carved from cool indifference. Inside, there was everything — gilded moldings, crystal mirrors, heavy drapes, and furniture imported from Paris — everything except the air she could breathe.
Christian Horner tossed his gloves onto a side table and looked at his daughter as if she were a disobedient lady-in-waiting.
"What was that, Emilia? Those looks? That theatrical pause on the gangway — were you begging for attention?"
"Me?" she asked softly, slowly unbuttoning her gloves. "Forgive me — I didn't know there was an official boarding protocol that required your personal approval."
"Mind your tone!" Christian snapped. "You're my daughter — and the future Mrs. Stroll. The rules of etiquette apply to you even in how you breathe."
Geri, standing by the mirror adjusting her jewelry, added with false concern,
"Your father's only worried, darling. Everyone's watching. Gossip is born in moments of silence. You need to look in love. Grateful. Not like a bored schoolgirl."
Emilia clenched her hands. Something inside her screamed, clawing for escape.
"I don't want to marry him. I hate him," she said slowly. "And I am not anyone's currency."
Horner stepped toward her with frightening speed, stopping just inches from her face. He didn't raise his voice — but his words cut like glass.
"You think you're special? That the world is waiting for your rebellion? You're just a girl with a name that still means something. You have no fortune. No future. Lance is your only chance. And if you embarrass us like that again—"
"What will you do?" she interrupted, smiling coldly. "Lock me in a tower? We're on the ocean, Father. Towers don't fit here."
Christian narrowed his eyes.
"You will be at dinner wearing one of the gowns Lady Stroll picked out. You're not going anywhere. You're to stay in this suite — and you'd better use that time to learn obedience. For all our sakes."
Emilia stood motionless as her father turned on his heel and left the room, Geri following behind with one last icy glance.
She was alone. Surrounded by silk cushions, Italian vases, and gilded handles. Drenched in luxury — that reeked of prison bars. So this is what the next days of the voyage would look like.
She sat on the edge of the bed. She could hear the faint thrum of the engines — the ship's pulse, as if the colossal vessel had a heart of its own. Her own heart was racing. In that moment, she knew one thing:
If she stayed here, she would suffocate.
Soundlessly, she rose and walked to the door. She knew the staff would be busy — evening preparations, delivering dresses, forwarding telegrams. If she slipped out now, she could steal a moment of quiet.
A moment without expectations. Without masks.
She draped a light cloak around her shoulders, her delicate shoes making no sound on the carpet. She glided down the corridor, grace disguising rebellion, until she reached the staircase leading to the upper deck.
As she opened the door, a gust of cold, salty air struck her. The ocean stretched endlessly toward the horizon — infinite, untamed, free.
She stepped out onto the deck.
In defiance of orders.
In defiance of fate.
She didn't yet know that the ship she saw as a cage would offer her both a great love — and a greater tragedy.
Between Days — April 10th/11th
The night aboard Titanic was like a dream stitched from brass and marble. The glow of lanterns shimmered across the water, and through the glass windows, one could glimpse the silhouettes of women in lace and men in evening coats. The ship stopped in Cherbourg, then Queenstown. More passengers boarded. Laughter and weeping could be heard, sailors barking commands, the soft rustle of letters being passed between hands.
The night was quiet, yet brimming with tension — the Titanic was preparing for its final departure.
Emilia didn't sleep. She stood by the window in the suite's sitting room, watching as the harbor lights faded beyond the horizon. When, just before dawn, the ship left the last European port, something within her stirred.
As if a boundary had been crossed — not just geographic, but deeply internal.
The way back no longer existed.
Author's Note: Emilia is arround 21 and Toto and Christian are in their early-mid 40s.
❋ 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."
===========
Next -> Chapter 19: BIG BAD WOLFF 🐺✨💗
===========
🏁 Tagged readers: @mjcrumster | @gardeniarose13 | @jnywolff (ask to be added/removed!)
An arrangement. A boundary. A slow burning downfall.
It was supposed to be simple – money for closeness, stability for silence.
✽ read on: AO3 - Wattpad - Tumblr Masterlist
✽ pairing: Toto Wolff x OC (fem!student)
✽ warnings: age gap (20s, 50s), transactional relationship, sugar daddy vibe, fem!student, forbidden love, feelings, emotional, broken heart, sex scenes, divorce, scandal, angst, hurt, comfort, Toto is an emotional mess/she's his comfort.
✽ word count: 45k (story is finished)
Paddock Wars | Chapter 17: The Scooter Wars: Monza Edition
🏁 Paddock Wars Masterlist | 🏁 Main Masterlist
❋ pairing: Toto Wolff x OC (major Milena Kremser / Red Bull Team Principal)
❋ chapter summary: Team principals race scooters, egos explode, glitter flies, Milena wins, Toto pretends he is fine, the internet loses its mind, and Monza officially becomes a meme.
❋ 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 17: The Scooter Wars: Monza Edition
Saturday evening. Monza. The air crackled with excitement, not from roaring engines, but from something far more ridiculous.
The Team Principals' Scooter Grand Prix had officially taken over the paddock. The pit straight had been transformed into a mini racetrack: red-and-white barriers, sponsor banners, a podium, and a giant banner reading:
TEAM PRINCIPALS GP — "MAY THE BEST EGO WIN"
Crowds lined the fences, waving flags and homemade signs. The kids were losing their minds. Fans were chanting, "WOLFF! MAJOR! WOLFF! MAJOR!" like this was the title fight of the century.
Daniel Ricciardo's voice boomed through the speakers.
"Good evening, Monzaaa! Welcome to what might be the most important race of the season! Forget Formula 1 — this is Formula Fun!"
The crowd erupted.
Up front, the grid looked like something out of a fever dream.
Fred Vasseur's scooter had a Ferrari flag sticking out of the back like a jousting pole.
Zak Brown had installed a Bluetooth speaker blasting Eye of the Tiger.
James Vowles had telemetry sensors duct-taped to his handlebars.
Ayao Komatsu had a GoPro strapped to his helmet "for data analysis."
And Toto Wolff stood dead center, arms crossed beside a sleek black Mercedes scooter — matte finish, chrome accents, and his race number: #77 (Bottas's idea).
Bradley whispered, "He's taking this way too seriously."
"Quiet," Toto muttered, adjusting his gloves. "This is war."
A few spots down, Milena was adjusting her helmet — Max's championship helmet, gifted for "luck" (and to annoy George). Her Red Bull scooter gleamed with stickers, tiny red bulls, and glitter horns courtesy of Maya.
Max leaned on the barrier, arms crossed, smirking. "You look like a champion, boss."
Milena grinned under the visor. "That's because I am one."
Leon and Maya waved a massive banner that read: GO MAJOR — MAKE HIM HOWL!
Next to them stood Susie and Günther Steiner, both armed with popcorn.
"This," Susie said, "is already better than Drive to Survive."
Günther was grinning from ear to ear. "I told you! This is the content people want! Look at them! Grown adults, helmets, scooters — holy shit, it's art!"
Down at the commentary booth, Daniel was nearly vibrating with excitement.
"Ladies and gentlemen, the grid is stacked! In P1 we've got Toto 'Big Bad' Wolff, Mercedes' finest! Next to him, Major Trouble herself, Milena Kremser of Red Bull! Behind them, Fred 'Full Send' Vasseur, Zak 'Scooter Daddy' Brown, James 'Data Overdrive' Vowles, Ayao 'Silent Assassin' Komatsu, and Jonathan 'Audi Power' Wheatley!"
"AND—" Daniel added dramatically, "Flavio Briatore's stand-in, who we're told is his nephew from Ibiza, currently vaping on the grid."
Lando Norris's voice cut in as co-commentator. "Daniel, is this... legal?"
"Lando," Daniel said seriously, "nothing about this is legal. And that's what makes it perfect."
*
George Russell and Fernando Alonso stood at the start line wearing FIA vests marked RACE DIRECTION. George had a whistle around his neck, Alonso was holding a giant red flag with the enthusiasm of a man watching chaos unfold for free.
"Alright, everyone!" George shouted through the mic. "Remember — this is for charity, for fun, and for honor!"
Alonso added dryly, "Mostly for memes."
Fred yelled from the grid, "I thought there'd be champagne!"
"There will be," George said. "If you survive."
Toto leaned toward Milena, voice low. "Try not to crash into me, Major."
Milena smirked. "Can't promise that, Wolff. You're a big target."
Daniel's voice came over the loudspeakers.
"Oh, there it is! The pre-race trash talk we were all waiting for! History will remember this day, people!"
George raised his hand. "Alright, principals... on my signal!"
Alonso grinned, lowering the flag. "Let's give them a show."
Five red lights appeared on the temporary starting lights.
The crowd chanted in rhythm.
"Five... four... three..."
Milena adjusted her grip on the handles. Toto rolled his shoulders. Fred cracked his knuckles. Zak revved his scooter horn like a man possessed.
"Two... one..."
The lights went out.
"AND IT'S LIGHTS OUT AND AWAY WE GO!" Daniel screamed into the microphone — way too close, way too loud, and loving every second of it.
Instant chaos.
Fred nearly veered into Zak, who screamed, "Watch it, Frenchman!" while James Vowles muttered something about "unoptimized launch data."
Günther Steiner was in the crowd losing his mind, waving his popcorn like a victory flag.
Susie jumped to her feet. "Come on, Toto!"
Günther yelled beside her, "No! Go, Major! Show him who runs this circus!"
The kids screamed. Maya and Leon were waving foam fingers, while Jack was chanting, "Go, Papa! Go, Papa!"
Alonso squinted at the track. "We've got contact! Zak Brown and Fred Vasseur are side by side... oh, there goes the Ferrari flag! Rest in peace, Italian pride!"
Daniel was nearly falling off his chair laughing. "Fred's flag just flew into the hospitality tent! That's a black and white flag for style violation!"
Up front, Milena cut across the chicane perfectly, her scooter lighter and faster. Toto, heavier but more powerful, stayed right on her tail.
"You're not getting away that easily," Toto called over the wind.
"Try to keep up, Wolff!" Milena yelled back.
Daniel's commentary rose in pitch. "They're wheel-to-wheel! This is the most intense battle since Hamilton vs. Verstappen — except with worse aerodynamics and more glitter!"
Alonso's dry voice followed: "I can't believe I'm saying this, but she's defending like a lion."
The crowd was going wild. Mechanics, engineers, and even FIA stewards leaned out of garages to cheer.
"AND THEY'RE OFF!" Daniel shouted, now wearing a Red Bull baseball cap and holding pom-poms that he'd clearly stolen from a cheerleader. "GO MAJOR, GO MAJOR! SHE'S GONNA SMOKE THE WOLFF!"
Stefano Domenicali's voice cut through the comms. "Daniel! You are supposed to be neutral!"
"I am!" Daniel yelled. "Neutrally biased toward chaos!"
"Daniel!" Stefano snapped again. "Behave!"
Daniel sighed theatrically. "Fine, fine. GO, WOLFF—ish."
The crowd was in hysterics.
At the first corner, absolute pandemonium broke out. Fred Vasseur's scooter started smoking. "Merde!" he shouted, throwing his arms up. "Why always reliability! Even in this!"
Zak Brown zoomed past him, half-standing, half-screaming. "WOO! AMERICA, BABY!"
Ayao Komatsu somehow slipped silently into fourth, before losing both his shoes mid-corner.
"What the—?" he shouted as his socks flapped in the wind.
Meanwhile, James Vowles and Jonathan Wheatley were locked in an intense duel for third. Elbows out, scooters clattering, they looked like two teenagers fighting over the last slice of pizza.
Vowles: "You're cutting the line!"
Wheatley: "I'm optimizing my path!"
Daniel: "They're fighting like a pair of accountants on caffeine!"
But at the front, it was war. Milena and Toto. Neck and neck, shoulder to shoulder, helmet visors glinting under the sun.
At the first chicane, Toto's sheer size and power let him muscle ahead, blocking the apex like a professional. Milena, smaller and lighter, tried to squeeze through, only to brush his arm.
He steadied her instinctively. "Careful!"
"Don't you dare go easy on me!" she shot back.
"I wasn't planning to!"
"Good!"
Daniel's commentary hit a new octave. "THEY'RE TOUCHING! THEY'RE TOUCHING! THIS IS HISTORY! MOVE OVER, SENNA AND PROST — WE HAVE MAJOR AND WOLFF!"
The crowd screamed. Kids were waving flags, fans chanting, "MAJOR! WOLFF! MAJOR! WOLFF!"
Susie was laughing so hard she dropped her drink.
Even Alonso at race control muttered, "I live for this nonsense."
Toto leaned forward, gaining speed on the straight. His scooter hummed like a jet. "See, Major? Power and precision."
Milena smirked under her visor. "We'll see about that, big bad Wolf."
The nickname caught him off guard, just long enough for her to pull an audacious move. She slipped to the inside line, ducking under his arm as they approached the next bend.
"OH MY GOD SHE'S DONE IT!" Daniel screamed. "SHE'S JUST OVERTAKEN THE WOLFF UNDER HIS OWN NOSE! SOMEONE GIVE THIS WOMAN A CONTRACT IN F2!"
Stefano sighed audibly. "Daniel, please."
"WHAT? THIS IS CINEMA!"
Behind them, chaos reigned supreme. Zak was filming himself on Instagram Live. Fred had given up entirely and was now sitting on the sidelines with a glass of wine. Ayao had somehow overtaken both Wheatley and Vowles without shoes.
"Silent assassin strikes again!" Daniel roared. "Look at him go! Man doesn't even need footwear to dominate!"
As they entered the final lap, Toto and Milena were still side by side, sweat, laughter, and adrenaline mixing with pure disbelief.
"Admit it," she called over the wind. "You're having fun."
He smiled, a rare, genuine one. "Maybe a little."
"You're welcome."
"Don't thank yourself yet."
They barreled down the straight, helmets almost touching. The crowd was on its feet. Günther was yelling, "COME ON, MAJOR! SMASH HIM!" while Jack was screaming, "GO, PAPA!"
Daniel was basically losing his mind.
"It's Wolff! It's Major! Side by side! Neck and neck! THIS IS INSANE!"
The finish line came into view, one last push. Toto leaned forward, eyes narrowing. Milena dropped low, cutting the drag.
They crossed the line almost together. Silence. Then the results flashed.
1st – Major Milena Kremser
2nd – Toto Wolff
3rd – Ayao Komatsu (barefoot legend)
The paddock exploded. Susie whooped and cheered. Günther Steiner was on the verge of tears. "SHE DID IT! THE MAJOR DID IT!"
Zak skidded in seconds later yelling, "I finished! ...right?"
Daniel practically danced in the commentary booth, shaking his pom-poms. "MAJOR WINS! THE CROWD GOES WILD! THIS WOMAN JUST STOLE MONZA, AND MAYBE TOTO'S HEART TOO!"
Stefano's weary voice crackled over the radio. "Daniel. Please. Stop talking."
"Never!" Daniel shouted. "LONG LIVE THE MAJOR!" LONG MAY SHE ROLL!"
On track, Milena pulled off her helmet, laughing so hard she could barely breathe. Toto rolled in behind her, parking his scooter and shaking his head.
"You cheated."
She smiled, cheeks flushed. "You love saying that."
He chuckled quietly. "Because you always make it true."
She grinned. "Guess I'm just better under pressure."
He leaned closer, lowering his voice. "Or maybe I let you win."
She raised a brow. "Keep telling yourself that, Wolff."
Daniel's voice echoed again. "Ladies and gentlemen — your first-ever Scooter GP champion: Major Milena Kremser! And second place goes to Toto 'Big Bad' Wolff — proving that even wolves can be tamed!"
Milena laughed as Toto groaned.
The crowd went wild again. And somewhere above the noise, as cameras flashed and laughter filled the air, their eyes met, the rivalry still alive, the tension stronger than ever. Because for all the chaos, teasing, and laughter, neither of them could deny one thing. They were both already addicted to the game.
*
The paddock had never seen anything like it. A full podium — yes, a real podium, had been hastily assembled in front of the pit lane. Three scooters parked beneath it, glitter confetti everywhere, and Daniel on the mic like he was born for this.
"Alright Monzaaa!" Daniel shouted. "Let's hear it for our Scooter Grand Prix CHAMPION — the one, the only, Major Milena Kremser!"
The crowd exploded. Horns, cheers, someone waving a Red Bull flag shaped like a bull on wheels. Maya and Leon were jumping up and down, holding a huge cardboard sign that read SCOOTER QUEEN.
Milena climbed onto the top step, helmet under her arm, cheeks flushed from laughter.
Ayao, barefoot and serene, took P3, bowing politely to the crowd. Toto stepped onto the P2 spot, stoic as ever... except for the tiny, unmistakable smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Daniel shoved a mic under his chin. "Second place, Wolff. Any comments?"
Toto leaned toward it, deadpan. "She cheated."
The crowd roared with laughter.
Milena pointed at him. "You keep saying that because it's the only way you can sleep tonight."
Daniel laughed so hard he nearly dropped the mic. "Someone call the FIA — we've got verbal warfare on the podium!"
Alonso, still wearing his "Race Director" vest, wandered up to the stage, clapping. "I haven't had this much fun since 2006. And that's saying something." He gave Milena a handshake and a sly grin. "You, Major, might just save this sport."
"From what?" she asked, amused.
"From itself."
Then came the medals, handed out by Stefano Domenicali himself, who was trying to look dignified but failing miserably.
"To our champions of... ehm, innovation and spirit," he said, clearing his throat. "You've reminded the world that Formula 1 can still have fun."
"Translation," Daniel whispered to the crowd mic. "You've reminded the world that grown adults are willing to humiliate themselves for content."
Stefano glared at him.
Daniel beamed. "Worth it."
*
As the anthems blared, because of course they had anthems, the kids stormed the stage.
Jack ran straight into his dad's arms. Maya and Leon tackled Milena in a hug that nearly knocked her off balance. She laughed, kissing the top of their heads.
"Alright, alright, I surrender!" she giggled. "You're supposed to cheer, not attack!"
Toto was still watching, quietly, arms folded, that rare warmth softening his expression. The smile on her face, the light in her eyes, the way the crowd adored her... he couldn't look away.
Susie sidled up beside him, a champagne glass in hand. "She's good for you."
He gave her a look. "She's not for me."
Susie arched a brow. "Mhm. Sure, Toto. And I don't run the F1 Academy."
He sighed. "You do run the F1 Academy."
"Exactly." She smirked and took a sip.
Daniel leapt onto the podium with two bottles of champagne and zero coordination. "WHO WANTS TO CELEBRATE?!"
Before anyone could stop him, he popped both bottles, spraying everyone in a shower of bubbles. Milena screamed and ducked. Toto got hit square in the chest. Alonso raised his arms like he'd just won Le Mans.
Fred Vasseur shouted from the crowd, "This is illegal!"
Zak Brown yelled back, "So was Ferrari's pit strategy last year!"
Laughter erupted. Even the mechanics were doubled over.
Milena wiped champagne from her face and grabbed a bottle from Daniel, shaking it wildly before turning, and aiming it straight at Toto.
"Oh, don't you—"
Too late. A direct hit. The crowd howled.
Toto blinked, dripping champagne, trying not to smile, and failing. "You're enjoying this too much."
She grinned, wicked. "Maybe a little."
*
A few meters away, standing in the shadows by the hospitality tent, Christian Horner folded his arms and muttered, "This is ridiculous. Childish. A complete farce."
Helmut Marko, surprisingly, nodded. "I agree. But at least Red Bull won."
Jos Verstappen added dryly, "And it didn't involve Max crashing. So, progress."
Christian sighed. "You're all insane."
Helmut shrugged. "Yes. But we're winningly insane."
*
Back on stage, Alonso raised his glass, Daniel yelled something unintelligible, and Milena laughed until her sides hurt. For once, the paddock wasn't divided by rivalry or ego, just pure, shared chaos.
And when the confetti fell, she caught Toto's gaze again. He was smiling now, really smiling. The kind that reached his eyes. For a fleeting moment, in the middle of champagne, cheers, and laughter, it felt like the world had stopped.
And neither of them could deny it anymore, whatever this was between them, it was only getting stronger.
*
The sun had set over Monza, but the paddock was still alive, fairy lights strung across hospitality terraces, music echoing between motorhomes, laughter rolling like thunder through the air.
The Scooter Grand Prix had turned into a full-blown celebration. Even the FIA stewards looked the other way — after all, it wasn't every day they saw Toto Wolff in a helmet chasing Milena Kremser through a finish line showered in glitter.
Milena had barely ten minutes to shower and change, scrubbing off champagne, sweat, and victory confetti, before heading back down to the paddock. She'd swapped her racing gear for jeans, a loose white shirt, and damp hair that still smelled faintly of citrus shampoo.
The moment she stepped into the open area behind the Red Bull motorhome, she heard the noise. Music. Laughter. Daniel Ricciardo's voice.
And then... "MAAAAJOR GP WINNER!"
She blinked, then burst out laughing. Daniel was in the middle of the dance floor, holding Maya on his shoulders while Leon drummed on a table with plastic spoons. The crowd — mechanics, engineers, even a few journalists, were clapping along.
"Daniel!" Milena called over the noise. "You're going to drop her!"
"Never!" Daniel shouted, spinning in a slow circle with Maya shrieking with joy. "I'm training her for her debut in Red Bull Junior Scooter Academy!"
Milena shook her head, smiling helplessly. "You're all insane."
Daniel grinned, lowering Maya and bowing dramatically. "Mad, but loyal! Our Major — the undisputed champion of chaos!"
She rolled her eyes. "The race was rigged."
"Rigged or not," Daniel said, pouring her a glass of water instead of champagne, "you won. That's all that matters."
"Rigged and satisfying," Max said, appearing beside them with his usual calm smirk. He nudged her shoulder with his elbow. "Good race, boss. You actually listened to my advice for once."
Milena raised a brow. "Well, when you're learning from the best..."
Max's grin widened. "Flattery noted."
They bumped fists.
Nearby, Leon was showing off his glitter-stained hands to Jack, proudly declaring, "We made Mama's scooter the fastest!"
Jack nodded solemnly. "And the shiniest."
At that exact moment, Günther Steiner appeared, sunglasses on, shirt half-unbuttoned, holding a plate of tiramisu like a trophy.
"There she is!" he boomed. "The woman with bigger balls than the entire paddock combined!"
Milena choked on her drink. "Günther—"
He waved her off. "Don't argue, Major! It's true! You made Wolff look like a rookie. Toto's got the biceps, you've got the brain!"
Somewhere across the crowd, Toto turned his head with a slow, unimpressed glare. Günther only laughed harder. "See? Even his scowl is polite! He's too nice for this sport!"
Milena was laughing so hard she had to hold onto Daniel's arm. "You're impossible."
"Thank you!" Günther declared proudly, raising his dessert like a toast and vanishing back into the crowd, leaving a trail of laughter behind him.
*
A few minutes later, Stefano Domenicali climbed onto a crate, tapping a microphone. The music dimmed slightly, though laughter still rippled through the group.
"Ladies and gentlemen!" he began, voice booming, "thank you for being part of the first-ever Scooter Grand Prix!"
Stefano smiled. "A huge congratulations to our winner, the one and only Major Milena Kremser!"
The crowd cheered again. Maya jumped up and down shouting, "That's my mama!"
Milena raised a hand, embarrassed but smiling. "Thank you... but I think Toto deserves a medal for surviving me."
The camera flashes went off instantly, another meme for sure.
Stefano continued, "Because of the incredible response from fans and teams, I'm happy to announce... that this event will return next season!"
A wave of cheers. Zak Brown whooped triumphantly, pumping his fist.
"YES! I already ordered a turbo scooter!"
From the back corner, Horner groaned, "Oh, for God's sake, not this circus again..."
"Christian," Zak said sweetly, "you'll have plenty of time to train... assuming you're still employed."
The crowd burst into laughter. Even Milena couldn't hide her smirk.
And then, of course, Günther yelled from somewhere near the drinks table, "Don't worry, Horner! Next year, I'm racing in Cadillac colors! You can watch from home!"
The place erupted. Laughter echoed through the whole paddock. Even Toto cracked a smile, though he tried to hide it behind his glass.
Susie leaned over to him, whispering with a grin, "Admit it. You had fun."
Toto exhaled, still watching Milena across the crowd as she laughed with Max and Daniel.
"More than I should have," he said quietly.
Susie chuckled. "Careful, Toto. That one's dangerous."
"I know," he murmured, eyes still on Milena. "That's the problem."
Toto didn't look away. His gaze stayed fixed on Milena, her head thrown back in laughter, the light catching her hair as Daniel tried to pour water on Max and got chased around by Maya with a paper plate.
Susie folded her arms. "You know, for someone who claims he's not interested, you're staring at her like she's the checkered flag."
He gave her a sidelong glance, the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. "You always did exaggerate."
"I don't have to," she said simply. "Your face does all the work."
He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "She's... different."
Susie chuckled softly. "That's the understatement of the year."
Before Toto could answer, Fred appeared, holding two glasses of prosecco and looking far too pleased with himself.
"Toto! Mon ami! You look like a man who just lost gracefully."
Toto raised a brow. "Gracefully? I almost won."
"Almost," Fred said cheerfully, handing him a glass. "But not quite. Still, bravo! You and Major gave us the best entertainment since the budget cap hearings."
Bradley and George joined them, both grinning.
"Honestly, boss," George said, clapping Toto on the shoulder, "you were magnificent out there. You fought like a lion—" he paused, smirking, "—or should I say, like a Wolf."
Bradley chimed in, laughing. "Speaking of which... our media team's losing their minds. That race has already gone viral. The internet's calling it Scooter Wars: Monza Drift."
Toto groaned softly. "God help me."
Bradley scrolled through his phone, showing him a few clips. "This one's my favorite... someone edited your final sprint with Milena to 'Danger Zone.' Another has it to 'Careless Whisper.'"
Fred burst out laughing. "Ah! That one fits perfectly!"
"Please stop," Toto muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose.
George grinned. "Too late, boss. You two are trending. #WolfAndMajor — it's everywhere. The fans are already making posters."
Bradley added, "And memes. Lots of memes. You and her side-by-side in helmets, the caption says 'Marriage material.'"
Fred wheezed. "I give it one week before FIA starts selling official merch!"
Toto looked like he was about to walk into traffic. "I can't take any of you seriously."
Susie just smiled knowingly, swirling the wine in her glass. "Oh, I can. I see the way you look at her, Toto."
He froze for half a second. "I don't—"
"Don't bother," she cut in gently. "You don't look at people like that unless you're already halfway gone."
Bradley whistled low. Fred smirked into his drink. George pretended to cough to hide a grin.
Toto exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "It's complicated."
"Of course it is," Susie said softly, patting his arm. "It always is with you."
And then, quieter, just for him...
"But if you're going to fall, Toto... at least this time, fall for someone who can actually keep up."
Toto didn't answer. He just looked across the crowd again, to where Milena was standing, laughing, a gold balloon tangled in her hair, and for the first time in years, the thought didn't scare him. It made him smile.
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Next -> Chapter 18: Operation Fridge Love
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🏁 Tagged readers: @mjcrumster | @gardeniarose13 | @jnywolff (ask to be added/removed!)
During the holiday and New Year break, I found myself with a little more time than usual. Enough time to sit down and really look at my own stories. And one question kept circling in my head: what if things had gone differently?
This post is, in many ways, an analysis — for my readers, and for those who have ever wondered how these stories might have looked if the plot had taken another turn. Different choices. Different timing. Different consequences.
Important note: this entire post is one big spoiler alert for my stories.
If you haven’t read them yet and want to read them without knowing what comes next, this is your cue to stop here.
Alright. Let’s begin.
The Flame That Never Fades
What if Toto had let go earlier and allowed Victoria to walk away — how would their story have unfolded?
Most likely, Victoria would have ended up with Lewis. She would have loved him — perhaps not with the same wild, consuming intensity she felt for Toto, but in a calmer, more mature, more reasonable way. Lewis would have been a good partner, possibly a good husband. He would have understood her in a way few others could.
Toto, eventually, would have let go as well. He would have come to understand that what he felt was not only love, but also a deep obsession. Even if his feelings for Victoria never fully disappeared, he would have focused on Susie and the children. From time to time, their paths would still cross at F1-related events — quietly, carefully, with everything left unsaid.
What if Victoria hadn’t died at the end, but survived the accident instead? Would she have given Toto another chance?
I think she would have. After everything, Toto would have changed. He would have understood that his love for Victoria had crossed the line into obsession, and after the birth of their daughter, he would have devoted himself to caring for both Victoria and the child without expecting anything in return. No control. No fixation. Eventually, Victoria would have noticed that change. And step by step, they would have found their way back to each other — this time emotionally, not only physically.
Fallen Time
What if Emilia had never fought for herself and instead accepted her father terms, marrying Lance and rejecting Toto?
Realistically, this is highly unlikely. Emilia fell in love with Toto, and through him she learned that she had to fight for herself. If she had married Lance, she would have been deeply unhappy for the rest of her life — and she would have regretted that choice forever.
What if Toto had died during the Titanic disaster and never returned to Emilia?
Emilia would have suffered for a long time. Eventually, she would have come to terms with his death and found love with Charles, who survived. Over time, they would have built a happy life together. Still, Toto would have remained Emilia’s first and greatest love.
What if George had survived, but Toto had not?
Assuming both George and Charles survived, I believe they would have cared deeply for Emilia — and, in time, both would have fought for her heart. In the end, Emilia would have chosen George. They had known each other since childhood and had always been close. She would have loved George — but never in the way she loved Toto.
The Arrangement
What if Toto had never come back to Lena?
They would have missed each other for a long time. But eventually, Lena would have stopped hoping that Toto would return. After her mother’s death, she would have focused on her work at a law firm, helping other women. Somewhere along the way, she would have met someone kind — perhaps another lawyer — and built a life with him. A family. Children. Stability. And yet, she would never have truly forgotten Toto. From time to time, she would still check his social media, quietly following his life from a distance.
Toto, on the other hand, would have left Formula 1 and returned to business — successfully, of course. He would have focused on his children. He would always know how Lena was doing; he would have people keeping an eye on her. Sometimes he would check her social media himself and smile sadly, seeing that she had built a life without him. He would never settle down with anyone. There would be brief romances, nothing lasting. His heart would remain with Lena. In his will, he would leave her a few things — and a letter, confessing that he had loved her, and that he had never stopped.
Sins of the Wolffs
What if Toto had not survived the operation?
Susie and Alex would have suffered deeply. Alex would have blamed herself — for not being there during his illness, and for not being told how serious it was. Over time, however, she would become Susie’s greatest support. And the love that had always existed between them would have prevailed — and the pain of losing Toto would only have deepened it. Alex would end her relationship with Max, choosing Susie instead. Their relationship would be mature, emotional, grounded in care and mutual understanding. They would eventually come out of hiding. There would be questions — about the past, about Toto — but they would keep their life as a trio a secret, treating it as a beautiful memory of the love they once shared.
What if Alex, Toto, and Susie had revealed their relationship to the world?
It would have been an incredibly brave decision. I imagine it would happen once they were absolutely certain of their love. When Alex and Toto’s daughter was born, Toto would refuse to hide the truth — he would give her his surname. Questions would follow. Media outrage. Opinions everywhere. But Toto would stand firm, saying that he loved Susie and Alex, and that they were a family. Susie would continue leading the F1 Academy. Alex would focus on motherhood, supported fully by Toto and Susie, living together openly at last. Later, she would return to Formula 1 — perhaps as a team principal or a commentator. And despite everything, the three of them would be happy.
What if Alex ultimately chose Max and did not return to Toto and Susie?
Toto would recover from the operation. Alex would decide to stay with Max. It would be difficult for Toto and Susie, but they would accept it. Their relationship with Alex would change — the illness would bring them closer again, but as family, not lovers. Max would accept this, though not without some initial jealousy. Alex and Max would marry and have a child. Toto and Susie would also be happy — their love had always existed between them, and the years with Alex had only strengthened it. They would remain grateful to her forever, maintaining a close but no longer intimate bond. Alex would love Max as deeply as she had loved Toto and Susie. Still, Toto and Susie would always hold a special place in her heart.
What if Max had joined the Alex–Susie–Toto threesome?
Yes — I received that question everywhere the story was published. Turning the threesome into a quadrangle is undeniably tempting. The emotional weight. The intensity. The sheer number of possibilities. Two alpha men and two strong, independent women? Surprisingly, it could have worked. At one point, I even considered writing a continuation of Sins of the Wolffs along those lines — but it never left my head.
Would it have worked? Probably. Toto and Max would have ensured absolute security for their family — private island, residences, protection. Would they hide the relationship? Definitely. To the world, they would simply be two couples who were close friends. What happened behind closed doors would remain theirs alone. If children appeared, it would never be an issue. All of them would be their children.
The Unstoppable Series
My beloved Unstoppable Series ❤️
The main what if is, in fact, the most fundamental one: What if Susie and Jack had never died? How would Toto and Miriell’s relationship have evolved? Would they have fallen in love at all?
This is a difficult path to consider, because the love between Toto and Miriell truly begins to grow after the tragic loss of Susie and Jack. She understands him like no one else, because she knows what it means to lose the people you love. He, in turn, becomes her source of safety and support — something she had been missing for many years.
If Susie and Jack had lived, everything would have been different. Toto would have loved Miriell, but more like a daughter — or at least that is what both of them would have told themselves. He would have been immensely proud of her, supported her at every step, knowing she had no real family of her own. Together with Susie, he would have tried to give her that sense of belonging: holidays, birthdays, shared vacations. A home.
Miriell, however, would eventually fall in love with him. Deeply. Quietly. Unhappily. She would suppress those feelings, convinced that loving Toto in that way meant betraying Susie, betraying him, betraying their family. She would throw herself entirely into racing — championships, the team, the fight on track. And if those feelings became too heavy, she might slowly distance herself from both Toto and Susie, who would not understand what was happening to her. Guilt would consume her. She would believe her feelings were wrong — that this was not how she was allowed to love him.
I think that, over time, Miriell would pull away completely and possibly accept an offer from another team. Only much later, after long conversations, would she finally confess her feelings to Toto. He would be shocked — and perhaps, finally, forced to admit that his own feelings were not entirely paternal either. And yet, I believe Toto would ultimately let her go. He would know that staying close would only hurt them both. Miriell would go on to have a brilliant career, but she would be alone. Toto would remain with Susie and his family, still caring for Miriell — even if only from afar.
Other “what ifs” for the whole series:
What if Miriell and Toto never chose to be together and kept their feelings buried?
This is entirely possible. Toto resisted loving Miriell for a long time — just as she resisted loving him. He believed that loving another woman meant betraying Susie, and he did not want to burden a young, deeply wounded Miriell with himself. He knew their relationship would be difficult from the start: the age difference, the power imbalance, her scars, her inability to let anyone close. If they had never become a couple, they would have remained close. He would support her. She would invite him to the Bieszczady — the only place where Toto truly felt at peace.
Perhaps, one day, Miriell would fall in love with someone else. I believe only Lewis could have been that person — the only one she might have allowed close enough. Toto, on the other hand, would never truly move on. There might be fleeting relationships, brief romances — as a wealthy, attractive widower, he would never lack interest. But he would love only Miriell. Quietly. In silence.
What if Miriell had died at Spa?
Miriell’s death would have been unbearable for Toto. He would leave Formula 1 and disappear somewhere far away. From time to time, his adult children and Niki would visit him. It would be the final blow. Two women he loved would be gone. After Susie and Jack, Miriell had helped him live again — she was his light. Without her, everything would lose meaning.
What if Toto had died from brain cancer?
For Miriell, it would have been devastating. After losing her parents, her grandfather, then Susie and Jack, she had kept everyone at a distance. Only with Toto did she allow herself to form a bond strong enough to become a great love. If Toto died, Miriell would spend weeks, months, in a state of numbness. Lewis would be the one by her side — her support — but she would throw herself into racing and the team. After a short break, she would return to Formula 1 with one goal: to beat everyone with Mercedes. For him. For Toto. Perhaps, years later, she would end up with Lewis. She would never allow anyone else that close. Toto would remain her great — and only — love.
What if Miriell never regained her memory after the accident?
Toto would struggle to accept it, but eventually he would understand that she no longer remembered him — their moments, their love. For her sake, he would ask for a divorce. They would separate. Miriell would not return to racing, but would work for Mercedes as an engineer. Toto would step away from the team to avoid seeing her too often. Over time, they would meet again — and in some way, Miriell would fall in love with him all over again. It would be a different love than before. But they would eventually reunite and marry again. And even though Miriell never remembered their past, Toto would be grateful simply to be with her — to build a future together.
---
That’s it.
It turned out long — but I needed to get it out somewhere, and where else if not here 😉
Thank you to everyone who made it this far.
As always, I invite you to discuss, ask questions, or share your thoughts about my stories!
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
===========
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Paddock Wars | Chapter 15: Exes and Chaos: The Spa Sitcom GP
🏁 Paddock Wars Masterlist | 🏁 Main Masterlist
❋ pairing: Toto Wolff x OC (major Milena Kremser / Red Bull Team Principal)
❋ chapter summary: Spa weekend turns into a full‑scale sitcom. Milena juggles a storm, a race, two kids, two exes, and one dangerously charming Austrian who keeps texting like it's foreplay. Formula 1 has officially become a telenovela — and Milena is the unwilling main character.
❋ 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 15: Exes and Chaos: The Spa Sitcom GP
After Markus and Susie showed up unexpectedly, the Spa paddock had turned into an unintentional sitcom.
Helmut was confused. Zak Brown was placing bets. James Vowles was just quietly eating popcorn in the background.
Daniel kept "accidentally" walking between Markus and Susie, muttering things like "I'm just protecting team harmony." Max refused to engage in any conversation, choosing instead to hide behind his cap.
Leon and Jack, meanwhile, were openly taking bets on whether their parents were going to end up together.
Maya asked innocently, "Mummy, if auntie Susie marries Daddy, uncle Toto will be my step-wolf?"
Milena almost choked on her water. "Okay, bedtime for everyone, and it's not even noon."
*
The actual race was as messy as the morning, wet chaos, near crashes, safety cars everywhere. Red Bull and Mercedes fought tooth and nail again, both ending up just outside the podium, while McLaren snuck through for another win.
When the checkered flag finally fell, Milena was exhausted, soaked, and dangerously close to laughing hysterically.
Markus appeared beside her with his charming grin. "Tough race, Mil. But you handled it beautifully. As always."
Before she could respond, Toto approached, jaw tight but polite.
"Steiner," he said coolly.
"Wolff," Markus replied with equal poise. "Don't worry, I'm heading out soon. Can't distract your... colleague for too long."
Milena's patience snapped. "Alright, both of you... out. I swear, one more testosterone contest and I'm calling FIA for a penalty."
Susie, passing by, smirked. "If you do, make sure Markus sits next to me at the hearing."
Markus winked. "Gladly."
Toto pinched the bridge of his nose. "Unbelievable."
Daniel leaned over to Max. "I'd watch that hearing, though. Live. With popcorn."
Max sighed. "You all need therapy."
*
As the sun dipped behind the drenched trees, Milena finally escaped to her motorhome, shoulders aching, head spinning.
Her phone buzzed, a message from Toto.
Toto: I think your ex just asked my ex on a date. How do you plan to debrief that, Major?
She laughed, typing back:
Milena: With explosives.
Then paused.
Milena: Thanks for not losing it today.
His reply came almost instantly.
Toto: For you? I'm learning.
Her fingers hovered over the phone for a moment, a small smile tugging at her lips.
She typed back quickly:
Milena: Learning fast, aren't you, Big Bad Wolf? Should I be impressed or worried?
The three dots appeared almost instantly.
Toto: Worried. Definitely worried.
She laughed quietly to herself, the exhaustion of the day slowly melting away.
Milena: You? Dangerous? Please. You're practically domesticated these days. Coffee, spreadsheets, press conferences...
Toto: Careful, Major. You're provoking a predator.
Milena: You tried to "predator" Helmut once, and he bit back harder.
Toto: I still have nightmares.
She covered her mouth to stifle a laugh, trying not to wake the kids.
Milena: Go to sleep, Toto. We both need it.
Toto: Can't. My brain's still running race data.
Milena: Lie. You're thinking about me losing my mind between my ex-husband and your ex-wife.
Toto: Maybe.
Milena: "Maybe" in Austrian means "definitely."
There was a pause. Then, his next message came through slower, softer.
Toto: You handled it well, Milena. All of it. The race, the press, him.
She blinked, a little caught off guard.
Milena: I've had practice. Years of dodging bullets, literally and figuratively.
Toto: Still. You're tougher than anyone I know.
Milena: You say that to all the women who yell at you?
Toto: Only the ones who make me forget how to argue back.
Her heart stuttered. She stared at the screen, then typed back before she could overthink it:
The rain outside her window had stopped. The only sound was the faint hum of the city.
Then one more message appeared.
Toto: Good night, Milena. And... thank you. For today. For everything.
She smiled softly, thumbs resting on the screen.
Milena: Good night, Toto. Try not to dream about exes or explosions.
His reply came after a beat.
Toto: Too late. Only dreaming about dangerous women in Red Bull jackets.
Her breath caught, and she set the phone down, heart racing, a quiet laugh slipping from her lips.
"Damn you, Wolff," she whispered to the empty room, and smiled as she drifted off to sleep.
*
Next morning, for the first time in what felt like weeks, Milena woke up rested. Properly, gloriously rested. No midnight storms, no paddock alarms, no ex-husbands knocking on doors. Just a soft hotel bed, two still-sleeping kids, and a rare moment of peace.
She stretched, cracked her neck, and grinned. "Alright, troops. Breakfast time."
Twenty minutes later, she and the kids made their way down to the hotel restaurant. The smell of coffee and fresh pastries filled the air, waiters weaving between tables as half the paddock gathered for their morning fuel.
Milena was halfway to the buffet when she froze mid-step.
"Oh. You've got to be kidding me."
At a corner table by the window sat the last group of people she wanted to see together before caffeine.
Susie — glowing, laughing, absolutely radiant.
Next to her, Markus, leaning forward, smiling like a man ten years younger, clearly hanging onto every word she said.
Across from them, Toto — stoic, jaw tight, pretending to be very invested in the menu, though his eyes flicked up every five seconds.
And little Jack, blissfully oblivious, happily demolishing a mountain of pancakes.
When Susie spotted Milena, she waved enthusiastically.
"Milena! Over here!"
"Oh, for God's sake," Milena muttered, plastering on her best diplomatic smile as Maya and Leon tugged her toward the table.
Toto looked up as she approached, eyes half-exasperated, half-amused. "Morning, Major."
"Morning, Wolff. Everyone," she greeted cautiously, taking in the ridiculous sight of Markus and Susie gazing at each other like it was prom night.
She pulled out a chair, sat down, and gave them both a look. "So... I'm guessing the two of you did go for that drink last night?"
Markus smirked. "Several, actually."
Susie giggled... as in full, sparkly giggle, which almost made Milena choke on air.
"Oh my God," Milena said, staring at her. "Who are you and what have you done with the composed head of F1 Academy?"
Susie blushed, shrugging. "What can I say? Your ex-husband has stories. And manners. And actual eye contact. It's refreshing."
Toto muttered without looking up from his plate, "They've been talking non-stop for ten minutes. I've learned more about the German military than I ever wanted to know."
Markus leaned back in his chair, grinning. "I could tell you more, Wolff. Perhaps over whiskey."
Toto finally looked up, dry as ever. "If I say yes, will you stop flirting with my ex-wife in front of the children?"
Jack piped up between bites. "Mum says adults flirt when they like each other."
Milena snorted into her coffee. "Out of the mouths of babes."
Susie's cheeks went pink. "Jack!"
Leon looked up. "Mum, what's flirting?"
"Something that causes chaos," Milena answered immediately. "Don't do it until you're forty."
Maya frowned. "But you and uncle Toto flirt all the time."
Toto choked on his coffee. Markus burst out laughing.
Milena froze, blinking at her daughter. "Excuse me?"
Maya nodded seriously. "You do. It's like... when he says 'Major' and you roll your eyes but smile anyway."
Toto tried to recover his composure. "She's very observant."
"Too observant," Milena muttered, glaring at him. "Thanks for that, by the way."
Daniel chose that exact moment to appear, coffee in hand.
He looked at the table, then at Milena. "Wow. I didn't realize this was a family breakfast."
"Ricciardo," Toto said, sighing. "Don't start."
Daniel pointed his mug at him. "Oh, I wouldn't dare interrupt whatever this is."
Markus grinned. "It's called civility."
"Really?" Daniel said. "Because Toto looks like he's seconds from a nervous breakdown."
Toto deadpanned, "I've been living one since I met you all."
Milena covered her face, laughing. "Can we all just eat before someone starts a diplomatic incident?"
Susie, still smiling, reached for Markus's hand. "Don't worry, Milena. I think we've made peace."
Toto glanced up at Milena, their eyes meeting over the chaos of kids and coffee cups. A silent exchange, are you seeing this?
She grinned, whispering just loud enough for him to hear. "You jealous, Herr Wolff?"
He didn't even blink. "Of Markus? Not a chance. Of his peace and quiet? Maybe."
She raised an eyebrow. "Peace and quiet? With Susie?"
He gave a small smile, finally leaning back. "Touche."
*
Ten minutes later, Maya was showing Jack her stuffed wolf, Leon and Daniel were arguing over who'd win an imaginary kart race, Markus and Susie were laughing like teenagers, and Milena sat sipping her coffee, watching Toto pretend he wasn't smiling.
When he finally caught her staring, he tilted his head slightly and murmured, "Welcome to the circus."
She grinned. "You love it."
He looked at her for a long second before replying softly, "Maybe I love the company."
Her cheeks warmed despite herself.
Milena had almost started to relax when Markus suddenly checked his watch and sighed.
"Well, my time's up. I've got to head back."
Maya's face fell instantly. "Already?"
Markus ruffled her hair. "Afraid so, little one. Just a short leave this time. But hey—" He straightened, smiling warmly at both kids. "One more month and I'm free for good. Then I'll come visit properly. Maybe even stay a bit."
Leon perked up. "You'll bring stories?"
"Of course," Markus grinned. "And maybe I'll finally beat you in Mario Kart."
"Never," Leon said seriously.
Susie laughed softly. "You're always welcome here, Markus. And we still have that charity event at Silverstone next month, I haven't forgotten your promise."
Markus's eyes lit up. "Ah, yes. The hot laps." He leaned back in his chair, utterly shameless. "You did say you'd take me for... a ride."
Susie blinked, realizing how that sounded, then turned scarlet. "I— I meant on track!"
Across the table, Toto coughed violently into his coffee.
Milena lost it completely, half-snorting, half-laughing into her napkin.
Markus only smirked. "Well, I meant on track too, of course."
"Of course," Toto muttered dryly, still trying to regain composure.
"Sure you did," Milena said between giggles.
Susie hid her face in her hands. "I swear, men in uniforms are trouble."
Markus grinned. "That's what makes us so popular."
A few minutes later, everyone began to scatter, the post-breakfast lull settling in.
Susie went off with Jack to pack, Toto stayed behind to finish a call, and Markus offered to walk Milena and the kids toward the elevators.
As they stepped into the quieter hallway, Milena glanced at him sideways.
"So..." she said, her tone sly. "Susie, huh?"
Markus smiled faintly. "She's... something, isn't she? Sharp, confident, doesn't let anyone talk over her. Reminds me of someone I used to know."
Milena rolled her eyes. "Oh, please. Don't start with that 'type' again."
He laughed. "What? You asked."
"I didn't ask, I observed. And for the record, she's out of your league."
Markus shrugged, unbothered. "You always said I liked a challenge."
She snorted. "Yeah, but I didn't mean that kind of challenge."
He grinned wider. "Relax, Mil. It's harmless. She's just... easy to talk to. And she looks like she could win a war with a smile."
Milena shook her head, half amused, half exasperated. "God help me. My ex-husband is flirting with Toto's ex-wife. That's not awkward at all."
"Actually," Markus said, turning serious for a beat, "he's not as bad as I thought."
Milena raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"
"When I saw him with you and the kids in the motorhome yesterday morning... yeah, I'll admit it, I got pissed," Markus admitted quietly. "Didn't know what I was walking into. Thought he was just another smooth-talking boss type."
She crossed her arms. "And now?"
"Now?" Markus smiled faintly. "He's alright. A little stiff, a little too proper... but decent. The way he looks at you... that's not just respect."
Milena's stomach twisted. "Markus..."
He lifted a hand. "Relax. I'm not judging. Just saying, the kids like him. Especially Maya. And that says a lot."
Milena exhaled, staring at the floor. "Yeah. It does."
Markus slung his bag over his shoulder, grin returning. "Don't look so serious, Mil. You deserve to smile again. Whether it's him or someone else."
"Thanks," she said dryly. "Now get out before I change my mind about that friendly send-off."
He laughed, leaning in to kiss her cheek. "Stay safe. Don't let Horner get under your skin. And tell Susie I'll see her for that ride."
Milena groaned. "I'm not passing that message along."
He winked. "Coward."
Then turned toward the kids waiting by the elevator. Leon ran up first, throwing his arms around his father's waist.
"Don't forget my story!" Leon said firmly.
Markus crouched down, ruffling his son's hair. "I'll write it on the plane, promise. And next time, we'll go fishing, yeah?"
Leon nodded solemnly, as if sealing a deal.
Then Maya stepped forward, clutching her stuffed wolf. "Can you bring me something from your mission?"
Markus smiled, his tone softening. "Of course, Kleine Maus. Maybe a medal for being brave like your mum."
She threw her little arms around his neck, whispering, "Come back soon, Daddy."
"I will," he murmured, kissing her forehead. "Be good for Mum. And maybe don't prank any more engineers, okay?"
Maya blinked innocently. "No promises."
Markus laughed, stood, and gave Milena one last grin. "That's definitely your daughter."
"She's got your attitude," Milena shot back.
He saluted playfully to all three of them before heading for the exit, duffel bag over his shoulder, still whistling like a man who'd just made everyone else's life more complicated.
And with that, Markus strode down the hall, leaving Milena shaking her head and smiling despite herself.
She stood there a moment longer, the quiet settling in, then sighed.
"Great," she muttered. "Now I'm shipping my ex-husband and Toto's ex-wife."
A voice behind her chuckled low, amused and unmistakably familiar.
"You and me both," Toto said, stepping out of his room. "Though I'm still not sure which of them is the bigger threat."
Milena smirked. "You, Wolff. Definitely you."
He smiled, that small, knowing one that always made her heart stutter, and for a second, the hallway didn't feel so quiet anymore.
Toto shifted his bag over his shoulder, still looking faintly amused.
"Well, Major," he said, voice low and steady, "have a safe trip. I'll see you in Monza."
Milena crossed her arms, smiling. "Ah yes, Italy. The real circus."
He chuckled. "You're not wrong. The tifosi will make sure of that. Though if it's any consolation, Ferrari will get the worst of it. They always do."
"Poor Fred," she said with a grin. "He deserves a medal for emotional endurance."
Toto nodded in mock solemnity. "I'm thinking of sending him flowers after every race."
"Make it whiskey," Milena countered. "He'll appreciate that more."
"Noted," Toto said, smiling faintly. "But if it makes you feel any better... you're quite the fan favorite these days. You've gained more points in public opinion than half the grid."
Milena snorted. "Yeah, well, try telling that to my actual points table. Two weekends, zero points. Not exactly inspiring."
He raised an eyebrow. "Oh, I don't recall Mercedes lighting up the scoreboard either. We're both licking our wounds, Major."
She grinned. "Good. So we're even."
"For now," he said softly, his tone turning playful. "But I wouldn't expect any mercy in Monza."
Milena tilted her head, eyes glinting. "Oh, don't worry. I wasn't planning on giving any."
Toto smiled, that calm, dangerous smile that made her heart trip over itself. "That's what I was afraid of."
They stood there for a moment, just looking at each other, the quiet of the corridor settling around them, the air charged but strangely peaceful.
Finally, Toto straightened his jacket. "Alright then. Safe travels, Milena."
She nodded. "See you in Italy, Toto."
He turned to go, then paused, just for a second, and glanced back over his shoulder with a hint of that teasing smirk.
"And try not to start another international incident before Monza, ja?"
Milena called after him, grinning. "No promises!"
His laughter echoed down the hallway, warm, deep, and far too infectious, leaving her smiling.
Milena stood there a little too long, watching him disappear down the hall, that confident stride, the broad shoulders, the perfect posture that screamed control.
And, well... that view didn't exactly hurt either. Her brain betrayed her before she could stop it.
For God's sake, Milena, get a grip. You're staring at his back. And his... oh, brilliant. Fantastic. Objectify your rival, why don't you?
She was still frozen in place, halfway between exasperation and appreciation, when a small voice tugged her back to reality.
"Mum?"
Milena blinked. "Hmm?"
Maya stood at her side, one tiny hand clutching the strap of her backpack, the other tugging at Milena's sweatshirt.
"If you keep staring at uncle Toto's butt," the girl said very seriously, "we're gonna miss our plane."
Milena nearly choked on air. "What—?! Maya!"
Leon snorted from behind them. "She's right, though."
"Mum, the plane!" Maya insisted, already marching toward the elevators.
Milena groaned, dragging a hand over her face, cheeks burning. "Unbelievable. Betrayed by my own offspring."
As she followed them, Maya looked over her shoulder, grinning innocently.
"You like uncle Toto, don't you?"
Milena muttered under her breath, "Oh, I'm so asking for a transfer to Formula 2."
But as she ushered her kids down the hallway, she couldn't help glancing once more toward where Toto had gone, and that stupid little smile tugged at her lips again.
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Next -> Chapter 16: The Principal GP Nobody Asked For
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🏁 Tagged readers: @mjcrumster | @gardeniarose13 | @jnywolff (ask to be added/removed!)
Miriell Joschke had no right to survive in a world that was never meant for her. But instead of breaking, she climbed into a kart — and started winning.
Haunted by shadows of the past, by trauma and distrust, she crosses paths with Susie Wolff — the woman who changes her life — and Toto Wolff, the man who will one day mean everything to her.
This is the story of a legend in the making.
And of the first title… that cost her more than she could ever imagine.
Driven by Speed. A Diamond among Stones is Part 1 of The Unstoppable series — a slow-burn journey through trauma, ambition, and the kind of love that sneaks up when you least expect it.
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The Unstoppable Series - Masterlist
"Because when fire meets steel, something unstoppable is born."
Discover the story of Miriell Joschke, a girl from Poland, who chasing her dreams, became the first woman to claim the Formula 1 World Championship and during her lifetime became a legend. And about an unexpected and forbidden love that changed her life.
A four-part saga of speed, ambition, pain, and a love that refuses to be silenced.
Part 1: Driven by Speed - A Diamond Among Stones
Part 2: Driven by Success - Golden Girl
Part 3: Driven by Love - Rebirth from the Ashes
Part 4: Driven by Desire - Fire and Speed
==================
Dear Reader!
This story is written with a mature audience in mind.
If you're looking for slow burn, emotional depth, healing after trauma, love forged through loss, and characters who carry scars but still choose to love — you're in the right place.
The relationship between Miriell and Toto grows slowly, honestly, painfully — and beautifully.
This is not a fast romance. This is a story about survival, rebuilding, and the power of human connection.
If you like it please comment, subscribe, like... and of course enjoy!
Cheers!
WhiteRaven87
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The Unstoppable Series | Song Playlist on Spotify:
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Warnings: long (very long) slow burn, age gap (23 years), woman racing in F1, boss/driver relationship, difficult and painful past, death, angst,
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Driven by Speed. A Diamond among Stones:
Prologue
F1 start
Loss and Pain
Calm after the storm
First victory
Unbreakable
Unexpected blow
The Secret
Beginning of New Era
The Burden of a Leader
Sad Anniversary
Unexpected feelings
Hungry Eyes
The Infernal Race
Kiss from A Rose
I shouldn't
Wicked Game
They would be Proud of You
Unstoppable
This is the Beginning
Epilogue
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Prologue
My whole life, I’ve been racing forward. Speed was my language, my only truth, the one thing I understood without hesitation. In the silence of the cockpit, between one breath and the next, I found myself — raw, flawless, free. The track was my home, a place where nothing existed but the fight, where loneliness didn’t hurt, and the hunger for victory was the only law I knew.
I always knew that the path I chose left no room for weakness. A woman in a man’s world has to be tougher than them all. She has to pretend she doesn’t feel, doesn’t long for anything, that her heart is made of iron and her soul is coated in fireproof armor. That’s the version of myself I created — perfect, undefeated, unstoppable, but also closed off to anything that could slow me down.
And yet, he was like a storm in my world — silent and relentless — tearing apart everything I had built for years. I never asked for this. I never wanted it. But it only took one look, one conversation, for something inside me to crack—something that was never supposed to break.
Now I stand at a crossroads. In front of me lies the future I know — racing, adrenaline, the solitude that has long since become a part of me. Behind me is the past I cannot change, and a feeling that should have never taken root. And somewhere in between is him — silent, patient, waiting.
But can I allow myself to love when I’ve spent my whole life learning how to reject it, knowing it could break me? Can I stop running when speed is all I’ve ever known?
The wind carries the scent of rain. In the distance, I hear the roar of engines—the sound that has always meant home. I clench my fists and fix my gaze on the horizon, leaning against the barrier as I look at the track that is my entire life — or is it?
"Miriell?" The voice of a Mercedes engineer pulls me from my thoughts. The race briefing is about to begin — the final race of the season, the most important of my career. I’m fighting for the Formula 1 World Championship title, as the first woman in the history of the sport.
I don’t yet know how my story will unfold, but one thing is certain — whatever I choose, whatever happens on the track, I will never be the same again.
Twenty Years Earlier
First Loss
I remember the sound of the rain tapping against the window that night. Soft, steady, like the heartbeat of the world—unwavering, even though my life had just shattered into pieces. I don’t remember what the people at the hospital said, how their voices sounded, or what their faces looked like. All that remained in my memory was the emptiness, spreading through me like an endless darkness.
I was seven years old when the world took my parents away. They died in a car accident.
I didn’t understand what it meant. I couldn’t grasp why they weren’t coming back, why my mother wouldn’t hold me goodnight, why my father wouldn’t lift me into the air, laughing with that deep, warm voice of his. I remember staring out the window, waiting for their silhouettes to appear, as if they would walk through the door at any moment and tell me it was all just a bad dream. But the door remained closed.
It was my grandfather who held me then. Eryk Joschke — a man with work-worn hands, capable of taking apart any engine and putting it back together so that it ran better than before. He smelled of grease, old wood, and the cigarettes he always kept in his pocket but never smoked around me. He didn’t say much. He was just there, and I, small and lost, clung to his presence like the last anchor keeping me afloat.
His house stood on the outskirts of a small town in western Poland, where the asphalt turned into a gravel road leading to his workshop. That was where I learned to listen to the world in a different way — not through words, but through the sounds of engines, the scent of heated metal and gasoline.
“Do you hear that?” he once asked, bending over me when I was about eight years old, allowing me to touch the inside of a car for the first time. “The engine is the heart of the machine. If you listen carefully, it will tell you how it feels.”
I didn’t understand back then, but I learned to listen.
Long after I stopped believing in fairy tales about princesses and knights, I believed in the symphony of mechanics, in the precision of pistons moving in harmony, in the rhythm of the drivetrain.
Grandfather took me to racetracks. I would sit on his shoulders as we watched the cars fly past, leaving only the echo of speed behind. He never asked if I wanted to be a driver. He just let me love this world in my own way.
I sat behind the wheel of a go-kart for the first time when I was eight years old. It was too big for me; my hands barely wrapped around the steering wheel. But when I pressed the gas pedal, I felt something beyond words.
The wind tangling in my hair.
The feeling that I was part of something bigger, that I could reach for anything if I only dared to push harder.
That was the moment everything began.
I didn’t yet know the price I would pay for speed. I didn’t know that the track would become both my home and my prison, that it would teach me how to win but also take more from me than I ever wanted to give.
But back then, in that moment, I was just a little girl who, for the first time, felt truly alive.
Tomboy
Growing up was like racing on a wet track — unpredictable, slippery, full of moments when I felt like I was losing control. I never quite fit in anywhere.
At school, I was the odd one out. Not because I wanted to be. I simply never learned to speak their language — the whispers about boys, the talks about clothes and makeup, the secret glances girls exchanged when older boys walked by. Their world felt distant, as if it existed alongside mine but never touched it.
I lived among the sounds of engines, the smell of oil and burning rubber on asphalt. I preferred spending time in my grandfather's workshop, learning how to take apart a carburetor, rather than going to house parties where alcohol tasted like forbidden fruit and girls did everything to be part of the pack.
I wasn’t one of them. I didn’t wear dresses, I didn’t paint my nails. My hands bore grease stains, and my clothes smelled of gasoline. As I walked through the school hallways, I felt their stares — some mocking, others indifferent.
"Tomboy," the girls would say, shaking their heads. "What’s the point of all that racing? No normal guy will ever look at her."
The boys didn’t accept me either. I wasn’t a rival, nor was I someone they could flirt with. When I talked about engines, they looked at me with pity, as if I was trying to step into a world where I didn’t belong.
"Crazy," they laughed when I sat alone, sketching drivetrain diagrams in my notebook. "Only guys understand this stuff."
The world was full of invisible boundaries I couldn’t cross. Girls had their secrets and giggles in front of the mirror, boys had their rivalries and constant need to prove who was stronger. And I was somewhere in between. Alone.
My grandfather saw it. He didn’t say much, but one day, when I came home in silence, he tossed me my helmet.
"Come on."
I didn’t ask where. I knew he would take me where everything made sense.
On the track, things were different. It didn’t matter if I was a girl or a boy. It didn’t matter that no one at school wanted to sit with me during breaks. When I got into the machine, I was just a driver.
I remember the first time I beat all the boys in a karting race. Their faces when I stood on the podium, holding the trophy. They didn’t congratulate me. Some looked at me in disbelief, others with anger.
But I knew. This was my place.
Maybe I would never be part of their world. Maybe I would always be different.
But on the track, none of that mattered.
For the first time, I felt like I was exactly where I was meant to be.
Loneliness
Leaving for Germany felt like jumping into the unknown. I had no choice — if I wanted to move forward, I had to leave everything I knew behind. My grandfather’s workshop, the track that had become my second home, and the small space where I could just be myself.
Studying automotive engineering in Stuttgart was my ticket to the world I dreamed of—a world where machines spoke their own language, and I was learning to understand it more and more each day.
But the farther I was from home, the more I felt like I was losing something inside me.
Germany felt foreign. It wasn’t the language — I knew it well, spoke fluently — but among the students, I felt like an outsider. I was still different. Their parties didn’t amuse me, their small talk about everyday life didn’t interest me. I couldn’t be part of their reality, where it mattered who had the best internship, the most expensive watch, who went skiing in the Alps.
I spent my evenings in the university workshop, bent over engines, in the silence where I could finally breathe. There, among the smell of grease and the glow of fluorescent lights, I felt closer to home, closer to my grandfather.
He called me every day.
"How’s it going, girl?" he asked in his thick German accent, and I could hear the pride in his voice, even though he never said it outright. "Don’t wear yourself out. You’ve got talent, but even talent needs to be respected."
I laughed, shaking my head, even though I knew he was right.
He was my anchor. The only family I had.
And then… one day, he stopped answering.
At first, I thought he had just forgotten, maybe he was busy, maybe something had come up.
But the silence lasted too long.
I remember that phone call.
I remember the voice of the woman from the neighborhood, her careful words, as if she was afraid that if she said them too quickly, my world would shatter.
Heart attack.
Alone in the workshop, surrounded by what he loved most.
I made it back in time for the funeral, but I felt like I was too late. Like I had missed something I could never get back.
I stood by his grave, among the few people who had known him — mechanics, old customers, a few friends he still had. The wind was cold, whipping through my hair, and I still couldn’t believe it was happening.
That I was alone.
No one was waiting for my calls anymore. No one was waiting for me.
I remember coming back to the empty house. Sitting in the workshop, touching the tools that still bore the marks of his hands.
And then it hit me. There was no going back. I had nowhere to return to.
There was only the track.
And the promise I once made to myself… That I would never stop.
Trauma
That was the day that marked my life for years to come. It was supposed to be just another night at the track. We had raced before — a group of guys from the polytechnic who had money, fast cars, and too much confidence. I liked their challenges because, on the track, we were all equal. Or at least, that’s what I thought.
I don’t remember who suggested we go to an old, abandoned airfield on the outskirts of the city. I didn’t think twice. Adrenaline was the only thing that made me feel anything at all.
I won, and they were furious. I don’t know when the game changed. I don’t know when they stopped being my rivals and became my tormentors.
I remember their hands — too strong, too brutal. I remember how they held me down, how they tore at me, how their laughter cut into my skin like a blade. I remember the pain, the blood, the helplessness.
But most of all, I remember the moment I realized that no one was coming to help me, that I was completely alone.
When they left me, I lay naked in the darkness, on the cold, wet asphalt, in a place that just moments ago had been my arena. I didn’t cry. I couldn’t. I just stared at the sky.
I remember there was fullmoon.
I don’t know how I made it home. I treated my wounds, the cuts... I stood in the shower for a long time, trying to wash everything away, but it didn’t help. The pain, the suffering, the feeling of being dirty, defiled—it stayed with me for years.
I didn’t go to the police. I didn’t tell anyone.
What good would it have done? I knew how these things worked. They had names, money, status. I was just a girl who shouldn’t have been there. No one would have believed me, so I learned to stay silent.
The next day, I got up, put on my gloves, walked into the workshop, and started working on the car. The track was the only place where memories couldn’t reach me. Everything else became irrelevant. People stopped existing. Relationships didn’t matter. Friendships were a luxury I couldn’t afford.
Only the asphalt mattered, the speed, the moment when the line between life and death blurred in the blink of an eye.
In that rush, there was no room for pain, no room for the past.
There was only me and the machine.
The Fight
I lived like a shadow of myself, and the days passed in a mechanical rhythm — waking up, classes at the university, working in the garage, hours on the track, races, night shifts in workshops to make enough money for another month. I slept little, ate even less. I pushed my body to the edge, to the point where it no longer had the strength to resist.
It was easier when I was exhausted. Then I didn’t have to feel or think.
The nightmares didn’t let go. They came back every night, brutal, relentless, suffocating me in the darkness. I woke up screaming, trembling, my heart pounding so hard I thought it would burst.
No one could see it. I built a wall around myself—high and impenetrable. People tried — professors, mechanics, drivers who saw my talent and wanted to help — but I let no one in. I was alone.
And then I heard about the accident.
Death came for them quickly. A wet night, too much speed, one mistake—and they crashed into a concrete wall at the highway entrance. Their bodies burned in the car before anyone could react.
I felt no relief, no satisfaction. Nothing changed.
Their deaths didn’t give me back what they had taken. They didn’t erase the pain, didn’t fill the emptiness they had carved into my soul and heart.
Only the track kept me alive. Every second behind the wheel, every corner taken at the edge of grip, every moment when speed blurred the line between reason and madness — only then was I free. Only then did I forget.
I became a driver that couldn’t be broken. I felt no fear. I felt nothing.
I only felt speed, the fight, and the track.
Meeting Susie
I was used to whispers. To the looks that followed me as I walked through the paddock. To the sarcastic smiles of men who believed my place was anywhere but on the track. To the envy of those I defeated and the quiet admiration of those too afraid to show it. But that day, something was different.
I felt someone's gaze on me — sharp, observant, evaluating, but without a trace of disdain. I turned around. And that’s when I saw her.
Susie Wolff.
I had heard of her. A woman who paved the way, who dared to fight in a world that had no place for her. She was someone to be admired — but I didn’t allow myself to admire anyone. I didn’t believe in heroes.
During a break between sessions, she found me in the garage.
"Miriell Joschke." she said, and I raised an eyebrow. Not everyone knew my name. I preferred to be remembered for my results, not for the letters in a table.
"If you're here to invite me to some motorsport program for women, I’ll pass." I said coldly. "I don’t need special treatment."
She smiled slightly, but there wasn’t even a hint of condescension in her eyes.
"I know" she replied calmly. "That’s why I’m not here to comfort you, but to offer you something that might interest you."
I narrowed my eyes, intrigued despite myself.
"I’m listening."
Susie leaned against a workbench in the garage as if it was her natural environment.
"I know you race anything with four wheels and an engine, and that no matter how bad the car is, you still win. I also know you don’t have support."
I didn’t respond.
"And I want you to have it."
All the warning lights in my head flashed at once.
"I don’t need anyone."
"Everyone needs someone who believes in them." she said softly.
Those words hit a place I thought had long died in me.
I looked at her for a long time, searching her gaze for deception, hidden pity, an ulterior motive. I found none of those things. I found someone who truly understood.
Someone who had once been me.
"What do you mean?" I asked, though I already felt my path shifting.
Susie smiled slightly.
"I have a few doors I can open for you. The question is: are you ready to walk through them?"
I didn’t know then that this conversation would change everything, that it would be the beginning of something that would lead me into a world designed to swallow me whole, to test me, and nearly break me.
But in that moment, I said just one word:
"Yes."
The Opportunity
Mercedes—a symbol of power in the world of motorsport. A place reserved for the few, the most talented, those whose futures were already written in the stars.
I was not one of them.
I had no sponsors, no connections, no big name. I was not a young boy who had trained in academies under the guidance of the best specialists since childhood. I was not a promising junior who only needed refining.
I was a woman, and I was a nobody.
I was twenty-one — too old, in their eyes, to be just starting.
"She’s good, but too old." I heard whispered at meetings. "She has no experience in F3, F2. She’ll fall behind."
"She’s too aggressive."
"She won’t adapt to teamwork."
"A woman? In Formula 1?"
That last one I heard the most.
Susie saw those looks, knew those arguments. She was the only one who fought for me like a lioness, but even she couldn’t change the rules of this world. I had to do it myself.
I was the first to arrive at the garage. And the last to leave.
While other young drivers completed their required sessions and lazily glanced at telemetry data, I sat with engineers and mechanics, learning everything — every screw, every millimeter of the car.
I had to know it inside out.
I couldn’t afford uncertainty, hesitation. I couldn’t afford even the smallest mistake.
Day by day, I proved that I wasn’t there by chance. I was perfect in analysis, in understanding the car, in fighting for every tenth of a second. My driving style was uncompromising — hard, precise, aggressive, but not chaotic.
I was not someone they could ignore, and yet they still did.
I still heard them writing me off. Treating me like a novelty, something that would soon fade away.
Susie saw it. She saw my determination. She saw me returning to the garage past midnight to go over data one more time, how I left myself no way out. She saw how I never allowed myself weakness.
And then she started protecting me.
At first, subtly — small gestures, her presence, support when others looked away. Then, more openly.
Once, after yet another meeting where my place in the academy was questioned, she told me something that stayed with me:
'You’re like a knife, Miriell. Those who don’t know how to hold you will eventually cut themselves."
She was closer to me than anyone. She became more than a mentor.
She became the sister I never had. Susie was the anchor I didn’t know I needed.
For the first time since my grandfather’s death, someone was there — not out of duty, not out of pity, but because she wanted to be.
She saw more in me than just a driver, more than a machine built for racing, more than someone locked in a shell of determination and perfection.
And though I never said it out loud, I knew she felt it.
Then she got pregnant.
And suddenly, I was the one taking care of her.
It came naturally to me, instinctively. Maybe because I had never had a family, and she became mine. Maybe because, for the first time in my life, I felt that someone wouldn’t leave me, wouldn’t walk away.
Or maybe simply because I wanted that child to be born into a world that wasn’t as cold and brutal as the one I knew.
Meeting Toto
At the Mercedes Academy, I was noticed quickly.
Not just because I was a woman — though that alone was controversial enough.
Not just because I was winning, but because I lived this sport in a way rarely seen. Testing. Hours in the simulator. Data analysis. Engineering studies. Mechanics. Everything was equally important. I wanted to know everything about the car — every screw, every reaction, every tiny detail. If I was going to fight, I had to know my weapon better than anyone else.
And then Susie invited me to dinner.
"I want you to meet Toto."
Toto Wolff.
A man even the greatest figures in motorsport feared. A strategist, businessman, and team principal of Mercedes — one of the most powerful teams in Formula 1. A man who held the future of this team and the sport in his hands. Intelligent, charismatic, ruthlessly effective.
It intimidated me. I wouldn’t admit it out loud, but it did.
Susie invited me to their apartment in Monaco, and suddenly, I realized that even though I was a tough girl with a sharp tongue, someone who could talk back to anyone on the track, here — in these elegant interiors, among people who had ruled this world for years — I felt out of place.
Toto Wolff could be intimidating at first sight. A very tall, broad-shouldered man with piercing dark eyes that seemed to look right through you. There was something about him that pulled me in like a magnet from the very first moment. But Toto wasn’t what I had expected. He didn’t look at me as if I were a girl who had stumbled into his world by accident. He didn’t see me as a curiosity, as his wife’s project, as someone who would disappear soon.
He watched me carefully. He analyzed, but he didn’t judge.
"I’ve heard a lot about you," he said as a greeting.
"I hope only good things," I shot back confidently, trying to hide how uncertain I felt.
"Only good. And impressive ones."
I didn’t know what to say, and then I heard him speak to me in Polish.
Not perfectly, but well enough that I understood he knew the language quite well.
"My mother is Polish" he explained with a slight smile, as if he had noticed my surprise.
And suddenly, everything became easier. We talked. About racing, about engineering, about everything that drove me. We quickly found common ground—literally and figuratively.
I didn’t know yet how much that evening would change my life.
I didn’t know that this man would one day lay the world at my feet… and that he himself would become my whole world.
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NEXT -> 2. F1 start
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"I put my armor on, show you how strong I am."
Read the story here:
AO3 Unstoppable Series
Wattpad: Part1 I Part 2 I Part 3 | Part 4
🇵🇱 Dla Polskich czytelników [for Polish readers] [PL]:
❋ 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: 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.
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Next -> Chapter 15: Exes and Chaos: The Spa Sitcom GP
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