Half an hour later, they lifted me from the hospital bed into a wheelchair, then rolled me into the press conference.
Margot stood among a cluster of sponsors in a gown that matched the color of Rufus's suit, her arm looped through his.
He leaned down to introduce her around, his tone warm, his expression patient.
When he saw me wheeled in, he gave me one flat glance, then had them push me up onto the stage.
In front of all the media, he announced
that I was officially leaving the team for health and personal reasons, and that Margot would be taking over the starting position from here on.
Below the stage, the camera flashes went wild.
A reporter suddenly stood up and asked,
"Miss Swanson, what actually happened with your car losing control today? A lot of people online suspect the team tampered with the car beforehand to push a newcomer up. Is that true?"
The room went silent in an instant, every eye swinging toward Margot.
Margot's eyes reddened on cue.
Rufus patted her hand to soothe her, then said in a level voice:
"No one tampered with anything."
"Christine's own driving was the problem. The crash had nothing to do with the team."
I sat in the wheelchair, slowly curling my fingers into my palm, and lowered my head.
The press conference wasn't even over before the smears about me were everywhere.
Some said I'd aged out, that my skills were slipping, and that I was clinging to my starting seat to keep a rookie down.
Some said I'd blown the race and then tried to dump the blame on the team, that I couldn't stand to lose and couldn't stand to quit.
More and more people started gushing over Margot, saying that finishing fifth in her very first world championship made her the team's true rising star.
A few even dug up her personal account and started shipping her with Rufus,
saying that a team owner and a prodigy rookie looked far better matched than Rufus and me ever had.
By the time the victory party ended, Margot had had too much to drink,
her whole body melting against Rufus, clinging to his arm, cooing that she wanted him to take her home.
Rufus looked down at her, and his voice carried an indulgence I hadn't heard in a long time.
"Sure."
Then, as if he'd finally remembered I was still there, he turned to me in the wheelchair.
"You can get yourself back to the hospital, right?"
I watched him quietly and gave a small nod.
Rufus didn't spare me another glance. He didn't even notice that I was the only one left in the entire hall.
He took Margot and strode out.
I stayed where I was, watching their backs disappear through the hotel doors.
"Let's go."
I said it softly.
Someone wheeled my chair into the van waiting at the curb.
The moment the door shut, Jim James, the manager of the Skyvault Racing Team, reached out his hand to me:
"Christine, I'm going to bring you back to the top."
