By this point, Victoria and her team were fully geared up, ready to swap out Osborn''s tires for the second time.


    They had barely finished speaking when two cars collided on the track. Osborn''s car got caught up in the chaos, yet he somehow managed to wrestle his battered vehicle over to Victoria''s pit crew.


    The tires were changed in record time, but instead of racing back out, Osborn flung open his door. The team scrambled to help him out, and through the flurry of mechanics in their crisp uniforms, his hand found Victoria''s with unwavering certainty.


    "Take over for me. I can''t go on."


    Victoria hesitated for only a heartbeat before sliding into Osborn''s seat. By the time she rejoined the race, nobody in the stands even noticed the switch.


    Moments earlier, a serious crash had sent two top drivers straight off the circuit, loaded onto stretchers by medics who reached them in under ten seconds. Thankfully, neither was badly hurt.


    The other cars roared on, the race unbroken.


    Osborn, though, copsed as soon as he stepped out, his strength utterly spent. He was swiftly carried away on a stretcher.


    Victoria was back on the track, but the pit stop and driver change had cost her dearly; most of the field was now far ahead. She forced herself into a cold, mechanical focus-there was no room for fear or doubt, only the race.


    She pushed herself to the absolute limit. By the fiftiethp, she''d passed most of the other drivers, igniting an eruption of apuse from Osborn''s fans. But there were still sixps to go.


    Up in the stands, Gwh didn''t really understand all the racing jargon, but she never took her eyes off Violet''s red Ferrari. She tugged on McNeil''s sleeve and whispered, "Daddy, is Ms. Marchand going to win?"


    On the track, Violet had been overtaken a few times, but always fought her way back, leaving her rivals far behind. Now, only three cars kept pace with her-the final sixps would decide everything. Byp fifty-four, Violet was so far ahead, the others were out of sight.


    Just two moreps, and the championship would be hers.


    Violet''s supporters were on their feet, their cheers thunderous as they waved gs and shouted her name-Vivian.


    Gwh craned her neck, eyes wide, not daring to blink.


    Violet felt certain of victory, pride swelling inside her. She was the only woman on the track, and she was demolishing thepetition-men who''d never imagined being outrun. She couldn''t begin to imagine the impact this would have.


    After today, she, Violet, would shatter the myth that women had no ce in the world of racing.


    As she powered through thest turn onto the finalp, hugging the inside line, a sudden shout erupted from the crowd: "Osborn! Go, Osborn! Overtake her!"


    From the far end of the track, Osborn''s car-a brilliant sh of blue-seemed propelled by something otherworldly. It streaked forward like a thunderbolt, overtaking not only the three leading cars but now closing on Violet''s Ferrari at blinding speed.


    Violet saw a blur of light surge past her. The roar in her ears was deafening. In a single, miraculous move, Osborn''s car crossed the finish line first.


    By the time Violet realized what had happened, the championship was lost. Stunned, she faltered-and in that instant, two cars she''d left behind surged past, iming second and third ce.


    Rage and disbelief overwhelmed her. Her vision tunneled as she steered straight into the safety barrier. The impact split her car in two, and mes erupted almost instantly.


    McNeil watched, heart in his throat. The crowd gasped at the sight of fire, but then -more astonishing than the crash-everyone saw the winning driver climb out of the blue racecar at the finish line, pulling off their helmet.


    A cascade of long, dark hair tumbled free.


    The stadium erupted. "It''s not Osborn-it''s Vivian! That genius mechanic, Vivian!"