The picture hit social media before Gen could even finish her coffee.
A grainy shot. A hotel hallway. Max. Gen. Close enough that the tension was visible even in pixels.
The caption?
"Red Bull golden boy in a secret romance? Sources say mystery woman has ties to the team."
She stared at the image on her phone, heart pounding.
Across the room, her phone buzzed again. Multiple times. It didn't matter who was texting—Daniel, her assistant, a couple of PR officers—she could feel the heat building around her before anyone even said a word.
She needed air.
Ten minutes later, she was in one of the back offices of the paddock. Door locked. Hands on her knees. Breathing like she'd just finished a race of her own.
A quiet knock broke the silence.
Max.
"I saw it," he said, holding up his own phone with a grimace. "You okay?"
"No," she said honestly.
He crossed the room, kneeling in front of her. "Say the word. I'll make it go away."
She looked at him. Really looked.
"You can't," she said softly. "Not this one."
He hated it. She could see it in the way his jaw clenched, his hands twitching like he wanted to do something—fight someone. Shield her.
But she wasn't done falling yet.
Later that afternoon, Christian called her in.
The door closed with a dull click behind her, locking out the roar of the media zone. For a moment, it was just the two of them again—father and daughter, even if the world didn't know it.
He looked up from his laptop, eyes sharp. "You good?"
"No," she admitted again.
He pushed the laptop aside and leaned back, expression softening.
"They're starting to speculate," he said. "Some are wondering if you're a PR hire with too much access. Others are asking why Max looks at you like he's ready to rewrite his contract for you."
Gen flinched.
Christian stood and came around the desk, resting a hand gently on her shoulder. "We always knew this might happen. It was never going to stay secret forever."
"But not like this." Her voice cracked. "Not with him in the middle."
"He's not in the middle unless you let him be."
"I'm scared," she whispered.
Christian didn't say anything. Just stepped in and pulled her into a hug—a real one. No posturing. No stiffness. Just comfort.
She let herself fall into it. Closed her eyes, chin pressed against his shoulder.
What she didn't know—what neither of them saw—was the paparazzo halfway across the paddock with a long lens, pointed at the office window.
The angle was just wrong enough. Christian's hand on her back. Her face tucked in close.
Suggestive.
Intimate.
Dangerous.
The Photo Dropped That Evening
"Mystery Woman Caught in Intimate Moment with Red Bull Boss Christian Horner"
—Is this more than just team business? Speculation grows around team favoritism and a scandalous power dynamic inside Red Bull Racing.
Gen stared at her screen, frozen.
Her face. His arms. A title that screamed everything but the truth.
Across the room, Max slammed his phone onto the table hard enough to rattle it.
"She's your father," he growled. "How the f—how do they get this so wrong?"
"Because they don't know," Gen said quietly. "Because no one does."
Max looked at her, wild with frustration. "Then tell them. End this."
She shook her head. "It's not just about me. It's about him. My mother. The threats. Everything we buried."
"You're going to let them turn this into something filthy just to protect a ghost?"
Gen stepped back like he'd slapped her.
Max immediately looked gutted. "I didn't mean it like that, I just—I hate this. I hate seeing you hurt and not being able to do anything."
Tears burned behind her eyes, but she blinked them away.
"I need time," she said. "I need to figure out how to handle this without blowing everything up."
Max stepped forward, slower this time. Hands raised like she was something breakable.
"You have me," he said, voice softer now. "Whether you say it out loud or not—I'm in."
She looked up at him, heartbreak and hope crashing in her chest like waves in a storm.
"I'm not sure the world can handle us both," she said.
He gave her a small, quiet smile.
"Then let's give them something worth breaking for."
"Loyalty comes at a price. Silence, even more."
The photo had made its way into the group chats. Not just gossip pages anymore.
It was in the hands of Red Bull Racing's board, HR, corporate sponsors—and the FIA's ethics committee.
Gen sat in a stiff leather chair in a cold conference room in Milton Keynes, feeling more exposed than ever. A few executives shuffled papers, some avoided her gaze altogether.
Christian was absent. He'd been advised to recuse himself from this meeting.
Max wasn't allowed in.
She was on her own.
One woman from HR cleared her throat. "Ms. Genevieve, there's been... speculation. This situation—this photo—it's caused quite the stir."
"I'm aware," Gen said calmly, though her stomach was turning.
"We have a PR crisis. Not just because of the image but because the person you were photographed with holds a leadership role in the team, and your position remains undefined publicly. There's a perception problem."
One of the male board members added, "Some believe you're involved with both Horner and Verstappen. That there's... influence. Conflict."
Gen didn't flinch. "Then let me fix it."
"How do you propose that?"
She took a breath. Her heart thundered against her ribs.
"I come forward," she said. "I tell the truth about who I am. About why I was hired. I end the guessing game."
A tense silence followed.
Another voice chimed in, measured and sharp. "That's not a simple press release. That's a multi-layered revelation. Legacy. Family. Nepotism."
"I've never used his name. I've earned every position I've held." Gen's voice trembled at the edges, but she forced steel into it. "If I stay silent, the story isn't that I'm the team principal's daughter. The story is that I'm some young woman being passed around."
That hit them where it hurt.
The room grew heavier. No one quite looked her in the eye. No one said yes, but no one said no either.
She was dismissed with a soft, corporate-tinged "We'll be in touch."
Outside the room, Max was pacing. The moment she emerged, he was at her side.
"How bad?"
"They're deciding if I'm a PR liability."
His eyes darkened. "You're the only reason half of their campaigns don't tank from being tone-deaf."
She smiled tightly. "Doesn't matter. I'm not bulletproof, Max."
Max looked like he wanted to tear the walls down.
Instead, he gently cupped her face, scanning her like he was trying to memorize every line.
"I hate that you're carrying this alone."
Gen softened into his touch. "I'm not. Not really."
His thumb grazed her cheek. "If they try to take this out on you, I swear—"
"Then they'll lose their star driver," she said quietly, and for the first time, they both acknowledged it out loud.
He dropped his hand. "Would you let it get to that?"
She hesitated.
Then, "I don't want it to."
And they both knew that was the most honest answer she could give.
In the paddock the next day, Max and Gen walked separately.
No shared glances. No subtle touches. Just a cold professionalism that didn't quite reach their eyes.
Daniel picked up on it immediately. "You two forget how to be subtle overnight or something?"
"Back off," Max muttered, throwing on his sunglasses like they could block the rest of the world too.
The media were vultures.
Journalists shouted questions across the barricades.
"Max! Who's the woman in the Horner photo?"
"Is it true she's seeing both of you?"
"Any comment on favoritism within the team?"
Gen was shielded by PR handlers. Max was physically pulled away by security.
But the eyes still followed.
Gen found herself back in the garage late, long after everyone had cleared out. She sat on one of the pit stools, staring blankly at the telemetry screen still flickering with data from the day's runs.
Max found her there.
"You okay?"
"No," she said, voice tired.
He didn't ask permission. Just sat beside her and took her hand beneath the console table, hidden from view. A tiny act of rebellion in the only place they could still be real.
"Tell me what you need," he whispered.
She closed her eyes.
"I need this not to cost you everything."
He leaned in, forehead resting against hers, hand squeezing hers tight.
"You're worth everything."