She hadn’t come to the race to be impressed. Men like these always mistook noise and recklessness for power, and she was long past entertaining boys who needed attention to feel important. She leaned against the car, platinum blonde hair spilling down her back in thick, voluminous curls that brushed her hips, piercings and ink worn like quiet defiance, her expression cool with boredom as chaos roared around her. She liked men who didn’t ask, didn’t perform—men who took control without raising their voice, who could handle her attitude and shut it down without missing a step. When Tom Kaulitz arrived, she felt the shift before she saw him, the way the air tightened around someone who didn’t need to prove a thing. She didn’t look at him, didn’t offer a glance or a reaction, even as his presence pressed in close and undeniable. Inside, something clicked—not excitement, not fear, but recognition. Finally, a man who wasn’t a child. And if he ever decided to put her in her place, she already knew she’d let him.