Isla 🪸🌺🪺

[islagalaxie]

MASTERLIST

Max Verstappen

BIG REPUTATION

WANTED, LOVED, BLAMED

BURNING BLUE PT. 1, PART 2

CONFLICT OF INTEREST

NEVER ENOUGH

Charles Leclerc

CRUSH CRUSH CRUSH

BURNING BLUE PT. 1, PART 2

Lando Norris

PRETTY

FOOLISH ONE

Kimi Antonelli

TREAT YOU BETTER

[islagalaxie]

Writing about Kimi is new for me, but it also fills me with so much excitement. His personality and his age make it so easy to write the kind of teenage love that I absolutely adore! I never really got to experience that myself, so being able to live it through these stories gives my heart such a strange kind of warmth.

With Max and Lando it’s a little different because I get to write a more mature kind of love, and that’s something I actually have experience with. In fact, some of the scenes I write are inspired by things I’ve experienced myself. I’m not going to say which ones, though, because some of them are honestly a little embarrassing and painful to remember 🥲

I’ve been feeling really inspired these past few days, and I truly hope I can finally finish the idea I’ve had for Oscar for the past several weeks. Hopefully I don’t get distracted and lose the thread again hahaha.

[islagalaxie]

NEVER ENOUGH - MAX VERSTAPPEN

Max Verstappen x Fem!Reader

SUMMARY: Lando Norris taught Y/N that sometimes love isn't enough to overcome fear. Max Verstappen, however, seems determined to prove that love was never supposed to be so complicated.

After years of believing her place in the world made her impossible to choose, trusting someone who chooses her so easily might be the hardest thing she'll ever do.

WORD COUNT: 11K

NOTE: Hi! Thank you so much for all the love and support you've shown my Max stories. I have to admit he's one of my favorite drivers to write about, and I absolutely adored writing him in this one. I really hope you enjoy this story as much as I enjoyed creating it. English isn't my first language, so you may come across some grammar or wording mistakes.

masterlist

The first time I realized there were people who were born in places different from mine, I was eight years old.

It wasn’t because someone explained it to me. It was because I overheard two of my grandmother’s neighbors talking while they played dominoes in her backyard.

“That little girl’s mother sends money from England, doesn’t she?” one of them asked in a raspy voice as she placed another tile on the table.

“She does.”

“Poor thing… Growing up without a father, and with her mother raising other people’s children instead of her own.” The woman took a long drag from her cigarette before continuing the game, as if she had just made the most ordinary comment in the world.

I kept drawing in the dirt with a stick, pretending I hadn’t heard a thing. Children learn very early which conversations aren’t meant for them.

That night, while my grandmother peeled potatoes for dinner, I couldn’t keep the question to myself any longer.

“Grandma…”

She looked up for only a second.

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“Is it true that my mom takes care of other children in England?”

Her hands froze over the cutting board for a few seconds.

“Your mother works.”

“But… taking care of other children?”

“Yes.”

I lowered my eyes to the concrete floor. I remember staring at a tiny crack, unable to understand why such a simple answer hurt so much.

“Then why doesn’t she take care of me?” I whispered.

My grandmother didn’t answer. She simply set the knife aside, walked over to me, and gently stroked my hair with a rough hand, worn by years of hard work. Then she quietly returned to the kitchen as if nothing had happened.

As I grew older, I learned that some silences weigh far more than any answer ever could.

When I was twelve, the sweet woman who had raised me my entire life passed away.

Something inside me froze that day. Not even the hot cup of coffee one of our neighbors handed me made me feel anything.

The house was filled with people who, until that moment, had never bothered to show up, and suddenly everyone seemed to have an opinion about what should happen to me.

“She can’t stay here alone.”

“She’s still just a child.”

“Someone needs to call her mother.”

No one asked what I wanted. It was as if being twelve meant I had no right to make decisions about my own life.

Two days after the funeral, my mother arrived carrying a single small suitcase, making it painfully obvious she had no intention of staying for long.

“Tomorrow we’re going to take care of some paperwork,” she said. Those were the first words she spoke after settling into my grandmother’s bedroom.

“What are we going to do?” I asked quietly.

“We’re getting your documents ready. You’re coming back to England with me.” Her voice left no room for questions.

So I stayed silent and let the woman who had spent years away come back and rearrange my entire life.

When we arrived at the Norris family’s house, I finally understood why my mother had chosen to build a life here instead of coming back for me like she’d always promised.

The house was beautiful—bright, spotless, and full of life. It couldn’t have been more different from our little concrete home back in our country, which always felt dark and cold.

My mother showed me the bedroom we’d be sharing, and without another word, she left to begin her daily chores around the house.

I was alone. So I wandered outside into the enormous backyard. Everything felt so unfamiliar… so cold… so depressing.

Or maybe that was simply the way I saw the world now that my grandmother was gone.

My relationship with my mother had always been distant. While we lived in different countries, our conversations rarely lasted more than ten minutes. We spoke only about practical things, never about feelings. That’s why I didn’t trust her enough to tell her everything that was happening inside my head.

My thoughts were suddenly interrupted when a football ball slammed into my arm.

“Ow.” I immediately rubbed the sore spot.

When I looked up, I found myself staring at a green-eyed boy wearing an apologetic smile.

“I’m so sorry,” he said. Those were the only words I understood.

I didn’t speak English. To me, everything else sounded like an endless stream of meaningless sounds.

“I… don’t speak English,” I managed to say.

“Oh…” His eyes widened with understanding. “Lucía?”

He cradled his arms as if rocking a baby, and I quickly realized he was asking if I was Lucía’s daughter.

I simply nodded. I thought that would be the end of our interaction. Instead, he stayed exactly where he was.

First, he pointed at himself.

“Lando.”

Then he pointed at me.

“Y/N,” I replied.

His smile grew even wider, clearly pleased that we’d managed to communicate despite the language barrier.

He bent down, picked up the football ball that had been forgotten on the grass, and held it out toward me. Then he pointed his thumb toward a makeshift pitch a few yards away.

He was inviting me to play.

I wanted to say no. But the simple kindness of someone making such an effort to communicate with me, despite neither of us speaking the other’s language, awakened a warmth in my chest that I hadn’t felt in a very long time. So I said yes.

After that day, our friendship blossomed.

Lando was the one who practically taught me how to speak English, while I taught him bits and pieces of Spanish.

We spent countless afternoons playing on his PlayStation or running around the backyard whenever the sun was out. When my mother grounded me and refused to let me leave my room, he’d sneak candy under my bedroom door. Whenever he got into trouble, I’d do the same for him.

As the years passed, our little friendship slowly became something else. Somewhere along the way, the flame of love had ignited within my heart, and from the way Lando looked at me, I was certain that it burned just as intensely within his.

One ordinary afternoon, in the middle of one of our usual games, we shared our first kiss. It was shy, awkward, and over almost as quickly as it had begun.

Afterward, we avoided each other for days. Neither of us knew how we were supposed to act after crossing that line.

Eventually, though, we slipped back into our old routine. We depended on each other too much to let a single kiss ruin everything, so we quietly agreed to pretend it had never happened.

Until the day we crossed a line no friendship ever should.

We slept together for the first time.

The next morning, Lando tried to act like nothing had changed. He laughed, joked, and spoke to me exactly the way he always had.

But eventually, the weight of the question hanging between us—What are we now?—became too much for him to ignore.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” he said quietly. “I never meant for this to happen. You mean so much to me, and I don’t want us holding onto hopes we both know can’t become reality… You know we can’t be together.”

As he spoke the most painful words my sixteen-year-old heart had ever heard, he couldn’t even bring himself to look me in the eye.

I simply nodded and forced a small smile. It hurt more than I could ever describe, but I understood. Someone like him—someone with endless opportunities, someone destined to conquer the world—could never be with someone like me.

The daughter of the housekeeper.

The years that followed were some of the hardest of my life. Lando threw himself completely into his racing career, and little by little, we stopped spending our days together.

At home, things weren’t any easier.

My mother became unbearable. To this day, I don’t know whether it was my teenage hormones or her constant need to control every aspect of my life, but every conversation between us turned into another argument.

By the time I turned eighteen, our relationship had reached the point of no return. One fight escalated until it became physical. So I packed the few clothes and belongings I owned, walked out of that house, and never looked back.

For the first time in years, I was ready to start over. Free from my mother’s control and free from the feelings that had kept my heart tied to Lando for far too long.

(…)

Eight long years had passed since that day.

Time had brought maturity with it, and I had managed to heal many of the wounds I’d carried inside me.

Life hadn’t become any easier after leaving the Norris household. I’d had to work incredibly hard just to support myself, and although I still hadn’t reached the goals I’d set for myself, I could finally say I was stable.

My relationship with my mother, while still complicated, had improved somewhat. At the very least, we could now have a conversation without arguing. Sometimes we even laughed together.

Things with Lando were much the same. Every now and then we’d call each other to ask how life was going, but that was the extent of it. I couldn’t even say we were friends anymore. We were simply two people who shared the nostalgia of the past we’d share together.

One ordinary Sunday, I was invited to the Norris house for a small lunch.

Lando was there with his new girlfriend, along with several of his friends.

Watching him be so affectionate with her made my stomach twist. I wasn’t in love with Lando anymore—that had been left in the past—but I couldn’t help mourning what we might have become if social class hadn’t mattered so much.

I was helping my mother clean up in the kitchen when the doorbell rang. Since no one seemed to hear it from the backyard, I decided to answer the door myself.

“Good afternoon,” a blond man with striking blue eyes greeted me.

He looked strangely familiar.

“Hi. How can I help you?” I asked, studying his serious expression.

With that same curiosity, he began studying mine.

“Max! I thought you weren’t going to make it!” Lando’s cheerful voice broke the strange silence between us.

I looked back at the blond man, and suddenly his face clicked into place.

Max Verstappen.

Just like Lando, he was a Formula One driver.

I stepped aside to let him in. He gave me one last lingering glance before following Lando toward the backyard.

The afternoon passed without anything particularly remarkable happening.

Everything felt perfectly normal… Except for the fact that Max Verstappen kept looking at me.

We were all scattered around the garden. Lando’s girlfriend settled beside him on the outdoor sofa and intertwined her fingers with his the moment I walked over to set a few plates on the table. The gesture was far too deliberate to be accidental.

I chose to ignore it or at least, I tried to.

“So, what do you do for a living?” she suddenly asked me.

“I work as a dancer at a theater, and from time to time I also work at art exhibitions.”

I conveniently left out the job that actually occupied most of my time: working as a barista at a coffee shop.

“Really?” She smiled. It was a beautiful smile, but completely hollow. “That’s interesting. I honestly thought you’d still be working here with your mom.”

The silence that followed was almost imperceptible. But it was there. I could feel several pairs of eyes turning toward me. I took a slow breath before answering.

“No. I’ve been living on my own for years.”

“I see…” She took a sip of her drink. “I suppose growing up here must have opened a lot of doors for you.”

She hadn’t raised her voice. She hadn’t said anything openly offensive. But every single person there understood exactly what she was implying.

That anything I’d achieved was because of the Norris family. Not because I’d earned it myself.

Lando opened his mouth.

“She got her job on her own—”

“I was only saying she’s been lucky,” his girlfriend interrupted with a flawless smile.

I didn’t want to stay there anymore.

I picked up my glass and announced that I was going to the kitchen for another drink before turning away, not giving anyone the chance to stop me.

The moment I stepped into the kitchen, I had to take several deep breaths to keep my anger under control.

Who the fuck did that bitch think she was?

Who had given her the right to judge me like that?

I’d worked my ass off these past eight years to build a life for myself. No one had ever handed me anything on a silver platter… Like they most likely had with her.

Stupid bitch.

Stupid Lando.

A few years earlier, I probably would’ve destroyed her with a comeback so brutal everyone around us would’ve been clutching their pearls.

“You’re actually pretty nice, you know? If I were you, I wouldn’t have let that slide.” A deep, raspy voice pulled me out of my murderous thoughts.

I turned around to find Max filling a glass with water.

“Are you trying to start a fight?” I asked, crossing my arms as I looked at him with amusement.

Max simply shrugged.

“Only if you want to.” He took a sip of water as if he’d said nothing unusual.

A laugh escaped me before I could stop it. Half disbelief, half amusement.

“I don’t think the Norris family—or my mother—would appreciate me starting a fight in their backyard.” I sighed. “So I’ll just stay in here until I calm down.”

“Then I’ll stay with you,” he decided, pulling out one of the kitchen chairs.

We talked about everything.

Anyone watching us would’ve assumed we’d known each other for years instead of having met barely an hour earlier.

He told me a little about his life, his racing career, and the end of the previous championship.

I told him about my home in my country and all the different jobs I worked.

“How do you manage to have three jobs?” he asked, frowning.

It genuinely seemed impossible for him to understand how anyone could take on that much responsibility.

“Well, I only work at the theater on Friday and Saturday nights,” I explained before taking a sip of my lemonade. “Sometimes Sundays too, if Monday’s a holiday. I only have rehearsals two evenings during the week, which leaves my weekdays free to work at the coffee shop. As for the art galleries, I only work whenever there’s an exhibition, usually on weekend mornings and afternoons.”

Max looked genuinely horrified. I couldn’t help laughing, it wasn’t the first time someone had looked at me that way.

“Trust me,” I said with a shrug, “it’s not as bad as it sounds. It helps knowing it’s only temporary. I’m saving as much money as I can, and once I have enough, I’ll find a job that isn’t nearly as demanding.”

After that, our conversation drifted toward lighter topics. Nothing serious or complicated.

The truth was, Max was an excellent conversationalist, and I found myself genuinely enjoying his company.

We talked until late into the night, until almost everyone had gone home and only the two of us—and a couple of others—remained in the garden.

When we finally said goodbye, it felt like we were old friends. In my mind, I told myself it would be the first and last time we’d ever see each other; but deep down my heart hoped there could be something more.

The next morning, the first person to question me was my mother, as always.

“Remember your place when it comes to men like them. They have money, power, and connections, and they look for women of the same caliber to be with. Don’t get your hopes up over nothing.”

With a disapproving frown, she made it very clear what she thought about how close Max and I had seemed the day before.

“I know that, Mom,” I replied, rolling my eyes as I stirred my bowl of oatmeal with my spoon.

“It didn’t look that way yesterday. Open your eyes, Y/N. You’re far too old not to realize that men like them only want a one-night stand with you.” My mother continued her lecture.

Before I could answer, Lando’s voice interrupted us.

“Can I steal her for a minute?” he asked my mother, nodding in my direction.

She picked up her coffee mug.

“I’m going upstairs to take care of a few things.” Without another word, she left the kitchen.

Lando walked over to the coffee maker, poured himself a cup, and took a slow sip. I simply watched him, trying to figure out what was going on inside his head.

“So…” he began, leaning against the counter. “What did you think of Max?”

Lando was so predictable that I almost laughed.

“I actually liked him.” I took another spoonful of oatmeal, deliberately leaving it at that.

Lando simply nodded and kept watching me.

“What?” I finally asked after a few moments of silence.

“He’s a good guy,” he said after a brief pause. “But…”He stopped, searching for the right words.

I gestured with my hand for him to continue.

“He can be very impulsive.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, narrowing my eyes.

“When he wants something, he usually goes after it without thinking too much. And I don’t want you to get hurt.” He set his mug down and leaned against the kitchen island so we were face-to-face.

I rolled my eyes with a quiet sigh.

“Lando… you don’t have to worry, okay? I know how to take care of myself. I’ve been taking care of myself for practically my whole life, and I’m doing just fine.” I motioned toward myself as if presenting proof that I was perfectly alive and well.

Lando let out a long sigh.

“It’s just…” His voice softened. “You mean a lot to me. I don’t want anything bad to happen to you. I want your heart to stay safe.”

For a moment, I could see the sixteen-year-old boy I’d fallen in love with reflected in his eyes. The warmth in his gaze made my stomach twist. I swallowed discreetly before forcing a small smile.

“Don’t worry. We only had one conversation yesterday. It’s not like we’re going to get married.” A nervous laugh slipped from my lips.

(…)

A few days later, it was Tuesday.

Tuesdays were usually the most boring days at the coffee shop. It was always half empty, and time seemed to move painfully slowly. I was restocking one of the display cases when Elena, one of my coworkers, walked over to me.

“There’s someone at that table asking for you.”

She pointed her thumb toward a table tucked away in the corner, occupied by a man sitting with his back to us.

Confused, I made my way over. Customers almost never requested a specific server.

“Good morning. How can I hel—” The words died in my throat before I could finish.

The man looked up calmly and offered me an easy smile.

“Good morning.” His deep voice sent a shiver down my spine.

“Max?” I blurted out. “What are you doing here?” The disbelief in my voice was impossible to hide.

He slowly closed the menu.

“Having coffee.” He tilted his head ever so slightly “Isn’t that obvious?”

I stared at him for several seconds, completely dumbfounded. Shaking my head with a small laugh, I took his order and walked behind the counter to prepare it.

There was no way this was actually happening to me.

A few minutes later, I placed his drink in front of him, unable to hold back the question that had been bothering me.

“How did you find this place?”

“You told me where you worked.” He shrugged before taking his first sip.

“No, I’m sure I didn’t.” I frowned, folding my arms across my chest.

“You told me what neighborhood it was in,” he replied casually. “That was enough. There weren’t that many coffee shops around, so it wasn’t hard to find.”

He took another sip while looking at me over the rim of his cup.

He was lying. We weren’t close to downtown, but this wasn’t some hidden corner of the city either there were plenty of cafés around. There was no way he’d found this one that easily.

“So why did you come here?”

“Because I wanted coffee.” He shrugged like it was the most obvious answer in the world.

But that smile… There wasn’t a single innocent thing about it.

“I don’t believe you.” I narrowed my eyes.

“Fine.” He raised both hands in surrender. “I wanted to see you.”

He admitted it without hesitation. Without embarrassment. Without the slightest trace of shame. It was as if he’d just commented on the weather.

“You’re weird.” I laughed, mostly out of surprise.

“Why?” he asked, genuinely confused.

“Because we barely know each other, and you’re doing… this.”

“Exactly.” He adjusted himself in his chair until he was sitting perfectly straight. “It’s hard to get to know someone if you never see them again.”

I couldn’t argue with that logic. So I laughed once more and went back to work.

Even as I moved around the café, I could feel his eyes following me. He watched every movement carefully, and every time our eyes met, he’d give me the smallest smile.

“When are you finally leaving?” I asked, growing increasingly frustrated with his relentless staring.

“Wow.” A laugh escaped him. “Customer service isn’t exactly your strongest skill.”

When my expression didn’t change, he added,

“I’ll leave as soon as you give me your number.”

For a moment, I was speechless. The man had absolutely no shame.

“Does this little performance usually work on women?” I finally asked.

“I don’t know.” He shrugged. “I’ve never tried it before.”

He said it so naturally that I found myself laughing again. It was impossible to tell when he was joking, but I had a feeling he wasn’t.

“Are you always this straightforward?”

“Yes.” He answered without the slightest hesitation.

“It’s a little intimidating.” Now it was my turn to admit something.

“Do you want me to stop?”

I studied him carefully. I expected a grin. A joke. Something. But there was nothing, he was simply waiting for my answer.

I slowly shook my head.

“No…” Then I caught myself. “Well… yes. I don’t know.”

A quiet chuckle escaped him.

“Make up your mind.”

“Don’t change the subject.” I pointed a finger at him.

“I’m not.” He defended himself immediately.

I sighed.

“Do you always get what you want?”

“No.” He paused to think. “But I can be very persistent.”

I couldn’t help but remember my mother’s words.

Men like them look for women from their own world.

Then I remembered Lando.

We can’t be together.

Two men from the same world, the same social standing. And yet, they seemed to speak completely different languages.

In the end, I gave him my number. Only so he’d finally leave me alone or at least, that’s what I told myself.

He stood up, took out his wallet, and paid for his coffee. Before leaving, he said with the same calmness he’d arrived with,

“See you in a few days.”

I watched him open the door and disappear before I could even think of a response. I stood there for several seconds, completely frozen.

Elena appeared behind me with the biggest grin on her face.

“Did that man just shamelessly flirt with you?”

I kept staring at the door, still trying to figure out what the hell had just happened.

(…)

Sunday of that same week arrived with the usual chaos that came with exhibition days.

People drifted in and out of the gallery, the constant murmur of conversations about artists most of them barely knew, and the clinking of wine glasses every few minutes. It was exhausting, but it was also the only job where I never felt like I was pretending to be someone else.

Here, I wasn’t the daughter of a housekeeper. I wasn’t the barista who served coffee all week. I wasn’t the charming, flirtatious dancer.

Here, I was simply someone talking about something she loved.

I had just finished explaining one of the pieces when I excused myself from the group to get a glass of water.

“So this is where you disappear to on Sundays.” The voice made me turn around immediately.

For a split second, I thought my mind was playing tricks on me.

But it wasn’t.

Max was standing beside one of the sculptures, his hands tucked into his pockets and wearing such a calm expression that it looked like he’d been waiting for me for quite a while.

I couldn’t help smiling.

“What are you doing here?”

His gaze wandered slowly around the gallery before settling back on me.

“I came to see you.” He said it with the same ease most people would use to say good afternoon. He didn’t even try to dress it up.

A strange warmth tightened in my chest.

I shook my head, somewhere between amused and bewildered. There was something deeply unusual about him.

He didn’t flirt the way other men did. He didn’t try to impress me. He simply showed up, like wanting to see me was reason enough.

I motioned for him to walk with me as I resumed my tour of the gallery.

For nearly an hour, he didn’t interrupt me once. He simply followed me with his hands in his pockets, listening to every explanation with an attentiveness that genuinely surprised me. Every now and then, he’d stop to study one of the paintings for a few moment. But somehow, his eyes always found their way back to me.

It was unsettling.

When the last group moved on to the next room, I let out a relieved breath.

“So?” I asked as I walked over to him. “What did you think?”

He studied the painting in front of him for a few seconds.

“I didn’t understand much of it.”

I laughed.

“I figured.”

“But I liked listening to you.” The answer caught me completely off guard.

“Why?”

This time, he didn’t answer immediately. He looked at me with that infuriating calmness that seemed to define everything he did.

“Because you’re different here.”

Almost instinctively, I looked around. He was right.

Here, I didn’t measure every word before I spoke, I didn’t worry about being judged, I simply existed.

“It’s the only place where I feel like I know exactly what I’m doing.”

He nodded, like my answer had confirmed something he’d already suspected.

We continued walking among the artwork.

The silence wasn’t awkward. With Max, it never seemed to be.

Until my eyes landed on a group of elegantly dressed women chatting over glasses of wine. They all looked like they belonged there.

Then I looked down at myself. I was wearing a simple black dress I’d bought on sale nearly two years earlier. I felt out of place.

“I don’t understand what you’re doing here with me.” The words escaped before I could stop them.

Max barely turned his head.

“I already told you.”

I slowly shook mine.

“No…” I swallowed. “I’m not the kind of woman men like you usually go for.”

I expected anything, a smile, a compliment, a ‘Don’t say that’. Instead, he simply frowned, like he was genuinely trying to understand what I meant.

“And what kind is that?”

A short laugh escaped me.

“Max…” I gestured around the gallery. “Look at them.”

He did. For several seconds, he watched the women talking nearby before looking back at me.

“What about them?”

I sighed.

It was difficult to explain something I’d believed since I was a teen.

“They belong in your world, I don’t. I spend my week serving coffee just to pay my rent. My mother spent half her life cleaning other people’s houses, and she’s still cleaning your friend’s house too. So I hope you can understand why it’s hard for me to believe that someone like you would show up at two of my jobs just because he wants to get to know me.”

The silence that followed was brief, much shorter than I expected.

“I don’t understand.” His answer was so firm that it completely disarmed me. “Because all of that seems important to you. Not to me.”

Something shifted inside my chest. All my life, I’d been taught that the differences between people were impossible to ignore, that sooner or later, they always outweighed everything else.

Lando had taught me that without ever having to say it aloud.

But Max… Max seemed incapable of understanding why we were even having this conversation.

“You’re used to making decisions for other people.”

I frowned.

“What?”

“You’ve spent the last five minutes telling me what kind of woman I should like.” He took a single step closer, not enough to invade my space. Just enough to make sure I was listening. “And you still haven’t asked me what I want.”

I didn’t answer. Because, I didn’t have one.

A faint smile appeared on his face. The small one he seemed to reserve for only a handful of moments.

“It’s a lot simpler than you’re making it.”

And just like that, the conversation was over.

He didn’t insist, didn’t try to convince me. He simply turned his attention to the next painting like we’d just been discussing something as ordinary as what he planned to have for dinner.

Oddly enough that was what unsettled me the most. Because while I’d spent my entire life turning the differences between us into an impossible mountain to climb, Max didn’t seem capable of seeing that the mountain even existed.

(…)

My third job was, by far, the hardest one to explain.

Everytime I told someone I danced at a late-night theater, they always gave me the same look. The look of people who assumed far too much without asking a single question.

Eventually, I stopped explaining.

The pay was good, I loved dancing, and no one had the right to decide what I did with my own body to make a living.

Friday performances were always sold out.

The theater transformed completely after nightfall. Warm lights replaced the starkness of the stage, and the air filled with the scent of perfume, alcohol, and makeup.

By then, I’d learned how to tell the difference between the customers who came for the performance and those who mistook a stage for an invitation.

I was adjusting the last garter on my stockings in front of the mirror when one of the dancers gave me a playful nudge.

“There’s a really handsome man asking for you.”

I laughed.

“Which one?”

“No… this one’s different.”

I peeked through the side of the courtain and nearly choked on my own saliva.

Max.

Sitting at a table near the stage with a glass of whiskey in front of him.

He was wearing an immaculate dark suit and observing the room with the same quiet calm he seemed to observe absolutely everything else with.

The moment our eyes met, he lifted his glass ever so slightly in greeting.

I shook my head, fighting back a smile.

He was officially a stalker.

I’d never been embarrassed to step onto that stage. Not because I was an exhibitionist. But because, over time, I’d learned that my body could be an artistic instrument instead of something I should be ashamed of.

The music began and he lights did the rest. For several minutes, I completely forgot Max was sitting in the audience. Until one of the choreographies had me walking almost the entire length of the runway.

As I passed his table, I looked at him.

He wasn’t smiling. He didn’t have that smug expression so many men wore when they walked into that place. He was simply watching me, like he was trying to memorize every movement.

And for some reason that look made me far more nervous than all the whistles coming from the rest of the room.

The show ended nearly an hour later and that was when everything went to hell.

I slipped a satin robe over my costume and stepped outside the dressing room to get some fresh air.

I hadn’t even finished closing the door behind me when a man stepped in front of me, blocking my path.

“You dance beautifully.”

I smiled politely.

“Thank you.” I tried to walk past him, but he stepped in front of me again.

“Are you always this hard to get?”

A knot formed in my stomach.

“Excuse me, I need to get back inside.”

This time, he grabbed my wrist hard.

“Five minutes. I’m just trying to talk to you.”

Before I could react, someone forcefully pulled his hand away from my arm.

“She said no.” Max’s voice was colder than I’d ever heard it before.

The man let out a drunken laugh.

“And who the hell are you?”

“The one telling you to let her go.”

There wasn’t any more conversation. Everything happened too fast.

One shove.

Then another.

Then the first punch.

And suddenly several people were trying to pull them apart while someone shouted for security.

“Max!”

It was useless, he didn’t even seem to hear me.

The last thing I saw before walking away was a chair flying through the air.

I turned around. Not because I didn’t care, but because I knew that kind of chaos far too well. I’d spent too many years watching men decide that violence could solve everything and I wasn’t about to stand there and watch another one. I ended up sitting on the curb in the parking lot.

I couldn’t even remember when I’d started crying.

My makeup had to be completely ruined. I was wearing false eyelashes, red lipstick, a sparkly dress underneath a satin robe and I was crying in a parking lot at two o’clock in the morning.

What a depressing picture.

I heard footsteps approaching, I didn’t bother looking up because I already knew who it was.

“If you’re here to explain why you got into that fight, don’t bother.”

A brief silence followed.

“Okay.”

I frowned slightly. I had been expecting an argument, not obedience.

“You’re not going to insist?”

“You said you didn’t want to hear it.”

I finally looked up.

Max’s lip was split open. The corner of his mouth was still bleeding, and a cut above his eyebrow had already begun to swell.

I sighed.

“You look like shit.”

He wiped the blood away with the back of his hand.

“He looks worse.”

I couldn’t help laughing through my tears.

“You’re an idiot.”

For the first time since he’d walked out of the theater he smiled.

He sat down beside me without saying a word. For several minutes, neither of us spoke. We simply listened to the distant sound of passing cars, until I was the one who finally broke the silence.

“So…” I looked over at him. “Did you win?”

He turned toward me.

“I think so.”

“You think?”

“At some point they stopped punching me and started holding me back with four guys.” He shrugged. “I guess that counts as a win.”

I burst into laughter. Completely inappropriate laughter.

He ended up laughing too.

Suddenly, all the drama from the last twenty minutes felt absurdly ridiculous. I wiped my tears away with the back of my hand.

“Now tell me.” I looked at him “Why did you do it?”

His expression turned serious again.

“Because he grabbed you.”

That was it, no speech, no heroic explanation. Just those four words.

Something shifted inside my chest. No one had ever reacted like that because of me, not even the people who’d actually had the right to.

“I’ve spent my whole life trying not to be a burden to anyone.”

He tilted his head slightly.

“You’re doing a terrible job.”

A laugh escaped me.

“Was that supposed to make me feel better?”

“No.” He looked completely serious. “Just an observation.”

I laughed again. It was impossible to stay dramatic around him for very long.

I took a deep breath.

“I’m hungry.”

Max blinked.

“I want sushi.”

He looked at his watch.

“It’s two in the morning.”

“I know.”

“Now?”

I nodded. He stared at me for a few seconds before standing up.

“Alright.”

“Seriously?” I hadn’t expected him to agree.

“Yeah.” He lifted his car keys “Let’s go get sushi.”

I followed him across the parking lot. Halfway to the car, he looked me up and down.

“Are you really going in dressed like that?”

I looked down. High heels, a satin robe over a sequined costume, and mascara streaked all the way to my chin.

I laughed.

Then I looked at him.

His suit was wrinkled, his lip was split open. There was dried blood on the collar of his shirt.

“And you?”

He shrugged.

“We make a pretty good pair.”

I completely agreed.

Half an hour later, we were sitting in a tiny all-night sushi restaurant.

The waitress looked at him, then at me, then back at both of us. Finally, she asked as casually as if nothing were unusual,

“Extra soy sauce?”

Max looked at me. I shrugged.

“Obviously.”

She nodded without asking a single question. I waited until she’d walked away before turning back to him.

“We just ordered sushi dressed like we walked out of a fight in a cabaret.”

Max opened the box of gyoza.

“Because we did walk out of a fight in a cabaret.”

That night I laughed until my stomach hurt.

(…)

After that chaotic night, an unusual calm settled over my life.

Max stopped showing up unexpectedly at my jobs, and as much as I hated to admit it, something inside me withered a little.

Every time the café door opened, my heart would race only to sink the moment I realized it wasn’t him.

I forced myself to forget about him and buried myself in work. It was obvious that, for him, I’d been nothing more than a brief distraction before returning to his real life.

Three weeks passed.

Then one night, while I was lying in bed trying to fall asleep, my phone buzzed.

UNKNOWN NUMBER: Hi. How have you been?

UNKNOWN NUMBER: Sorry I didn’t text you sooner. Somehow I lost your number.

UNKNOWN NUMBER: I had to fight with this piece of crap technology just to get it back.

I frowned as I read the messages.

Who the hell was this?

ME: Hi, who is this?

UNKNOWN NUMBER: Seriously? 🙄

ME: Well, if I wasn’t serious, I wouldn’t be asking 😒

UNKNOWN NUMBER: I’m the love of your life and your future husband.

The smile I’d been missing for the past few weeks returned instantly. Like an idiot, I kicked my feet beneath my blankets before immediately saving his number to my contacts.

ME: Jacob Elordi?

MAX: He’s dating Kendall Jenner, so I doubt he’d be texting you something like that.

ME: A girl can dream 🥲

ME: How have you been, Max?

MAX: So you did know it was me. Does this mean you’re admitting that I really am the love of your life and your future husband?

ME: I’m admitting you’re the only lunatic I know who genuinely believes that’s possible 🙂‍↔️

MAX: Ha. Ha. Ha. 🤡

MAX: You’re hilarious 😒

MAX: But seriously, I’m sorry I didn’t text sooner. I really couldn’t find your contact.

ME: Don’t worry about it. Although I was starting to think you’d given up on me.

MAX: That’s not a word in my vocabulary. At least not when it comes to you.

My heart skipped a beat as I read the message. He had an incredible ability to send shivers down my spine without even trying. I knew that probably wasn’t a good thing, but I couldn’t help it.

MAX: I’m in Monaco. I had to come back because I have to spend a certain amount of time here every year. You know… taxes and all that.

ME: Yeah, it’s pretty much the same with Lando. I get it.

A couple of minutes passed without another message. I assumed that was the end of the conversation.

Then the three little typing dots appeared.

MAX: Anyway, I wanted to ask if you’d like to come spend a weekend with me. I know you have work and everything, but do you think you could get a few days off?

ME: Max… Work isn’t really the issue. It’s just I can’t exactly afford to pack my bags and fly to Monaco on a whim.

What the hell did he think? That I was rich? I worked three jobs, and even then, if I went two months without work, I’d probably end up homeless.

MAX: Y/N, please. You didn’t actually think I’d let you pay for any of it, did you? What kind of man would that make me? I’ll pay for everything, I just want you to come visit me and spend some time together, not make your life any harder.

ME: Don’t you think that’s a bit much? I can count on one hand how many times we’ve actually seen each other.

I tried to reason with him. Although I already had a pretty good idea of what his answer would be.

MAX: So? I already know your family, I know where you work. Why does it matter how many times we’ve seen each other?

ME: This is all happening way too fast.

MAX: Not at all. If it were up to me, we’d already be married. I’m just trying to move at your pace.

A laugh of complete disbelief escaped me.

This man was insane. But it was the kind of insanity that felt oddly refreshing. Being around him made me feel something I hadn’t experienced in years.

Comfort.

Joy.

A sense that maybe life didn’t always have to feel so heavy. I didn’t want to admit it, but I wanted more of that feeling.

The last few years of my life had felt like I was constantly one step away from falling apart. And somehow, Max felt like a breath of fresh air.

ME: You’re going to have to do a lot more than that. But, lucky for you I accept. So when’s the trip?

It was that very same weekend. Max didn’t want to waste any time or risk me changing my mind. Which, if I was being honest, I had almost done a couple of times.

When I arrived, Max picked me up in Nice, and from there we took a helicopter to Monaco.

Everything about it was completely new to me. I tried my best not to let my amazement show, but it was obvious Max noticed.

He just laughed every time.

It was Friday, and Max had a few media interviews to get through, so he introduced me to a woman who turned out to be a fashion stylist.

Yes.

Max had arranged an entire afternoon of shopping for me.

I wanted to refuse. It felt like this was far too much, but he hadn’t exactly given me a choice, considering the stylist was the one picking out everything and insisting I try it on.

If I tried on a thousand outfits that afternoon, I still think I’d be underestimating it. Once our shopping marathon was finally over, Max came to pick me up and took me back to his apartment.

The moment I walked through the door, I threw myself onto the bed with every intention of sleeping until the next morning.

Max, however had other plans. He practically forced me out of bed and told me to get ready because we were going out for dinner.

I ended up wearing one of the beautiful dresses he’d bought for me earlier that day.

Max looked incredibly handsome himself.

That night was wonderful.

We laughed and drank far too much. By the end of the night, Max decided it was smarter to leave his car in a parking garage.

The two of us practically stumbled all the way back to his apartment.

It must have been a ridiculous sight. Anyone watching us would’ve had no idea whether I was helping Max walk or if he was the one helping me.

On Saturday, we went to the casino.

On Sunday, we spent the afternoon on a yacht.

I felt like I was floating, completely relaxed. Without a single worry in my mind.

Max was the funniest, kindest man I’d ever met. Which was exactly why, on Sunday night, as I packed my suitcase to return to my complicated reality, the apartment felt like sadness itself had settled into it.

“I don’t want you to leave.” Max’s voice was barely above a whisper.

I turned to look at him. He was leaning against one of the bedroom walls, watching me.

“I don’t want to leave either.” My voice caught slightly “But I have to go back to work.”

The moment our eyes met, I had to look away. I knew I wouldn’t be able to hold his gaze without bursting into tears.

Max walked over and sat down beside me on the bed.

“Stay this week.” His words came so easily that they sounded less like a suggestion than an inevitability “Take a few more vacation days. There’s still so much I want to show you.”

He smiled softly.

“You can go home next Sunday.”

I looked at him, trying to figure out whether he was joking. He wasn’t.

His face showed nothing but determination.

“Max…” I shook my head. “It’s not as easy as you make it sound.”

“It is.” He crossed his arms. “Unless you just don’t want to spend more time with me.”

Then he looked away with a deep frown, looking every bit like an offended child.

I almost laughed.

“No, that’s not it.” I reached over and took one of his hands. “I do want to stay with you.”

“Then stay.” His voice softened “Please.”

The way he asked completely melted my heart. After letting out the deepest sigh imaginable I gave in.

The smile that spread across Max’s face was so wide it looked like he’d just won the lottery.

I contacted all three of my jobs to let them know I’d be extending my vacation. Fortunately, none of them had a problem with it.

The days that followed were just as wonderful. We did everything. We wandered through Monaco without any real destination.

We visited a nearby town and spent the day sightseeing.

Every moment felt effortless, I felt like I was living inside a dream. But nothing in my life had ever stayed perfect for long, sooner or later reality always found me.

It was Thursday when Max asked me to accompany him to a charity dinner. The event didn’t allow media or unauthorized cameras, so he assured me that my presence wouldn’t attract much attention.

What neither of us had taken into account was that several of the other Formula One drivers would be there.

Including Lando.

Some time after we arrived, my eyes met another pair that I recognized instantly. Lando’s girlfriend, Marie.

The moment Marie recognized me, she raised an eyebrow and looked me up and down. She let out a quiet laugh before leaning toward the man I immediately recognized as Lando and whispered something in his ear.

He turned sharply in my direction, but before our eyes could meet, I looked away.

Max had stepped aside to greet someone, so I forced myself to pay attention to the elegant older woman who had been talking nonstop for nearly five minutes about the venue’s décor. Out of politeness, I smiled a couple of times and made a few meaningless comments.

My heart was racing. I held onto my wine glass so tightly because I was terrified someone would notice my hands trembling.

When the woman finally excused herself, I nearly cried with grief. I didn’t want to be standing there alone.

I was about to go find Max again but that was the exact moment Lando decided to walk over.

“Out of all the places in the world…” His familiar accent caught me off guard. “I never expected to run into you here.”

I turned toward him and offered him a slightly shaky smile.

“It’s a small world.” I shrugged like it was nothing.

Marie appeared beside him wearing the same perfectly practiced smile.

“What a surprise to see you here.” Her eyes slowly traveled over my black lace dress. “I never imagined events like this were the kind of places someone like you would attend. No offense.”

She tilted her head ever so slightly. Not once did her smile leave her face.

Bitch.

“You’re right,” I replied at last. “I usually avoid places with fake people and events like this tend to be full of them.”

Lando covered a laugh with a fake cough. For the briefest moment, Marie’s smile lost some of its shine.

“Did I miss something?” Max’s calm voice interrupted us. His eyes moved from me to Lando and finally to Marie.

She smiled at him with that same rehearsed kindness.

“I was just telling Y/N that I was surprised to see her here.”

Max nodded once.

“I’m not.”

Marie blinked.

“You’re not?”

“No.” He picked up a glass from a passing server’s tray. “Wherever she is, the atmosphere usually gets a lot better.”

Heat rushed to my face.

Marie let out a short laugh.

“That’s very sweet.”

“I wasn’t trying to be.” He answered with complete calm before taking a sip of his drink. “I was just saying what I think.”

As he spoke, his hand came to rest lightly against the small of my back. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Lando’s gaze immediately follow the movement.

“You came here together?” he asked, unable to hide his surprise.

I opened my mouth to answer but Max beat me to it.

“Yes.” He offered no further explanation.

“I had no idea you’d become this close.” Lando’s jaw tightened ever so slightly.

If I hadn’t spent half my teenage years watching him I probably wouldn’t have noticed. But I knew exactly what that gesture meant.

He was uncomfortable.

And somehow his discomfort became mine. I hated seeing him like that.

I shifted my weight and took another sip of my wine, hoping it would settle the knot in my stomach.

Apparently, Max noticed. Because without saying another word, he came up with an excuse to pull us away toward another part of the ballroom.

As we walked away I could still feel Lando’s eyes burning into the back of my neck.

(…)

The awkwardness disappeared as soon as we got back to Max’s apartment and our mouths found each other.

Our hands didn’t stay still for a single moment, and with some effort we managed to get out of our clothes.

Max bent me over the couch, pulled the thin fabric of my underwear aside to get better access to my wet pussy, and without much consideration, thrust into me hard. My eyes fell shut as I felt him hit the deepest part of me.

His thrusts were hard and rhythmic. The pleasure was so overwhelming that moans began spilling from his mouth, and with a quick movement, he gave my ass a hard slap.

That made me arch my back even more, and matching his rhythm, I began moving to meet every one of his thrusts.

At one point, I stopped lubricating and began to feel a slight burning sensation that drove me even crazier. My moans of pleasure grew louder, which made him lose himself in the pleasure even more.

We changed positions a couple of times until the pressure building inside me became too much, and I came hard.

A few more thrusts from Max, and he came too with a guttural sound. He spilled the result of his orgasm across my stomach.

It was the first time we’d had sex, and the son of a bitch had passed the test.

A while later, we were already in bed. Max was asleep beside me, but I couldn’t fall asleep.

My mind kept racing, and with a growing sense of concern, I replayed everything that had happened throughout the evening.

Apparently, I wasn’t the only one feeling restless. A few minutes later, my phone lit up with a text message.

From Lando.

LANDO: Can we talk?

LANDO: I’m outside Max’s building. Please come down.

My heart immediately began pounding. This couldn’t be happening.

I looked over at Max.

He was fast asleep, one arm stretched across my side of the bed, a faint crease between his brows like he somehow managed to overthink even in his sleep.

I let out a slow breath.

I grabbed a jacket, scribbled a quick note telling him I’d gone out for a walk, and took the elevator downstairs.

Lando was leaning against his car with his hands buried in his pockets. When he heard my footsteps, he looked up. For a moment neither of us spoke.

“How did you know I was here?” I asked at last.

A tired smile crossed his face.

“I guessed.”

We walked in silence until we reached the edge of the harbor. The lights from the yachts shimmered across the dark water.

“Are you having a good time?” he asked suddenly.

“Yeah.” I nodded.

Silence settled between us again. I knew this kind of silence far too well.

Lando’s silences were never empty, they were always filled with questions he didn’t know how to ask.

“So…” He finally looked at me. “What’s going on between you and Max?”

There it was.

I slipped my hands into my jacket pockets.

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

I slowly shook my head.

“We haven’t talked about it.”

“But you’re together.” He pressed a little harder.

“We’re spending time together.”

I watched his jaw tighten.

“That’s not the same thing.”

“Maybe not to you.”

His eyes locked onto mine.

“And to you?”

I lowered my gaze to the water.

The truth was I didn’t know how to answer. All I knew was that, with Max, I never felt the need to question where I belonged.

He simply made room for me.

“You don’t have to answer.” His voice was noticeably colder this time “I’m just trying to understand.”

I smiled sadly.

“Understand what?”

“What’s happening.”

I looked at him for a long moment.

“Nothing you need to worry about.”

His breathing changed ever so slightly.

It was barely noticeable. But it was enough for me to realize he was losing his composure.

“Do you like him?”

I didn’t answer.

“Y/N.”

“I don’t know.”

It was a lie. Of course I knew, I just wasn’t ready to say it out loud.

“So you do like him?”

I sighed.

“Lando…”

“Answer me.”

I looked up.

“Why?”

The silence stretched between us. Because he couldn’t answer that question without admitting something he’d spent years burying.

I slowly shook my head.

“You don’t have the right to ask me that.”

I watched his expression change.

“Why not?”

“You’re seriously asking me that?” A bitter laugh escaped me. I took a step toward him. “You have a girlfriend.”

Another step.

“And years ago, you made it painfully clear that there could never be anything between us.”

My voice remained calm.

That was the worst part. I didn’t even have to raise it anymore to remember how much it had hurt.

“Y/N…”

“No.” This time, I interrupted him “Do you know what the hardest part was?”

A knot tightened in my throat.

“It wasn’t losing you. It was spending years believing there was something about me that made me impossible to choose.”

The words poured out on their own. As if they’d been waiting years to be spoken.

“After that day, I started looking at everyone like they belonged to different worlds. I started believing there were doors meant for other people but never for me. That I could work twice as hard, push myself three times harder, and I’d still always be nothing more than the housekeeper’s daughter. Because the only man I’d ever fallen in love with taught me exactly that.”

Lando closed his eyes.

“I never wanted you to feel that way.”

“But you did.” My voice barely rose above a whisper.“And the worst part is I understood. I never hated you for choosing that path, because even I believed you were right.”

He swallowed hard.

“Things changed.”

“No.” I slowly shook my head. “They changed for you. I was the one who had to learn how to live with what you left behind.”

For several long seconds the only sound was the water lapping against the dock.

Then he spoke again.

“You think Max is different.”

I frowned.

“He is.”

A bitter smile appeared on his face.

“No, Y/N. He’s just more impulsive.”

A terrible feeling settled in my stomach.

“What do you mean?”

“When he gets bored, he’ll move on with his life, like everyone else. He’s not taking you seriously.”

My chest tightened.

“Don’t talk about things you know nothing about.”

He took a step closer.

“Do you honestly think a guy like Max Verstappen is planning to marry you?”

The question landed between us like a stone.

“Lando…”

“He takes you on trips, he buys you beautiful clothes, he brings you to events. Don’t you see it? For him, you’re…” He hesitated for only a fraction of a second. “…an accessory.”

Something inside me shattered. But he still wasn’t finished.

“A pretty girl he can spoil for a while. His sugar baby.”

The slap echoed across the silent harbor. I didn’t think, it just happened.

Slowly, Lando lifted a hand to his cheek.

I struggled to catch my breath, tears blurred my vision.

“Never…” My voice broke. “Never degrade me like that again. Because if there’s anyone who knows how hard I fought to build the life I have it’s you.”

He opened his mouth, but I didn’t let him speak.

“For years, I thought my last name was the problem, my mother, my money, my background. But tonight you proved something. The problem was never where I came from. The problem was that you never found the courage to choose me and now you’re trying to convince me that no one else ever could.”

I slowly shook my head.

“I don’t believe that anymore.” I turned around before he could answer.

I didn’t want to go back to the apartment. Not yet.

I needed to walk.

I needed the wind to remind me that I was still breathing. So I kept walking along the harbor without looking back while the tears washed away what little makeup I still had left.

I have no idea how long I walked.

The gentle sound of the water against the docks was the only thing keeping the chaos in my head from swallowing me whole.

My tears had dried a long time ago, but the weight in my chest hadn’t gone anywhere.

“I’ve been looking for you for twenty minutes.” Max’s voice startled me.

He was walking toward me quickly, his hair completely disheveled and a hoodie hastily thrown over the T-shirt he’d fallen asleep in. He stopped in front of me and took a deep breath.

“What happened?”

I shook my head.

“Nothing.”

“No.” His answer came immediately. “Don’t lie to me.”

I looked at him for a few seconds. I’d never seen him like this before.

He didn’t look angry, he looked scared.

“Y/N…” His voice softened. “What happened?”

The knot in my throat returned.

“I talked to Lando.”

I watched his jaw tighten. But he didn’t say a word, he simply waited.

“He texted me… so I went downstairs to talk to him.”

I told him everything. How Lando had come all the way to the building. How we’d walked along the harbor. How, at first, he’d only asked questions. Then I told him about the jealousy. About our teenage years together. About the way he’d rejected us before we’d ever really had a chance. About the argument we’d had that night and finally about the words that still echoed inside my head.

“His sugar baby.” I couldn’t repeat that part without my voice breaking.

Max stood perfectly still through my entire story. He didn’t interrupt me once, only after I’d finished did he finally speak.

“He said that to you?”

I nodded.

He let out a slow breath.

“I’m going to kill him.”

“No, you’re not killing anyone.” A laugh escaped me through my tears.

“Alright.” He corrected himself with complete seriousness “Then I’m just going to break his nose.”

The image was so absurd that I laughed, for real this time.

He frowned slightly.

“I wasn’t joking.”

“I know.”

“I’m completely serious.”

“Please don’t.” I shook my head as I wiped my cheeks.

He sighed dramatically.

“You’re no fun.”

Silence settled between us again. Then he took a step closer.

“Look at me.”

I did.

“Did you actually believe him?”

I didn’t answer. Because part of me had. And, of course he knew it.

“Y/N…” He shook his head in disbelief. “Do you know what the very first thing I thought when I saw you?”

I slowly shook my head.

“That you were beautiful.”

Heat rushed into my cheeks.

“And then I thought you were far too smart to ever end up talking to me.”

I stared at him, completely confused. A small smile tugged at his lips.

“I was wrong about the second part.”

“Idiot.” I lightly punched his arm.

“A little.” His smile slowly faded. “But I never once minded how much money you had, where your mother was, where you worked. Not once.”

He took a slow breath before continuing.

“That doesn’t mean I don’t see everything you do. I do, I know you work harder than anyone I’ve ever met, I know you’ve spent years building your life on your own and I know nobody handed you anything.”

His voice remained calm. So calm that it hurt.

“What I don’t understand…” He paused. “…is why you still believe any of that makes you worth less.”

I lowered my eyes.

“Because for a long time It was true.”

“No.” His answer was immediate. “For a long time, people convinced you it was true. That’s not the same thing.”

The words hung between us. No one had ever put it that way before. I’d spent my entire life believing my insecurities were simply the logical consequence of my circumstances.

It had never occurred to me that they might also be a lie I’d heard too many times.

“Lando didn’t stop loving you because you were the housekeeper’s daughter.”

My head snapped up.

He continued before I could speak.

“He stopped fighting for you because he was afraid and fear always finds elegant excuses to hide behind, sometimes it’s money, sometimes it’s family, sometimes it’s social class. But underneath, It’s still fear.”

My eyes filled with tears again.

Not because I was sad, because I felt relieved. For the first time someone had separated my worth from the choice Lando had made all those years ago.

“What if one day you’re afraid too?” The question came out so quietly I almost regretted asking it.

Max smiled. That same calm smile that somehow managed to frustrate me and comfort me at the exact same time.

“Of course I am.”

I blinked. I hadn’t expected that answer.

“You are?”

“Terrified.”

“Of what?”

“That one day you’ll get tired of me.” He slipped his hands into the pockets of his hoodie.

A disbelieving laugh escaped me.

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Maybe.” He shrugged “But that fear doesn’t make me want to push you away. It makes me want to be closer to you.”

Something inside me finally gave way or maybe finally settled into place. I still wasn’t sure which.

“I’m not Lando.” His voice was quieter than ever. “And I’ll never ask you to make yourself smaller just to make my life easier. If this ever ends…” He pointed to himself “It’ll be because I did something wrong. Not because your last name is different from mine, not because your mother cleaned someone’s house and certainly…”

He shook his head, almost offended by the thought.

“…not because anyone thinks you can be bought with a dress or a trip. You’re not something that can be bought, you’re not a thing. You’re the woman I’m falling in love with.”

The world seemed to fall completely silent.

There was only him and me.

For years, I’d confused one man’s rejection with my worth as a woman.

I’d allowed a decision born from fear to define the way I saw myself and now, standing in front of me, was another man.

A man who came from that exact same world. But who had never once asked me to change who I was to make room for me in his life.

He had simply made room for me.

I smiled through my tears.

“I think you’re completely insane.”

“I already knew that.” A grin spread across his face.

I laughed, shaking my head.

“And for some reason I still don’t understand I think I’m starting to like all that insanity of yours.”

His eyes lit up instantly.

“Does that mean I can officially say I’m your future husband now?”

The laugh that burst from my lips echoed across the entire harbor.

For years I’d mistaken fear for reality. I’d believed love always came with conditions, with explanations, with sacrifices.

That night, I finally understood something. When someone truly wants to stay they stop looking for reasons to leave. And Lando’s decision had always spoken about his limits.

Never about mine.

(…)

Eight months later, I still found it absurd that anyone could call a paddock “home.”

And yet, there I was.

A cup of coffee in one hand, a paddock pass hanging around my neck, and a team radio that I understood absolutely nothing from, waiting for Max to finish the pre-qualifying engineering briefing.

One of the mechanics walked past me.

“Five more minutes.”

I nodded like that information had been meant for me. Leaning against one of the garage walls, I watched the organized chaos unfolding around me.

The first time I’d ever stepped into the paddock, I’d felt completely out of place.

Now I didn’t.

I still understood barely half the conversations about setup changes, tire degradation, or telemetry, but I’d stopped feeling like I needed to understand everything to deserve being there.

“Have you been waiting for long?” Max had just stepped out of the garage, zipping up the top half of his race suit as he walked toward me.

“Seven minutes.”

He glanced at his watch.

“It’s been nine.”

“I was giving you a little margin so you wouldn’t feel bad.”

“How thoughtful.” A quiet laugh escaped him.

He stopped in front of me and, without saying a word, took my coffee from my hands. He took a sip before casually handing it back.

“Thanks.”

I stared at him in disbelief.

“That was my coffee.” I frowned.

“It’s our coffee now.”

“That’s not how that works.”

“It worked.”

I rolled my eyes.

I’d learned that arguing with Max was an absolute waste of time. Not because he was always right, but because he never seemed interested in winning. He simply kept talking until the other person gave up.

One of the engineers appeared at the garage entrance.

“Max. Time to go.”

He lifted a hand to let him know he’d be there in a second. Before leaving, he turned back toward me.

“Where are you going to be?”

I looked at him, confused.

“Here.”

“Good.” He nodded once “That way I’ll know where to find you when I’m done.”

And then he was gone.

There was no kiss.

No I love you.

He didn’t even look back.

He simply disappeared into the crowd of engineers like it had never crossed his mind that, when he came back, I might be anywhere other than exactly where I’d said I’d be.

And I would be.

I smiled without realizing it. Sometimes I forgot there had once been a time when I believed love meant waiting for someone to find the courage to choose you.

With Max there had never been any waiting.

He had simply shown up.

First at a coffee shop, pretending he’d driven halfway across the city just because he wanted a cup of coffee.

Then at an art gallery, listening to me talk for hours about paintings he probably wouldn’t remember.

Later, sitting beside me on a curb at two in the morning with a split lip, like getting into a fight was the most natural ending to a first date.

And now I was the one showing up at racetracks.

Waiting for him among engines, radios, and stacks of tires, in a world that had once felt completely out of reach but had, little by little, made room for me.

I suppose, in the end we became each other’s favorite coincidence.

“Verstappen!” one of the mechanics shouted from inside the garage. “Move it! Your future wife isn’t going to do qualifying for you!”

Laughter immediately erupted from inside the garage.

I rolled my eyes automatically.

I didn’t even have to look to know exactly what expression Max had on his face.

Pure satisfaction.

I buried my face in my hands as I laughed.

For the first time since I was a little girl, the future no longer felt like a place I needed permission to enter.

Because, in the end, love hadn’t come into my life to give me a place in the world.

It had come to remind me that the place I belonged had always been mine.

[islagalaxie]

TREAT YOU BETTER - KIMI ANTONELLI

Kimi Antonelli x Fem!Reader

SUMMARY: Y/N spent months convinced she was one conversation away from finally ending up with the boy she'd loved for years. Instead, she watched him fall in love with someone else. Heartbroken and desperate to move on, she makes one impulsive decision: giving a chance to the one person who has quietly loved her all along, Kimi Antonelli.

What begins as an attempt to outrun heartbreak slowly turns into something frighteningly real. As feelings deepen the truth becomes harder to hide and she's left wondering whether genuine love can survive a dishonest beginning... or if some mistakes are simply too painful to forgive.

WORD COUNT: 12K

masterlist

There’s a version of this story where I’m the villain, and honestly, I’m not going to argue with it. If I were reading it without knowing the full story, I’d probably think the same thing.

Because, from the outside, getting into a relationship with one guy just to get over another sounds as cruel as it does stupid.

What no one sees is everything that happened before I got to that point.

The conversations that always seemed to mean something but never actually did. The glances that lingered just a second too long. The two a.m. texts. The hands that somehow always found the perfect excuse to brush against each other. The promises that were never spoken out loud, yet somehow I swore I could read between the lines.

Now I know I mistook attention for interest.

Back then, though, I was convinced it was only a matter of time. After all, how was I supposed not to believe it? He was always the one who came looking for me first. The one who took the seat next to mine before anyone else could. The one who always found some excuse to text me after the rest of our friends had already gone to bed.

And I fell for it completely.

That’s why, when Matteo showed up hand in hand with Julia—the girl who had so conveniently started showing up to all of our get-togethers—my heart nearly stopped.

Months of mixed signals, months of believing we were only one step away from becoming something real, came crashing down in a single moment.

The news of their relationship caught our entire friend group just as off guard as it caught me. Every single one of them had been convinced that Matteo and I were going to be endgame.

That was the most humiliating part of everything. The awkward smiles. The sympathetic glances. The quiet pity in their eyes. Everyone had words of comfort for me after that day.

Everyone except Kimi.

That’s exactly why he became the perfect place for me to hide.

Kimi and I met a couple of years ago. I was studying in Switzerland, and some of my classmates were Italian. During a summer trip to the Amalfi Coast, they introduced us.

He had always struck me as incredibly kind, and, to some extent, painfully shy.

Our friends loved teasing him, insisting he only acted that way around me because it was obvious he had a crush on me. I usually ignored their comments. A harmless crush wasn’t something anyone deserved to be embarrassed about.

Kimi didn’t seem to care much either. Whenever he had the chance, he’d find an excuse for us to talk or spend time together.

Just as friends.

After everything that happened with Matteo, those moments became even more frequent.

“And?,” Kimi asked, blowing lightly on his coffee before looking up at me, “is the ice cream good?”

“It is.” I smiled, licking the last bit of ice cream from my spoon. “Thanks for inviting me, by the way.”

For a split second, his eyes followed the movement before he quickly looked away again.

“So…” he said carefully. “Have you heard from Matteo?”

I shook my head, absentmindedly twirling the tiny spoon between my fingers.

“No. Ever since he started dating Julia, he barely replies in the group chat anymore. I guess he’s… busy.” I tried to sound indifferent, but even I could hear the faint bitterness creeping into my voice.

Kimi nodded quietly.

He didn’t make a single comment about Matteo, and I appreciated that. Most people felt obligated to remind me that “someone better would come along” or that “he wasn’t worth it.”

Kimi, on the other hand, seemed to understand that sometimes people simply needed to talk about something else.

He took another sip of his coffee before setting the cup down.

“Have you started the paperwork for university yet?”

“Not yet.” I shook my head. “I don’t start until after summer, so technically I’m still on vacation.”

“Must be nice.”

I let out a quiet laugh.

“Says the Formula One driver who spends his life traveling around the world.”

He shrugged with a small smile.

“Trust me. It stops being fun a lot faster than you’d think.”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward.

Kimi tapped his fingers lightly against the table a couple of times, like he was debating whether he should say something.

“Hey…” he began at last, scratching the back of his neck. “Now that the season’s started, I’ll be spending most of the summer traveling around Europe.”

I looked at him, unsure where he was going with this.

“Okay…”

“And I was thinking…” His gaze dropped to his coffee for a second before he let out a nervous little laugh, clearly embarrassed with himself. “Since you don’t start university until after the summer…”

He hesitated.

“…maybe you’d like to come with me. To a few of the races.”

“…With you?” I blinked, completely caught off guard.

“Yeah. Well—not with me all the time.” He laughed awkwardly. “I’ll be busy pretty much the entire weekend. But you’d have paddock passes, you’d get to see the circuits… and once I’m done working, we could go out and explore whatever city we’re in. My parents will be at most of the races too, so you wouldn’t be by yourself.”

He said the entire explanation so quickly it sounded like he’d rehearsed it over and over before asking.

“You don’t have to answer right now,” he added almost immediately. “I just… thought it might be fun.”

A small, shaky smile spread across my face.

“I’ll think about it.”

His invitation stayed in my head for days. If I was being honest with myself, that wasn’t the kind of invitation you gave someone of the opposite sex if you only saw them as a friend. At least, not from where I was standing.

Kimi had taken the opportunity after everything that happened between Matteo and me, and little by little, he seemed to be making his feelings more obvious.

The more I thought about it the less I minded. I mean, if I went with him, I was guaranteed to have a good time. It would be the perfect distraction from Matteo. The only thing that worried me was his parents. What if they misunderstood the situation? Still, I figured any awkwardness would only last a moment.

One night, while mindlessly scrolling through Instagram, I came across a photo Matteo had posted with his new girlfriend.

The moment I saw it, a knot tightened in my throat. How could he be telling her he loved her when, not that long ago, he’d been saying those same things to me?

My mind refused to come up with a reasonable answer. Instead, through the haze of heartbreak, it desperately searched for a way to pull out the thorn that had buried itself deep inside my chest. Eventually, it landed on the worst possible solution.

I knew Matteo was jealous of Kimi. Kimi was younger than him, yet already far more successful—and wealthier than Matteo would probably ever be.

I also knew Kimi was attracted to me. At least enough to invite me to spend the summer traveling across Europe with him.

So in my mind the most logical solution was to start dating Kimi. Just to make Matteo jealous.

At first, I tried to shake the idea away. It was immature, petty and almost ridiculous. There was no way something like that would actually work.

But as the hours passed, the thought refused to leave. If anything, it only grew stronger. By the following morning, it had completely taken over my mind. So I decided to make the first move.

With trembling hands, I dialed Kimi’s number. It rang a few times without an answer. I was just about to hang up when he finally picked up.

“Hello!” His voice sounded breathless, and I could hear muffled voices and movement in the background.

“Kimi, are you busy? I can call you back if you’re—”

He cut me off before I could finish.

“No! Just… give me one second, please.” His voice grew even more strained, as if he was running.

I waited quietly. For a few moments, all I could hear was the wind, distant conversations, and hurried footsteps. Then a door slammed shut.

“There,” he said a second later, still slightly out of breath. “Sorry about that. I was in the middle of training.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were busy. You could’ve just called me back later.”

“No, no.” He answered almost immediately. “You’ve never called me before, so… I figured it had to be important.”

My heart melted just a little at the shy sincerity in his voice.

“Honestly, I don’t know if it’s that important,” I admitted with a nervous laugh. “I just thought it would be easier to call.”

“Oh… okay.” A brief pause “Go ahead.”

“It’s about what we talked about at the café.” I bit my lip, trying to suppress the smile that kept threatening to appear.

“…Yeah?” He sounded so hopeful it almost made me lose my nerve.

“I was wondering if your invitation still stands.” I hesitated for only a second “I’d like to come with you.”

Without realizing it, I had started absentmindedly biting my thumbnail while I waited for his answer.

The line fell silent. For two long seconds, I wondered if I’d somehow managed to break him.

“Uh— I—” A soft, nervous laugh escaped him. “Yeah, of course”

Another laugh.

“Of course you can, Y/N.” The excitement in his voice was impossible to miss.

We spent another few minutes talking through the details before eventually hanging up.

I wasn’t entirely sure what I was doing was morally right. Using someone’s feelings to make someone else jealous wasn’t exactly something to be proud of.

But if life was handing me an opportunity… Why shouldn’t I take it?

(…)

Our first stop was Monaco.

Needless to say, I was completely blown away. I’d never seen that much luxury concentrated in one place. The streets were overflowing with supercars, enormous yachts lined the harbor, and it seemed like every other man had a supermodel on his arm.

And there I was… A bundle of nerves.

Kimi had booked me into the same hotel where his parents were staying, but because our schedules were different, we didn’t actually see each other until we met at the entrance to the paddock.

“Hi, Y/N!” His little sister, Maggie, greeted me so naturally it felt like we’d known each other for years.

“Hi,” I replied shyly, giving her a small wave.

“Y/N, we’re so happy you’re here supporting Kimi.” His mother wrapped me in a warm hug, smiling from ear to ear.

A second later, his dad hugged me too, patting my back affectionately.

It was obvious how much they adored Kimi, and they seemed genuinely grateful to anyone who supported him unconditionally.

We walked into the paddock together, and once we reached the garage, Marco started introducing me to everyone.

It felt strangely surreal.

Every time he introduced me, it was almost like he was doing it with pride, as if simply having me there meant something. What made it even stranger was the way everyone reacted.

Almost every single person gave me the exact same knowing smile.

Oh… so you’re Y/N.

That Y/N.

I had absolutely no idea what Kimi had told people about me.

The race arrived much faster than I’d expected. From lights out to the checkered flag, my heart never stopped racing. Thankfully—for my sanity as much as everyone else’s—Kimi crossed the line in P1.

Only then did I finally remember how to breathe.

Marco wanted me to go with him to greet Kimi in the parc fermé area, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I felt like I’d attract too much attention. So instead, I stayed in the garage, watching the podium ceremony on one of the team’s monitors.

Kimi stepped onto the top step, beaming as champagne sprayed in every direction.

I couldn’t help smiling.

My attention was suddenly pulled away by the vibration of my phone. An Instagram notification.

My heartbeat instantly sped up when I saw the name.

Matteo.

He had replied to the photo I’d posted from inside the garage. My hands immediately started trembling.

MATTEO: Nice. Didn’t know you were into Formula One.

ME: Kimi invited me hahaha.

I didn’t hesitate for a second. If I was going to follow through with my terrible little plan, I might as well commit to it.

A few seconds later, another message appeared.

MATTEO: Cool.

It was a simple reply. It shouldn’t have meant anything, but I knew Matteo.

Or at least, I liked to believe I did. Somewhere behind that one-word response I was convinced he’d felt at least a tiny stab of jealousy.

Suddenly, a pair of soaking wet arms wrapped around me from behind. I jumped.

“Kimi!” I spun around to face him. “You’re completely soaked!”

His grin was impossibly wide, his racing suit drenched in champagne from head to toe.

“Why weren’t you out there?” he asked.

“I didn’t want to draw too much attention to myself.” I shrugged.

Kimi rolled his eyes dramatically.

“You’re always hiding.”

I laughed.

“Someone has to keep you humble.”

His smile only grew wider.

The next few weeks were the most fun I’d had in years.

Kimi had a way of making me laugh like no one else could, and his family was just as easy to be around.

Things couldn’t have been going much better for him, either. He was having the best run of his championship so far, which only made everyone’s mood lighter.

A couple of times, Marco jokingly told me I was Kimi’s lucky charm and that I should stay with them until the end of the season.

I always laughed it off.

But every time he said it, the guilt inside me grew a little stronger. I didn’t deserve their kindness. I hadn’t accepted Kimi’s invitation because I genuinely cared about Formula One or his career. I’d accepted it because it was convenient for me.

Our friends had started wondering if something had finally begun to happen between us. We’d grown so comfortable around each other that people couldn’t help noticing.

Especially Cleo.

She was probably my closest friend, and more than once she’d let me know how strange she thought it was that I’d suddenly become so interested in Kimi. I tried not to give too much away. Whenever she asked questions, I answered as vaguely as possible.

Between the Hungarian Grand Prix and Zandvoort, there was almost a month-long break. I decided to use the time to take care of my own life for a while.

Kimi had to spend some days in Brackley working with the team, so we said goodbye.

A few days later, our group of friends organized a barbecue at one of their houses. It had been a while since we’d all been together, so I decided to go.

The house was already packed when I arrived. I could hear music and laughter before I’d even walked through the front gate. Several long tables had been set up in the backyard, and the smell of grilled meat filled the warm evening air.

It was exactly the kind of gathering we’d always had whenever everyone happened to be in the same city. I greeted a few people before leaving my bag on an empty chair.

“I didn’t think you were coming,” one of the guys said.

“Honestly,” I admitted with a laugh, “neither did I.”

The past few weeks had been so different from my normal life that being back here felt strangely unfamiliar. Like returning somewhere I’d known forever, only to realize something had quietly changed.

“So… where’s Kimi?” someone else asked, taking a sip of his beer.

“Brackley. He’s working with the team.”

Everyone nodded as if that were the most obvious answer in the world. I didn’t think much of it.

At least not until a familiar voice spoke behind me.

“Haven’t seen you in a while.”

I turned around.

Matteo.

His hands were tucked casually into his pockets, wearing the same relaxed expression that almost made me forget the mess he’d left behind. Almost.

“Hey.”

An awkward silence settled between us. Not because there was anything left to say. But because meither of us seemed to know where to begin.

“So…” he asked eventually, “how have you been?”

“Good.”

“Yeah?”

I nodded.

“I’ve been traveling.”

Something shifted in his expression. Just slightly.

“I saw the pictures.”

He didn’t need to explain which ones. Almost my entire Instagram feed had turned into a collection of racetracks, paddocks, and European cities.

“With Antonelli?” he asked, sounding almost indifferent.

I sighed quietly.

“Yeah.”

He waited, as if expecting me to add something. I didn’t.

“I didn’t realize you two were that close.”

A small smile tugged at my lips.

“Neither did I.”

He looked away for a moment.

“So… you spent basically the whole month with him?”

“Most of it.”

“Huh…” He didn’t sound angry. He sounded… confused. As if he was trying to fit a puzzle piece into a picture that suddenly no longer made sense.

That was when Cleo walked over, carrying two drinks.

“Am I interrupting something?”

“Not at all,” I said.

She handed us each a cup before lingering beside us with a little too much interest.

“We were talking about her summer,” Matteo explained.

“Oh.”

The look Cleo gave me made my stomach twist. It wasn’t curious, it was analytical.

“So you really spent the whole month traveling with Kimi?”

“Yeah.”

“Interesting.”

I frowned.

“What’s interesting about it?”

She shrugged.

“Nothing. I just never imagined you two were that close.”

“I guess we are now.” Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Matteo staring down at the cup in his hands.

“And does he…?”

He stopped himself.

“What?”

“Nothing.” He shook his head. “I was just thinking… it must be hard trying to keep a friendship like that when someone spends their entire life traveling.”

There was something strange about the way he said it. It wasn’t criticism. It almost sounded like he was trying to convince me it couldn’t possibly last.

I opened my mouth to answer, but someone beat me to it.

“Well…” The familiar voice made all three of us turn around. “I’m planning on making it last.”

For one brief second, I honestly thought I was imagining things.

Kimi was standing there.

Still wearing a black Mercedes team shirt, a backpack hanging from one shoulder. His hair looked slightly messy, like he’d only just taken off his cap.

I blinked twice.

“What are you doing here?”

He smiled.

“I finished earlier than expected.” He dropped his backpack onto the ground before walking straight toward me.

He didn’t greet Matteo. He didn’t greet Cleo. He didn’t greet anyone else. He stopped right in front of me.

“I told you I’d try to make it.”

Before I could answer, he wrapped me in a hug. It wasn’t particularly romantic. But it lasted longer than anyone would’ve expected from two people who were supposedly just friends.

For a brief second, I felt his chin rest lightly against the top of my head before he pulled away.

“I missed you.” The words came out so naturally that, for a moment, I forgot how to breathe.

When I looked up again, the first thing I saw was Matteo’s face. He didn’t look angry. He looked… Left behind. Like he’d just realized he’d shown up late to a conversation that had been unfolding without him for weeks.

“Hey, Matteo,” Kimi said at last, offering his hand.

“Hey.”

They shook hands politely.

It was the kind of politeness that only existed between two people trying very hard to prove they had absolutely no problem with each other.

“I thought you were in England,” Matteo said.

“I was.”

“And you came all the way here just for the barbecue?”

Kimi glanced at me for the briefest moment before answering.

“Yeah.” Just one word, but it shifted the atmosphere completely.

Cleo looked at me. She didn’t have to say anything, I could practically feel the tension radiating off her.

And, to my own embarrassment, a small part of me enjoyed every second of it.

The conversation fizzled out when someone announced the food was ready. As always, any sense of order disappeared immediately.

Everyone got to their feet at once, grabbing plates, cutlery, and searching for empty seats around the backyard.

I’d stayed behind for a moment to pour myself another drink when I noticed Kimi walking ahead of me. At first, I assumed he was just looking for somewhere to sit. It wasn’t until a few seconds later that I realized what he was doing.

He chose a table near the end of the garden. Before sitting down, he quietly pulled out the chair beside him just a little, resting one hand on the back of it as he casually continued talking to one of our friends.

The gesture looked completely unconscious. But it wasn’t. He was saving that seat.

For me.

Cleo reached the table first. Balancing her plate in one hand, she rested the other on the back of the chair.

“Mind if I sit here?”

Kimi looked up. For the briefest moment, something crossed his face, like he’d suddenly remembered something important.

“Oh—sorry.” He stepped aside with an apologetic smile. “I was actually saving that seat for Y/N.”

The silence lasted barely a second. Just long enough for Cleo to smile.

“Oh. Right.” She took her hand off the chair and quietly moved farther down the table.

Anyone else watching would’ve thought absolutely nothing of it. I probably would’ve too… If I hadn’t caught the way Cleo clenched her jaw before turning away. I tried convincing myself I was imagining things. That it had just been an awkward little moment.

“You gonna stand there all day, or are you coming?” Kimi called from the table.

His voice pulled me back to reality. I laughed softly before walking over. As soon as I reached him, he pulled out my chair.

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” He waited until I was comfortably seated before sitting down himself.

The gesture was so natural it felt automatic. Maybe that was exactly why everyone noticed it.

Almost instinctively, I looked up.

Matteo was still standing with his plate in his hands. He’d been walking toward our table, but the moment he saw me sitting beside Kimi, he quietly changed direction.

Instead, he sat at the opposite end of the garden. He tried joining another conversation. Still, every now and then, I caught his eyes drifting back toward our table.

Kimi noticed too. Their gazes met for only a second.

There was no challenge.

No smug smile.

Just the uncomfortable silence that exists when two people understand exactly what’s happening without either of them saying a word.

Then Kimi looked back at me.

“What?”

I shook my head.

“Nothing.” I was lying.

I’d gotten exactly what I’d wanted.

Matteo was watching me. For the first time, he finally seemed to understand that he could lose me.

And yet that victory stopped feeling important the moment Kimi, completely unaware of the game unfolding around him, reached over and spooned some salad onto my plate because he remembered it was the only way I’d eat tomatoes.

It was such an absurdly small gesture. But somehow, it unraveled something inside me.

The satisfaction I’d felt seeing Matteo’s expression faded into the background. What stayed with me for the rest of the night wasn’t Matteo at all.

It was Kimi’s easy smile as he talked to me… Completely unaware of the chaos he was causing inside my heart.

(…)

Kimi had the next two weeks off, so he invited me on a quick trip to St. Barths.

At first, I hesitated. It took him nearly half an hour of convincing before I finally gave in.

We flew first class. I’d assumed his family would be coming with us, but they weren’t. It was just the two of us.

That only made me more nervous. Up until then, every trip we’d taken together had included his parents and Maggie. Everything had always felt comfortably family-friendly.

Now we’d be alone. I didn’t know what that might lead to and I wasn’t sure I was ready for things to become more intimate.

Kimi seemed to understand that without me saying it out loud. Because he’d booked us separate hotel rooms. To my immense relief.

Our first day was spent by the hotel’s pool.

Kimi practically lived in the water while I stretched out in the sun, hoping to catch that soft golden glow summer always leaves on tan skin.

The following day, we went to the beach.

That was where I made my first mistake.

The water was so impossibly clear it looked more like an infinity pool than the ocean.

The moment we arrived, Kimi insisted I get in. I only dipped my feet into the water while looking for somewhere to leave my towel.

“It’s freezing,” I complained.

“You’re lying.”

“Kimi, you willingly sit in an ice bath after every race. Your opinion doesn’t count.”

He laughed. Without warning, he splashed a handful of water at me.

“You’re such an idiot!” I immediately splashed him back.

That was all it took.

We started chasing each other through the shallow water, laughing, soaking each other over and over again like two children who had absolutely no interest in behaving like adults.

While trying to escape, a wave caught me off guard. My footing slipped. Before I could fall, a pair of hands caught me around the waist.

Everything happened so quickly that I ended up crashing into Kimi’s chest.

Neither of us moved.

The ocean was still roaring around us. People were still laughing somewhere farther down the beach. But somehow it all felt impossibly far away.

One of Kimi’s hands was still resting around my waist. Mine had landed against his chest.

“Sorry…” he murmured.

Though he didn’t seem particularly eager to let go.His eyes drifted from mine to my lips, then back again. Like he was fighting himself.

“Y/N…” His voice was barely more than a whisper. “I don’t want to read this the wrong way.”

My heart pounded painfully against my ribs. I knew exactly what he was asking. I knew exactly why he was hesitating.

Part of me was still thinking about Matteo. About how much he’d hate this if he ever found out.

The other part simply wanted to know what it would feel like to kiss Kimi.

A small smile found its way onto my lips. I couldn’t look away.

“Why don’t you find out?”

For a split second, every trace of uncertainty disappeared from his face. Like he’d been waiting for permission all this time.

He closed the remaining distance between us.

The kiss was slow. Tentative. So unbelievably gentle it almost felt like he was asking every second whether I was still okay.

There was no urgency. No desperation. Just the soft brush of his lips against mine and, at some point, the warmth of his hand slowly tracing comforting circles along my back.

Time seemed to stop.

When we finally pulled apart, neither of us spoke.

Kimi was smiling. That small, almost disbelieving smile I’d started seeing more and more often. Like someone who’d just lived through a moment he’d imagined for years.

And all I could think was that I’d just made my plan infinitely more complicated than I’d ever intended.

That night, I couldn’t stop tossing and turning in bed. I felt awful, I didn’t deserve someone like Kimi. I’d taken advantage of him in the worst possible way.

He’d been nothing but honest with me. What I was doing was cruel. And somehow I couldn’t make myself stop.

Over the past few weeks, Kimi had slowly occupied more and more space inside my mind. Instead of fading, his presence seemed to grow stronger every single day.

Morning arrived together with an endless stream of notifications.

My eyes flew open. There were photos of Kimi and me at the beach. Standing much too close to be mistaken for just friends.

I kept scrolling.

Then my heart nearly stopped.

Pictures of us kissing. When had someone even taken them? As far as I knew, no one had been anywhere near us.

I knew Matteo would inevitably see them.

That realization should’ve made me feel satisfied.

Instead… I felt nothing. If anything, I felt even worse. It was like I’d fallen into a hole that kept getting deeper and every wall was too slippery to climb out of it.

Before Kimi woke up and discovered the media frenzy that was already unfolding online, I slipped out of the hotel.

The beach was almost empty. I wandered aimlessly along the shoreline, letting the waves wash over my feet while desperately trying to convince myself there was still a way to fix everything.

There wasn’t.

Footsteps echoed softly behind me. I didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.

“I’ve been looking for you.”

His voice startled me anyway.

When I looked back, he was walking toward me with his hands tucked into the pockets of his shorts. His hair was still damp. The concern on his face only made the guilt worse.

“Sorry… I just needed to get out for a while.”

He nodded.

He didn’t ask why. He simply stopped beside me and looked out at the ocean. After a while, he finally spoke.

“I saw the pictures.”

A knot tightened in my throat.

“I’m sorry.” It was all I could manage.

He turned to look at me, clearly confused.

“What are you apologizing for?”

I opened my mouth. None of the real answers would come.

Because I’m using you. Because I never should’ve kissed you. Because none of this started because of you. In the end, I chose the easiest lie.

“I didn’t want this to become public.”

A quiet laugh escaped through his nose.

“Believe me… I wasn’t expecting there to be a photographer hiding behind a palm tree either.”

Despite everything, I smiled.

When he noticed, he smiled too. Just for a second, he’d managed to pull me out of my own head.

Silence settled between us again.

He took a slow breath.

“If this makes you uncomfortable we can just tell everyone it was a misunderstanding.”

I looked at him confused. He avoided my eyes.

“I don’t want you thinking one kiss means you’re suddenly obligated to anything.”

My chest ached. Even believing I’d regretted kissing him, his first instinct was still to make things easier for me.

He was always like that. Always thinking about how I felt before himself.

“I just… I need a little time today.”

The disappointment that flickered across his face lasted barely a heartbeat.

Most people would’ve missed it. I didn’t.

He smiled.

“Take all the time you need.” He reached over, gently ruffling my hair before turning away.

He didn’t push, didn’t ask questions, didn’t try to convince me to stay. He simply respected what I’d asked.

I spent the rest of the day hiding in my room.

I tried sleeping. Then reading. Then convincing myself I could still stop all of this before it went any further. Every attempt ended the same way. With the memory of Kimi smiling at me on the beach.

By the time night fell, someone knocked on my door. I opened it expecting room service. Instead, It was Kimi.

He was wearing a plain white T-shirt, his hair was still slightly messy. His hands were buried deep inside his pockets.

He looked so nervous that, for a second, I thought he might change his mind and leave.

“Can I come in?”

I stepped aside.

He sat down on the small sofa by the window but stayed quiet for several seconds. His hands rubbed nervously together, like he was rehearsing every word in his head.

“I’ve been thinking a lot since yesterday.” He finally looked up at me. “And I don’t think I want to keep pretending this doesn’t mean anything to me.”

My breathing stopped.

“I know maybe that kiss was impulsive for you…” He smiled shyly. “And if it was… I understand, but it wasn’t for me.”

He lowered his eyes before meeting mine again.

“I’ve wanted to kiss you for a long time.” Another quiet breath. “I’ve liked you for a really long time.”

My heart pounded so hard I could barely hear anything else.

“I don’t want to pressure you, I just… I wanted to ask if you’d like to give us a real chance.”

Silence swallowed the room.

No.

I needed to say no, that was the right thing to do. I could still stop this before I hurt him even more.

But I also knew that saying no wouldn’t erase the kiss, It wouldn’t erase the photographs, It wouldn’t erase everything that had already begun to grow between us.

All it would do was make me lose the one person who had spent months trying, every single day, to make me happy.

I let out a slow breath.

I was still trapped in that hole, but now instead of trying to climb out, I picked up a shovel and started digging even deeper.

I’d already crossed too many lines.

And instead of turning back, I crossed one more.

“Yes.”

The smile that lit up Kimi’s face was so genuine that I had to look away.

He believed he’d just lived through one of the happiest moments of his life.

I’d just made my second mistake.

(…)

The next few weeks were complete chaos.

Kimi hadn’t publicly confirmed our relationship, but people didn’t need a statement after seeing us walk into the Zandvoort paddock hand in hand.

His family, on the other hand, couldn’t have been happier.

“Finally,” Marco declared dramatically after finding out. “I was starting to think I’d die before Andrea finally admitted how he felt about you.”

Kimi and I exchanged an embarrassed laugh.

Just like his father, several members of the team came over to congratulate us, joking about Kimi’s little crush that, apparently, everyone had known about for a very long time.

A knot tightened in my stomach. Now I finally understood what all those knowing smiles had meant. I understood why everyone had welcomed me so warmly the first day I’d stepped into the Monaco paddock.

Social media, however, wasn’t nearly as supportive.

People were deeply divided. Some were genuinely happy for Kimi. Others had taken the opportunity to pour out every ounce of jealousy and hatred they’d apparently been saving.

I found that out one morning when a post appeared on my X timeline.

@kimi12aka: I don’t know who needs to hear this, but Kimi deserves someone who loves him for who he is, not for everything he can give.

He looks at her like she’s the love of his life, and she looks like she wouldn’t have given him a second glance before he became a Mercedes driver. You can tell she’s good at manipulating men. One day Andrea’s going to regret trusting the wrong person.

I couldn’t understand why the algorithm had decided to show me something like that. Until I looked closer.

Cleo’s private account had reposted it.

My eyebrows immediately drew together. How could she share something like that? But the longer I stared at the repost, the more all of Cleo’s recent behavior started making sense.

She was jealous.

I wasn’t entirely sure of what. But it was the only explanation that fit.

I was about to message her when Matteo’s name flashed across my screen.

MATTEO: I saw you’re in Italy. Want to grab a coffee?

For the first time I hesitated before saying yes. A few months earlier, I would’ve done anything for that opportunity.

Now, accepting somehow felt like betraying Kimi.

MATTEO: Just an hour. Don’t worry.

His persistence made me feel guilty enough that, eventually I agreed.

I arrived at the café ten minutes early.

I wasn’t sure why I was so nervous. Matteo and I had shared dozens of coffees before. But this one felt different. Maybe because, for the first time, I wasn’t secretly hoping something would happen between us.

He arrived a few minutes later wearing a simple white T-shirt and a dark baseball cap. He smiled the moment he spotted me.

“Thanks for coming.”

“It was no trouble.”

An awkward silence settled over the table as the waiter brought our drinks. Neither of us seemed to know how to begin.

Matteo broke the silence first.

“I saw the pictures.”

He didn’t need to explain which ones.

“Oh…”

“You look happy.” There was no bitterness in his voice. Only sadness.

“I’m trying to be.”

He let out a quiet, humorless laugh.

“I guess I deserve that.”

I frowned slightly.

He rubbed a hand over his face before speaking again.

“I’ve done a lot of thinking these past few months.”

“So have I,” I admitted.

He nodded slowly.

“…I don’t think in the same way.” His fingers absentmindedly traced the rim of his coffee cup. “When you started traveling with Kimi, I thought you were just trying to get my attention.”

My stomach twisted.

“I figured if I waited long enough, you’d get tired of it and everything would go back to the way it used to be.”He paused. “But it didn’t.”

He took a slow breath.

“That’s when I realized…” His eyes met mine. “The problem was never Kimi. It was me.”

I didn’t know what to say. So I stayed quiet.

“I got too used to having you around.” He smiled bitterly. “You were always there, and I just assumed you always would be until one day you stopped looking at me the way you used to.”

My throat tightened.

“I broke up with Julia two weeks ago.”

I blinked.

“What?”

“I realized I was trying to build a relationship while I was still thinking about someone else.”

My heartbeat quickened.

“Y/N…” His voice softened. “I love you.”

For a moment the world stopped.

“I know I’m late and I know I hurt you. But if there’s still even the smallest chance… I want to try again.”

The words I’d spent months dreaming about were finally right in front of me.

And yet I felt nothing. Nothing like the happiness I’d imagined all those times before.

I lowered my gaze to my hands.

I tried.

I truly did.

I tried to find the girl who would’ve jumped out of her chair to hug him. But she wasn’t there anymore.

Instead all I could see was Kimi.

Kimi laughing while trying to teach me how to swim.

Kimi pulling out a chair for me.

Kimi remembering that I’d only eat tomatoes if they were in a salad.

Kimi looking at me like I was the best part of every single one of his days.

I took a deep breath.

“A few months ago I would’ve given anything to hear you say that.”

Matteo closed his eyes for just a second. He already knew my answer.

“But you were too late.”

He smiled sadly.

“It’s because of Antonelli… isn’t it?”

I slowly shook my head.

“No.” I paused. “It’s because of me.”

He frowned.

“What do you mean?”

“It means, while you were realizing you loved me, I realized I’d stopped waiting for you.”

The silence that followed was devastating.

Matteo nodded once. He didn’t argue. He didn’t try to change my mind. He simply left some cash on the table.

“I hope he knows how lucky he is.”

I watched him walk away without looking back.

For the first time in months, I finally felt that chapter of my life had come to an end.

When I got back to the hotel, I found Kimi sitting on the balcony. His phone rested in his hands. He didn’t look up right away.

“Everything okay?” I asked, trying to sound casual.

“Yeah.” The answer came too quickly. Too flat.

He set the phone down on the glass table before finally looking at me.

“How was coffee?”

I froze. I didn’t remember telling him I was meeting Matteo.

“It was… fine.”

He held my gaze for a few long seconds.

“Did you just talk?”

My stomach dropped.

“Why are you asking?”

Without saying a word, Kimi picked up his phone again. He unlocked it. Then turned the screen toward me.

There were several photos. Matteo and I walking into the café. The two of us smiling across the table. Matteo leaning slightly toward me and one taken through the café window where the angle made our hands look much closer than they’d actually been.

My breath caught.

“Who sent you those?”

“I don’t know.” His voice remained calm but his knuckles had turned white around the phone.

After several long seconds, he spoke again. Almost in a whisper.

“I just need you to tell me one thing.” He swallowed hard “Do you still love him?”

There was no anger in his voice. Only fear. A fear so deep that the photographs themselves suddenly stopped mattering.

I stepped closer until I was standing in front of him.

“No.”

He searched my face.

Looking for even the smallest hint of hesitation.

“He asked me to meet him. He broke up with Julia and told me he wanted another chance.”

I watched Kimi’s jaw tighten.

“And you?”

I slowly shook my head.

“I said no.”

For the first time since I’d walked into the room, his shoulders relaxed. He let out a slow breath, like he’d been holding it all afternoon.

“I’m sorry.” He lowered his head. “I didn’t want to doubt you. It’s just… When I saw those pictures…”

He didn’t finish.

He didn’t have to.

I took one more step toward him and gently took his hand.

“I’m here.”

Almost instinctively, he laced his fingers with mine. When he looked back at me, the tension between us had changed.

It was no longer fear. It was the quiet need to feel close again. Without taking his eyes off mine, he slowly closed what little distance still remained between us. His lips sought mine with excruciating slowness until contact finally came.

His hands tightened around my hips, anchoring me against him as a low moan escaped his throat—a mixture of relief and desire that vibrated straight through my chest.

"Are you sure you want to keep going?" he asked, his words coming out between ragged breaths.

I could only nod hurriedly.

The air grew heavy, saturated with the citrus scent that always clung to him, now mixed with the metallic tang of adrenaline. We stumbled backward, bumping into the edge of the table and knocking a few decorations to the floor with dull thuds that neither of us even registered.

Kimi lifted me in one fluid motion, wrapping my legs around his waist before sitting me on the cold tabletop, the chill creating an electric contrast against the suffocating heat of his hands sliding beneath my blouse.

His kisses were no longer driven by urgency alone; they had become territorial, trailing down my jaw until they found the exact spot on my neck where my pulse hammered wildly.

I felt his teeth graze my skin, a deliberate pressure that arched my back and drew a moan from me, one that was swallowed by his mouth when he claimed my lips again.

There was no room for doubt anymore.

"You're beautiful," he said, his hands still wandering gently over my body. "I love everything about you."

His fingers, rough and resolute, found the fastening of my pants, undoing it with an efficiency that suggested he had imagined this moment a thousand times. When his hand finally reached the warm wetness between my thighs, a sharp gasp escaped me as my world narrowed to the single point where his skin touched mine.

I pressed myself closer to him, desperately trying to erase every last millimeter between us, feeling the hardness of his cock pressing against my stomach.

Kimi pulled back just enough to meet my gaze, his eyes burning with an intensity that set me on fire, while his breath struck my cheek in short, hot bursts.

There were no words, only the sound of my pants and panties sliding down my legs with an urgency that bordered on desperation. He left me vulnerable, exposed to the cold air of the room, but the chill lasted only a heartbeat before his mouth claimed my collarbone again, leaving behind a trail of fire that made my fingertips tremble.

His fingers sank into my wet cunt with a steady, rhythmic pressure, exploring the texture of my walls with ravenous curiosity. I felt my body arch involuntarily, craving more of that friction, while a deep moan rumbled from his chest, resonating through the empty space between us.

His movements were anything but gentle; they were precise, driven by a muscle memory that seemed to know exactly where to press and how long to hold the tension before releasing the first spasm.

Without warning, he lifted me off the table only to turn me around, pressing my chest against the cold wooden surface. The sharp contrast stole my breath, leaving me exposed as I felt his body—solid and burning hot—anchor itself against my back. His hands slid down to grip my thighs, spreading them apart with a firmness that left me defenseless, while his breathing, now ragged, scorched the back of my neck.

There was no pause for tenderness; the rough brush of his pants against my damp skin was a delicious torture that made me want to bite the edge of the table to keep from crying out.

I felt the cool fabric of his trousers grazing my hip before he stripped out of them in abrupt, almost violent movements, driven by an urgency he could no longer contain.

When he finally felt the direct friction of skin against skin, an electric shiver raced down my spine, and a muffled sob escaped me, absorbed against the skin of my shoulder as he marked me with the possessiveness of someone reclaiming something they had believed was lost.

The entry was slow, a deliberate penetration that forced me to close my eyes and dig my nails into the wood as I felt every inch of me stretch to make room for him.

It wasn’t smooth; it was a struggle between resistance and surrender, where the air grew thick and the sound of our bodies colliding began to set the rhythm of the room.

He buried himself inside me with one deep thrust that stole the breath from my lungs, stopping at the precise point where the tension became unbearable, savoring the uncontrollable trembling of my legs beneath his grip.

Then the cadence changed. There was no longer any room for anticipation; it became raw, almost animal urgency. His thrusts grew heavy, driving into me with a force that shook my entire body against the table, the wood creaking beneath the weight of our desperation.

It was a feverish rhythm, stripped of every trace of tenderness, where each impact felt like a claim, an invisible mark being etched into my skin as rough, ragged breaths escaped him.

There was no subtlety in the way his hands closed around my hips, his fingers digging into my flesh to anchor me in place, making sure there wasn’t a single millimeter of air between us.

I felt small, overwhelmed by the intensity of his desire, like it was meant to consume me. Every thrust was a jolt, a sharp, visceral collision that forced me to arch my back to its limit, desperately chasing the point where pleasure fused with an almost painful pressure.

I could feel the tension coiling low in my abdomen, a knot tightening with every stroke of his cock against my cunt, while he whispered my name in a broken voice, almost a plea, against the curve of my neck.

His movements became erratic, shorter and deeper. Then, without warning, the rhythm broke. His hands clamped down on my hips with desperate force, pinning me against the wood as a guttural groan tore from his throat.

I felt the first contraction, an involuntary spasm that made my vagina tighten around his cock, and then the dam broke. A wave of liquid heat surged from the very center of my being, spreading outward in ripples that forced my head back as a cry escaped me, swallowed by the heavy air filling the room.

He didn’t stop. If anything, he drove into me one last time with a depth that stole the oxygen from my lungs, releasing a moan that reverberated through my entire chest as his body tensed like a rope pulled to its breaking point.

Pleasure ceased to be a sensation and became a deafening hum. For a single moment, we remained suspended in that precise instant when desire stops being hunger and becomes pure exhaustion. The table no longer creaked beneath us, replaced only by the dull echo of our breathing colliding with one another.

For a long moment, neither of us moved. Our breathing gradually slowed until the urgency dissolved into something quieter. Something deeper.

He brushed another kiss against my shoulder.

“I thought I’d lost you today,” he admitted softly. His voice cracked ever so slightly.

I closed my eyes.

“You didn’t.” The words came out barely above a whisper.

He held me a little tighter.

“As soon as I saw those pictures…” He exhaled shakily. “I kept thinking maybe I’d never really had you to begin with.”

My chest tightened. I turned in his arms until I was facing him again.

“You have me.”

For the first time that evening, the tension disappeared completely from his expression. His forehead rested gently against mine as he smiled—a small, relieved smile that reached his eyes.

“I love you,” he whispered.

The words settled quietly between us.

I couldn’t bring myself to answer, not because I didn’t feel anything. But because I still wasn’t sure I deserved to.

(...)

Months later, I found myself in a get together with our friends. The party looked exactly like every other party our group had ever thrown.

The music was far too loud, someone was burning the meat on the grill, and half a dozen conversations were happening all at once.

Seeing Cleo again made me wonder if I'd overreacted about Twitter. Maybe Cleo's repost had just been a stupid, impulsive decision. Maybe if we both pretended it had never happened, things could go back to the way they were.

I was wrong.

"Y/N!" One of the guys waved me over from the backyard. "Come here—we were just talking about Kimi."

I couldn't help smiling as I walked over.

Cleo was already sitting there, a glass of wine in her hand. Our eyes met for only a second. She was the first to look away.

"So?" Marc asked. "How's Mercedes' golden boy doing?"

I laughed softly.

"Pretty well. He's feeling really confident with the car."

"It shows," another friend said. "I've never seen him this relaxed."

He smirked.

"Must be because he finally has a girlfriend."

Every pair of eyes immediately turned toward me. Heat rushed to my cheeks.

"Don't start..."

Laughter rippled around the table. Everyone laughed... Except one person.

"Yeah." Cleo's voice was so quiet it almost disappeared beneath the music. "Some people really do have all the luck."

I chose to ignore her. Someone else quickly changed the subject, asking what life inside the paddock was actually like.

I told them a funny story from Monza about a Mercedes mechanic who had mistaken me for a member of the team. Everyone laughed.

"Look at you," Cleo spoke again. "Six months ago you couldn't tell a Ferrari from a Williams, and now you sound like an F1 commentator."

The laughter this time was noticeably weaker. I simply smiled.

"I guess you learn a thing or two when you spend that much time traveling."

"Of course." She slowly swirled the wine in her glass before looking at me. "When someone offers to take you around the world for free, the least you can do is learn a little about their hobbie."

Silence crashed over the table.

One of the guys awkwardly cleared his throat, another suddenly became very interested in his phone. No one seemed to know what to say.

I took a slow breath.

No.

I wasn't going to give her the satisfaction. I kept talking to everyone else like nothing had happened. For almost twenty minutes, I managed to convince myself the night might end without us confronting each other.

Then someone pulled out their phone to show us vacation pictures. As they scrolled from one photo to the next, one image appeared.

Kimi and me. Walking through the Zandvoort paddock hand in hand.

"You two look adorable here."

I smiled faintly.

"That was the day we—"

"...made it official," Cleo finished for me. She took another sip of wine. "Although... I suppose for Andrea, it had been official long before that."

I frowned.

"What do you mean?"

She shrugged.

"Nothing. I just think it's funny how some people spend years waiting for a chance while others just happen to show up at exactly the right moment."

This time, I wasn't the only one who caught the poison behind her words.

The conversation died completely. I slowly set my glass on the table.

"Cleo."

She looked up.

"Yeah?"

"Come with me for a minute."

For the first time all evening, she smiled. A real smile, like she'd been waiting for exactly this.

"Sure."

"We need to talk," I said the moment we were alone in the kitchen.

She barely looked up.

I waited.

She said nothing.

I pulled my phone from my pocket and placed it on the countertop in front of her.

The repost was already open. The post calling me a gold digger. A manipulator. The girl who was only with Andrea because of everything he could offer.

Cleo looked at the screen for barely a second, then calmly took another sip of wine.

"So?"

My patience started slipping.

"You're seriously asking me 'so?'"

"Yeah."

"Why did you repost this?"

She looked back at the phone.

"Because I felt like it."

I frowned.

"You know exactly how much hate I've been getting ever since my relationship with Andrea became public."

"I know."

"Then why would you add to it?"

She let out a dry laugh.

"Because for once, someone on the internet actually said something that made sense."

Anger surged through me.

"Do you really think that's who I am?"

She set her glass down.

"I don't think it. I suspect it."

"Suspect what?"

She held my gaze.

"That Andrea wasn't your first choice."

Silence settled between us. I forced myself not to react.

"You're talking nonsense."

"Am I?" She crossed her arms. "A few months ago you cried over Matteo every single day. Then Julia showed up and, conveniently, weeks later you were traveling around Europe with Andrea. How convenient."

I clenched my jaw.

"You have no idea what actually happened."

"No." Her voice remained infuriatingly calm. "I don't. But I do know how to add two and two together."

I inhaled slowly.

"You're letting your jealousy make up stories."

That finally made her smile, not because she'd found it funny. Because I'd hit a nerve.

"Jealous?"

"Yes." I pointed directly at her. "You're jealous. You've always liked Andrea."

She laughed.

"And if I do?"

The question caught me off guard.

"What?"

"If I like Andrea... Does that automatically make me wrong?"

I didn't answer. She stepped closer.

"Answer me something instead. When Matteo started dating Julia how did that make you feel?"

I looked down for a split second.

She noticed immediately.

"Exactly. It hurt."

I nodded.

"Yeah."

"And right after that, Andrea invited you to travel with him."

A knot formed in my stomach.

"Yeah."

"And you said yes."

"...Yeah."

She smiled sadly.

"See why I have my suspicions?"

I raised my voice for the first time.

"That doesn't prove anything!"

"Oh?" Her voice never changed. "Then tell me why did you say yes?"

I opened my mouth.

The answer was simple.

Because I wanted to forget Matteo. But I couldn't say that. Because then I'd have to explain how.

My silence condemned me.

Cleo sighed.

"That's what I thought."

I immediately tried to defend myself.

"Things changed. I love him now." I said it firmly, because it was true.

She believed me. I saw it in her eyes. But it didn't make her feel any better if anything... It only made her look sadder.

"I don't doubt that you love him now." She paused. "What I doubt is why you gave him a chance in the first place."

My breathing quickened.

"Stay out of my relationship."

She slowly shook her head.

"Do you know what makes me the angriest?" She didn't wait for an answer. "He genuinely believes you chose him. That one day you woke up and thought I want to be with Andrea. When we both know that's not how it happened."

A hollow ache spread through my chest. Because even if she didn't know the whole story, she'd gotten far too close. I took a step toward her.

"Don't ever speak like you know my life."

"And you should stop pretending this started because of love."

That was it. I completely lost my temper.

"You don't know anything!"

"I know enough." She didn't blink. "I know you went to see Matteo."

My entire body froze.

"...How?"

Cleo slowly let out a breath.

"Because I'm the one who sent Andrea those pictures."

The world seemed to stop. I stared at her in disbelief.

"What did you just say?"

"You heard me."

"It was you?" She nodded.

A mixture of anger and disbelief rushed through me.

"Why would you do something like that?"

It took her several seconds to answer. When she finally did, her voice sounded utterly exhausted.

"Because I wanted to be wrong."

I frowned. She smiled sadly.

"I wanted Andrea to receive those pictures and for you to be able to look him in the eye without being afraid. But after I saw you I knew I'd hit something, I don't know what. But something."

My heart pounded painfully.

"You could've destroyed my relationship."

"No." She shook her head firmly. "If a few photographs were enough to destroy your relationship then the photographs were never the problem. The problem was the secret you've been hiding from him since the very beginning."

Silence fell between us.

I was shaking with anger.

She was shaking with sadness.

She picked up her wine glass. Before walking away, she stopped beside me.

"I really hope you love him as much as you say you do. Because if he ever finds out otherwise... I don't think he'd survive it."

I watched her walk away, unable to move a single muscle.

For the first time since I'd accepted that trip, I realized the truth no longer belonged to me alone.

Someone else had started to see it. Even if they could only make out its outline through the shadows.

I didn't go back inside the party. I said goodbye to the few people who were still outside using whatever excuse came to mind, then drove for almost an hour without any real destination.

I didn't cry. I'd already cried every tear I had left during my argument with Cleo.

All that remained was an unbearable emptiness in my chest. For the first time since all of this had begun, I realized there was no point in putting it off any longer. I could keep hiding the truth. Keep waiting for the perfect moment. But the perfect moment was never going to come.

And with every passing day, the lie only grew bigger.

The apartment was completely silent when I got home.

I glanced at the clock, it was almost eleven at night. For a moment, I considered turning around, waiting until the next day, making up another excuse.

Doing what I'd spent months doing: Running away.

My hand was already on the doorknob when the bedroom door opened.

Kimi looked up the moment he saw me. He was wearing gray sweatpants and a matching sweatshirt, a glass of water in one hand. The expression on his face changed immediately.

"What happened?"

I shook my head. I tried to smile but I couldn't.

He set the glass down on the table without taking his eyes off me.

"Come here."

He didn't ask another question. He simply opened his arms and I did exactly what I'd spent weeks trying to avoid.

I fell apart.

I felt his arms wrap tightly around me as I buried my face against his chest. He didn't say anything. He just slowly rubbed my back, like he knew that any words would only break something that was barely holding together.

I don't know how long we stayed like that. Five minutes, maybe ten.

Until I finally managed to speak.

"I need to tell you something."

I felt his hand stop moving against my back. He didn't let go of me, but his breathing changed.

"Okay."

I took a deep breath. I pulled back just enough to look at him. I'd never found it so difficult to hold his gaze.

"I don't even know where to start."

Kimi sat down on the couch and quietly gestured for me to sit beside him. Then he waited. Just like he always did. Without pressuring me, without filling the silence, simply waiting. I sat down beside him.

My hands were shaking.

"Do you remember the first time you invited me to travel with you?"

A faint smile appeared on his face.

"Of course."

"I've been wanting to talk to you about that day for months."

The smile slowly faded. I lowered my eyes to my hands.

"It all started long before we kissed, before we started dating, before I even understood what I felt for you."

I took another deep breath. I knew that once I said the next words... There would be no taking them back.

"When I accepted that trip I didn't do it for the right reasons."

The silence that followed was unbearable. I waited for some kind of reaction.

A question, a change in his expression, anything. Nothing came. Kimi remained perfectly still, watching me quietly, waiting for me to finish.

I swallowed hard.

"I was completely heartbroken over Matteo. I thought about him all the time. I couldn't understand why he'd chosen Julia and then you came along." I looked up at him for only a brief moment. "You were the only guy I knew had feelings for me, and I..."

My voice began to crack.

"I convinced myself that if I started dating you I'd be able to forget him." The tears came before I could stop them. "I thought I was taking advantage of an opportunity not a person. But I was wrong, because the person was you and you never deserved that."

The room fell silent again. This time for much longer.

I struggled to breathe.

"I don't expect you to forgive me, I don't even expect you to want to see me again after this, I just couldn't keep lying to you anymore. For months, every time you told me 'I love you,' it felt heavier than the time before." I lowered my head completely. “I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry."

Kimi didn't answer.

I heard him slowly let out a breath. Then I felt him gently take one of my hands between both of his. He held it there for several seconds, like searching for the right words.

When he finally spoke... His voice was much calmer than I ever could have imagined.

"Are you finished?"

I looked up at him, confused. I nodded.

A very small smile appeared on his face, sad, but genuine.

"Then let me talk now."

Kimi remained silent for a few moments.

He never looked away from me. His fingers still held my hand with the same gentle touch they always had, as if he was afraid that one careless movement might break me.

He lowered his head for a second and let out a quiet breath of laughter through his nose. It wasn't mocking. It was the nervous laugh of someone who had been waiting for this moment for far too long.

"I've spent months imagining what this conversation would be like."

I frowned slightly.

"What?"

He looked back up.

"Not exactly like this." A sad smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "But I always knew it would happen someday."

My breathing stopped.

"What do you mean?"

He stayed quiet for a few seconds, choosing each word with care.

"I never knew exactly what had happened." He slowly shook his head. "There were just... things that never quite added up."

A chill ran down my spine.

Kimi took a breath before continuing.

"At first, I thought I was imagining it. It was easier to believe I was just being insecure. That I was seeing problems that weren't really there." A faint smile crossed his face. "George always says I overthink everything."

That managed to pull the smallest smile out of me before it disappeared almost instantly. His expression grew serious again.

"But the more time I spent with you the harder it became to ignore." He looked down at our intertwined hands. "There were moments when I'd catch you looking at me and I knew you were really there, with me. But then there were other moments..."

His voice softened.

"...when someone mentioned Matteo, and something changed in your face. Just a little, if I hadn't been paying so much attention to you I probably never would've noticed."

A sharp ache spread through my chest. Because he was right. I hadn't even been aware of those tiny changes. He had.

"Then you agreed to come to every race, we became closer, then we kissed, then we started dating and there were still things I couldn't understand." He looked back at me. "Not because I doubted that you cared about me. That was never the problem, what I couldn't understand was... Why me?"

I blinked.

"What?"

"I never understood why you'd chosen me. There were better-looking guys, older guys, guys with more experience, guys who looked a lot more like Matteo. I was just..."

He let out an awkward laugh.

"...me."

I immediately shook my head.

"Andrea..."

He smiled softly.

"Let me finish."

I nodded without saying a word.

"Then the coffee happened. It wasn't the pictures, the pictures just forced me to ask myself something I'd been avoiding for a long time." He closed his eyes for a brief moment. "What if I'd just come along at the right time?"

Fresh tears filled my eyes.

Kimi had never had proof. He'd never read a message. He'd never overheard a conversation. He'd figured it out entirely on his own. Just by piecing together tiny details that anyone else would've overlooked.

"I thought about asking you. So many times, there were nights when I almost did. But every single time I came to the same conclusion." He took a deep breath. "If I forced you to answer before you were ready I'd never know whether your answer came from love or guilt."

The first tear rolled down my cheek.

"Kimi..."

He slowly shook his head.

"Just listen to me a little longer." His thumb gently brushed over the back of my hand.

Such a tiny gesture and somehow It was enough to break me all over again.

"Then Matteo came back, he broke up with Julia, he came looking for you and I thought this is it, this is where it ends."

A sob escaped before I could stop it. He smiled at me with endless tenderness.

"I was convinced you were going back to him and do you know what the worst part was? I wasn't angry with you, I was just scared. So unbelievably scared, because I understood exactly why you'd choose him. He was the boy you'd been in love with for so long, the one you'd spent months waiting for."

I tightened my grip around his hands.

"But you didn't go back."

His voice cracked for the first time. Only slightly, enough for me to notice.

"You came back to me, not because he didn't love you anymore. You came back after he told you he loved you, after he offered you exactly the life you'd wanted for so long and that's when..." He smiled. "That's when I stopped asking questions."

Through my tears, I frowned.

"Why?"

"Because I realized that was the first decision you'd ever made thinking only about us. Not about Matteo, not about the past, about us."

A long silence settled between us. A very long one. I could barely breathe.

"Everything else, everything that happened before..." He let out a slow breath. "Of course it hurt, it hurt more than I can explain. There were days when I wondered whether every kiss had really been for me. When you told me you loved me, whether you already loved me or whether you were still trying to forget someone else."

He let out a quiet laugh, though I could see his eyes beginning to glisten.

"It was awful I'm not going to lie to you. But one day I realized something." He slowly lifted his hand and gently tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear. "I stopped asking myself why you'd come into my life and I started asking myself why you were still here."

"Because you'd already had the chance to leave and you didn't. So I decided to wait until one day you trusted me enough to tell me everything."

"Even if it took months, even if it took years." His smile grew just a little wider. "I just wanted it to be your choice. Not because someone found out, not because someone forced you. But because you no longer wanted to hide from me."

I couldn't bring myself to meet his eyes. I'd spent months imagining this moment. In every version I'd played out in my head, he stood up from the couch, asked me to leave, or—at best—told me he needed time.

I never imagined the hardest outcome would be this. That he would understand me.

That hurt so much more, because there was nowhere left for me to hide.

A broken laugh escaped me as I wiped away my tears with the back of my hand.

"You're an idiot."

Kimi raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, yeah?"

I nodded several times.

"A complete idiot."

He chuckled quietly.

"I already knew that."

I shook my head.

"No, no you don't." I pointed a trembling finger at him. "Who waits that many months knowing there's a chance they're being used?"

He lowered his gaze. It took him a few seconds to answer.

"Someone who was afraid of hearing the answer before it was ready." The honesty in his voice completely unraveled me.

I started crying again. This time, I didn't even try to stop. Kimi didn't do anything.

He didn't move closer, didn't try to hug me, he simply let me feel everything. And somehow the space he gave me was exactly what made me close the distance myself.

I rested my forehead against his shoulder and closed my eyes.

"I'm sorry." My voice was barely a whisper. "I really am."

I felt him gently rest his cheek against the top of my head.

"I know."

We stayed like that for a long time. Neither of us seemed in any hurry to break the silence.

I was the one who spoke again.

"You know what makes me the angriest?"

He slowly shook his head.

I took a deep breath.

"If I could go back, I'd change the reason I accepted that trip. But I'd never change the fact that I accepted it."

Kimi lifted his head slightly to look at me. I continued before I could lose my nerve.

"Because it was the worst decision I've ever made and somehow, it was also the best."

A small smile appeared on his face. He didn't say anything. He waited, just like he always did.

"I just wish I'd found my way to you differently. That's what I can't forgive myself for, not being the person you deserved to meet." I lowered my gaze again. "Sometimes I think about the girl who got on that plane and I don't like her very much. Not at all, because she had no idea how much damage she was about to cause."

Kimi let out a quiet laugh through his nose.

"I do."

I looked up at him, confused.

He shrugged.

"She was an eighteen-year-old girl with a broken heart. People do stupid things when their hearts are broken and that doesn't make them bad people."

I stayed silent. I'd never looked at it that way.

"Besides..." He paused. "If that girl hadn't accepted that trip, I never would've met the woman I'm in love with now."

I felt my chest tighten again. Not from guilt, this time was something else. Something much closer to peace.

I took his hand in both of mine.

"Promise me something."

"What is it?"

"If I ever make you doubt how I feel again don't wait months. Tell me, even if we argue, even if I get upset, even if you're scared. I want you to be the one who tells me."

He smiled.

"It's a deal."

I smiled back. The first completely genuine smile I'd given all night.

We didn't need to say I love you. We'd already said those words hundreds of times before. The difference was that, for the first time those words were no longer resting on top of a lie.

I rested my head against his shoulder while he intertwined our fingers.

Neither of us spoke again. We didn't need to, we'd spent far too long trying to rewrite the past and, at last we both seemed ready to make peace with it.

There's a version of this story where I'm the villain.

And honestly...

I'm not going to argue with it.

Because the only thing that version never tells you... Is that people are rarely defined by the worst decision they've ever made.

And that was the one part of the story Kimi never let me forget.

[islagalaxie]

CONFLICT OF INTEREST - MAX VERSTAPPEN

Max Verstappen x Fem!Reader

SUMMARY: Y/N has spent her entire life trying to prove that she is more than her last name. She's brilliant, ambitious, and determined to succeed on her own merits. Then there’s Max Verstappen; difficult, demanding, and impossible to please. What begins as a constant battle of wills slowly turns into something far more sentimental, making him both her greatest challenge and the one person she can never quite ignore.

As careers take off, secrets come to light, and family expectations clash with personal ambitions, Y/N finds herself torn between the future she always planned for and the one she never saw coming.

WORD COUNT: 14K

masterlist

“Girls like you don’t study engineering.”

Those were the words my father said the moment I told him about the plans I had for my future.

You see, people like us didn’t work in factorys. We bought them, financed them, or inherited them. But we never got our hands dirty inside them.

My father held firmly to that philosophy, and it was even worse when it came to me—the only daughter and the youngest of his six children.

From the moment I opened my eyes to the world, he had already decided what my life was supposed to look like. It was an almost universal truth, an unwritten rule that seemed to be part of some secret handbook of the high society in which I was raised.

Girls like me organize galas, inherit fortunes, make sure they always look perfect, and marry wealthy, influential men.

Girls like me don’t go to university to study engineering, only to end up working in a world built by men and for men.

The problem, to my father's dismay, was that I had inherited my mother’s rebellious spirit and never took no for an answer once I had made up my mind.

That was how, after months of arguments, tears, and shouting matches, he finally gave me his blessing to study Industrial Engineering—which, in his opinion, was the least terrible of all my options.

University flew by in the blink of an eye. Although it was demanding, I managed to stand out thanks to both my intelligence and my discipline. I had the privilege of studying without financial pressure, and I made the most of every opportunity that came my way.

Just when my father thought I had finally gotten my little rebellion out of my system and would return home to settle into a life of leisure, I made another decision he absolutely hated: specializing in Sports Data Analytics.

And that is how I ended up landing an internship with the Mercedes-AMG Petronas Formula One Team.

Yes, much to my family’s dismay, I had managed to throw myself headfirst into yet another world dominated by men.

“I don’t understand what a girl like you is doing working in a place like this.”

Louis’s words, one of the team’s senior interns, served as my official welcome.

“A girl like me?” I repeated, inviting him to elaborate on exactly what he meant.

“Yeah. You’re so young, so pretty…” He shrugged as though he were stating an obvious fact. “You belong on a runway or standing next to some billionaire.”

“Wow. I haven’t heard that much sexism packed into a single sentence in a long time.”

I frowned at him, and for the first time since he’d opened his mouth, he seemed to realize how his words sounded. A faint blush spread across his cheeks.

“Don’t get me wrong. I’m sure you’re brilliant at what you do. I just meant that—”

“Don’t work so hard trying to explain yourself, Louis. Instead of questioning Y/N, get your ass up and help Alex back there.” Bono’s voice cut through whatever excuse Louis had been scrambling to come up with.

Judging by the immediate look of relief on his face, the interruption was exactly the lifeline he needed. Without wasting another second, he pushed himself out of his chair and headed toward Alex’s workstation.

“Y/N, come with me. I’ll show you where you’ll be working and introduce you to the rest of the team.” Bono motioned for me to follow him.

The moment I stood up, my stomach twisted into knots.

“You don’t have to be nervous,” he said as we made our way through the garage. “We work pretty well together around here. Besides, we warned everyone ahead of time that they were expected to treat you with respect. We don’t get many young ladies like you around here, and we were worried some of them might start acting like they're part of a pack of dogs.”

Bono let out a laugh, and I couldn’t help laughing quietly along with him.

As we walked, he pointed out different work areas and explained the things I needed to know to navigate life within the team.

When we finally reached the station where I’d be working, everyone greeted me warmly. There were smiles, handshakes, and friendly introductions.

Still, beneath every greeting, I sensed something else. Some looked at me with genuine curiosity. Others watched me with an interest that went far beyond professional courtesy—an interest they weren’t quite able to hide.

I felt like a rabbit that had wandered straight into a wolf’s den.

The next few weeks of settling in flew by. I was so busy with work that I barely had time to sit down and eat. The season had only recently come to an end, but the work never stopped. Mercedes wanted Kimi’s team operating at one hundred percent before the next season, and that meant long hours for everyone involved.

As exhausted as I was, I also felt a kind of happiness I couldn’t quite put into words. My dreams were finally becoming reality. And yes, my father’s money had undoubtedly made things easier for me, but I also had to give myself some credit and acknowledge the hard work and discipline that had brought me here.

The problem came later. Because, like everything else in life, it couldn’t be perfect forever. Eventually, all that happiness was replaced by something else entirely, sorrow.

Hermann was one of Mercedes’ longest-serving engineers and a complete jerk.

At least, that was my opinion. To everyone else on the team, he was simply an intense man who could be a little too persistent at times.

In my vocabulary, that translated to stalker.

He had been on vacation during my first month with the team, so he had no idea I even existed. But the moment he came back and saw me for the first time, his eyes lit up as if he’d found water in the middle of the desert.

From that point on, he seemed to have made getting a date with me the primary objective of his life.

“I noticed you like ice cream. Would you like to grab some after work?”

That was his first attempt.

“That’s very kind of you, but I’m trying to cut back on sugar.”

“What about going bowling this Saturday?” That was his second attempt a few days later.

“My father is visiting all week, so I can’t. Sorry.”

“Would you like to go to the movies tomorrow? I heard you like science fiction, and there are a couple of films I’m sure you’d love.” That was the third.

“Thanks, Hermann, but I already have plans with some friends.”

Every single one of those excuses was a blatant lie. My father wouldn’t set foot in Brackley even if someone handed him half of the New York Stock Exchange. And the truth was, I hadn’t made a single friend there yet.

They were simply excuses to get him off my back. The problem was that Hermann either couldn’t understand them or understood them perfectly and had simply decided to ignore them.

For weeks, he kept trying.

Lunch invitations. Coffee invitations. Suggestions to go somewhere after work. He always found a new excuse to approach me and I always found a new way to turn him down.

Until one day, I ran out of patience.

I’d spent hours trying to solve an issue on my computer and was so frustrated that I felt like the slightest thing could set me off. Of course, that was exactly when Hermann showed up.

“Would you like to go—”

I didn’t let him finish.

“No, Hermann.”

The words came out sharper than I intended.

He blinked in surprise. For the first time since I’d met him, he seemed completely lost for words.

“Look, I’m going to be completely honest with you. I think you’re brilliant at what you do, and I’m sure your intentions are good, but I’m not interested in dating you. And I’m not interested in dating anyone who works here, either. I don’t want to mix my personal life with my job. I appreciate that you’ve been kind to me, but I need you to stop insisting.”

I didn’t wait for a response. I didn’t even bother to see how he reacted. I simply gathered my things, shut my laptop, and walked out of the room.

I knew that rejecting him wouldn’t simply make him back off. What I hadn’t expected was for him to launch a smear campaign worthy of a public relations agency.

A few days after our confrontation, I started hearing whispers around the factory floor. At first, they weren’t particularly scandalous. But rumors rarely stay small for long, and before I knew it, things began spiraling out of control.

One person would tell a story to someone else, who would add a few extra details before passing it on. Then that person would embellish it even further.

By the end of it, I had somehow become a social-climbing slut who had slept with half the board of directors to get a job at Mercedes.

Or at least, that was what I overheard one day before walking into the cafeteria. Two coworkers were sitting at a table, quietly discussing exactly that. The moment they noticed me, they fell silent.

“Hey, Y/N. How are you doing?” one of them asked with an awkward smile, clearly trying to gauge whether I had heard anything.

“I’m doing great, thanks.” I didn’t even bother smiling.

Under different circumstances, I would have asked him the same question in return. But I despise hypocrisy, and I wasn’t about to be pleasant to someone who was perfectly comfortable spreading that kind of garbage about me.

I walked over to the coffee machine and poured myself a cup. I needed the warmth to chase away the coldness I had been feeling from my coworkers lately.

“How are you, Y/N?” Bono walked into the room and greeted me, grabbing a cup for himself.

“I’m good. How about you?” I replied, offering him a small smile.

“Excellent. How have your last few weeks with the team been?” he asked before taking a sip of coffee.

“Good. Although I’ve discovered a few unexpected things.”

“Like what?” Bono frowned, intrigued.

“That Mercedes isn’t just good at building race cars. Apparently, they’re also very talented at creating entirely new lives for people.” I said it loudly enough for the two idiots sitting a few meters away to hear every word.

Bono nearly choked on his coffee before bursting into laughter.

“And you haven’t seen anything yet.”

As it turned out, he was right.

I hadn’t yet discovered just how far people were willing to take their rumors. Over the following months, I decided to channel the Slavic genes of my ancestors and freeze my heart solid.

The gossip never stopped. But it never affected my performance, either. If anything, it made me even more disciplined. No one could question whether I belonged there, I had earned my place.

It wasn’t until my internship ended that I finally allowed myself to step out of the emotional bunker my mind had built when everything started.

Then I fell apart.

I cried over everything and nothing. I questioned whether I truly wanted to continue down this path. Whether I genuinely deserved to be there. Whether I was taking opportunities away from people who deserved them more than I did.

For several weeks, I seriously considered staying home and doing absolutely nothing. I moved back into my father’s house, where I was welcomed with all the ceremony reserved for visiting royalty.

His baby girl had come home and from his perspective, she was there to stay. The problem was that I wasn’t completely happy there anymore and that confused my father.

“I don’t understand why you’re so unhappy,” he told me one afternoon. “You have everything you could possibly need here, and you don’t have to tolerate being mistreated by anyone.” He was trying his best to pull me out of my lethargy.

But it wasn’t enough. I had already experienced the freedom that came with independence. I’d tasted what it felt like to build something for myself and work in a field I genuinely loved. Giving that up was making me miserable.

“I know,” I said. “But I don’t want one bad experience to take away my dream of doing more with my career. Besides, I liked working there. The only bad part was my coworkers.”

My father let out a long, pained sigh. Slowly resigning himself to the fact that it was apparently impossible to keep me inside his overprotective bubble forever.

“Fine. At least let me do something to help.” For the first time, he finally relented.

“Like what?” I asked suspiciously.

“I’m going to make a few phone calls and see if I can help you get back to work.”

“Dad…” The warning was immediate.

“Yes, yes.” He raised both hands in surrender. “I know. You don’t want me interfering. You want to earn everything on your own merit. But come on, I’m your father. Let me help you with this.” His eyes sparkled with barely contained excitement.

And because I was every bit as weak for him as he was for me, I eventually gave in.

For the next two hours, he locked himself inside his office. All I could hear were muffled conversations in French. Then he finally emerged.

“Done.”

“What?” I searched his face for some clue as to what he had just done.

“You have a position with another team.”

“What?” I repeated, completely stunned.

Looking back, I don’t know why I was surprised. My father owned shares in a ridiculous number of companies that sponsored teams across the paddock. Pulling strings like this should have been the least surprising thing in the world.

“Yes,” he said casually. “I spoke to an acquaintance.”

He didn’t seem remotely impressed by his own accomplishment.

“As soon as you’re ready, you’ll be starting at Red Bull.”

(…)

The first time Max Verstappen spoke to me, I thought he was an asshole. When he wanted to criticize someone, he didn’t even bother pretending to be polite about it. He went straight for the throat.

“Being new doesn’t exempt you from being called out for your mistakes. You’d think a little girl like you, educated at Stanford, would be smart enough to realize what she’s doing is wrong.” His face was set in a hard expression as he looked over the report in front of him.

How the hell did he know where I had studied? I hadn’t the faintest idea.

“Those were the instructions I was given—” I didn’t even get to finish before he cut me off.

“No, those are the instructions Esteban follows. That doesn’t automatically make them correct.”

“That makes absolutely no sense.” I crossed my arms.

I knew arguing with one of the people who was effectively my boss wasn’t the smartest decision. Normally, I would have tried to de-escalate the situation. But there was something about him that made it impossible. It was as if his face was personally inviting me to punch him.

“Of course it makes sense. You just don’t understand it, which is why you keep doing everything wrong.” The stack of papers in his hand hit the table separating us with a sharp slap.

My mouth fell open in outrage. What a miserable bastard.

“What’s going on here?” A voice carrying a faint French accent interrupted the argument.

I turned around and found myself face-to-face with none other than Laurent Mekies.

“Max, it’s the young lady’s first week here. Don’t be so hard on her.” Mekies was defending me or at least trying to.

“You told me she already had experience with this,” Max replied. “But right now she looks like she only found out what performance metrics are yesterday.” Max dropped heavily into his chair and rubbed a hand over his face in frustration.

I stayed silent. Because I knew that if I opened my mouth, something would come out that I would almost certainly regret.

“Don’t pay any attention to him, Y/N.”

My attention shifted back to Mekies.

“You have your father’s eyes.” As he spoke, he gave my shoulders a gentle squeeze and smiled in recognition.

To anyone else, it would have sounded like a simple compliment. For people in my world, mentioning my father was another way of saying: I know who you are.

The realization made me swallow hard. It suddenly became painfully obvious who my father had called in to secure me this job.

“Thank you,” was all I managed to say.

Mekies gave my shoulder a friendly pat before turning back toward Max.

“I’ll move her over to work with Isack. That way you won’t have to deal with her inexperience.”

“No.” The answer came instantly. “I want her to stay.”

Both Mekies and I stared at him.

“It’s less painful dealing with her than with whoever they’ll send to replace her.”

I looked at him in complete disbelief. Less than five minutes ago he’d practically called me incompetent. Now he didn’t want me moved to the other side of the garage.

“Good.” Mekies clapped his hands once. “In that case, try to get along. We don’t have much time before the new season starts, and we can’t afford mistakes. Y/N, make yourself at home. Max, be nice to her.”

Max responded with a dismissive wave of his hand that made Mekies laugh as he walked out of the room.

“Well…” I tried, mostly to fill the awkward silence.

“Do it again.” Max slid the papers across the table toward me. “I need it to be perfect. There can’t be any mistakes.”

I let out a quiet sigh, picked up the report, and headed for the door. It was already obvious that Max was going to be a nightmare to deal with and if I wanted to keep this job, I’d have to work twice as hard as everyone else.

The challenge didn’t scare me. I had been raised by five brothers and a father who were sharks in tailored suits.

A little lion wasn’t going to shake me.

The following weeks were brutal. Actually, brutal was putting it mildly, they were downright exhausting.

Max was never satisfied with anything, and he had developed a particular habit of pointing out every single one of my mistakes in front of the rest of the team.

He wasn’t gentle. He wasn’t patient. He was so much harsher with me than with anyone else, so much that several members of the team had openly commented on it. Apparently, I was the only person he treated that way.

Unfortunately, his constant criticism seemed to give certain people permission to unload their own frustrations on me as well. Most notably, a bitch named Marianne.

Marianne was pushing forty and, for reasons known only to herself, seemed deeply unhappy about my sudden addition to the team.

“Are you sure you studied at Stanford? I went there too, and you don’t really seem like the kind of girl who would.” Her gaze swept over me from head to toe.

If her goal was to embarrass me, she failed miserably. I had grown up surrounded by men who were the human equivalent of sharks. But I had also been raised around women who could rival vipers and hyenas. Her little attempt at asserting superiority wasn’t going to work on me.

“Really? That’s interesting.” I smiled sweetly. “I think the student profile changed quite a bit after you graduated. But then again, that was a very, very long time ago, so I can understand why you might not be aware of that.”

The look on her face was priceless. For a moment, several emotions flashed across it in rapid succession. In the end, she simply offered me a smile that was just as fake as mine before walking off toward another area of the factory.

“Don’t pay too much attention to her. She got divorced recently because her husband cheated on her, and ever since then she’s been a little weird whenever she sees someone younger than her being just as successful.”

A female voice interrupted my moment of satisfaction. I turned to find a woman approaching me.

“My name’s Carla. I’m a mechanical engineer, but I work on Isack’s side of the garage, which is probably why we haven’t met yet.” We shook hands.

“Y/N.”

“Oh, I know who you are.” There was amusement dancing in her eyes. “I’ve heard you’re driving Verstappen completely insane.”

I rolled my eyes and let out a long sigh.

“And he’s driving me insane too.”

Carla laughed.

“That's a good thing.”

“What do you mean?”

“Max has two settings. He’s either ignoring you completely or acting like you’ve personally offended him by existing.”

I couldn’t help laughing.

“That sounds about right.”

“The good news is that if he’s constantly criticizing you, it means he’s paying attention.”

“The good news?” I repeated incredulously.

“Trust me. If Max genuinely thought you were useless, he wouldn’t waste his breath on you.”

I stared at her.

“That’s supposed to make me feel better?”

“Not really.” Carla grinned. “But it is true.”

At first, I didn’t take Carla’s words too seriously. Mostly because they made absolutely no sense to me.

How could you treat someone like crap if you genuinely believed they were useful? The logic simply didn’t compute.

The weeks leading up to the start of the season were demanding, but at least Max had eased up on his strange dictator routine. That, in turn, allowed me to relax a little and do my job without feeling like I was being evaluated every second of the day. That lasted right up until a week before the season opener.

“Get your paperwork ready. You’re coming to Australia with us.”

The announcement came out of nowhere.

“What?” It was the only response my brain could produce.

“Are you deaf now? You heard me. Human Resources will send you a list of everything you need before we leave.”

He gave me one final glance before walking away.

Just like that. I sat there in a daze for several minutes.

According to my contract, my position was supposed to be based permanently in Milton Keynes. I wasn’t meant to travel with the team.

So the first chance I got, I asked Mekies about the sudden change.

“I know it’s not what was originally agreed,” he admitted. “But it’s a decision based on operational needs.”

And just like that, I found myself embarking on a journey of more than twenty-four hours to Australia.

Truthfully, I was thrilled. Everything felt new. I’d attended a Grand Prix before as a spectator. The environment wasn’t unfamiliar, but it was my first time experiencing it from the inside.

My excitement lasted exactly until the race started.

With fifteen laps remaining, the data began showing an unusual pattern. At first, I assumed it was a system error, so I checked everything again. Then I checked it a third time.

The rear brake temperatures were climbing faster than expected, and the tire degradation wasn’t matching any of the pre-race simulations.

My stomach tightened.

“Can you take a look at this?” I turned my monitor toward one of the strategy engineers.

He barely glanced away from his screen.

“What is it now?”

“The numbers don’t make sense. There’s almost a twelve-percent deviation from the projected models.”

His eyes lingered on the graph for less than three seconds.

“It’s noise.”

“I don’t think it is.”

“No?”

I shook my head immediately.

“Y/N, relax. I’m telling you it’s fine.”

I wanted to insist. I really did, but he’d already gone back to ignoring me.

I looked around for support. Nobody seemed concerned, so Ibreturned to my workstation and tried convincing myself that maybe I was overreacting. Maybe I was seeing problems where none existed.

Five laps later, the pattern got worse.

“Hey.” I caught his attention again.

“What now?”

“It’s increasing.”

This time, he didn’t even look at the screen.

“Drop it.”

My fingers tightened around the edge of my desk.

“We should report it.”

“And tell them what exactly?”

“That something isn’t performing the way it should.”

“Based on the gut feeling of a rookie?”

The muted laughter of two nearby engineers made me lower my eyes.

I didn’t bring it up again. And exactly as I’d feared—Three laps later, Max’s car began losing performance. One lap after that, he was forced to retire.

Silence fell over the garage.

The kind of silence that only happens when everyone realizes something has gone catastrophically wrong.

When the car finally returned to the pit lane, Max climbed out of the cockpit with his helmet still on.

He looked absolutely furious.

“What the hell happened?”

Nobody answered.

“Did nobody see this coming?”

His gaze swept across the garage, then landed directly on me.

“What the fuck do I pay you for if you’re not going to watch the damn data?” The shout was so loud the entire garage froze.

“I did see it.” The words came out before I could stop them. “And I reported it.”

“Well, obviously not well enough.” Max ripped off his helmet in one sharp motion.

“I warned them twice.”

The entire garage fell silent.

“I showed them the data. I explained that the temperatures were outside the expected range. I told them the simulations weren’t matching reality.”

“I don’t believe a damn word of that.” The accusation hit like a slap.

Months of frustration surged up my throat.

“Of course you don’t.” My voice shook. “That’s exactly the problem. You think I’m an idiot, and you’ve made sure everyone else thinks so too.”

Nobody moved.

Nobody spoke.

“You treat me like I’m incompetent every chance you get, and because of that nobody takes me seriously when I actually have something important to say.”

The silence somehow became even heavier. Max simply stared at me, his jaw clenched tight, trying—and failing—to hide his anger.

I’d had enough. Without another word, I turned around and walked out of the garage.

Fifteen minutes later, I was crying alone in a small hospitality room. I’d cried so hard that my eyes felt swollen and my nose was completely blocked. Every time I thought I was finally calming down, another sob escaped me.

My shirt was damp from wiping away tears and my hair clung messily to my face. I looked pathetic.

But my appearance was the last thing on my mind. The ache in my chest occupied every corner of my thoughts.

Was this really worth it? Was it worth letting people trample over my dignity just to keep this job? For the first time, I wasn’t sure of the answer.

Maybe my father had been right all along. Maybe I hadn’t been made for this world and it was time to stop pretending to be some ambitious career woman and return to the life that had always been waiting for me back home.

A soft knock at the door pulled me out of my thoughts. Immediately, I forced myself to stop crying and wiped my face with the sleeve of my already soaked sweater.

“Come in.” I didn’t bother looking up, my gaze remained fixed on the floor.

My long dark hair acted like a curtain, hiding my swollen face from whoever had just entered the room.

I heard footsteps. A few seconds later, someone sat down beside me.

“Gianpiero confirmed what happened.” The slightly raspy voice made me tense immediately. Max.

Of all the people in the garage, he was the last person I expected to come looking for me. I remained silent, waiting for him to say whatever he had come here to say.

“I know I can be an asshole sometimes.”

A dry laugh almost escaped me at the understatement.

“It’s how I’ve learned to survive in this environment. If you’re not tough, people walk all over you. But…” He paused. “I have to admit I was wrong for taking it out on you.”

I remained in silence, again.

“Aren’t you going to say anything?”

My silence answered for me. Max let out an incredulous breath through his nose.

“Look, I’m sorry, alright? I didn’t mean to act like such an idiot.”

I turned toward him so abruptly that my hair fell away from my face, exposing the full extent of the damage. The red eyes, swollen cheeks and blotchy skin from crying.

For a split second, genuine surprise crossed his face. As if he hadn’t expected to find me looking quite so devastated.

“I accept your apology.” My voice was flat. “Now leave me alone.”

A full minute passed and he didn’t move.

“Y/N…” His voice was quieter this time. “I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

I stared at the opposite wall.

“You always seem so strong. So intimidating. Sometimes I forget I need to be more careful with the way I speak to you.”

That finally got my attention. I looked at him.

“Just because I act like a heartless bitch doesn’t mean I am one.” The firmness in my voice made him shift uncomfortably in his seat. “It’s just how I protect myself when people treat me badly.”

For the first time since entering the room, Max seemed genuinely uncomfortable. Maybe even a little guilty.

“Maybe I went too far today.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ll try not to let it happen again.”

A small laugh escaped me. Not because it was funny. Because it was absurd. We both knew that the moment this situation faded into the background, Max Verstappen would go right back to being Max Verstappen.

“It’s fine, Max.” I shook my head. “I already told you I accept your apology. You don’t need to keep talking about it.”

He released a long sigh and leaned back in his chair. The expression on his face looked suspiciously familiar. It was the same frustration I felt every time I tried having a conversation with him.

“Fine.” He pushed himself to his feet. “Wash your face and let’s go.”

I frowned.

“Go where?”

“Back to the garage.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “Laurent is probably looking for me so he can hang me by my balls for yelling at you.”

The image caught me completely off guard. A genuine laugh escaped me and to my surprise, Max laughed too. For a moment, the tension between us eased. Just a little.

I followed his advice, cleaned myself up as best I could, and eventually walked back toward the garage with him. As we made our way through the paddock, I found myself hoping that after everything that had happened, things might finally get a little better between us.

(…)

To my surprise, my prayers were answered and just as I’d hoped, things started improving.

Max was noticeably more careful about how he spoke to me in public, although in private he remained just as demanding as ever. His justification was that he was doing it for my own good.

He didn’t want the rest of the team seeing me as someone fragile. He wanted them to see me as someone valuable. Someone the team actually needed. At first, I assumed it was just another excuse to justify his usual behavior. But when things started visibly improving with the rest of the team, I had no choice but to admit he had a point.

Apparently, seeing me cry had managed to crack his stone heart just a little. These days he was even… nice.

Which I didn’t mind. Unfortunately, Marianne did because her attacks became noticeably more frequent.

“That’s a lovely watch.” Marianne grabbed my wrist a little too firmly to inspect it before letting go just as abruptly. “It’s awfully luxurious for a fake, although, I highly doubt your salary here is enough to afford something like that.”

A few people nearby exchanged uncomfortable glances. Everyone understood exactly what she was implying and knew how inappropriate it was.

I simply smiled. Then said nothing. I’d discovered that silence was my most effective weapon against Marianne. Nothing frustrated her more than refusing to engage.

“Y/N.”

Both Marianne and I turned at the sound of Max’s voice.

“Come with me.”

I accepted the lifeline immediately. Without another word, I left Marianne standing there and followed Max down the corridor toward one of the quieter hospitality rooms.

The moment the door closed behind us, he turned toward me.

“Why do you let that idiot talk to you like that?” His irritation was immediate.

“Because I don’t want any more problems with anyone here.” I shrugged before taking a seat. “I just want to do my job and stay out of everyone’s drama.”

Max sat beside me, looking annoyed enough to punch a wall.

“I’m going to deal with it.”

“Max—”

“I can’t stand the way she behaves around you.”

“Max, it’s not worth it.” I crossed my arms. “And since when do you care so much about what happens to me?”

“Is empathy suddenly a crime?” He threw his hands up in exasperation. “A few weeks ago you were yelling in my face about what an asshole I was, and now that I actually show concern, that’s wrong too?”

“I’m not saying it’s wrong.” I hesitated. “It’s just…”

“What?”

“It’s not you.”

For a second, something unreadable crossed his face, then he looked away.

After that day, there were plenty of similar moments and I don’t mean Marianne continuing to be the world’s most irritating human being.

I mean Max. Max being considerate, being thoughtful. Sometimes, I could have sworn he was even…affectionate. The thought sounded ridiculous and yet it was true.

He brought me water when he noticed I’d been sitting at my desk for too long. If someone interrupted me during a meeting, he’d make them stop talking so I could finish my point. He paid special attention whenever I presented new findings.

It was like an entirely different version of Max had emerged. A version nobody had warned me about and while part of me was happy about it, another part was deeply suspicious.

Because mixed in with all those small acts of kindness were other things. The lingering glances, the shy smiles, his hand resting on my shoulder for a second longer than necessary, the way his eyes always seemed to find me in a crowded room.

I tried not to think too much about it, because every time I did, my heart sped up. Max was ridiculously attractive, that wasn’t the problem. The problem was that I loved my job, I loved the life I was building here.

And I knew myself well enough to admit one terrifying truth: If Max took even one more step toward me, I was going to fall for him like a complete idiot.

My fears became reality during the Canadian Grand Prix weekend.

A few of the engineers were gathered in the coffee area, getting ready for the Sprint Qualifying.

“Ready to head over?” Carla asked.

“Yeah, you can go ahead. I’m just going to the restroom and I’ll catch up.”

Carla nodded and left with the others.

I went to take care of my business, and when I returned to the coffee area, the only person there was Max.

“I thought you’d already be in the garage getting ready,” I said as I walked over to grab a glass of water.

“I should be.” He lifted the coffee cup in his hand. “But I came to get some caffeine first.”

I was about to say something else when my hip slammed into the sharp corner of a table. A pained hiss escaped my lips immediately.

“You okay?” Max didn’t wait for an answer before stepping closer.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” The lingering pain was still obvious in my voice as I pressed a hand against the sore spot.

“Let me see.”

Before I could protest, Max placed his hand lightly over my hip and rubbed the area in small circles.

My heart immediately skipped a beat. Not only because of the warmth of his hand, but because of how close he suddenly was. Apparently, Max noticed it too.

Without stopping the gentle motion, his eyes lifted to meet mine. For a moment, neither of us spoke.

“It looks like that hurt,” he murmured.

“Yeah…” It was the only word I managed to get out.

I realized I was holding my breath. So was he. The tension between us was so thick it felt tangible. My gaze drifted down for the briefest second toward his lips and that seemed to be all the encouragement Max needed.

He closed the distance between us and kissed me. For a moment, surprise froze me in place. Then Max’s hand slid slightly higher along my side, and whatever resistance I might have had disappeared completely.

I kissed him back. My eyes fluttered shut as the world around us seemed to fade into the background. The kiss deepened naturally, neither of us willing to be the first to pull away.

Eventually, reality intervened when voices echoed down the hallway. Someone was approaching. We broke apart so quickly it was almost comical.

A member of the marketing team walked into the room and froze for half a second, clearly not expecting anyone to be there. After a brief moment of confusion, he continued toward the coffee station as if nothing had happened.

I pressed a hand against my mouth, still trying to process what had just occurred. Slowly, I turned to look at Max. He looked just as stunned as I felt.

“I should go.” My voice came out rougher than usual.

Without waiting for a response, I turned and practically fled from the room.

(…)

The following days turned into a silent competition over who could ignore the other more effectively. We barely spoke and whenever a conversation drifted away from strictly professional matters, my face would turn red while Max suddenly forgot how to form complete sentences. It was ridiculous.

Montreal ended with a victory for Max, and almost immediately afterward the team packed up and headed to Monaco.

Most people considered Monaco one of the least exciting races on the calendar. I couldn’t have disagreed more. Not because of the racing, for me, it was personal.

My father never missed the Monaco Grand Prix. For him, it was an opportunity to keep an eye on his F1 investments while spending time with his billionaire friends. For me, it was a chance to see him.

My schedule with the team had been so packed that we hadn’t had the opportunity to meet in person for months. We spoke almost every day, but eventually phone calls stop being enough. Sometimes you just need a hug.

The opportunity came on Thursday evening. We met at an expensive restaurant overlooking the harbor.

Not particularly discreet. Although during Monaco week, discretion practically ceased to exist.

“So,” my father said as he set down his wine glass, “how’s the team treating you? I spoke to Laurent a few days ago. He congratulated me on having such a brilliant daughter.”

His eyes lit up with pride, a broad smile spread across his face.

“Good, Dad. The workload is intense, but I’ve been happy.” I smiled back, feeling a familiar pang of nostalgia.

Moments like this reminded me of when I was younger. Back when he’d celebrate every achievement as if I’d personally solved world hunger.

We’d had our disagreements over the years. Plenty of them, but at the end of the day, we were still each other’s safe place.

“It pains me to admit it,” he continued, “but seeing everything you’ve accomplished on your own makes me incredibly proud.”

The compliment settled uneasily in my chest. I didn’t let it show.

Yes, I had worked hard to stay here, I’d earned my place. But pretending my father’s influence hadn’t helped open doors would have been laughably dishonest.

When dinner ended, he drove me back to the hotel where I was staying. We said our goodbyes in the lobby.

The following days passed in a blur and before I knew it, Sunday had arrived.

I was searching for something to eat in the hospitality area when a familiar voice called my name.

“Y/N.”

A hand settled lightly on my shoulder.

“Kimi!” The excitement in my voice surprised even me.

He laughed and pulled me into a hug, which I immediately returned.

Kimi was one of the few genuinely good things I’d taken away from my time at Mercedes. Seeing him always made me happy.

“How have you been?” he asked. “How’s Red Bull treating you?” His curious brown eyes studied me carefully.

“Pretty well, what about you? Looks like this season’s been treating you a lot better than the last one.” I squeezed his shoulder lightly.

A shy smile appeared on his face.

“Yeah. Although I think I’d be doing even better if you were still on my side of the garage.”

I laughed.

“So that’s why you miss me.”

“Exactly.”

We talked for a few more minutes before saying goodbye with kisses on both cheeks.

“See you soon, Y/N.”

“Goodbye, Kimi” I waved as he disappeared into the sea of people moving through the paddock.

A smile lingered on my face.

“Looks like Mercedes misses you.” The deep voice behind me nearly made me jump.

I turned.

Max. I had no idea how long he’d been standing there.

“What?”

“Your old teammate.” He shrugged. “He seemed pretty happy to see you.”

I frowned slightly.

“Kimi has always been nice to me.”

“Must be nice.” There was something strange in his tone. Something I couldn’t quite identify.

“Did you need something?”

“No.”

Then why was he still standing there?

Max glanced toward the direction Kimi had disappeared.

“Do you two talk a lot?” The question caught me off guard.

“Sometimes.”

“Mhm.” There it was again. That tone.

“Is something wrong?” I asked carefully.

“No.” Definitely. Something was wrong.

“Well…” I hesitated. “He was one of the few people who actually helped me when I first arrived at Mercedes.”

Max’s jaw tightened.

“Right.”

“Right what?”

“Nothing.”

My confusion only grew.

“Max.”

“What?”

“You’re being weird.” I crossed my arms.

“Weird?”

“Yes.”

A humorless smile tugged at his lips.

“Sorry. I didn’t realize personality analysis had become part of your job description.”

I rolled my eyes.

“Forget it.” I turned and started walking toward the garage.

“Are you seeing him later?”

I stopped.

“What?”

“Kimi.”

I turned around.

“No.”

“Oh.” That tone again. The answer seemed to please him far more than it should have.

“I genuinely don’t understand why you’re so interested.”

For the first time, he appeared to realize what he was doing. His expression hardened immediately.

“I’m not.”

“Then stop asking.”

For several seconds neither of us spoke. Finally, Max let out a short, dry laugh.

“Fair enough.” Then he simply walked away.

I watched him disappear into the crowd, completely baffled. Because that had not been a normal conversation. Not even close.

Later that afternoon, Max won the race. He drove like a man trying to prove a point. For a circuit like Monaco, he took far more risks than necessary, which nearly gave me a heart attack.

When he finally returned to the garage after all the podium ceremonies and media obligations, his eyes immediately found mine.

And then he smiled. One of those strange, unreadable smiles that seemed to contain information nobody else had access to.

Max had been acting differently ever since that kiss.

And honestly? I had absolutely no idea what to do with that. So I went back to the strategy that had worked so well before our conversation about Kimi.

I ignored him.

Because I was nowhere near emotionally stable enough to start dissecting whatever the hell was going on inside Max Verstappen’s head.

(…)

The next day, we made a technical stop in Milton Keynes before traveling to Barcelona.

There were a few adjustments that needed to be made to the car, and they had to be done at the factory. We were working against the clock if we wanted everything ready before Spain.

Which meant, according to Laurent, that we would all be working straight through. By nine o’clock that night, I was still buried in the mountain of work I’d been assigned.

Carla had abandoned me almost thirty minutes earlier, leaving me alone with a cup of coffee and what felt like a million lines of data that were slowly starting to resemble ancient hieroglyphics.

I finally tore my eyes away from the screen and rubbed them with both hands, trying to chase away the exhaustion.

“Do you want something to eat?”

I yelped immediately.

Max was leaning against the doorway, watching me.

“Wow,” he laughed. “I didn’t realize I was that terrifying.”

“Don’t laugh. You nearly gave me a heart attack.” I pressed a hand against my chest, trying to calm my racing heartbeat.

“Sorry. That wasn’t my intention.”

“It’s fine.” I let out a sigh. “And no, I’m not hungry. But thanks.”

I assumed he would leave after that. Instead, he walked into the room and sat down in one of the chairs across from me. The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable. Just… strange.

At that hour, the factory lights had been dimmed, and the usual noise had long since disappeared.

“What?” I finally asked when I realized he was still staring.

“Nothing.”

“You’ve been looking at me for five minutes.” I narrowed my eyes suspiciously.

“It hasn’t been five minutes.”

“Four, then.”

A smile tugged at his lips. It was almost unfair how different he looked when he smiled. Younger, less intimidating and somehow far more dangerous.

“You’re tired.”

“So are you.”

“Not as tired as you.”

I glanced back at my monitor.

“I have work to do.”

“I know.”

“Then let me finish it.”

The smile on his face widened slightly, and for some reason that felt strangely satisfying.

Over the last few months, our conversations had changed. For the better, I thought. We still argued. We still disagreed on almost everything, but it no longer felt like fighting. It felt like something else.

“You should get some rest.” His eyes drifted toward the empty coffee cup sitting beside my computer. “How many coffees have you had today?”

“I don’t know.” I shrugged.

The look he gave me made me roll my eyes.

“Four or five. I stopped counting.”

Max shook his head.

“You’re impossible.”

I laughed, the irony was rich coming from him.

Max laughed too.

Then, slowly, the smiles faded and the room grew quiet again. My heart began beating a little too fast.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” The question came out softer than I’d intended.

Max rested an arm on the table.

“Like what?”

“You know exactly how.”

For several seconds he didn’t answer.

“Because I like you.”

My breath caught. There was nothing elaborate about the confession. No grand declaration, just a simple truth. Very much like him.

“Max…”

“What?”

“I think maybe I should leave.” The words came out barely above a whisper.

“Probably.”

But neither of us moved.

“I still have work to finish.” The excuse sounded weak even to my own ears.

“I know.”

“And so do you.”

“Yeah.”

Yet somehow we remained exactly where we were. Neither stepping closer nor walking away. As if we were both waiting for the other person to make a decision.

Eventually, I was the one who stood and in the same instant, so did he.

A mistake. Because the distance between us disappeared entirely.

My heart slammed against my ribs and judging by the way Max was looking at me, I suspected his wasn’t doing much better.

“This is a bad idea.” I wasn’t sure whether I was trying to convince him or myself.

“Probably.” He nodded.

“A very bad idea.”

“Terrible.”

Yet neither of us sounded particularly concerned about that fact.

When his hand found my cheek, the touch was careful. Tentative. Like he was giving me every opportunity to pull away. To stop him. To say no. But I was already far too deep for that and I did none of those things.

“Tell me to stop.” His voice had dropped to a murmur.

I swallowed. But the words never came, because the truth was that I didn’t want him to stop and judging by the look in his eyes, Max already knew that.

His thumb brushed lightly along my jaw. Barely a touch. A question rather than a demand.

“That’s what I thought.”

And this time, when he leaned in, I was the one who closed the distance between us.

Our lips met with a softness that contradicted the urgency I felt in my chest, as if we both feared that one abrupt movement might shatter the moment.

When Max deepened the kiss in a slow, deliberate way, any reservations I might have had vanished.

He grabbed me by the waist and lifted me effortlessly. Instinctively, I wrapped my legs around his hips as he walked, guiding us until my back met the wall. The cold of it seeped through my shirt, drawing a gasp from my lips. Max took advantage of that instant to claim more of me.

“Max…” I whispered when his lips moved to my jaw, biting so gently that I felt the shiver all the way to my fingertips.

“Yes?” His warm breath brushed against my neck, his hands squeezing my thighs with a possessiveness that set me on fire.

I didn’t answer with words. I leaned my head back, offering him my throat, and he understood perfectly. His teeth grazed my collarbone while his hands slipped beneath my shirt, finding my bare skin. The moment his thumbs brushed the underside of my breasts, I held my breath.

“Tell me if I’m going too fast,” he murmured against my sternum.

“You’re not,” I gasped, arching against him, searching for more contact, more friction, more of everything he could give me.

Max pulled back just enough to look me in the eyes, and I saw my own need reflected in his, darkened with desire. Without breaking eye contact, he slid a hand between us, finding the button of my jeans. The question was there, in his expression, in the tension of the muscles holding themselves back.

I nodded, and the sound of the zipper being pulled down seemed deafening in the silent room. His fingers slipped inside my pants, finding me already wet, and the groan that escaped his throat was the most erotic sound I had ever heard.

“God, you’re so ready for me,” he growled against my ear.

My head fell back softly against the wall while he held me with one hand and unraveled me with the other. Every movement os his hand against my clit was accompanied by kisses along my neck, bites on my shoulder, and dirty whispers about how long he had dreamed of this—of me, of this moment.

“Max, please…” I begged, not knowing exactly what I was asking for, only knowing that I needed more, everything, now.

“What do you need?” His voice was a purr.

“You,” I gasped.

He didn’t need any further invitation.

He carried me in his arms and walked toward the small leather sofa in the corner, lowering me onto the cushions with surprising gentleness. He pulled off his sweater in one quick motion, revealing a sculpted torso that my eager hands immediately explored, feeling the taut muscles beneath my touch.

When he leaned over me, settling between my legs, I felt the heat of his cock pressing against me through the fabric of our clothes. The anticipation made me tremble; every nerve ending in my body was on fire.

“Last chance to say no,” he sighed, though his body was already aligned with mine, ready.

In response, I unbuttoned his jeans and pulled him closer, guiding him toward me. The contact of his skin against mine drew a groan from both of us.

“I don’t want you to stop,” I confessed, looking directly at him.

When he moved forward and fully penetrated me, I knew I had been waiting for this, longing for this, since the moment his eyes first met mine.

We moved together, desperate, without rhythm or grace, driven only by pure, raw need. His hands gripped my hips, my breasts, my hair, as if he couldn’t decide which part of me he wanted most. I devoured him just as fiercely—scratching his back, biting his shoulder, feeling the sweat on his forehead against mine.

“So perfect,” he growled. “So mine.”

And when pleasure finally exploded inside me, sweeping everything away, his name was on my lips.

In the stillness that followed, our hearts beating in sync, he whispered against my hair: “I’m fucking crazy about you.”

(…)

The next day, I wasn’t woken up by my alarm, but by an uncomfortable feeling under my skin that I immediately recognized as anxiety.

The moment I opened my eyes, my heart started racing. I had done the stupidest thing of my life, and my body was reacting accordingly.

With my heart lodged somewhere in my throat, I showered and got ready. We had a few final sessions that morning, and later in the afternoon we’d be leaving for Barcelona.

When I arrived at the factory, the atmosphere felt strange. My coworkers were looking at me more closely than usual, and some of them were even whispering. Whenever my eyes accidentally met someone else’s, they immediately looked away with a certain awkwardness.

My anxiety only got worse.

All kinds of theories started running through my head, the strongest one being that everyone had somehow found out about what Max and I had done in one of the offices the night before.

I was already planning my escape from RedBull when Carla’s voice brought me back to earth.

“Why didn’t you tell me your dad owns half of Formula One?” Her voice was full of astonishment.

“What?” That was the only thing that came out of my mouth. “How do you know that?”

My ridiculous theories immediately collapsed as soon as I connected the dots and realized that this was probably why everyone had been acting so strange around me.

They had found out who my father was.

“So it’s true?” Carla’s eyes widened like she had just made the discovery of the century.

“No—I mean… why would you say that?” I tried to steer the conversation in another direction, but I’d already made the mistake of practically admitting it.

“Look.”

She pulled her phone out of her pocket and opened a video that had clearly been taken from TikTok.

The title read: Billionaires in Monaco.

The first two clips showed CEOs of companies I didn’t recognize. In the third one, my father and I were leaving the restaurant where we’d had dinner together.

Across the screen was a caption: Nikolai Sheremet and his daughter, Y/N Sheremet. Executive Chairman and CEO of Sheremet Industries. Net worth: $40 billion.

It was unbelievably tacky. So tacky that my stomach turned. I hadn’t even known there were people who made videos like this.

“I…” The words wouldn’t come.

I opened my mouth to say something else, but Marianne’s untimely appearance silenced me.

“Well, well.” Her smile was painfully condescending. “You really kept that little secret hidden. Now we all understand how you managed to get here.”

She folded her arms.

“It was obvious someone like you couldn’t have done it based on intelligence alone.”

I was not in the mood.

“I’m really not interested in your childish games, Marianne.” My voice came out sharper than intended. “Grow up already. It’s not my fault your life is miserable. Fix your own problems and get yourself a life.”

I turned around without waiting to see her reaction. The only thing I heard was Carla’s laughter.

A few minutes later, I was locked inside a bathroom stall, trying to calm my racing pulse. Between this situation and whatever was happening with Max, I felt like I was about to spontaneously combust.

When I finally managed to calm down, I stepped out of the stall, washed my hands, and looked up.

My eyes met Max’s through the mirror.

I practically jumped.

Spinning around, I stared at him.

“What the hell are you doing in here? This is the women’s bathroom.”

My whisper came out somewhere between panic and outrage.

Max simply shrugged.

“No one’s around this area.” He looked entirely unbothered. “Relax. You’re way too tense.”

I dragged a hand across my face, trying to steady my nerves.

“If it’s of any consolation, I already knew about your father.”

“What?” My eyes widened. “What do you mean?”

“Yeah.” He crossed his arms and leaned against one of the closed stall doors. “I knew from the very beginning. Laurent told me.”

I stared at him.

“That's why I made your life difficult when you first arrived.”

My mouth fell open.

“I wanted to make sure you weren’t just another rich daddy’s girl who came here to play with race cars.”

For a moment I forgot how to blink.

“What?” I repeated, this time with even more disbelief.

“But then you proved me wrong.” He shrugged casually.“So…”

“What?” I repeated again.

“Is that all you’re going to say?” Max asked. “Did you forget every other word in the English language?”

The mix of sarcasm and concern in his voice only made me more irritated.

“You treated me like the dirt on the bottom of your shoe…” I stared at him in disbelief. “For that reason?”

“Hey, I wasn’t that bad.” He immediately defended himself. “And besides, I already apologized for that and you accepted my apology, so let’s not go back to it.”

He made a dismissive motion with his hand.

“Oh my God.”

I turned toward the mirror.

“I think I’m actually losing my mind.” I looked at my reflection, trying to quiet the anxiety that was roaring even louder inside me.

Max pushed himself away from the stall door and walked over. Before I could react, he wrapped his arms around me from behind.

“Hey.” His voice softened. “Everyone will forget about this in a week.”

His arms tightened slightly around my waist.

“Don’t worry about it.” He rested his chin near my shoulder. “You’re brilliant. Everyone knows you deserve to be here.”

Carefully, I stepped out of his embrace. The look on his face immediately told me he had interpreted it as rejection.

“What?” he asked, frowning.

I cleared my throat.

“I don’t think…” My voice faltered. “I don’t think we should keep doing this anymore. If someone finds out—”

“No one is going to find out.” He cut me off before I could finish. “At least not for now. We’re being discreet.”

“Maybe, but I don’t want things to become more complicated than they already are.” My words came out sounding almost like a plea.

“They won’t.” His hands found my waist again. “Trust me.”

His lips brushed lightly against my neck.

“I promise everything is going to be fine.”

And just like Max promised, things did get better.

Our relationship—if I can even call whatever we had a relationship—flourished over the following months.

We spent almost all our time together. We went out for dinner, took long walks, and even during the short breaks I was given by the team, I would stay with him in Monaco.

Things improved with the team as well. As the weeks passed, the news that I happened to be related to a billionaire became old news, and everyone gradually returned to the same dynamic we had before.

I could say everything was almost perfect.

Almost.

We were about to begin qualifying in Interlagos when I started suspecting that something wasn’t right.

At first, I blamed stress. The workdays were long, the travel schedule relentless, and the pressure at this stage of the season was enormous.

All of that seemed like a far more reasonable explanation than anything else.

Then came the exhaustion. A different kind of exhaustion. As if my body was operating at half capacity.

Then came the nausea. Small at first, mild enough to ignore. Until one morning I found myself locked inside one of the paddock bathrooms, trying not to throw up.

“Are you okay?” Carla’s voice came from the other side of the door.

“Yeah,” I lied. “It was just breakfast.”

I lied again the next day.

And the day after that.

Until I could no longer ignore the truth. My period was more than two weeks late. The number repeated itself over and over in my head during the flight back to London.

It couldn’t be. It simply couldn’t. But a part of me already knew it could.

That’s why, instead of going straight to Milton Keynes, I ended up sitting in the waiting room of a private clinic in Kensington.

Doctor Whitmore had known my family since before I was born. He had been our family’s physician in England for years.

When he entered the consultation room, he greeted me with a warm smile.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you here.”

“I wish this visit was social.”

Apparently, my face reflected every ounce of the devastation I was feeling, because his smile faded slightly.

“What’s wrong?”

I took a deep breath.

“I need you to run some tests.”

Two hours later, I was sitting across from him again.

My legs wouldn’t stop bouncing. Neither would my hands.

The doctor studied the results for several long seconds before looking up. And before he even said a word, I knew. The expression on his face left no room for doubt.

“Y/N…”

I felt my stomach drop.

“You’re pregnant.”

The world went completely silent. I couldn’t hear anything, not even my own breathing, just those two words.

You’re pregnant.

A fear so intense it stole the air from my lungs began rising inside me.

My career, my father, RedBull.

Max.

Everything started collapsing inside my head at the same time.

“How far along am I?” My voice sounded strange. Distant.

“Approximately eight weeks.”

Eight weeks. Eight weeks meant there was no mistake, no misunderstanding. It was completely real.

I lowered my gaze to my hands, which wouldn’t stop trembling.

“Oh my God…”

The doctor leaned forward slightly.

“You don’t have to make any decisions today.”

But I barely heard him. Because my mind was already several steps ahead, thinking about my father finding out, thinking about my job RedBull, about what this would mean for everything I had worked for.

And most importantly, thinking about Max.

Because for the first time since I’d met him, I had absolutely no idea how he was going to react. And that was what scared me the most.

Over the following weeks, I never managed to find the perfect moment to tell Max the news. Everything in the garage was so chaotic that it felt like we were living inside a pressure cooker.

Max was leading the championship, but there were still two races left and nothing had been decided yet.

Stress became the perfect excuse. Especially once the pregnancy symptoms became harder to hide. If Max noticed I was lying, he never let me know.

But sooner or later, every secret comes out and eventually, I reached the point where I couldn’t keep mine any longer.

We were alone in a small room in the paddock after the Qatar race. Max had finished P3 and wasn’t particularly happy about it.

“Max…” I whispered, trying to get his attention.

“Yeah?” He turned to look at me, waiting for me to continue.

My heart immediately started racing. My palms became damp. It was now or never.

“I need to tell you something…”

His full attention shifted to me.

“Just say it, baby.”

“I…” My voice faltered. “I’m pregnant, Max.”

I lifted my gaze from my trembling hands to look at him. And as expected, there wasn’t even a trace of happiness on his face.

“What?” His expression was pure shock.

I didn’t know what to say when tears started filling my eyes.

Max closed his eyes and let out a heavy sigh. A frustrated one.

“Weren’t you taking the shots?” His brow furrowed, and his face grew progressively redder with every passing second.

“Yes. I was. I don’t know what happened.”

Max dragged both hands down his face.

“Just what I needed…” He stood up abruptly and began pacing around the room. “God damn it.”

My stomach twisted painfully.

“What are we supposed to do?” he asked. “What are you planning to do?”

“Well…” My voice was barely audible. “I don’t know. Keep it, I guess.”

Apparently, that wasn’t the answer he wanted. A dry laugh escaped him. One completely devoid of humor.

“Of course.” He ran a hand harshly through his hair. “Y/N, I don’t have time for this right now.”

Each word landed like a blow.

“I have to win a fucking championship next week.” He shook his head. “This is the last thing I need to be thinking about right now.”

And just like that, he walked out of the room. Leaving behind nothing but silence and rejection.

All I could do was press a hand over my mouth, trying to keep my sobs from being heard.

The following week, I tried to ignore everything as much as possible. It wasn’t particularly difficult. Because Max seemed to be trying to do exactly the same thing.

There were moments when I could feel his eyes on me. But the second I looked back, he would look away. It was like he was refusing to accept the reality his life—our lives—would soon become.

As expected, Abu Dhabi kept all of us emotionally stretched to our limits. At times, it felt like there wasn’t enough oxygen in the garage.

Max was battling one of the McLarens for the lead. With only one lap remaining, he finally managed to build enough of a gap to cross the finish line first.

Making him the World Champion once again.

Everyone celebrated. Including me.

The entire team rushed toward the parc fermé to welcome him back, but I stayed behind. The truth was, I wasn’t sure he’d be happy to see me anymore.

With tears threatening to spill over, I headed toward a quieter area of the paddock. I walked slowly, trying not to think about what would happen next.

It felt like the life I had worked so hard to build was slipping through my fingers and there was nothing I could do to stop it.

“Y/N.”

At the sound of my name, I turned around.

“Hello…” I was about to ask who he was.

But as he got closer, I recognized him immediately: My father’s head of security.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, surprised.

“Your father needs you to come home immediately.” His voice was serious, so was his expression.

Fear settled into my chest instantly. My mind immediately jumped to every possible scenario that would justify such urgency.

“What?”

“I came here to get you.” His hands slipped into the pockets of his jacket. “And I can’t leave without you.”

“I don’t understand.” I frowned. “At least let me tell the others.”

He simply shook his head.

“Everyone is celebrating.” His tone left little room for argument. “We need to leave immediately. There’s a jet waiting for us.”

The finality in his voice made it clear that this wasn’t a request. And in the end, the only thing I could do was obey.

(…)

On the way home, I managed to send Laurent a message explaining the situation. I couldn’t do much else because my phone died.

How convenient.

Several hours later, I arrived home. I rushed inside, scanning everything around me, trying to figure out what was going on.

When I reached the main sitting room, my father and two of my brothers, Artyom and Ilya, were waiting for me.

My father was completely still, his expression unreadable. The moment his eyes met mine, I knew. The thing that was wrong was me.

“What’s going on? Why are we all here?” My voice cracked slightly.

The fear that had accompanied me throughout the journey had transformed into pure panic.

“Do you have something you’d like to tell us, Y/N?” Artyom, the eldest of us all, spoke first.

I hesitated.

“No… I don’t think so.”

My heart was pounding.

If this was what I thought it was—No, I pushed the thought away immediately. There was no way.

“Yesterday's evening, I received an email regarding a payment from our healthcare provider,” my father began.

God, let lightning strike me and turn me to ash right now.

I already knew where this conversation was headed, and it was impossible not to start trembling.

“I didn’t know you’d been ill a month ago.” My father’s eyes were red. All I could see in them was restrained fury. “Since you didn’t tell me about it, I decided to review your medical records and the tests you had done.”

Tears immediately started streaming down my face. Not a single sound came out of my mouth.

“And to my surprise, I discovered that my little girl…” My father paused, struggling to compose himself. “The little girl I trusted enough to let leave and start…” He stopped again, taking a moment to steady himself. “…start a new life.” His jaw tightened. “Is pregnant.”

I couldn’t hold it together any longer. The sobs burst out of me. I lowered my gaze to my hands, unable to keep looking at him.

“I’m sorry, Dad. I didn’t know how to tell you.”

The tears kept falling. It felt like a dam had broken inside me and there was no way to stop the flood.

“The baby is his, isn’t it?” This time, it was Ilya who spoke.

I immediately looked up and found my brother staring back at me with barely contained rage.

“What?” I whispered.

My father let out a humorless laugh.

“You’ve always been naïve, Y/N.” He rubbed the tip of his nose with the back of his hand, and for the first time I realized he’d been drinking. “You can hide it behind that temper you inherited from your mother, but you’ll always be vulnerable in that regard.”

His eyes hardened.

“Did you really think I was going to let you move away from here and not keep you on my radar?”

My stomach dropped.

“We’ve always known what was going on between you and him, Y/N,” Artyom added.

Silence settled over the room.

I was still trying to process everything I’d just learned. Meanwhile, my brothers seemed to be waiting for my father’s reaction.

Finally, he spoke.

“Go to your room, Y/N.” His voice was exhausted. “We’ll talk again when that—”

He stopped himself before finishing the sentence.

“—when that man gets here.”

My eyes widened. I wanted to ask what he meant.

No.

I thought I already knew exactly what he meant. I just needed someone to confirm it.

Unfortunately, I couldn’t bring myself to ask. So I simply turned around and walked to my room.

The first thing I did was plug my phone in to charge.

The moment it turned on, notifications started flooding in. Messages. Missed calls.

The only ones I cared about were Max’s.

So I opened our chat and started reading.

MAX: Where are you? I’ve looked all over the paddock and it’s like you vanished. I know you’re still upset, but I want to celebrate with you.

MAX: You’re worrying me. I’ve asked around and nobody has seen you.

MAX: Laurent told me you had an emergency. Are you okay? Text me as soon as you can.

MAX: I know what’s going on now. We’ll see each other soon.

And that was where the messages stopped.

That last text confirmed what I had already suspected. Max was coming here to talk to my family. My anxiety immediately worsened, and the tears wouldn’t stop falling.

What the hell had we gotten ourselves into?

I don’t know how I managed to fall asleep, but eventually exhaustion won, and I slipped into unconsciousness.

The next morning, I woke up and got dressed. I didn’t go downstairs for breakfast. I didn’t greet anyone. I wasn’t ready for that yet.

Two hours later, Artyom came upstairs and asked me to come down. One look at his face told me the person I had been expecting had arrived.

My heart was racing. I laced my fingers together to hide how badly my hands were trembling. When I entered the room, I found more than just my family waiting for me.

Laurent was there.

Max’s manager.

Jos Verstappen.

And Max.

Everyone was already seated, so I quietly took a seat beside my father.

“Now that Y/N is here, I think we can begin,” Artyom said as he sat down next to Ilya.

“I’m going to be direct,” my father began. “As you’re all aware, my daughter, Y/N, is expecting a child with young Mr. Verstappen here present, and I believe we all understand that the situation is far from ideal.”

Everyone nodded in agreement.

“So, in order to resolve this matter in a way that benefits all parties involved…” He paused. “Max must marry my daughter.”

He delivered the statement like it was the most logical solution in the world.

My jaw dropped.

“You can’t force us to agree to something like that.” Jos Verstappen’s deep voice broke the silence.

My father didn’t even flinch. Instead, he nodded, as if he had anticipated the objection.

“You’re absolutely right, Mr. Verstappen.” His tone remained calm. “Which is why I’ve decided that if Max refuses my condition, I will take my daughter and her child far away from all of you. You will never see them, nor hear from them again.”

The room went still.

“Dad…” I protested softly.

My heart was pounding so hard it felt like I couldn’t get enough oxygen into my lungs.

“You can’t do that,” Max shot back.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of his pale face.

We both knew he could do that, and much worse.

“Please don’t interrupt me. I’m not finished.” My father continued like nobody had spoken. “And because I understand that, for some of you, that outcome might actually be convenient…” His gaze shifted toward Laurent.

“I will also be withdrawing all of my sponsorships from RedBull.”

Laurent immediately protested.

Then everything descended into chaos. Everyone was talking at once. Everyone had something to say. Everyone objected to my father’s proposal.

“I accept.” Max’s voice cut through the room like the crack of a whip.

The conversations died instantly.

“But Max—” Jos tried to reason with him before Max interrupted.

“No.” His voice was firm. “I understand that I have a responsibility toward Y/N and our child.”

He glanced briefly in my direction.

“And if this is the way you believe that responsibility should be fulfilled, then I’ll do it.”

Not once did he hesitate. The determination on his face made it clear that he meant every word.

Yet his answer brought me no comfort. I had practically fallen into the exact situation I had spent years trying to escape when I walked away from the cushioned life my father had built around me.

And now I sat there, watching everyone negotiate over me like I was an object.

Like I had no voice in any of it.

Unfortunately, that didn’t change over the following weeks.

The wedding was small. My father had wanted something much bigger, much more extravagant, but for once in his life, he did things my way.

Just close family, a few people from the team, and a couple of friends. Nothing more.

I only remember fragments of that day.

The dress. The weight of everyone’s gaze. The sound of a glass accidentally shattering during the reception. The judge’s voice. The flowers. The beautiful ring Max had given me. His hands wrapped around mine. But everything else was just a blur.

It was as if I had been watching the ceremony from outside my own body. As if the bride had been someone else.

Every time someone congratulated me, I smiled automatically. Every time someone took a picture of us, I did exactly what was expected of me. And every time I looked at Max, I felt an unbearable ache in my chest. Because it was obvious to me that he didn’t want to be there.

No one dreams of getting married because their father-in-law backed them into a corner.

By the time we finally arrived at the apartment in Monaco, I was exhausted. All I wanted was to take off the dress and hide under the covers for a week.

I heard the door close behind us.

I avoided looking at Max as I started taking off my earrings.

“Are you going to ignore me all night?” His voice made me tense.

“I’m not ignoring you,” I tried to defend myself.

“You’ve been doing it for weeks.”

I set one of the earrings down on the vanity.

“I’ve been busy with the wedding and the pregnancy.”

“That’s a lie.”

I looked up at the mirror. Max was still standing near the entrance, his tie loosened and his sleeves rolled up. He looked just as exhausted as I felt.

“What do you want me to say?” I threw my hands up in frustration.

“The truth.”

A bitter laugh escaped my lips.

“That’s ironic.” I pushed some hair away from my face.

“Why?” he asked like he genuinely didn’t understand.

I finally turned to face him.

“Because neither of us has been telling the truth since all of this started.”

I watched his jaw tighten.

“And what exactly is the truth according to you?”

A knot formed in my throat.

“That you didn’t want this.”

“What?”

“You didn’t want to get married.” The words came out faster than I intended. “I don’t blame you, Max. I wouldn’t have wanted it either.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” His expression showed genuine confusion.

“My father gave you an ultimatum.”

“Y/N—”

“He forced you.”

“He didn’t force me.” He shook his head as soon as I finished speaking.

“Yes, he did.” My voice cracked. “He backed you into a corner and took away every other option.”

The silence that followed was brutal. For a moment, I thought he would simply agree. Admit the obvious. Instead, something changed in his expression.

Max looked genuinely angry.

“Is that what you think?” His tone was sharper than I expected.

“Isn’t it true?” I challenged him with my gaze.

“No.” The answer came so quickly it left me frozen.“No.” He repeated it more firmly. “What your father did was try to force me.”

“And it worked.”

“No.” The word echoed through the room. “No one forces me to do something I don’t want to do.”

I stared at him without understanding.

“Max…”

“You don’t get it, do you?” His frustration was palpable.“I’ve raced injured because I wanted to. I’ve ignored team orders because I wanted to. I’ve spent my entire life doing exactly what I want.”

His chest rose and fell heavily.

“So why the hell would your father be the exception?”

My heart started beating faster.

“Because he threatened to—”

“I don’t give a fuck about your father’s money.” The bluntness of his words made me blink. “You think I said yes because I cared about the sponsors?”

“Then why?” The question came out barely above a whisper.

The anger faded slightly from his face.

“Because it was you.”

The air left my lungs.

“Max…”

“You think I wanted it to happen like this?” He shook his head. “No. Do you think I wanted your father involved? No. Do you think I wanted you to feel trapped? No.”

He took a step toward me.

“But if the question is whether I wanted to be with you…” His eyes met mine. And for the first time in weeks, I didn’t see resignation. I didn’t see obligation. I didn’t see regret. “The answer is yes.”

My vision blurred.

“Then why didn’t you ever say anything?”

The smile that appeared on his lips was small. Sad.

“Because you were so busy convincing yourself that I didn’t want you that you never stopped to ask me.”

This time, my tears didn’t come from fear or sadness. They came from relief. Because for months, I had carried the certainty that all of this had been a mistake. And now I was discovering that I had been wrong.

(…)

I never imagined happiness could be so quiet. For years, I had searched for it in big things. Degrees, promotions, recognition. In the approval of people who were probably never going to give it to me and in the end, I found it on an ordinary Tuesday at three in the morning.

Sitting on the floor of the nursery. A blanket draped over my shoulders and a baby girl asleep in my arms.

The soft glow of a lamp barely illuminated the room. Everything was silent except for our daughter’s steady breathing.

“Up again?”

I looked up. Max was leaning against the doorway, barefoot, his hair messy, still half asleep.

“She woke up a few minutes ago.”

“You could’ve called me.”

“You were sleeping.”

“And you weren’t?”

“I’m fine.”

Max laughed.

“You’ve been saying that for three months.” He walked over and dropped down beside us on the rug.

He watched our daughter for a few moments. The way his eyes softened every time he looked at her still surprised me. Because no one else got to see that version of him. Only us.

“She looks like you,” he said softly.

“Poor kid.”

“Very funny.”

I rested my head against his shoulder and we simply sat there, enjoying the silence. Until my eyes drifted back to the laptop sitting open on top of the dresser.

Max followed my gaze.

“You’re still thinking about it.” It wasn’t a question.

“A little.”

“A lot.”

I sighed. Maybe he was right.

“I miss working.” The confession came with an immediate wave of guilt. Because I loved our daughter, I loved her more than I ever thought possible. But I also missed engineering, I missed solving problems, the data, the challenges, I missed feeling like I was building something.

“You shouldn’t make that face.”

“What face?”

“The guilty one.”

“I’m not feeling guilty.”

“You’re terrible at lying.”

Damn it.

“I just…” I looked down at the sleeping baby. “I thought once I became a mother it would stop mattering.”

“Work?”

I nodded.

“And it didn’t.”

Max stayed quiet for a few moments.

“Good.”

I looked at him in confusion.

“Good?”

“Yeah.”

“What’s good about that?”

“That you still have dreams.”

The answer caught me completely off guard.

“Max…”

“What?”

“We have a daughter now.”

“I know.”

“And a family.”

“I know that too.”

“Then I don’t understand.”

He reached over and adjusted one of the blankets covering the baby.

“Because none of those things mean you have to stop being who you are.”

A lump formed on my throat.

“I can’t go back to the team.” We both knew it was true.

The rules, the internal policies, the conflicts of interest. All of it made it impossible for us to work together again.

“Then don’t go back.”

I blinked.

“What?”

“Do something better.”

I let out a small laugh.

“Sure. As if it were that easy.”

“For you, it probably is.”

“Max.” I warned.

“I’m serious.” He turned to look at me. “You spent years trying to prove you deserved a place in someone else’s company.”

I nodded slowly.

“And?”

“Why are you still thinking so small?”

I opened my mouth to answer, but nothing came out.

“You could consult for teams, start your own company, develop technology. You could hire engineers better than everyone we met at Mercedes and Red Bull combined.” A smile appeared on his lips. “God knows you’ve got the money to do it.”

I couldn’t help laughing.

“That was weirdly romantic.”

“I’m being serious.”

“I know.” And that was exactly what surprised me.

Because he really believed it. He always had. Even when I didn’t.

“You think I can do it.”

“No.” His answer made me frown.

“No?”

“I know you can.”

The tears came before I could stop them. Max immediately rolled his eyes.

“Why are you crying?”

“Because you just said something nice.”

“I didn’t say anything nice.”

“You literally just did it again.”

“Oh my God.” His expression of resignation only made me laugh harder.

Our daughter, as if she had decided to join the conversation, let out a tiny protest in her sleep.

We both looked down at her at the same time. Then we looked at each other and smiled. Because for the first time in a very long time, I didn’t feel like my life had become smaller.

It had expanded.

I had a daughter, a family and I still had a future.

One much bigger than anything I had ever dared to imagine.

[islagalaxie]

Apparently, I can come up with titles for every story I haven’t written yet, except for the one I’m currently writing 🙂🙂🙂

[islagalaxie]

FOOLISH ONE - LANDO NORRIS

Lando Norris x Fem!Reader

SUMMARY: A casual situationship between Y/N and Lando slowly spirals into something far more complicated than either of them ever expected. What began without clear intentions starts to blur into something emotionally charged and impossible to ignore. Between moments of closeness, distance that lingers too long and impulsive choices they can’t take back, they find themselves trapped in a cycle they don’t know how to break. As boundaries fade and feelings surface in ways they never planned for, both are forced to confront a connection that no longer fits the rules they once set for themselves.

WC: 10K

masterlist

“I’m not looking for a serious relationship right now — not with you, not with anyone. I only want something casual, and if that’s not something you’re comfortable with, then I think it’s best if we just stay friends.”

Hearing those words from Lando Norris shouldn’t have triggered any reaction in me, because from the very beginning of our “situationship,” I had known perfectly well that nothing serious could ever exist between us. Never.

So why did it feel like someone had shot me straight through the heart? Because I was an idiot, that was the harsh truth.

“Don’t worry, I’m fully aware of that.”

The small smile I gave him never reached my eyes.

Lando let out a quiet breath of relief before leaning in to kiss me, relieved that he could still keep me by his side with no conditions, no complaints, no labels. Completely willing to keep crawling back into his bed.

We were celebrating his twenty-sixth birthday at a club in Monaco. The next day, he had to leave for the United States to prepare for his race in Las Vegas. The championship was almost over, and Lando was the clear favorite to win it, so right now all of his energy was focused on that.

I excused myself to the bathroom because I couldn’t handle the pressure building in my chest anymore. The moment I walked in, all I could do was stare at myself in the mirror, thinking about how pathetic I was.

How could I've ever thought that someone like Lando would want a serious relationship with me? He had never given me false hope. I was the one who built those fantasies in my head, so there was no one to blame but myself.

I took a few deep breaths while staring at my anxiety-ridden reflection in the mirror. At no point had I imagined things would end up like this when, almost ten months ago, we’d ended up having sex in the backseat of his car.

We’d known each other for years. We weren’t friends — just acquaintances. Every now and then we’d have a conversation or two, but nothing particularly meaningful. Until that damned day when we both ended up at the same party, and the chemistry between us while we danced was so intense it practically sparked.

The most logical thing after that was to fuck like rabbits and keep doing it on a regular basis and somehow, that’s how we ended up here tonight.

With Lando making it painfully clear for the first time that he wanted absolutely nothing from me beyond sex — all because I hadn’t liked the way he openly let someone else flirt with him right in front of me.

I pulled myself together as best as I could and went back to where Lando and his friends were sitting.

“Let’s go home,” Lando whispered into my ear the second I sat down beside him.

His hand tightened slightly around my thigh. I already knew exactly what that meant. And like the idiot I was, all I could do was nod before following him out to his car.

(…)

Days passed, but that small thorn of dissatisfaction left behind by my conversation with Lando never really went away.

I tried to keep myself as busy as possible so I wouldn’t think about it, but eventually night would come, and once I was alone in my room, I couldn’t run from those thoughts anymore.

I felt like the most insignificant person in the world. How had I let myself get to the point where a man could treat me like this? Being in love was one thing, but I needed to face reality once and for all.

The problem was that every time I became determined to end things for good, Lando would come back with that smile and those beautiful eyes, and suddenly I’d find myself thinking: I’ll leave him next weekend.

I hated myself after every encounter, because I always ended up worse than before — desperate, with my heart lodged somewhere in my throat.

It was Sunday night, and I was getting ready for bed when a message from him popped up on my phone.

LANDO: You awake?

ME: Kind of.

ME: How was your weekend?

LANDO: Terrible. We got disqualified from the race.

ME: What???

LANDO: Yeah. I'll call you in five minutes.

Immediately, I searched online to see what had happened. I'd completely disconnected from everything that weekend and hadn't paid much attention to Lando's race.

The first headline read: NORRIS AND PIASTRI DISQUALIFIED FROM THE LAS VEGAS GP AFTER MCLAREN CARS FAILED POST-RACE INSPECTION.

Shit.

My phone started ringing, and Lando's name appeared on the screen. My heart immediately began to race.

"Hello?"

"Y/N. It's good to hear your voice. We haven't talked much these past few days."

"Lando, I just saw what happened. I'm really sorry. I know you needed those points."

I tried to sound sympathetic, Lando let out a long sigh.

"Yeah. The gap between Verstappen and me isn't that big anymore. Hopefully the next race goes better."

"I know how badly you want to win the championship. I hope things improve."

"Yeah, me too. But I actually called to see how you're doing. We haven't talked much lately, and I know things might feel a little weird after our conversation that day, but..." He paused. "You matter to me. I don't want you to pull away."

My cheeks flushed, and I shifted uncomfortably against the mattress. Talking about that conversation was the last thing I wanted to do.

"Yeah, don't worry about it. Like I told you that day, I understand where you stand on all of this, so you can relax."

Lando exhaled softly.

"I'm glad. Because, you're like a ray of sunshine in my life, and I don't want you to stop being part of it."

A couple of tears slipped down my cheeks. How could he say something like that after everything? Right now, I should have felt angry. Outraged, even. But for a pathetic girl hopelessly in love like me, all those words did was make my heart melt a little more.

"You looked good in the picture you posted today."

My cheeks warmed further.

"I wish you were here," he continued. "I miss having you around."

The pre-Lando's birthday version of me would have smiled at those insinuations, but now they only left a bitter taste in my mouth. Because after his birthday, I couldn't ignore reality anymore. Lando didn't miss me. He missed what I represented. The easy girl who was always willing to give him her love, her attention, and her company.

"I'm sure you do," I replied flatly.

Lando went quiet for a moment.

"Are you okay?" he asked, sounding genuinely confused.

"Yeah. Of course."

"You sound different. Your tone changed all of a sudden."

"I'm just tired."

"Okay..." Another pause. "Then I'll let you get some sleep."

Without waiting for my response, he hung up. It felt strange not immediately meeting Lando's emotional needs the moment he expressed them. For the first time since our little situationship started, I wasn't acting as his consolation prize.

And I wasn't sure how to feel about that.

From then on, our conversations followed the same pattern. Lando would text me expecting me to drop everything and devote all my attention and sympathy to him and his problems, only to run into a wall of excuses and clipped replies.

After a few days, he seemed to give up. As if he'd decided I was no longer worth the effort. It felt like a punch straight to my already wounded heart. It was the first time I'd felt distance from him. Or maybe it was because I was finally beginning to understand how easy it was for him to live without me.

A few weeks after that call, Lando was already preparing for Abu Dhabi.

The final race of the season. His chance to become World Champion. It was the most important weekend of his career, and everyone was going to be there.

His family, friends, the people who mattered the most to him.

I waited for an invitation. One that never came.

At first, I convinced myself he was simply too busy. Then I told myself I probably shouldn't have expected anything in the first place.

Soon, Instagram stories started appearing.

Our mutual friends looked happy, proud, excited for him and among all the people accompanying him was the girl who had flirted with him that night in Monaco. Of course she was there.

I had known something like this would happen the moment I stopped giving him my undivided, almost humiliating level of attention, he'd simply move on to the next person.

And of course it would be her, the girl I'd spent months trying not to be jealous of.

A knot formed in my stomach, I knew I had no right to feel that way.

Lando wasn't my boyfriend, he never had been. He had made that painfully clear. So why did it feel like rejection? Why did it feel like I had just received confirmation that I didn't belong—and never truly had belonged—in his life? Why did I feel so replaceable?

That Sunday, I watched the race from my apartment.

I watched him cross the finish line, lift the trophy and celebrate, surrounded by everyone he loved.

And I just couldn't feel happy for him.

Because as I watched that celebration unfold, reality hit me once again. If I disappeared from his life tomorrow, nothing would change for him.

But if he disappeared from mine, my entire world would fall apart.

And that was exactly what was happening.

(...)

The weeks after Abu Dhabi passed in a strange sort of haze.

I congratulated him on his victory, of course I did.

My heart was shattered, but he was still my friend. Beyond our complicated relationship, I knew I cared about him in a way that would never completely disappear.

Lando replied, happy and relieved, like whatever had been going on with me was finally over.

Or that's probably what he thought, because our communication slipped right back into place as if nothing had happened.

Sometimes Lando texted.

Sometimes he didn't.

Some nights he'd call me out of nowhere, and we'd spend an hour talking about absolutely nothing. Then he'd disappear for three days.

It was torture for both me and my sanity because every time I started feeling better, he'd come back with one of his random messages.

Every time I managed to move forward, he'd remind me why I couldn't.

I was trapped.

The worst part was knowing he wasn't doing it on purpose.

To him, this was normal.

To him, I was still there—available, waiting for him.

Whatever had happened between us during those past few weeks was probably nothing more than an emotional slump in his eyes. Something that had affected me more than it should have and made me act unlike myself.

Unlike the Y/N he knew.

One Friday night, my friend Saima finally got tired of listening to me talk about it.

"You're coming out with me."

"I don't want to," I refused immediately.

"That wasn't a suggestion."

So I went, because it was easier to remove Saima's head than one of her ideas.

I spent nearly two hours getting ready, trying to convince myself I was excited. Trying to convince myself I wasn't checking my phone every five minutes with the secret hope that Lando would text me.

By the time I was done, I looked beautiful. Saima let out a loud whistle the moment she saw me, and all I could do was laugh.

When we arrived at the club, it was packed. The music was deafening, and the heat was almost unbearable.

For the first hour, surprisingly, I managed to enjoy myself.

Dancing had always been therapeutic for me, it was the quickest way to flood my body with serotonin. I was having such a good time that I even forgot to check my phone for a while.

Then I saw him.

Dressed head to toe in black, standing by the bar with a few of his friends, laughing without a care in the world.

My heart leapt.

Warmth spread through my chest, and I took a step toward him when I finally noticed the rest of the scene. One of Lando's arms was wrapped around a blonde girl who was laughing hysterically beside him.

Her.

The girl.

My smile vanished instantly.

God, I was pathetic.

Such an idiot.

I didn't know why I kept placing my hopes on a man who had made it painfully clear that he didn't take me seriously.

A man who only saw me as temporary entertainment, as a shoulder to cry on. Someone he could use whenever he felt lonely, then toss aside the moment he no longer needed her—like a shirt thrown into a laundry basket, only to be picked up again whenever he felt miserable enough.

I decided not to stay and watch any longer. I'd had enough. My feelings were practically begging for mercy.

So I turned around and walked away, trying my best to forget the person I was leaving behind.

(...)

That night, I didn't sleep for a single minute.

After leaving the party, I returned to my apartment and sat on the edge of my bed for hours, staring blankly at a spot on the white wall.

Thinking about how ridiculous I felt, how stupid I'd been. It was obvious that Lando felt no responsibility to protect my feelings, he'd made that clear, maybe not through his words, but certainly through his actions.

I was exhausted from spending months trapped in the exact same cycle. A constant swing between extremes, one day I was happy because he'd called. The next three, I was miserable because he'd disappeared.

One week, I convinced myself that maybe he was beginning to feel something for me because of the way he treated me, because of how special he made me feel. The following week, I'd be trying to come to terms with the fact that he was probably sharing his bed with someone else.

I couldn't do it anymore.

For the first time, my mind and my heart were in complete agreement. Both of them were begging me to end this.

When the sun finally began to rise, I threw on a jacket and left my apartment.

I didn't even know where I was going. I just knew I needed to get out of there before I lost my mind. I needed to stop feeling like I was drowning.

I walked for almost two hours, mostly in circles. Monaco wasn't nearly large enough to wander aimlessly for that long, but I didn't care.

At that hour, the streets were quiet.

Monte Carlo was only beginning to wake up.

And then I saw it.

A church.

I couldn't remember the last time I'd stepped inside one.

I pushed the door open because it felt like something was calling me.

The interior was almost empty. There was no service and no one seemed to be inside. Just the faint scent of incense and the soft glow of burning candles. The kind of peace I hadn't felt in a very long time lingered in the air and that was enough to break me.

I sat down in one of the last pews and cried.

I cried in a way I hadn't cried in years.

I cried for everything.

For the ten months I'd spent waiting for something that was never going to happen. For every time I'd settled for crumbs because I was afraid of losing him. For every moment I'd pretended I was okay. For every night I'd stared at my phone waiting for a message. For every single time I'd felt like I wasn't enough.

I cried until I was exhausted.

As if something I'd been carrying inside me for far too long had finally been released.

I rested my elbows on my knees and buried my face in my hands.

"What am I doing?" I whispered.

My voice sounded strange in that place.

"What am I doing to myself?"

Because that was the real question.

Not what Lando was doing.

Not what he felt.

Not who he was with.

What was I doing? Why was I still allowing one person to define my happiness? Why was I still giving him the power to destroy me whenever he wanted? Why was I still expecting love from someone who had told me, clearly and honestly, that he couldn't give it to me?

The silence offered no answer.

So I continued my desperate plea.

"God, if you exist somewhere beyond all of this... if that man isn't meant for me, please help me get him out of my heart. Help me forget he exists. Give me the strength I need not to fall back into this."

I felt so small.

So foolish.

Yet a laugh escaped me as I looked up at the enormous stained-glass windows.

How could anyone claim to understand love if they'd never begged a higher power to help them stop feeling it?

After a few minutes, I finally pulled myself together. Mentally, I gave myself a few well-deserved slaps. I had to stop blaming other people for why I felt so miserable.

Lando wasn't a bad person. He had never lied to me, never promised me anything. His behavior could be morally questionable at times, sure. But at the end of the day, he had never forced me into anything.

I was the one who stayed.

I was the one who kept waiting.

I was the one who kept breaking myself apart piece by piece.

And if I wanted the suffering to end, then I had to be the one who walked away.

The realization was so simple it almost made me laugh. For months, I'd been searching for some complicated solution when the answer had always been the same.

I had to let him go. Not because I didn't love him but precisely because I loved him too much and I was losing myself in the process.

I remained there for several more minutes, sitting quietly.

The pain was still there, it would probably remain for a long time, but something had changed. Because for the first time, I wasn't thinking about how to make Lando choose me.

I was thinking about choosing myself.

And when I finally stood up to leave, I made a decision.

I wasn't going back.

It was over.

Truly over.

Even if it broke my heart.

Even if it took me months to move on.

Even if I still loved him.

It was over.

For the first time in a very long time, as I walked out of that church, I felt like I could finally breathe.

(...)

The first few days were easier than I expected.

Not because I didn't miss him, I missed him constantly. I missed him whenever my phone buzzed. Whenever I saw something funny that I normally would have sent him. Whenever I woke up in the middle of the night and had to fight the urge to text him.

But for the first time, all the pain had a purpose.

This time, I wasn't suffering to keep him, I was suffering to let him go and there was a world of difference between the two.

Three days after that morning in the church, Lando called me.

I stared at the glowing screen for several seconds. Normally, I would have answered before the second ring.

This time, I let it ring until it stopped.

A minute later, a message came through.

LANDO: Everything okay?

I stared at the words.

A simple question. Nothing extraordinary.

And yet, I felt like crying.

Because for months I had been waiting for something like this. Something that showed I occupied space in his mind too. Unfortunately, now that I finally had it, it wasn't enough anymore.

ME: Yeah. Everything's fine.

His reply came almost instantly.

LANDO: You sure?

ME: Yeah. Why wouldn't it be?

After that, he didn't text again.

Strangely enough, I was the one who sat there staring at the conversation, waiting for more.

But nothing came.

Because that's how it had always been.

Lando appeared.

Lando disappeared.

And for ten months, I had allowed my happiness to depend on that.

Not anymore.

At least that's what I kept telling myself.

Stay strong, you'll get through this.

A week later, he called again.

I didn't answer.

Two days after that, he texted.

I didn't reply.

Then he sent a meme.

Then a picture of a dog.

Then a screenshot of something ridiculous he'd found online. As if he was testing the waters, trying to find a door back in.

I replied hours later. Sometimes the next day. Sometimes I didn't reply at all.

And I started to notice he seemed uncomfortable. Because dynamics change quickly when one person stops chasing.

"Are you mad at me?" he asked during a call I eventually accepted one evening.

"No." I delivered the answer in the calmest, most relaxed tone I could manage.

"Then you're acting weird," he concluded.

I closed my eyes.

Before, I would have rushed to reassure him. I would have explained myself. I would have done everything possible to convince him that everything was fine. But I no longer felt like putting that kind of effort into someone who had never been willing to do the same for me.

"Maybe I'm just busy."

The silence on the other end lasted several seconds.

"You were never too busy for me."

The words left his mouth before he could stop them. I knew it immediately and so did he.

You were never too busy for me.

As if I belonged to him. As if my availability had become such a natural constant in his life that he'd never even noticed it until it was gone.

"Goodnight, Lando."

I hung up.

That night was the first time I cried without wanting to go back. The first time I cried and still felt proud of myself.

Because every day away from him still hurt, but it hurt a little less.

And that meant something, that was progress.

A small victory that earned myself a quiet pat on the back.

(...)

Lando started noticing the change even harder.

He noticed when I stopped being the first person to view his stories. He noticed when I started going out more. He noticed when our friends mentioned my name and he no longer knew what I was doing. He noticed when he stopped being the center of my world.

And he didn't like it one bit.

"Where were you last night?" he asked during a phone call.

I frowned.

"Excuse me?"

"I saw that you went out."

"Yeah." I didn't deny it because, honestly, why the hell did he care?

"With who?"

The question made me freeze.

For months, I'd wanted to be someone who had the right to ask things like that and he'd reminded me over and over again that I wasn't.

"Friends."

"What friends?" he pressed, trying to squeeze every piece of information he could out of me.

"Why do you care?"

The silence was immediate.

"Just asking."

Bullshit.

We both knew it.

After hanging up, I stared at my screen for several seconds, trying to make sense of this new feeling that had appeared amid all the chaos.

Confusion.

Because something was changing.

And it wasn't me.

It was him.

The following weeks were strange.

Lando started showing up everywhere.

At one point I genuinely wondered if I needed to go back to that church and repeat my prayer because apparently my request hadn't been clear enough.

He commented on my posts. Replied to stories he normally would've ignored. Started conversations over the most ridiculous excuses.

A video.

A meme.

A random news article.

Anything.

Every time I took too long to answer, he'd push a little harder, trying to get a response out of me one way or another. He wasn't aggressive but he was starting to seem desperate. Like someone trying to hold water between their fingers.

Meanwhile, I kept moving forward.

Slowly.

With setbacks.

With difficult nights.

But forward nonetheless.

Then one afternoon, I received a text from him.

One that felt completely different from the casual, almost indifferent messages he'd been sending before.

LANDO: Can we meet?

My heart stumbled.

For months, I'd dreamed of receiving that text.

For months, I would've dropped everything and run to him.

But I was trying not to be that person anymore.

ME: What for?

His response took several minutes.

LANDO: I just want to talk.

Lies or at least a half-truth. Because Lando had never been the kind of person who wanted to talk. Lando always wanted to avoid uncomfortable conversations.

And yet, I still agreed to meet him.

Maybe because a part of me needed to find out if I was really capable of doing it. If I was truly capable of saying no.

(...)

We met at a small café.

It was beautiful, discreet, and quiet.

I arrived first, as always, and during the ten minutes I spent waiting, I seriously considered getting up and leaving.

Then he arrived and for a moment, I forgot how to breathe.

Because it was Lando.

And because despite all my efforts, he still had exactly the same effect on me.

A smile spread across his face the moment he saw me.

"Hi."

"Hi," I replied.

He sat down across from me, the silence between us felt uncomfortable.

Almost suffocating.

Lando looked nervous. So nervous that it caught me off guard, I'd never seen Lando nervous around me. In fact, one of the things he'd always liked about being with me was that there was no pressure and no expectations.

"So..." he began. "What's going on?"

I blinked.

"What's going on with me?" I asked, confused.

"Yeah."

A small, disbelieving laugh escaped me.

"You asked me to meet you so you could ask me that?"

"I've spent weeks trying to figure out what's wrong."

"Nothing's wrong."

"Yes, there is."

His answer came immediately.

"You barely reply to my messages anymore."

"Because I'm busy," I said, as if it were obvious.

"You were busy before, too."

"Before was different." The words escaped before I could stop them.

We both heard them and we both understood exactly what they meant.

Lando's expression tightened.

"Is this still about my birthday?"

Something inside me cracked. For him, it had been one conversation. For me, it had been the beginning of the end. A humiliation I was still recovering from.

"No," I said quietly. "This is about the last ten months."

Lando fell silent.

"I can't keep doing this."

"Doing what?" The question made me stare at him.

It seems like he genuinely didn't understand.

"Waiting for you."

For the first time, he had no answer ready.

"I never asked you to wait for me."

The words landed between us—heavy, painful, casually cruel.

Exactly the kind of thing Lando said when he was being completely honest. I nodded slowly, feeling like someone had just put a bullet through my chest.

"I know."

And that was the problem, he had never asked anything of me. I had given everything willingly.

My time.

My heart.

My dignity, sometimes.

Everything.

"Then I don't understand."

"Because you never had to."

Frustration finally appeared on his face.

"Then explain it to me."

I took a deep breath and tried to calm myself, I didn't want to cry. I just wanted this conversation to end so I could go back to rebuilding my life.

"I love you, Lando."

The silence was absolute.

"And I'm tired of it."

I said it so casually that his eyes widened instantly.

Like the confession had caught him completely off guard.

"I can't keep seeing you because every single time I do, I end up hoping for something that is never going to happen."

Lando still didn't speak.

"So this is it."

"What does that mean?" He asked.

"It means it's over."

Not once did my voice shake. I mentally congratulated myself for that.

Lando's expression changed immediately.

"No."

The answer came so fast that I was left in a little shock.

"No?"

"No, you can't just..."

He stopped, frowning as he searched for the right words.

"Just what?"

"Disappear."

My heart stumbled.

For months, I had been the only one terrified of losing him and now, it seemed like he was feeling a fraction of that fear.

"I'm not disappearing."

"That's exactly what it feels like."

I looked at him carefully, he seem genuinely upset.

Not heartbroken.

Not devastated.

Upset.

Like someone who had just lost something he'd always taken for granted.

"I'm sorry." I didn't know what else to say.

"I don't want you to do this." The plea in his voice was so faint it was almost nonexistent.

Almost.

But it was there and that was exactly what made it hurt more. For months, I would've given anything to hear him say those words.

Now they had arrived far too late.

"Goodbye, Lando."

I stood up.

This time, I was the one who walked away.

I didn't look back.

Not because I was strong. But because I knew that if I did, I might not have the courage to keep walking.

(...)

During the first few days after my disastrous confession, nothing happened. No messages, no calls, no memes, not even a reaction to my stories.

Nothing.

At first, I felt relieved because it was what I wanted, wasn't it? I had fought for months to get to this point. I had prayed for this. I had cried for this.

So why did I feel such an unbearable emptiness?

The first few days, I kept myself busy. I went out with Saima, worked more hours than necessary, read books, watched shows. I even became one of those insufferable people who go running in the mornings.

I did anything that could keep my mind occupied, but there were moments that were impossible to avoid. Like finding a funny video and automatically opening Instagram to send it to him. Or reading a Formula 1 article and immediately thinking of him. Or waking up in the middle of the night and reaching for my phone before remembering there was no longer anyone waiting for me on the other side.

It was humiliating how, after everything that had happened, my brain was still looking for him while he was already gone.

Two weeks passed.

Then three.

Then a month.

A whole month without hearing anything from Lando.

Little by little, I began to understand that forgetting him was so difficult because I had turned him into a habit. I wasn't just trying to forget a person—I was trying to break an addiction.

One that was almost impossible to recover from, because Lando was everywhere.

In my routine.

In my thoughts.

In my reflexes.

In the empty spaces of my day.

And even though it hurt a little less each week, it still hurt.

One night, I even found myself scrolling through his profile. His latest post had been uploaded three days earlier. It had thousands of comments and thousands of likes from girls.

And there I was, staring at a screen like an idiot.

I closed Instagram immediately because I knew myself too well, and I knew that if I kept looking, I would never manage to leave.

The weeks kept passing.

And then something started happening that, at that point, I never thought would happen. At first, it was so subtle that I thought it was a coincidence.

One morning, I posted a picture of my coffee.

Two minutes later, I got a notification.

He had liked it.

I stared at the screen, trying to convince myself it didn't mean anything, because it probably didn't mean anything.

But the next day it happened again.

And the day after that too.

Then he started appearing in my stories and liking every single one of them.

He didn't reply.

He didn't text.

He didn't start conversations.

He was simply there, watching every one of them like a shadow, like someone standing on the other side of a closed door. Every time it happened, I would stare at the screen for several seconds, something in my chest telling me that it wasn't a coincidence.

Because I knew Lando.

Lando had never been a persistent man. If something drifted away from him, he usually let it go.

But now he was doing the opposite.

He wasn't trying to come back in.

Not yet.

He was making sure I knew he was still there.

The feeling followed me all week, it was as if I could feel him slowly getting closer, without a rush, with no pressure and without saying a single word.

But making one thing very clear: He hadn't disappeared.

And he wasn't willing to let me disappear so easily either.

(...)

Almost six weeks had passed since our conversation at the café.

Since I said goodbye.

And since my life had become a constant battle between missing him and convincing myself that I was better off without him.

It didn't always work, but at least I was still moving forward. Until Saima ruined everything.

"No."

I refused immediately.

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes."

She insisted again, crossing her arms.

I looked at her from the couch.

"I don't want to go."

"Perfect. Because I wasn't asking."

I hated when she went into dictator mode.

"Saima..."

I sighed.

"You've spent a month emotionally locking yourself inside your apartment. You're coming."

"I go out every day."

"Buying groceries doesn't count."

"I go running."

"That's the number one sign that you need to get out more."

I hated her.

I hated her so much.

And unfortunately, she was also right.

That's how I ended up getting ready that night, because surrendering was easier than arguing with her for two hours.

The plan seemed harmless, a gathering between friends, just drinks, music, and familiar faces. Exactly the kind of situation where nobody could get hurt.

I was so wrong.

Because the moment I stepped through the penthouse door, I saw him.

Apparently the universe still enjoyed making fun of me.

His back was turned toward me while he talked to Max and Oscar. He was wearing a simple black shirt and white pants, nothing special, nothing extraordinary.

And yet my body reacted like I had seen a ghost.

"Shit."

Saima shot me a look.

"Don't tell me..."

"Yeah."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"Well."

"Well?"

"At least you look amazing."

I wanted to strangle her.

I tried to stay away.

I talked to other people.

Avoided looking in his direction.

Avoided even hearing his voice.

But it was impossible, because the harder I tried to ignore him, the more aware I became of him.

His laughter.

His movements.

His presence.

And the way he always seemed to know exactly where I was.

It was ridiculous. Every time I looked up, I ended up catching him staring at me.

Not for long, not enough for anyone else to notice.

Just one second, maybe two. Then he'd look away as if nothing had happened, as if it had all been my imagination.

The first person from his circle who approached me was Oscar.

"Hey."

I smiled.

"Hey."

"Haven't seen you in a while."

"Yeah."

My voice was barely above a whisper.

"Lando's unbearable."

I laughed.

"What did he do now?"

"Exist."

I laughed again, and Oscar joined me. I'd always liked talking to him. He was calm, observant, and far too intelligent to miss details.

Which was exactly why I got nervous when he tilted his head slightly.

"You okay?"

"Yeah."

"Liar." He narrowed his eyes.

I sighed.

"Oscar..."

"I'm not going to ask." He raised his hands in surrender.

"Thank you." I breathed out in relief.

"But you should know he doesn't seem to be doing great either."

My heart made an unpleasant leap.

"I don't want to talk about him."

"Then I won't."

And he kept his word. But the comment stayed in my head for the rest of the night.

Later, I ended up sitting next to Max.

It was impossible not to like Max, he had that irresponsible older-brother energy that made everyone feel comfortable.

"You disappeared."

It was the first thing out of his mouth.

"Me?"

I played dumb.

"Yeah, you."

"I think everyone disappears sometimes." I tried to sound casual.

"Not as much as you."

He watched me for a few seconds and smiled.

"But I probably understand why."

Damn it. Did everyone know something I didn't?

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing."

"Max."

He shrugged, trying to play it off, but the little smile on his lips said otherwise.

"Nothing."

I didn't push it. Instead, I went to grab another drink and as I turned a corner, I almost collided with someone.

With him.

My footsteps froze.

So did his.

For a few seconds, nobody said anything. Because suddenly there were no conversations, no music, no people, just us.

And I hated discovering that I still felt exactly the same.

"Hey."

His voice was soft.

"Hey."

Lando studied me for a few moments, as if checking something, as if making sure I was really there.

"You look good."

Damn it.

"Thanks."

"Much better than the last time."

My breath faltered, we both knew what the last time had been.

The café, the goodbye, the ending or what was supposed to be the ending.

"I'm glad it looks that way." My voice gave away nothing.

Still, a small smile appeared at the corner of his lips. But he didn't look happy, he looked tense.

And that confused me, because, again, Lando never showed that side around me.

"I've missed you."

My heart dropped without warning.

Those words weren't a romantic declaration nor a confession. But they sounded sincere.

I swallowed hard.

"Lando..."

"I'm not trying to argue."

He interrupted me before I could finish.

"Okay."

"Or convince you of anything."

I didn't believe him. Because we both knew he wasn't trying to convince me with words, he was doing it with his presence. With the subtle way he kept appearing, with the likes, the glances and everything he never said out loud.

"I just wanted you to know..."

I looked at him, feeling something strange in the pit of my stomach. Something that told me what I hadn't wanted to admit for days, Lando wasn't going to let me go.

Not because he was in love, certainly not because he wanted a relationship, but because I had become an important part of his life.

A constant safe place and now that he was losing it, he was fighting against it.

In his own way.

Without admitting it, without even fully understanding it himself.

But he was fighting, and that was exactly what made him so dangerous for me. Because part of me still wanted to stay, I still wanted to believe, I still wanted to run back to him.

When I finally managed to walk away from that conversation, I found Saima watching me from across the room with a worried expression and I couldn't hide the devastation on my face from her.

Leaving Lando behind had been difficult when he was indifferent. But it was going to be so much worse now that he had decided to stay close.

Now that he seemed incapable of accepting my absence.

Now that every time I took a step forward... he took one right behind me.

(...)

Everything started going to hell again. Naturally. Because my life didn't seem to speak any language other than chaos.

It was a party at a villa near the harbor, nothing particularly formal. Just friends enjoying music and alcohol, along with a handful of rich people pretending they weren't rich. Saima had dragged me there once again, and I'd agreed because, lately, I'd actually been... happy.

Lando had spent nearly two hours by my side, talking, joking, doing exactly what he'd been doing for the past months. Like nothing had change.

Then she arrived and it felt like someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over my head.

I recognized her immediately. The girl from Abu Dhabi, the same girl who had appeared in all those Instagram Stories, the one who had unknowingly spent months haunting me. She walked in with part of Lando's friend group, as if she belonged there.

The worst part was watching the way she greeted him—with so much familiarity, so much confidence. I tried to ignore it, I really did. I tried to be mature and remind myself that I had no claim over him.

But it was impossible.

A few minutes later, she ended up beside me and smiled.

"You're Y/N, right?"

My stomach tightened.

"Yeah."

"I've finally met you."

Something in her tone made me uncomfortable.

"Finally?"

"Lando talks about you a lot."

My heart stumbled for a fraction of a second.

Until she smiled again and then I understood.

That smile wasn't kind, it was victorious.

"Honestly, I've always been curious."

"About what?"

"About you."

She picked up a glass of champagne.

"For a long time, I thought the two of you were together."

The blood drained from my face.

"No."

"I know." Her smile widened. "I figured that out later."

Something inside me began to burn.

"Although I can understand why people get confused."

She continued as casually as if she were discussing the weather.

"You were always there. Birthdays, races, gatherings, vacations..."

She took a sip, longer this time.

"But, well... some people just weren't meant to be the first choice."

I don't remember what my brain did after that, I only remember the noise, the humiliation and the embarrassment.

I walked away before she could see me cry and went looking for Saima.

"I need alcohol."

"What happened?"

"Alcohol. Now."

An hour later, I was completely drunk.

And so was Saima.

Which was never a good combination.

Ever.

"I hate him."

"I hate him too."

"You don't even know who I'm talking about."

"Doesn't matter. I hate him anyway."

I laughed.

Then I cried.

Then I laughed again.

An absolute disaster.

That's when I noticed someone nearby. He hadn't taken his eyes off me since I'd sat down.

He was one of Lando's friends. We'd crossed paths a few times before, he was kind,handsome and most importantly... He wasn't Lando.

We talked and danced for a while, we kept drinking.

The guy was so sweet that the feeling of inadequacy I'd been carrying around slowly transformed into something else entirely. Desire.

When he kissed me, it happened fast, impulsive, incredibly stupid. A moment fueled by alcohol, hurt feelings, and a desperate need to feel wanted by someone. For a few seconds, I kissed him back. Because I wanted to forget, I wanted to stop feeling like I was the only one suffering. That's when I heard a voice behind us. A very familiar one.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

My blood froze. I knew that voice and I knew that tone.

When I pulled away from the guy, Lando was standing there. Watching us with his jaw clenched and his hands curled into fists.

The silence was immediate and painfully uncomfortable.

I wasn't sure how much he'd seen, maybe only the last few seconds. My head was spinning from the alcohol and the embarrassment.

Of all the people who could've found me like that, it had to be him. The guy who had broken my heart, the same guy who had told me he didn't want anything serious, the same guy who was now acting like he'd just caught his girlfriend kissing another man.

My companion took a step back.

Confused.

"Uh..."

Lando didn't even look at him, his eyes remained fixed on me.

I knew that look, but I'd never imagined it would one day be directed at me.

"What are you doing?" he repeated.

My disbelief was so overwhelming that I let out a laugh. A completely unhinged one.

"Excuse me?" The words came out slurred.

"You're drunk."

"Very observant."

"Y/N."

"No." I shook my head "Don't talk to me like that."

Something shifted in his expression, as if he wasn't used to being challenged.

"Come with me."

"No."

"We need to talk."

"No."

"Y/N."

"Oh, now you want to talk?" The question escaped before I could stop it.

The silence that followed was answer enough, we both knew this had nothing to do with talking. It was about something else, something neither of us was willing to name.

My companion finally decided to intervene.

"I think I should go."

Wise man.

Because at that moment, Lando looked capable of ripping his head off.

"Yeah. You should."

"Lando."

"I'm not talking to you."

God, he was doing it again.

That tone.

That ridiculous possessiveness that surfaced every time he felt like he was losing something.

The funniest part was that he didn't even seem aware of it.

The guy wisely left, leaving us alone.

"You had no right to do that." The words left my mouth before I could stop them.

Lando blinked.

"Do what?"

"Interrupt."

"Interrupt?"

"Yes."

His jaw tightened.

"You were kissing one of my friends."

The response made me laugh again, because it was so absurd it was almost funny.

"And?"

He fell silent. Because he had no answer.

"And what, Lando?"

His gaze dropped to mine.

"Don't do this."

"Don't do what?"

"This."

"This?"

"You know exactly what I mean."

No.

The truth was that I didn't. I'd spent months trying to understand him and I'd never managed to.

"You don't want to be with me."

"..."

"But you don't want me with anyone else either."

Lando remained silent.

"That's not fair."

He didn't deny it. He simply looked away, as if he was fighting with himself, trying to find an explanation he didn't even understand.

I felt ridiculous. Part of me still wanted to hear the right words, I still wanted to hear:

Because I'm in love with you.

Because I made a mistake.

Because I want you.

But they never came.

"Let's go home."

"No."

"You're drunk."

"And you're being an asshole."

"Y/N."

"Do you know what she said to me?"

His expression changed instantly.

"Who?"

"The blonde."

His face hardened.

"What did she say?"

"Nothing important."

"Y/N."

"She just confirmed something I already knew."

"What?"

I looked at him, for a moment, I forgot my pride.

My dignity.

"That I was never enough."

Pain appeared in his eyes instantly.

"Don't say that."

"Why?"

"Because it's not true." His voice came out sharp.

"Really? Then explain to me why I'm always the one left behind."

The silence returned. Lando still didn't know what to say, hidn't know how to fix it nor what he wanted from me. The only thing he knew was that he didn't want to lose me and for me, that wasn't enough anymore.

I didn't realize I was crying until I felt his thumb brush against my cheek, wiping away a tear. Such a gentle gesture that it only made me cry harder.

Those were exactly the kinds of things that had kept me trapped for months.

"Don't cry."

I closed my eyes.

Damn it.

For one second, I felt hope again.

When I opened my eyes, I noticed something behind him.

Saima and she wasn't alone, Oscar was there too, watching us from a distance. The way he was looking at Lando made it seem like he was watching a bomb seconds away from exploding. I had the feeling he understood exactly what was happening. Long before either of us did.

Because Lando still believed he was fighting for a friendship when in reality, he was starting to act like a man in love and he still wasn't ready to admit it.

"Don't cry," he repeated.

I still hated him for everything he'd made me feel over the past few months and yet, a single touch from him was enough to break through every defense I had left. That's why I stepped away, if I stayed there one second longer, I was going to fall again and I already knew how that story ended.

"I need to leave."

Lando's hand slowly dropped.

"Y/N..."

"No." I shook my head "Please."

For once in his life, he listened.

Saima drove me home. The entire ride, she didn't mention Lando once, which was concerning. Because when Saima stayed quiet, it meant she was saving up far too many things to say later.

"Want me to tell you what I think?" she asked when we reached my apartment.

"No."

"Perfect. Because I'm doing it anyway."

I groaned.

"He's jealous."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Y/N."

"Saima."

"Y/N."

"Saima." She threw a pillow directly at my face.

"I don't care," I lied. Because in reality I did. Far more than I wanted to admit.

"Of course you care."

"It doesn't mean anything."

"And who said it meant anything?"

I looked at her, confused.

"Jealousy doesn't mean love. Jealousy means fear."

She paused.

"And that man looks absolutely terrified."

I stared at Saima for a long moment, the words hanging in the air like smoke I couldn’t breathe out.

“He’s not terrified,” I muttered eventually, turning my face away. “He’s just… possessive, I guess.”

Saima made a sound somewhere between a laugh and disbelief.

“Sure,” she said. “Keep telling yourself that.”

I didn’t answer. Because I didn’t want to give that thought any more space than it already had.

(...)

The next day I went out to clear my head with some friends. Saima’s words had lodged themselves so deep inside me that they wouldn’t leave me alone for a single second.

That night I came back home very late and drunk. I tried to fall asleep immediately, but that was the last thing I could do—not because I was still thinking about everything, but because my phone wouldn’t stop lighting up on the nightstand like it had a pulse of its own.

I ignored it at first.

Then it rang. Again and again, until I finally sat up, grabbed it, and saw the caller ID.

LANDO.

My stomach tightened instantly.

I answered without thinking.

“Hello?”

Silence answered me. Then, after a few seconds, his voice—low, controlled… but strange, tense in a way I immediately recognized.

“Where are you?”

I frowned.

“At home. Why?”

Pause.

“You posted something.”

My mind tried to connect the dots.

“What?”

“You know what I’m talking about.”

The truth was I had absolutely no idea.

I opened Instagram, and there it was—a stupid, harmless story. A group photo from dinner that night: Saima, me, and some friends at a terrace restaurant. Someone had tagged me laughing, a glass in my hand, my head slightly turned toward—one guy. A friend of a friend. Nothing more. He was laughing, leaning toward the group like everyone else.

It meant nothing. But I could already feel the storm forming on the other side of the line.

“Lando,” I exhaled. “It’s literally just a photo.”

His laugh was dry.

“‘Just a photo.’”

“Yes.”

“And why are you like that with him?”

I closed my eyes.

“We’re sitting at a table. I’m not ‘like that’ with anyone.”

Another pause. Heavier this time. His breathing sharper.

“You didn’t reply to my messages for three hours.”

“That’s not a crime.”

“It is when I see that.”

My chest tightened.

“Are you calling me because of an Instagram story?”

“I’m calling you because I’ve been trying to talk to you all night and you’re out there—” he stopped, like he was forcing himself to swallow whatever he was about to say. “Whatever.”

“No, it’s not whatever,” I said more firmly. “Say it.”

Silence again.

That was the problem with Lando. He always brushed against the truth… and pulled away right before crossing it.

“You’re not my boyfriend,” I reminded him.

“I know,” he said.

But his voice clearly didn’t.

“Then why are you acting like this?” I asked quietly.

He didn’t answer right away. When he did, his voice was softer.

“Because I don’t like it.”

I let out a humorless laugh.

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only one I’ve got.”

There it was again. Lando, refusing to name anything, refusing to define anything… but acting as if I belonged to a place he never dared to claim.

I exhaled slowly.

“I’m going to sleep,” I said.

“Don’t hang up.”

I stayed still. The silence between us stretched.

“Good night, Lando.”

And I hung up.

I thought that would be the end of it.

Just another absurd episode he would drop and leave unresolved. But it wasn’t. Because that night wasn’t a full stop—it was a starting point, and Lando was treating it like he had suddenly woken up inside something he no longer understood.

Two days later, he called me again. I answered not because I wanted to, but because not answering was becoming harder than picking up.

“Can we meet?” he said without preamble.

I sat up slightly in bed.

“What for?”

Pause.

“I want to talk.”

I almost laughed.

“That’s not really your thing.”

“I know.”

He sounded honest. Not confident. Not comfortable. Just… lost. And that disarmed me more than I wanted to admit.

“Okay,” I said finally.

We met at a small, quiet café, tucked away from everything.

I arrived first, as always. And during the minutes I waited, I had plenty of time to regret it. Then he walked in, and the air shifted immediately.

Because it was Lando. And even though I’d tried to convince myself otherwise for weeks… he still affected me.

He sat down without fully smiling, without jokes, without that ease of his that usually filled the silences.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi.”

He ran a hand over the back of his neck—something unusual for him. Nervous. That was new.

“About the other day…” he started.

I cut him off.

“Nothing happened.”

He looked at me.

“Yes, it did.”

I exhaled.

“Lando…”

“No,” he interrupted. “Let me talk.”

I stayed still. That was new too.

“I didn’t like it,” he said bluntly.

I rolled my eyes.

“You already said that on the phone.”

“No, it’s not that,” he added more quietly. “It’s not just that.”

A short, humorless laugh slipped out of him.

“I spent the whole night thinking about it.”

I went silent. Because that… wasn’t him.

“I don’t understand what’s wrong with me,” he continued. “But when I saw you with him… I felt—”

He stopped, like the word wouldn’t come out.

He swallowed.

“I felt something I didn’t like.”

My chest tightened.

“Lando…”

“And before you say it,” he looked at me, “no, I’m not your boyfriend. I don’t have the right. I know that.”

He said it like it was a rule he was trying to obey… and failing at.

“Then I don’t understand why you’re here,” I said quietly.

“Because I don’t like the idea of losing you.”

The world didn’t stop.

But it almost did.

“That’s not the same as loving me,” I whispered.

He didn’t answer. For the first time, he had no escape.

It was just him, sitting in front of me, unable to turn what he felt into something he could hold.

“I don’t know how I’m supposed to do this,” he finally admitted.

It hurt to hear it, because it wasn’t a lack of feeling—it was a lack of direction.

And I had already spent too long living inside that confusion.

“Then don’t do it with me,” I said softly.

His gaze tightened.

“I don’t want to lose you.”

“But you don’t know how to choose me either.”

Lando only stayed silent and in that silence, I understood something with brutal clarity: he wasn’t playing games, but he also wasn’t ready.

I stood up first.

“I think this conversation is over.”

He didn’t stop me. As I walked out, I felt his eyes on my back the entire way. I didn’t turn around to check.

For the next week, he was unbearable.

Not loud, not aggressive—consistent.

He didn’t let it go.

Every conversation circled back to it in some subtle, irritating way. Every time I posted something, he reacted within minutes. Every time I didn’t reply, he doubled down the next day, like he was trying to prove I still existed in his system.

Until one afternoon, Saima arrived at my apartment holding two coffees and an expression I didn’t trust.

“What now?” I asked immediately.

She smiled too sweetly.

“I have news.”

“That’s never good.”

“You’re going on vacation.”

I blinked.

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.”

“I literally have work.”

“No, you don’t. I checked.”

I stared at her.

“You checked?”

“Un-important details, don’t focus on that.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Saima.”

She sighed dramatically.

“It’s a group trip. Everyone’s going. Max, Oscar, some friends. It’s a break from the season.” I shook my head immediately.

“I’m not going.”

She leaned against the counter.

“Lando is going.”

That did it, I hated how fast my body reacted to that information.

“I don’t care,” I said too quickly.

Saima raised an eyebrow.

“Sure.”

“I don’t.”

“Then say no properly.”

I opened my mouth and losed it again. Because the truth was inconvenient. I could say no but I already knew I wouldn’t.

Two days later, I was on a plane and the moment I stepped off it, I realized something was wrong. Everything was too suspiciously well-planned for someone like Saima. When we arrived at the villa, she handed me my bag with a grin.

“Where is everyone?” I asked slowly.

“Oh, they arrived earlier,” she said casually “And they’re already settled.” Something in her tone made my stomach drop.

“Saima.”

She smiled.

“Have fun.”

Then she walked away. I stood there for a full ten seconds before I turned the corner toward the back of the house— And stopped, because there was no “everyone.”

Just Max, who waved at me and Oscar, who looked deeply unbothered and Lando, standing by the pool, already looking at me like he’d been waiting. My throat tightened instantly. I turned around but it was too late. Saima was gone.

I exhaled slowly.

“This is insane,” I muttered to myself.

“Yeah,” Max called out. “It kind of is.”

Oscar added, without looking up from his drink: “Wasn’t my idea.”

Lando didn’t say anything, he just watched me, like he already knew I wasn’t leaving.

When night fell, everything went completely silent.

I stepped outside without really thinking, just looking for air—something to loosen the tightness that had been sitting in my chest since the café conversation. The night was warm, the pool glowing with a soft blue light that made everything feel even more unreal than it already was.

And then I saw Lando, completely alone, leaning against the edge of the pool, staring into the water like he was trying to untangle something inside his own head.

He didn’t see me at first. Or maybe he did… and was just waiting for me to show up.

“I knew you’d come out,” he said without looking at me.

I stopped a few steps away.

“I’m not in the mood for another weird conversation.”

He let out a short laugh, no humor in it.

“I know.”

The water moved gently between us. I could leave right then. I should’ve. But I didn’t.

“I don’t understand what you want from me, Lando,” I said finally.

He lifted his gaze. This time he looked at me directly, and there was no arrogance in it.

“I’m in love with you,” he said.

So simple. So direct that my breathing stopped for a second.

“Don’t say it like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like it’s enough.”

He shook his head, frustrated with himself.

“I’m not saying it because it’s enough,” he replied. “I’m saying it because it’s true.”

A heavy silence fell between us. There was no fake indifference in his voice. Only something raw and real.

Lando took a step closer.

“I spent months treating you like you were always going to be there,” he continued, quieter now. “And when you stopped being there… I realized how stupid I’ve been with you.”

My throat tightened.

“Lando…”

“No, let me finish,” his voice cracked just slightly, enough to hurt. “I didn’t ask you to wait for me. And that’s the worst part… because you still did. And I just took it for granted.”

He lowered his gaze for a second, like it was hard to continue.

“I never knew how to love you properly,” he admitted. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t love you. I hurt you,” he said. “I know. And I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”

The words I’m sorry had never sounded like that coming from him—so heavy, so human.

“I don’t want you to be someone who stays halfway with me,” he continued. “I don’t want to be that kind of person for you. But I also don’t want to lose you.”

His eyes finally met mine.

“Because I love you,” he said again, firmer this time. “And it’s not because I need you close. It’s because when you’re not here… everything feels wrong.”

The world shrank. It was just him and me. Alone in the moment I had both waited for and feared.

“You’re too late…”

He closed his eyes for a second.

“I know.”

“You broke me,” I whispered.

“I know.” This time he didn’t justify it. Didn’t try to fix it with pretty words. “But if there’s still something left…” he said softly, “if there’s still even a part of you that doesn’t hate me… I want to try properly. This time for real.”

I looked at him, and I didn’t see the Lando who played with the world. I saw the Lando who was afraid of losing it.

“This can’t be like before,” I said.

“I don’t want it to be,” he answered immediately.

“No more confusion.”

“No more.”

“No more disappearing.”

“No more.”

“No more empty promises.”

He shook his head.

“I swear.”

Silence.

Softer now.

Less painful.

“Then…” I whispered, “you’ll have to prove it.”

Something shifted in his expression, like he finally understood this wasn’t the easy part.

“I will,” he said.

I stayed looking at him for another second, and I felt something I hadn’t allowed myself in a long time.

Hope.

“Okay,” I said at last.

He blinked.

“Okay?”

I swallowed.

“I’ll give you a chance.”

The air between us changed completely, like the world had stopped holding its breath.

Lando didn’t smile. He didn’t celebrate. He just stepped a little closer, as if afraid to break the moment.

“I won’t waste it,” he said quietly.

I nodded slightly.

“You better not.”

This time I didn’t walk away. Because, when I looked at him, I didn’t only see the damage. I saw the possibility of something different.

And I chose to stay long enough to find out if it was real.

[islagalaxie]

I love burning blue!! But I hate Ana so fucking much i can’t stand her indecision uuugh she’s being worst than Charles ugh cant wait for part 3 a really great story!!!

I completely understand the frustration 😅 but it’s also important to understand that, in a way, Charles shaped her life so that it revolved around him. And it’s not that easy to go from living for someone to living without them

[islagalaxie]

BURNING BLUE Pt. 2 - Max Verstappen/Charles Leclerc

Charles Leclerc x Fem!Original Character / Max Verstappen x Fem!Original Character

PREVIOUS PART

SUMMARY: Ana never intended to fall in love with someone else. Not while she was still trying to save the relationship that had defined her entire adult life.

But when Max becomes the one person who truly sees her, friendship slowly turns into something far more dangerous. Caught between loyalty, guilt, and a love she never expected, Ana discovers that some choices don't just change the future—they destroy the life you thought you were meant to have.

TAGS: Slow burn (kind of), Infidelity, Emotional Infidelity, Friends to Lovers, Secret Relationship, Moral Ambiguity, Jealousy, Possesive Behavior.

WORD COUNT: 9K

NOTE: Hello everyone, this is part two. I wanted to make this chapter longer, but because of the way the ideas were developing, that wasn’t going to be possible, so there will be a third part. Most likely, I’ll also be posting another story about Lando in the next few days, and I’m planning one with Kimi as well. For now, thank you for all the support, and I hope you enjoy it.

masterlist

“I don’t know who I am without him in my life,” she whispered.

The confession came out so softly it almost sounded like a thought, but Max heard it.

“Then figure it out,” he said, as if it were the simplest thing in the world.

Ana laughed again, this time for real although the laughter only lasted a few seconds.

“That’s easy for you.”

“No, it isn’t.” Max shook his head.

She frowned.

“What do you mean?”

Max stayed silent for a few moments, as if debating how much to reveal.

“People think they know me,” he finally said. “Because they see me on television, in interviews, because they watch races. But that doesn’t mean they know who I am.”

Ana watched him, surprised, because she had never had a conversation like this with him before.

“For years I tried to become the person everyone expected,” he continued. “The perfect driver, the perfect champion, the perfect man and do you know what I found out?”

“What?”

“That it’s never enough, they always want more.”

For a moment, they both fell silent and Ana felt something she hadn’t expected.

Understanding.

Because someone seemed to understand a part of what she was feeling.

Not exactly, not completely, but enough.

When she finally returned to the building, it was late. Charles was still awake, sitting on the couch, waiting for her.

“Where were you?” he asked.

The concern was obvious.

Ana slowly took off her shoes.

“Walking.”

Which wasn’t a lie, but it also wasn’t the whole truth.

Charles stood up.

“I was worried.”

Ana nodded. For a second, she looked at the man she had loved for years, the man she still loved.

Suddenly she felt tired.

Because even after everything, she still couldn’t imagine a life without him. But she also couldn’t imagine a life with him, that contradiction was starting to destroy her.

That night, Charles tried to hold her. Ana stayed still. She didn’t pull away, but she didn’t return the gesture either.

Charles noticed, because it was the first time since they had known each other that she felt so far away while being only inches apart.

In the dark, while he slept, Ana thought again about Max’s words.

Then figure it out.

It seemed like an insignificant phrase.

But she couldn’t get it out of her head, because he had suggested something no one else had.

Not how to save the relationship, not how to forgive, not how to move on.

But how to find herself.

And that idea began to feel more important than all the others.

Over the following days, Ana tried to stay away from Max. Not because he had done anything wrong—quite the opposite—because she felt too comfortable with him, and that scared her.

It was a line she didn’t want to cross.

Not yet.

Maybe never.

She stayed with Charles, trying to save what was left of their relationship, waking up every morning in the same bed, telling herself that love had to mean something, that it had to mean something.

So she started trying, not just pretending.

She went out to dinner with Charles, accompanied him to events. She had uncomfortable conversations and made new promises.

For a while, she even believed it could work. Until she realized there was a huge difference between loving someone and trusting someone, and she no longer had the second.

One afternoon, they were having lunch together, Charles was telling her a story about a meeting.

Ana just listened and nodded, she even smiled a couple of times.

Then Charles’s phone vibrated. It was a minor sound, lasted barely a second.

But Ana immediately tensed, it happened so automatically that she hated herself for it, because that was exactly what she didn’t want to become.

A woman alert to every call, every message, every silence.

Charles noticed it too, and the simple fact that they both noticed changed the atmosphere, now they were thinking the same thing.

Trust—there was none left.

Charles picked up the phone, looked at the screen and for a fraction of a second, he seemed to consider something. Then he turned the phone toward her.

“It’s my manager,” he said.

Ana blinked.

“What?”

“I don’t want you to have doubts.”

Nither of them spoke. It should have made her feel better, but it didn’t. Because now they were no longer acting like a couple, they were acting like two people trying to reconstruct a crime scene.

Looking for evidence. Checking alibis.

And it was exhausting.

When they got back to the apartment, Ana locked herself in the bathroom.

She looked at her reflection trying to answer a simple question.

What did she like?

Not what Charles liked. Not what the press expected. Not what was convenient.

Her.

The answer didn’t come easily. Because she didn’t know.

Or worse—because she had forgotten.

Two days later, she received an unexpected message.

It was from Max.

It didn’t say anything important.

Just a photo.

Ana stared at it, confused.

It was a small bakery. Nothing else. Then she read the message that came with it.

MAX: I found this and thought of you.

She frowned.

ANA: Why?

The reply came seconds later.

MAX: Because they sell those coconut pastries you like.

She didn’t even remember telling him that. She had to think for several seconds until she finally recalled it.

Months ago, during an insignificant conversation she herself had forgotten.

But Max hadn’t.

That affected her more than it should have, because she had felt invisible for so long that someone remembering something so small felt extraordinary.

She didn’t reply immediately. In fact, it took her almost an hour. When she finally did, she wrote something completely innocent.

ANA: Now I want one.

MAX: Then go buy one.

She smiled and this time it was real.

That night, Charles came home late. It wasn’t unusual, it had happened hundreds of times.

But while she waited alone in the apartment, Ana discovered that she wasn’t worried anymore.

Before, she would have stared at the clock, wondering where he was. Now there was only a void—a kind of indifference slowly creeping in.

That scared her more than any anger ever could, because anger was still a form of love, indifference wasn’t.

“I’m sorry,” Charles said when he entered. “The meeting ran late.”

Ana nodded without saying anything more.

Something changed in his expression, he felt it too—that distance, that lack of reaction.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Ana.”

“I’m fine.”

It was a lie and they both knew it. But neither of them had the strength to continue the conversation.

Later, as she tried to sleep, she felt Charles move beside her, his fingers brushed a strand of hair from her face.

A familiar gesture that once would have felt comforting, now it only made her sad, she could feel how much he loved her—but it no longer seemed like enough.

Charles watched her for a few seconds, thinking she was asleep, and then he whispered something so softly she almost didn’t hear it.

“I don’t know how to fix this.”

Ana closed her eyes tightly, because she didn’t know either, she also wondered if it could actually be fixed.

The next morning, she received another message from Max.

MAX: Are you still alive?

Ana let out a small laugh and replied almost immediately.

ANA: Unfortunately.

MAX: What a shame.

ANA: Thanks for your support.

MAX: That’s what friends are for.

Friends.

The word stayed on the screen for several seconds. It should have been comforting, but instead, when she put the phone down, she felt a strange disappointment.

She had to admit something she had been avoiding for weeks.

She wasn’t just waiting for his messages.

She was looking for them.

Ana tried to convince herself it meant nothing. Technically, it didn’t. Max wasn’t flirting with her, wasn’t texting her at midnight, wasn’t telling her she was beautiful, wasn’t taking advantage of her situation.

If anything, he seemed more careful since that night at the café, more distant. As if he understood exactly how dangerous the space between them was.

Maybe that was what made it worse.

Because Ana couldn’t point to anything concrete, no crossed line, no betrayal.

Just the feeling that she breathed easier when she talked to him.

And that was enough to make her feel guilty.

One afternoon, she found herself scrolling through an old conversation.

Not with Max.

With Charles.

From years ago.

Messages from when everything was just beginning. When he could make her smile with a single sentence.

When she was still Ana.

Not Anastasia.

Ana.

She stared at the screen for several minutes and admitted that she missed Charles. Not the man who slept beside her now, but the man she had met years ago.

The man who had fallen in love with a messy, impulsive, loud girl. The one who didn’t try to fix every part of her life.

The man who looked at her like she was a surprise, not a responsibility.

That realization devastated her, because she wasn’t sure that version of Charles still existed.

That night, they had another argument.

Not a loud one. A quiet one.

“What do you want for dinner?” Charles asked.

“Anything.”

“Ana.”

“Anything is fine.”

He put the cutlery down.

“Why do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Disappear.”

The word caught her off guard, because that was exactly how she felt—like she was slowly disappearing.

“I’m here,” she replied.

“No,” Charles shook his head. “You’re not.”

The silence that followed was uncomfortable, because neither of them was pretending.

“I don’t know how to reach you,” Charles said.

Ana felt an immediate sting in her chest, because he was hurting. Truly hurting.

Not acting, not manipulating, no, he was feeling real pain.

“I don’t know how to reach myself either,” she whispered.

That was probably the most honest thing she had said to him lately.

After that, they stopped talking but the conversation stayed with her for days.

Because there was something deeply sad about two people loving each other and still being unable to find each other.

Three days later, something seemingly insignificant happened.

Ana went out alone.

Without Charles.

Without plans.

Just out.

She walked for hours, entered shops, sat in a park, bought coffee, watched people. And she was actually enjoying it.

Because no one knew her, no one expected anything, no one needed her to be Anastasia.

When she returned to the apartment, she felt lighter, even calmer.

She found a huge floral arrangement on the table.

White roses. Dozens of them.

She felt like crying.

Not because they were ugly but because Charles still didn’t understand. Flowers weren’t what she needed, they never had been.

She took the card.

“I love you, always. Charles.”

Ana closed her eyes.

That was exactly the problem. Charles loved her—and still couldn’t see her.

That same night, she received another message.

MAX: Did you survive today?

Ana looked at the screen.

Then at the flowers.

Then back at the screen.

Before she realized it, she was already typing.

ANA: I think so.

MAX: Excellent.

ANA: Why?

MAX: Because it would have been very inconvenient for me to attend your funeral.

Ana burst out laughing.

She couldn’t remember the last time Charles had made her laugh like that, the thought alone brought guilt immediately. Because it wasn’t fair, Charles was trying, fighting for them.

Charles was the one she loved.

So why was she waiting more and more for someone else’s messages?

That night, she didn’t reply again. She just put the phone aside and tried to sleep, to think of something else. But the questions kept returning.

What was she doing?

And why did it feel like she was heading straight toward disaster?

The next morning, she found part of the answer.

She smiled at a notification before even checking who it was from.

When she saw Max’s name on the screen… the smile grew. Then disappeared because she finally admitted it, it wasn’t just friendship anymore. Maybe not love, not even desire but definitely no longer just friendship.

Worst of all, part of her didn’t want it to stop. Part of her wanted to keep going, even knowing exactly how people who made that kind of choice ended up.

For the first time in a long while, someone was seeing her, not Charles’s girlfriend.

Not Anastasia.

Not the woman in magazines.

Ana.

It was becoming dangerously hard to let that go.

Ana started avoiding certain questions. Especially the ones she asked herself, because the answers were becoming uncomfortable.

Was she thinking about Max too much? Yes.

Was she waiting for his messages? Yes.

Did she smile when his name appeared on her screen? Yes.

Was that a good idea? Definitely not.

So she tried to distance herself. She replied less, took longer to answer, kept conversations short.

For about three days, it worked. Until she ran into him in the elevator again.

The doors had just closed when Max raised an eyebrow.

“Are you mad at me?” he asked.

Ana blinked.

“What?”

“You’ve been replying like you’re writing corporate emails for three days.”

Despite everything, she laughed.

“I wasn’t doing that.”

“Sure you were.”

Max looked serious.

“‘Thanks.’”

Then another.

“‘Good.’”

And finally:

“‘Noted.’”

Ana laughed again.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I know.”

The elevator continued descending. For a few seconds, silence returned—but this time it felt different. Way more comfortable than before.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

That question. Always that question.

The worst part was that Max seemed like one of the few people who actually wanted the answer.

“No,” she admitted.

Not pretending.

Max watched her reflection in the metal doors, then nodded.

“I figured.”

The doors opened, but neither of them stepped out. They both lived higher up, and neither seemed in a hurry.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked.

She should have said no. Instead, she said:

“I don’t know.”

Because it was true. She didn’t know what she wanted.

Max put his hands in his pockets.

“Then don’t talk.”

She looked at him, confused.

“What?”

“You don’t have to.”

“I thought you just offered to listen.”

“I did.”

“Then that doesn’t make sense.”

“Yes, it does,” he said, smiling slightly. “Sometimes people need company, not conversation.”

Ana felt something warm in her chest.

Two hours later, they were sitting by the sea.

A walk, a conversation, then another—and suddenly they were there. Watching the waves like old friends or at least that’s what Ana kept telling herself.

They talked about everything except Charles, which was a relief. She was tired of every conversation circling back to him.

Movies, travel, food. Random things that didn’t matter.

Slowly, Ana began to relax, to lower her guard and let herself feel normal.

“I’ve never heard you talk this much,” Max said.

“What does that mean?”

“That you’re usually quieter.”

Ana laughed.

“That’s because I’m usually surrounded by people expecting me to say something smart.”

“And me?”

“You don’t.”

“How offensive.”

“You’ll survive.”

They both laughed and sound lingered between them until silence returned.

“You know what bothers me?” Ana said suddenly.

“Many things,” Max replied.

“Thanks.”

“Anytime.”

She rolled her eyes.

“I hate that everyone thinks I’m a victim.”

Max didn’t respond immediately, he waited until she finished.

“Everyone looks at me like I’m broken,” she continued. “Like I’m something that needs fixing.”

“And what do you think?”

Ana thought for a moment.

“I think I’m angry.”

“That sounds reasonable,” Max nodded.

“I think I’m sad.”

“That too.”

“And I think I’m tired.”

“Definitely reasonable.”

She smiled, then added something she didn’t even realize she believed.

“But I don’t think I’m broken.”

Max turned to look at her.

“I don’t either,” he said.

Those two words hit harder than they should have. For weeks she had only heard sympathy but no one had offered something as simple as belief.

When they finally stood to leave, it was already getting dark.

City lights beginning to glow.

Ana felt light, not happy yet, but lighter. Then she made the mistake of checking her phone.

Three missed calls. All from Charles.

The relief disappeared instantly, replaced by guilt.

Max saw the change in her expression and didn’t need to ask.

“Go,” he said simply.

She swallowed.

“Max…”

Something like sadness crossed his eyes. Gone too quickly to be sure.

When she returned home, Charles was pacing, clearly worried. The moment he saw her, relief flooded his face.

“Oh my God,” he crossed the room in seconds. “Where were you?”

Ana opened her mouth.

She hesitated before answering. Not because she wanted to lie—but because the truth felt wrong. Because she had spent the afternoon with Max and she had enjoyed every moment of it.

“I went for a walk,” she finally said.

Not a lie. Not the whole truth.

The next few days were strangely calm.

And that was almost worse.

Because calm left space to think and thinking in her case was dangerous.

“What are you doing?”

Charles’s voice startled her.

He had just entered the bedroom.

Ana lifted a photograph.

“Us.”

Charles smiled immediately, so genuinely it hurt.

“God.”

He sat beside her and for a few minutes, they looked through the photos. Slowly, his smile faded, he saw it too—the distance between them.

“I miss you,” he said suddenly.

Ana froze because she knew what he meant. Not her as she was now—but who she used to be.

“I miss myself too,” she replied.

The silence that followed was devastating.

That night, Charles turned off his phone then looked at her.

“Let’s go away.”

Ana frowned.

“What?”

“A weekend.”

“Charles…”

“Please.”

The word surprised her, he rarely asked, he usually decided but this time he was asking and that meant he was desperate.

“Just us.”

Ana hesitated. Part of her wanted to refuse but another part still wanted to believe there was a chance.

“Okay,” she said finally.

The relief on his face was immediate.

The trip was beautiful. For two days, Charles became the man she had fallen in love with.

The laughter, the jokes, the ease.

And still… something was missing. Something she couldn’t name.

Until the second night when they were having dinner and Charles was telling a story. Ana was smiling and for a fraction of a second, she thought: I have to tell Max this.

The thought appeared and vanished instantly.

But it was enough.

No.

Charles kept talking, unaware, while Ana struggled with a truth she couldn’t ignore.

She had thought of Max.

Automatically.

As if he had already become one of the most important people in her life.

That night she barely slept.

When they returned home two days later, the first thing she saw was a notification.

Max.

Just a photo.

A terrible one of a dog sleeping on a bench and attached to it, a message.

MAX: Found your twin.

Ana laughed instantly, then stopped.

With that she had just confirmed everything she had been trying to deny.

She didn’t need to kiss him.

She didn’t need to touch him.

She didn’t need to say it out loud.

It already existed and it was too late to run from it. She was starting to fall in love with Max Verstappen.

(…)

Ana tried to stay away.

For exactly eight days.

Eight days of replying only when necessary, avoiding places where she might run into Max.

Eight days of convincing herself that she still had time to stop this.

Because she couldn’t lie to herself anymore, she couldn’t pretend it was just friendship.

Not after the trip. Not after that ridiculous photo of the dog. Not after realizing he was the first person she thought about whenever something happened.

That was exactly why it had to end before it even began.

The problem was that Max seemed determined to respect whatever distance she wanted to put between them.

He didn’t push, didn’t ask questions, didn’t send unnecessary messages.

Somehow, that turned out to be far worse than Ana had imagined, because she had expected relief, instead, all she found was absence and absence had an unpleasant way of revealing just how much space someone occupied in your life.

On the ninth day, she saw him in the paddock.

Charles had been busy since early morning.

Ana had been sitting alone for nearly an hour, watching the constant flow of people, when she heard a voice behind her.

“I thought you’d moved to another continent.”

Her heart reacted before her brain did.

She looked up.

There he was.

His hands tucked into his pockets, his paddock pass hanging around his neck, wearing that same calm expression he always carried, yet something about his eyes seemed different.

More tired, even distant.

“I’ve been busy,” she replied.

Max let out a quiet laugh.

“Right.”

Ana recognized that tone immediately, full of disappointment.

“Max…”

“You don’t have to explain anything.”

That was exactly the kind of response someone gave when they wanted an explanation.

For several seconds, neither of them spoke, around them, the paddock continued operating as usual and yet Ana felt like they were completely alone.

“I’m sorry,” she said at last.

Max looked surprised.

“For what?”

“For disappearing.”

“You had your reasons.”

“Yes.”

“Then you don’t need to apologize.”

That should have ended the conversation, but it didn’t, because they were both still standing there, neither moving nor walking away.

“I missed you.” The confession escaped before Ana could stop it.

The silence that followed was immediate.

Max looked at her and something shifted in his expression. Something she had never seen before.

Hope.

“Ana…”

“No.” She shook her head quickly.

Because if he said anything else, there might be no going back, and part of her was still terrified.

“Don’t say anything.”

Max remained still, then slowly nodded.

“Okay.”

But neither of them seemed capable of looking away.

“Anastasia.”

Charles’s voice came from behind them.

The moment shattered instantly, as if it had never existed.

Charles slipped an arm around Ana’s waist.

“I’ve been looking for you.”

Ana smiled automatically.

When she lifted her gaze, she found Max watching them. Watching Charles’s hand resting on her waist.

Watching something that, technically, belonged to another man.

Max smiled, then he walked away.

The rest of the day was torture, because it was obvious now that there was something between them. Something they both knew but neither of them had said aloud.

That night, while Charles slept, Ana received a message.

MAX: I missed you too.

Ana stared at the screen for a long time. She didn’t try to convince herself it meant something else because she already knew exactly what it meant.

The following weeks were a disaster.

A slow, quiet one.

They tried to keep their distance: Failure.

They tried to act normal: Failure.

They tried to pretend nothing was happening: The greatest failure of all.

Because every conversation became harder and every goodbye lasted longer. Eventually, the inevitable happened. It wasn’t planned and in some way it was worse.

Because if it had been a conscious mistake, there would have been a chance to undo it.

It all started because they had argued again, but this time it wasn’t like before. There was no real physical distance between them only that unbearable tension Max had been carrying for weeks, as if every one of Ana’s silences had become a fresh wound he didn’t know how to stop feeling.

“You can’t keep doing this to me.” His voice was low.

Ana looked up from across the hotel room.

“Doing what, exactly?”

Max let out a short, humorless laugh.

“Disappearing between two lives as if you aren’t breaking anything.”

She stayed in silence, the same silence that always answered whenever Charles was involved.

“It’s not that simple.” The moment she said it, she knew it was the wrong thing to say.

Max took a step toward her.

Then another, unhurried and certain of what he was doing.

As if he’d stopped fighting himself a long time ago.

“It’s never simple with you,” he said quietly. “Everything I feel for you… it’s never simple.”

Something tightened painfully in Ana’s chest because it wasn’t accusation. It was exhaustion and restrained heartbreak.

“Max…” His name came out like a weak warning.

But he was already too close.

“Tell me.” His eyes never left hers “Tell me you don’t feel anything. Tell me that, and I’ll walk away right now.”

Ana swallowed. It was the easiest lie in the world and yet she couldn’t say it.

“Don’t do this,” she whispered.

Max exhaled through his nose, as if he’d already heard that answer a hundred times in his head.

“That’s not an answer.”

Another step, now he was standing right in front of her, close enough that Ana had to tilt her head slightly to keep holding his gaze.

“You always do the same thing,” he continued. “You always choose silence.”

Ana clenched her fists.

“You’re not being fair.”

The faintest smile crossed Max’s face but there was nothing happy about it.

“No.” He paused. “But I’m the only one who isn’t lying to you.”

The words landed between them like something inevitable, they both knew it was true.

Max lowered his voice even further.

“I can’t keep pretending this doesn’t affect me.”

A shiver ran through Ana.

“Max…” His name again, this time it wasn’t a warning, it was surrender and he understood.

“Then you tell me,” he whispered. “Tell me to stop.”

Silence.

Ana didn’t move, she didn’t speak, she didn’t say anything to stop him.

Max stopped holding himself back, he kissed her as if he’d been waiting for permission for months. It wasn’t desperate, it wasn’t clumsy, it was restrained like someone who had been suppressing something for so long that, when it finally broke free, he no longer knew how to do it halfway.

Ana reached for him without thinking as if her body had made the decision before her mind ever could, and when Max pulled her closer, there was no hesitation in the gesture.

“Don’t do this…” Ana murmured against his lips, without truly pulling away.

Max stopped for only a second, he looked at her. Whatever was in his eyes made her stomach tighten.

“I can’t,” he said, barely above a whisper. His words weren’t innocent.

Ana could only stare at him.

“Max…”

But he shook his head, resting his forehead gently against hers.

“It’s not about self-control,” he said quietly, as if he needed her to understand. “It’s just… it’s too late for me.”

It wasn’t a romantic declaration, it was a problem, a point of no return.

The rest of the night had no structure, only fragments. Hands that no longer knew how to pull away and two people crossing a line they both knew would shatter everything that had remained intact.

Hours later, the world outside still existed. Max didn’t let go of her immediately, as if the simple act of letting her go was an idea he wasn’t ready to accept yet.

“This is going to change everything,” Ana whispered at last, without looking at him.

Max took a few seconds before answering, when he did, there was no uncertainty left in his voice.

“It already has.” he paused for a second “The moment I stopped being able to pretend you didn’t matter to me.”

After that, neither of them spoke for a long time, the room was in complete silent.

Ana had her eyes closed, she felt at peace. A peace she knew wouldn’t last but for the moment, it was one of the most real things she had felt in a very long time.

Max, meanwhile, remained awake watching her, feeling like something inside him changed that night.

For months, he had survived on scraps, small conversations, secret smiles and borrowed moments. Now he knew what it felt like to have her close and he discovered that he didn’t want to give that up anymore, he didn’t want to share her.

When Ana opened her eyes, he was still looking at her.

“What?” she asked.

Max smiled faintly.

“Nothing.” But it was a lie and they both knew it.

From that night on, everything became infinitely more complicated, nothing changed and at the same time, everything changed.

That was the most unsettling part, the world kept turning. Charles still kissed her goodbye before leaving, the races still happened, journalists kept asking ridiculous questions.

Everything remained exactly the same.

Except for Ana and Max, because now they shared a secret and secrets have a very particular way of consuming everything around them.

Ana began dividing her life into two versions: The official one and the other one.

The one that existed between deleted calls, erased messages, and improvised excuses, the one she had never imagined for herself.

At first, she managed to convince herself it was temporary, that she just needed time and eventually she would make a decision, that no one would get hurt too badly.

It was a ridiculous lie but it was the only one that allowed her to sleep.

Max was the first to change, not in a dramatic way, just in small things.

Tiny details.

“What are you doing tonight?” he asked one afternoon.

“Dinner with Charles.”

He stayed in silence for a second.

“Oh.”

Nothing more but Ana noticed. Before, he would have smiled, changed the subject, and pretended he didn’t care, now he didn’t.

And it happened again.

Once.

Twice.

Ten times.

Whenever Charles came up, when she mentioned him, when reality forced its way back into the room.

The tension appeared.

One night they were having dinner together in one of the few places where they could meet without attracting too much attention. Ana was telling a story, something insignificant that had happened earlier that morning.

“And then Charles said—” She never finished the sentence because Max set his cutlery down on the table a little too hard.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Nothing.”

“Max.”

He looked away, toward the window, the street, anywhere but at her.

“I’m tired of hearing about him.”

Ana froze.

“What?”

“Him.”

Silence settled immediately between them, because it was the first time he had said something like that. The first time he had let slip what had been building inside him for weeks.

“Max…”

“I know.” He ran a hand across his face, clearly frustrated with himself. “I know. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Then don’t.” The response came out colder than she intended.

Max let out a bitter laugh.

“See?”

“What?”

“I can’t even be upset about it.”

Ana frowned.

“I don’t understand.”

“Yes, you do.” Max looked up and there was something wild in his eyes. “I have to watch you go back to him every day, watch you smile at him and pretend I don’t care.”

Ana stopped breathing, this was the conversation they had both been avoiding for weeks and it had finally arrived.

“Max…”

“I’m not asking you for anything,” he interrupted immediately. “I’m not telling you to leave him.”

“Then what are you saying?”

Max took several seconds before answering. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter.

“That this is starting to hurt me.” The words hung between them.

Ana realized something she hadn’t see. Until now, the entire story had revolved around her pain, her betrayal and confusion but Max was hurting too and she had been too selfish to notice. She had turned him into a refuge without ever stopping to think about what that meant for him.

That night, she returned to the apartment feeling worse than ever.

Fate, as cruel as always, decided to make things even worse, because she found Charles cooking, something he almost never did.

The kitchen looked like a disaster zone, an absolute catastrophe.

And yet he was smiling.

“Don’t laugh,” he said immediately. “I already know it looks terrible.”

A knot formed in Ana’s throat, for a moment she saw him again. The man she had fallen in love with, not the man who had made mistakes.

That made the guilt return stronger than ever.

“What’s wrong?” Charles asked, his smile fading slowly.

“Nothing.”

“Ana.”

She closed her eyes, because she was tired of lying, of choosing. Tired of loving two people at the same time.

She wondered if it was possible she would end up losing them both.

Later, while Charles slept, she received a message from Max.

MAX: Sorry about today.

Ana stared at the screen. For several seconds, she had no idea how to respond because in reality, he wasn’t the one who should have been apologizing.

ANA: You didn’t do anything wrong.

The reply came almost immediately.

MAX: Yes, I did.

MAX: I’m starting to want things I can’t have.

Ana felt her heart stop, she knew exactly what he meant.

Part of her wanted to give him those things, but another part still belonged to Charles and that war was beginning to destroy her.

Things got worse after that conversation because now they had both told the truth and once the truth came out, there was no going back to pretending.

Max tried to act the same. He really did but Ana started noticing things.

The way he tensed whenever her phone rang, the way he asked about Charles and immediately seemed to regret it, the way his eyes lingered on any photograph where the two of them appeared together, and the more she noticed, the harder it became to ignore.

One night, they were having dinner at Max’s apartment. Rain tapped against the windows.

An almost-forgotten movie played quietly in the background. For a little while, everything felt peaceful, until Ana mentioned something completely innocent.

“Charles wants us to go to Italy next month.”

The silence was immediate. Max set his wine glass down on the table far too carefully.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Sounds nice.”

A complete lie, Ana could see it written in every muscle of his face.

“Max.”

“What?”

“You’re upset.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Max.”

Finally, he let out a dry laugh devoid of any humor.

“Do you want me to be honest?”

A bad feeling settled instantly in Ana’s stomach.

“I don’t know.”

“I do.”

He looked up.

“I hate hearing his name.”

Ana’s heart began to race.

“Max…”

“I hate it,” he repeated. “I hate that you still live with him.”

Ana kept quiet.

“I hate that he wakes up next to you.”

Another silence.

“I hate that he gets to touch you whenever he wants.”

Ana forgot how to breathe.

Because this was no longer the restrained frustration of a few weeks ago. This was something deeper.

“You shouldn’t say that.”

“I know.”

“Then stop saying it.”

“I can’t.” The answer came so quickly that even Max seemed surprised by it.

Because it was true, he couldn’t. For months he had tried to be patient but now he was running out of strength.

“Do you know what the worst part is?” he asked.

Ana shook her head.

“That I still feel guilty for thinking it.”

He ran a hand through his hair, visibly frustrated.

“Because he’s my friend.” The word tasted bitter “And still…”

He didn’t finish the sentence, he didn’t need to, because they both knew how it ended.

The silence became unbearable. Ana felt something dangerous, something she should never have allowed herself to feel, a part of her enjoyed his jealousy not because she wanted to hurt him, or play games with him but because, after years of feeling invisible, there was someone who couldn't seem to look away.

And that was intoxicating.

Problems began shortly after once again. Max started asking questions, ones that he had never asked before.

"Where were you?"

"With Charles."

"How was it?"

"Fine."

"What did you do?"

"We had dinner."

"That's all?"

And there it was.

All.

As if he needed to know more, as if he needed reassurance, as if he was searching for something.

It probably should have alarmed her. Instead, it made her feel noticed, wanted, necessary, even.

And that was exactly why it was so dangerous because Max was beginning to build pieces of his happiness around her and Ana still hadn't decided whether she was staying.

One afternoon, they crossed paths again in the paddock. One of those impossible days when everything seemed to go wrong.

Charles was giving interviews, Ana watched from the sidelines and Max stood several meters away.

They couldn't get close, they couldn't talk and they couldn't look at each other for too long. Yet he kept watching her constantly.

Then something insignificant happened.

A reporter approached Charles, laughing as she touched his arm, leaning in a little too close. Nothing truly inappropriate, nothing that should have warranted a reaction.

But Ana saw Max and she knew immediately.

His jaw tightened and he stopped listening to the conversation in front of him, his eyes remained fixed on that scene. When they finally managed to be alone hours later, he was the first to speak.

"She was flirting with him."

Ana blinked.

"Who?"

"The reporter."

The comment caught her so off guard she almost laughed.

"Max."

"What?"

"That was six hours ago."

"I know."

"And you're still thinking about it."

He fell silent because she was right, he was still thinking about it.

Still thinking about anyone who got too close to Charles, still thinking about anything that could pull Ana away from him. He was thinking about it far too much and Ana realized something she should have seen long ago.

Max wasn't becoming jealous, he had been jealous for a very long time, he had simply been too disciplined to show it.

Until now.

(...)

After that conversation, Ana started noticing things she hadn't seen before or maybe they had always been there, maybe she had simply refused to acknowledge them because now she knew where to look and once she started looking, it became impossible to ignore.

Max always knew where she was, not in a creepy way, not because he followed her or kept tabs on her. It was because he simply paid attention.

He remembered her schedule, her routines, her smallest habits. Tiny details she barely noticed about herself.

"I thought you had a meeting this morning," he said one afternoon.

Ana looked up.

"How do you know that?"

Max fell silent for a few seconds, as if he'd only just realized what he'd said.

"You mentioned it two weeks ago."

Two weeks, Ana couldn't even remember that conversation.

"You have a good memory."

Max's smile was strange, almost sad.

"Only for certain things."

And they both knew exactly what he meant.

The weeks kept passing, and the situation slowly became impossible to sustain, Ana wasn't just hiding a relationship anymore, she was hiding an entire life.

With Charles, there was still a history, years of memories, of plans and promises yet to be fulfilled. Everything that builds a real relationship.

With Max, there was something different, newer, intense, dangerous.

Every time she was with one of them, she felt guilty about the other. It was exhausting.

One night, Max called her, which was unusual because normally, they avoided phone calls. It was risky and they had many opportunities to make mistakes.

"What happened?" she asked as soon as she answered.

A few seconds of silence followed, then:

"Nothing."

Ana closed her eyes, that answer never meant anything good.

"Max."

"I just wanted to hear your voice."

Her heart stumbled.

His words sounded far more vulnerable than he had probably intended.

"You had a bad day." It wasn't a question.

Max let out a humorless laugh.

"Is it that obvious?"

"To me, yes."

He stayed silent

"I saw him today," he finally said.

Ana immediately knew who he meant, she didn't need to ask.

Charles.

"And?"

"Nothing." He lied.

"Max."

"I saw you with him." His voice was lower this time, controlled. "And I realized something."

Ana went still.

"What?"

"I'm starting to hate him."

The air seemed to vanish from the room.

"Don't say that."

"Why?"

"Because it's not true."

"Yes, it is." The answer came instantly, without an ounce hesitation, without a trace of regret. "And that's what bothers me the most."

The line fell silent again before Max spoke.

"Because I don't want to." His voice sounded tired "I don't want to become that person."

"Max..."

"He was my friend." The words came out broken "And now every time I see him, all I can think about is that he has something that should be mine."

It was the first time he had said it so clearly.

Mine.

The word lingered between them heavy, uncomfortable and, for some reason, almost frightening.

"I'm not a thing." She said it gently, immediately regretting it because she heard the pain in the silence that followed.

"I know." Max sounded exhausted. "I know."

For a few seconds, neither of them spoke.

"That's not what I meant."

"I know."

"Ana..." He fell silent again, like he was fighting against something, himself, probably. "I'm just tired."

The confession finally slipped out.

"Tired of waiting."

Those words haunted her for days.

Tired of waiting.

Because it was true.

Max had always waited, he waited when she was with Charles, when she tried to walk away, when she hesitated, when she was afraid and now he was starting to run out of patience.

Another critical moment came two weeks later and it started over something ridiculously small.

Ana canceled a dinner, that was all.

A dinner.

Charles had planned something unexpected, a small private celebration and she had to change the plans she had with Max. Nothing serious.

But when she told him—Max stopped replying for hours, something completely unlike him. When he finally resurfaced well past midnight, he was furious. Not yelling or losing control. Cold as ice.

"Are you angry?" Ana asked.

"No."

"Max."

"I'm tired of being the second choice." The words landed like a bomb.

Ana felt her stomach twist because she knew exactly where they came from.

"You're not a second choice."

"No?" He smiled, but it never reached his eyes. "Then cancel on him next time."

There it was the real problem, because they both knew she couldn't or didn't want to.

Max knew it too.

"See?" he whispered. "That's exactly the problem."

Ana had never seen that expression on his face before, it wasn't anger, it wasn't resentment.

It was desperation.

The desperation of someone who loves too much, of someone who feels like they're always on the verge of losing everything.

Ana realized that Max wasn't falling in love with her, that had happened a long time ago. What was happening now was something else.

Now he was starting to need her.

And people who need something rarely react well when they believe they're about to lose it.

Meanwhile, somewhere else in the same building, Charles was beginning to notice things, small things, insignificant details, long silences, absences, distant looks.

He began to wonder if there was something Ana still hadn't told him. So Charles started paying attention, not because he had proof, simply because he knew Ana and after so many years together, he had learned to notice changes that other people would never see.

The way she drifted off during conversations, the way she smiled when reading certain messages, the way she sometimes seemed somewhere else, even when she was sitting right in front of him.

Small things, but they were enough.

The more he noticed, the more uncomfortable he became. Because something was happening, he didn't know what. But something.

The first time he tried to ask her about it, Ana lied and that truly frightened him. Not the lie itself, but how natural it seemed.

"Is everything okay?" He asked one night.

"Yes." Too fast, like she had the answer on automatic.

Charles watched her for a few seconds before nodding. But the unease remained because he had heard that tone before.

He had heard it in himself months earlier, back when he was the one hiding things. The thought alone was enough to make his stomach turn.

Meanwhile, Max was beginning to lose the battle against himself.

Because seeing her once in a while, the few stolen moments they spend together, the hours they managed to carve out for themselves weren't enough anymore.

He always wanted more and every time he got more, he discovered it still wasn't enough.

It frustrated him, embarrassed him, infuriated him because he wasn't supposed to be like this. He was supposed to be rational, disciplined, and controlled. But Ana seemed capable of destroying every one of those qualities.

One afternoon, he found her crying, not because of anything related to their relationship.

She had received a call from her family, it seem like a difficult conversation, one that had reopened old wounds and buried memories.

When Max arrived, she was sitting alone, trying to pull herself together.

"What happened?"

Ana shook her head.

"Nothing."

"That's a lie."

And before she realized it, she was crying again.

Max pulled her into his arms immediately, without asking another question. For several minutes they stayed that way in silence.

Max rested his chin on top of her head and said:

"I don't like it when you cry."

Ana gave him a weak smile.

"I don't think anyone does."

"No." He corrected her gently "You don't understand."

She looked up at him and found something strange in his eyes.

"I want to fix it," he said "Whatever it is."

"Max..."

"Whatever it is," he repeated "If something hurts you, I want to fix it."

The words should have sounded romantic. Instead, something inside Ana tightened, because there was a huge difference between wanting to help someone... And feeling the need to fix every part of their life.

Before she could think too much about it, Max kissed her forehead again.

And the moment disappeared.

Later that same night, Charles called.

"Where are you?" The question sounded casual.

Ana froze, because she was with Max.

"I'm out."

"Where?"

It was the first time Charles had asked a question like that, the first time he seemed suspicious and it filled her with immediate fear because she knew this wasn't a game anymore.

It wasn't a fantasy.

It wasn't a secret affair.

It was something real.

And real things always ended up exploding.

"Since when are you so interested?" she asked, trying to redirect the conversation.

Bad idea because the silence that followed was even worse.

"Since I started feeling like I'm losing you." The answer knocked the air from her lungs.

Two weeks later, they all ended up in the paddock.

Charles was giving an interview.

Ana was watching from the sidelines.

Max was speaking with members of his team.

A completely normal situation,apparently. Until Charles finished the interview and walked over to her, smiling. He tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

Ana smiled instinctively.

And when she looked up— She saw Max watching them from the other side of the paddock.

Motionless, it made her blood run cold. Because he no longer looked jealous, he looked angry.

Not at her, at the situation.

At the fact that Charles could do that openly, without hiding, without lying, without having to share.

While Max was left surviving on scraps.

They argued that night.

"You can't keep looking at him like that," Ana said.

Max went still.

"Like what?"

"Like you want to kill him."

The laugh that escaped him was so brief it was unsettling.

"Don't be ridiculous."

"I'm serious."

"So am I."

For the first time that night, he sounded completely honest.

"I don't want to hurt him."

Then his jaw tightened.

"But it's getting harder and harder to watch him touch you."

The confession lingered between them.

"Max..."

"How much longer?" He wasn't asking about a week or a month.

He was asking about them, the waiting, the lies, Charles. All of it.

"I don't know." The answer came out as a whisper.

The moment it left her lips, she knew it was the wrong one, because she saw something shift behind Max's eyes. All Ana could feel was fear of losing him.

After that argument, Max stopped pushing.

Which was somehow worse.

Because Ana knew him well enough by now to tell the difference between someone fighting... And someone who had made up their mind.

This didn't feel like surrender, it felt like preparation. Like someone who had already made a decision and was simply waiting for the right moment to act on it.

Over the following days, he replied less.

Ana tried to ignore it, failed.

She tried convincing herself she was imagining things and she failed again.

Because something had changed and they both knew it.

One night, she found him sitting alone on his apartment balcony, a forgotten glass resting on the table beside him, watching the city.

"What are you doing out here?" she asked.

Max looked up and for a second, he seemed surprised to see her.

"Thinking."

"That never ends well."

A faint smile appeared, then vanished almost immediately.

Ana climbed onto the balcony and sat beside him, the wind moved gently through her hair.

Neither of them spoke until Max finally broke the silence.

"Do you love him?"

Ana felt her stomach tighten. Because she knew the question was a trap, not a cruel one, but a trap with no escape.

Because any answer would hurt someone.

"Yes." The word barely emerged as a whisper.

Max closed his eyes, just for a second. Like he had been struck by a blow he had spent months expecting.

"Good," he finally said.

Ana frowned.

"Good?"

"Yeah." A bitter laugh escaped him. "At least someone is being honest."

The words hurt, he was right.

"Max..."

"And do you love me?" The second question came immediately.

Ana stopped breathing, because no one had said that word yet and now it was there, between them, demanding an answer.

"Don't do this," she whispered.

Max let out a hollow laugh.

"Why?"

"Because it's not fair."

"To who?"

Ana didn't know how to answer.

"To me?"

he continued.

"To you?"

Another silence.

"Or to him?"

Ana felt afraid, not of Max.

Afraid of the situation, of what they were becoming. Because the patience that had defined their relationship was disappearing and underneath it was something much bigger.

Need.

"I can't answer that," she finally said.

Max's expression changed slightly, because that was an answer too.

That same week, Charles found the first thread.

Ana was in the shower when her phone vibrated on the table.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Normally, Charles would never have touched it but the name that appeared on the screen made him freeze.

Max.

Something inside him tightened immediately, suddenly too many pieces began to fit together.

The silences.

The absences.

The smiles.

The distractions.

Everything.

Charles left the phone exactly where it was, he didn't open the messages, didn't check anything.

He was feeling genuine panic, because it was no longer an abstract suspicion, now it had a face and that face belonged to someone he knew far too well.

That night, he didn't sleep. He simply watched Ana as she slept, listened to her breathing.

Remembered every year they had spent together, he asked himself something he had never considered before.

What if it's already too late?

Two days later, disaster struck.

Ana canceled dinner with Max, again. Because Charles had come home early, he seemed sad and desperate.

And she hadn't had the courage to tell him she already had plans. When she finally texted Max to let him know, his response took hours.

MAX: Understood.

Nothing else.

Ana called. No answer.

She called again. Nothing.

An irrational fear settled in her chest.

Finally, close to midnight, he appeared at her door.

The moment she opened it, she knew something was wrong.

"Max..."

"I can't do this anymore."

The words stole all the air from her lungs.

Because she immediately understood what they meant.

I can't keep sharing you.

I can't keep waiting.

I can't keep being the secret.

"Listen to me," she started.

"No."

For the first time, he cut her off.

"No. Because I'm always the one who listens." His gaze locked onto hers.

"This time," he said quietly, "you're going to listen to me."

Ana realized she could no longer postpone a decision.

[islagalaxie]

BURNING BLUE Pt. 1 - Charles Leclerc/Max Verstappen

Charles Leclerc x Fem!Original character / Eventual Max Verstappen x Fem!Original Character

SUMMARY: Ana discovers that her relationship with Charles is not as perfect as she once believed. What begins as a suspicion turns into a truth much harder to accept.

Between lies, betrayals, and half-truths, Ana starts to realize that her life with him may not be as real as she thought. As everything falls apart, Max’s presence appears as an unexpected refuge, someone who makes her see her reality from a different perspective and question everything she once took for granted.

TAGS: Slow burn (kind of), forbidden love, infedility, cheating, secret relationships, emotional affairs, love triangle.

Note: Hello everyone, I’ve had this story in my mind for a while, but I didn’t have time to write it until now. The girl has a name, it works better for the plot, and it’s also narrated in third person so you can understand the perspective of all the characters. I hope you enjoy it, and yes, it will have a second part, maybe even a third. English is not my first lenguage.

WC: 7K.

NEXT PART

masterlist

The first time Ana saw the sea in Monaco, she thought it looked fake. Too blue. Too bright. Too perfect.

Nothing resembled the beaches of her childhood, where the sand clung to your skin like a second layer and the heat forced you to search for shade every few minutes. Here, everything looked as though it belonged in a magazine: the white buildings, the enormous yachts, the immaculate streets.

She spent several seconds staring out the car window, trying to convince herself that it was real.

“Are you nervous?” Charles asked.

Ana turned her head.

He was smiling. He always smiled whenever he caught her taking everything in with that mixture of fascination and bewilderment.

“A little.”

“You don’t have to be.”

Easy for him to say.

Charles had been born for this world.

She hadn’t.

Long before the designer dresses, the photographers, and the charity galas, Ana had been a girl who worked too hard.

She worked because she had to. Because bills didn’t pay themselves. Because dreams cost money. And because, in her world, no one expected things to fall from the sky.

The day she met Charles, she was exhausted. She had spent nearly ten hours dealing with tourists, the heat was unbearable, and all she wanted was to go home.

That was why, when the foreigner tried speaking to her in terrible Spanish, she didn’t feel anything special.

Only amusement.

“I think you just insulted my entire family.”

The man’s eyes widened.

“What?”

“What you just said.”

He frowned.

“That’s not what I was trying to say.”

“I know.” Ana laughed. “But you were pretty close.”

The embarrassed smile that appeared on the stranger’s face was probably the first thing that caught her attention.

He didn’t look like a celebrity. He didn’t look like someone accustomed to having everything go his way. He looked like a man making a fool of himself and Ana enjoyed watching him far more than she should have.

She had no idea who he was. No idea how many races he had won. She didn’t know the headlines. She didn’t know the fame.

Maybe that was why Charles fell in love with her.

During those first few hours, she was the only person who didn’t seem impressed by him.

That had been almost two years ago and even after all that time together, she still felt like an intruder, like at any moment, someone would walk up to her and tell her there had been a mistake—that she needed to return to wherever she came from.

Charles took her hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles.

“Everything will be fine.”

Ana nodded.

It was strange.

Every time he did something like that, part of her felt protected. The other part felt small, like a child being led by the hand.

She tried to ignore it.

Charles always had good intentions.

That was what she told herself whenever the doubts appeared. The doubts were dangerous, because they were showing up more and more often.

The party was being held in a villa that was probably larger than the entire neighborhood where Ana had grown up.

There were people whose names she forgot the moment she heard them. They all seemed to know exactly how to behave, Ana, on the other hand, spent the first twenty minutes worrying about where to place her hands, about the way she walked and the way she pronounced certain words.

She hadn’t always been like this, she used to speak without thinking, laugh loudly, gesture too much, say exactly what was on her mind.

Now she measured every movement, every word and every smile, like she was playing a character.

“Anastasia.”

Charles’s voice pulled her from her thoughts.

It took her a fraction of a second to react, still happened sometimes. She still forgot that the name belonged to her or that it was supposed to.

“Yes?”

“Come here. I want to introduce you to someone.”

Anastasia.

Not Ana.

Anastasia.

An elegant name.

That was what Charles had said the first time he suggested it.

“Ana.”

Charles grimaced.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Why did you make that face?”

“Because it’s too short.”

She laughed.

“And what exactly does that mean?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugged. “I just feel like it should be longer.”

“Well, sorry to disappoint you.”

Charles smiled.

“What’s your full name?”

“Ana.”

“Just Ana?”

“Just Ana.”

“That’s impossible.” He frowned

“Why?”

“Because nobody is simply named Ana.”

“Well, I am.”

For several seconds, he looked thoughtful then he smiled, the kind of smile that usually meant trouble.

“Anastasia.”

“What?”

“It suits you better.”

Ana nearly choked on her laughter.

“I’m not responding to that.”

“Anastasia.”

“No.”

“Definitely Anastasia.”

“Charles.”

“It sounds elegant.”

“I don’t care about sounding elegant.”

“Well, you should.”

She grabbed a napkin and threw it at him.

Charles burst out laughing and the subject died there or at least, that was what Ana thought, because weeks later, he did it again.

And then again.

And again.

Until one day, without realizing it, she was answering to a name that had never been hers. What had started as a joke stopped being one.

The journalists started using it, then event organizers, later, Charles’s friends. Until somehow, the name became a reality and now nobody called her Ana anymore.

Not even herself.

Charles slipped an arm around her waist as he guided her through the crowd. The gesture looked affectionate and it probably was but there was something else beneath it.

Something that felt a little too familiar, he was used to leading her, to showing her the way, deciding where she should go.

The evening passed in a blur of conversations Ana barely understood. Whenever she tried to participate, the topic shifted so quickly that she ended up remaining silent, it wasn’t that anyone was rude, that would have been easier. Instead, they behaved like she simply wasn’t there.

Charles didn’t seem to notice.

He was busy, being exactly the person the world expected him to be. Ana noticed something she had been trying to ignore for a long time.

Charles changed when there was an audience. It was like there were two versions of him, the one he shared with her and the one that belonged to everyone else.

“You look bored.”

Ana looked up.

Max.

Leaning casually against a column with a glass in his hand.

“I’m not bored,” she replied immediately.

“Yes, you are.”

“Is it really that obvious?”

“A little.”

She laughed.

“Thanks for the honesty.”

“You’re welcome.” Max shrugged.

His gaze swept across the room.

“How many conversations about sponsorships have you survived tonight?”

“I lost count after the fifth one.”

“Fair enough.” A small laugh escaped him.

For the first time in hours, Ana felt herself relax.

Max never seemed to expect anything from her, he simply talked to her.

“And you?” she asked. “What are you doing hiding over here?”

“Surviving.”

“The sponsorship conversations?”

“The sponsors.”

Ana laughed again, for a brief moment, she forgot to monitor every movement she made.

Later, when they returned to the apartment, exhaustion hit her like a wave. She kicked off her shoes and collapsed onto the couch.

Charles appeared a few minutes later, loosening his tie.

“You were very quiet tonight.”

Ana opened her eyes.

“Was I?”

“Yes.”

“I was just tired.”

Charles sat beside her.

“A few people mentioned that you seemed a little too serious.”

There it was again, that seemingly harmless observation. But this time Ana felt something uncomfortable settle in her chest.

“I’m sorry,” she apologized immediately.

Charles frowned.

“You don’t have to apologize.”

“But you just said—”

“I’m only saying that maybe you should try to be a little more sociable.”

She lowered her gaze.

“I’ll try.”

“Don’t take it the wrong way.”

Charles gently tilted her chin upward.

“I want people to see how wonderful you are.”

And that was the problem, the words were beautiful but the outcome was always the same. Change this, you need to Improve that, fix this other thing.

Always for her own good.

(…)

That night, Ana couldn’t sleep. She spent hours staring at the ceiling, listening to Charles’s steady breathing beside her. She thought about the girl she had been before she met him.

The girl who talked too much, the one who would never have sat silently through an entire dinner, the one who knew nothing about etiquette or protocol.

The girl whose name was Ana.

When had she disappeared? The question came out of nowhere and once it appeared, she couldn’t push it away.

When had she disappeared? Because she was no longer sure she recognized the person she had become.

She had realized that during a trip back home a few weeks earlier.

The visit had been Charles’s idea.

For weeks, Ana had been excited about it, she missed her country and her family. Yet things began to feel strange almost immediately.

“You sound different.”

It was the first thing one of her friends said.

Ana froze.

“What?”

“Your accent, it sounds different.”

She tried to laugh it off, but the discomfort had already settled in. Later came other comments.

“You don’t even seem like yourself anymore.”

“You’ve gone completely European.”

“Look at you. You even walk differently now.”

Everyone laughed, no one intended to be cruel, but every comment hurt a little.

When she returned to Monaco, she realized something worrying.

She no longer belonged there.

But she didn’t belong here, either.

She was a foreigner in both places and she didn’t know which was worse.

With a sigh, she pushed the memory away.

Turning her head, she looked at Charles.

Fast asleep.

The man who had loved her, who had given her opportunities she had never imagined having and had changed her life.

The man around whom her entire world revolved.

Ana studied his face for several seconds and felt something that frightened her.

It wasn’t fear.

It was the sensation of standing at the edge of something. Like an invisible crack had begun to open beneath her feet.

It was still small.

She could ignore it, she could convince herself everything was fine but it was there and sooner or later, it would break everything apart.

The crack hadn’t appeared overnight.

If Ana was completely honest with herself, it had been there for a long time. It had started with little things. Things so small they seemed insignificant.

A comment here.

A suggestion made with affection.

An observation delivered with a smile.

They never sounded like orders, Charles never told her what to do. He simply had a way of making every idea seem like her own and that was far more effective.

The first time it happened was during an interview.

Ana still remembered the yellow dress she had been wearing and the tremor in her hands. It was one of her first public appearances alongside Charles, and she had been terrified.

The interviewer smiled.

“So, Ana, what has adapting to this new life been like?”

She had opened her mouth to answer.

But Charles spoke first.

“It’s been a huge change for her.”

Ana closed her mouth again.

The interviewer nodded.

“I can imagine.”

“She’s worked incredibly hard,” Charles continued. “I’m very proud of her.”

Everyone smiled.

Even Ana.

Because it was a lovely comment, a loving one.

And yet, when she watched the interview weeks later, she noticed something strange. The question had been directed at her, but she hadn’t answered it once.

After that came other things.

Charles chose the restaurants, the vacation destinations, the people they spent time with and activities they did together.

Not because he was controlling, simply because he always seemed to have a better idea and Ana, who had spent most of her life feeling like she didn’t know enough about anything, eventually got used to following him.

It was easier that way.

“What are you looking at?”

Charles’s voice pulled her from her thoughts.

Ana looked up from her phone.

“Nothing.”

“Let me see.”

She handed it to him.

Charles glanced at the screen.

It was an old photograph, one taken years ago.

In the picture, Ana was wearing one of her country’s traditional outfits, standing beside a group of friends.

Everyone was smiling and looked so happy.

Charles let out a quiet laugh.

“My God.”

“What?”

“You were a kid.”

“I know.”

“I barely recognized you.”

Ana smiled faintly.

“I was a different person.”

Charles handed the phone back.

“Definitely.”

The answer was innocent.

He probably hadn’t even thought about it before saying it.

But something shifted inside her, it wasn’t the first time she had heard something like that.

You were different.

You’ve changed so much.

You’re not the same person anymore.

Most people said it as a compliment, like becoming someone entirely different was an achievement.

Later, during dinner, Charles noticed how quiet she had become.

“Thinking again?”

“A little,” she admitted.

“What’s wrong?”

Ana traced the rim of her wine glass with her finger.

“Do you ever wonder if people actually know me?”

Charles blinked.

“What do you mean?”

“Me. The real me. Not Charles Leclerc’s girlfriend. Not the woman in the photographs. Not Anastasia. Me.”

Charles watched her for several seconds. Then he smiled.

“I think you’re overthinking it.”

That was the end of the conversation.

It was a typical Charles answer.

Not because he was cruel, but because, to him, problems existed to be solved. And that didn’t seem like a real problem. After all, Ana had a wonderful life.

Didn’t she?

She had an incredible home, trips, money, security.

Charles.

What possible reason could she have to feel lost?

What Charles didn’t understand was that this was exactly why she felt guilty. Because there were people who would have given anything to be in her position.

Yet she still felt empty.

Two weeks later, something happened that she couldn’t ignore.

They were attending another charity gala, exactly the same as the other ones. Until she heard a voice behind her.

“Anastasia.”

She turned around.

A woman was smiling at her, Ana was sure she had seen her before. She just couldn’t remember where.

“Hello,” she greeted politely, though uncertainty crept into her voice.

“It’s lovely to see you.”

“You too.”

The woman tilted her head slightly.

“Charles has told me so much about you.”

A sharp flicker of discomfort ran through Ana.

“Has he?”

“Quite a lot.” the woman nodded.

There was something about the woman’s smile that unsettled her. It was kind, but it also seemed to conceal something.

“I hope only good things,” Ana joked lightly.

The woman laughed.

“Of course.”

For a few seconds, they simply looked at each other.

Then Charles appeared and the first thing Ana noticed was the expression on his face.

It wasn’t fear.

It was surprise.

A surprise far too intense for an ordinary acquaintance.

“Everything okay?” Ana asked.

“Yes. Why wouldn’t it be?”

The answer came too quickly, like he had been expecting the question.

The woman smiled.

“I was just stopping by to say hello.” Then she walked away.

Charles watched her leave.

One second. Two. Three.

Too long.

Ana pretended not to notice, even though the uncomfortable feeling returned. Stronger than before.

That night, she didn’t mention it. Not the next day or the day after that.

She tried to convince herself she was imagining things. Charles had never given her a reason not to trust him. Never.

But the image of that woman kept resurfacing. The way she had smiled and the way Charles had reacted when he saw her.

It was upsetting

(…)

It was Max who ended up making everything worse without meaning to, just as the worst things often happen.

They ran into each other in the building’s elevator.

Ana was carrying shopping bags.

Max had a coffee cup in his hand.

“Morning.”

“Morning.”

The doors closed.

Silence.

Then Max spoke.

“How are you?”

“Fine.”

“Liar.”

A small laugh escaped her.

“Is it really that obvious?”

“Very.”

She lowered her gaze.

“I’m tired.”

“No, it’s not that.”

Ana didn’t answer and Max didn’t push.

“Can I ask you something?”

Max glanced up from his coffee.

“Depends.”

“Why do you never call me Anastasia?”

For the first time, he looked genuinely surprised.

“Because that’s not your name.”

Ana smiled faintly.

“Everyone calls me that.”

“I’m not everyone.”

“Charles calls me that.”

Max remained silent for a few moments.

“Do you want the truth?”

“Yes.”

“The first time I met you, you introduced yourself as Ana.”

She said nothing.

“And I like that name.”

“It’s a normal name,” Ana replied, trying to make it sound insignificant.

“Exactly.” Max shrugged.

“Besides, whenever someone calls you Anastasia, you always take half a second to react.”

A sharp ache settled in her chest because it was true.

“You noticed.”

“Yeah.”

“No one else does.”

“I do.”

The elevator doors opened, Max stepped out but before leaving, he said something. Something that would stay in Ana’s mind for weeks.

“Remember, you don’t have to become someone else to deserve being loved.” And then he walked away.

Leaving her alone inside the elevator.

Her heart beating far too fast.

For the first time, someone had put into words the thing she had been trying so hard to ignore. The possibility that she had changed so much she no longer knew who she was.

And the even more terrifying possibility that Charles had loved that transformation more than he had ever loved the woman she used to be.

(…)

The days following the elevator conversation were strange. Not because anything significant happened, but because nothing happened at all and sometimes silence was far more unsettling than an argument.

On the outside, everything remained exactly the same.

On the inside, however, something had changed.

Now she paid attention, to details she had once ignored, to pauses in conversations, to messages that flashed across Charles’s phone screen before disappearing.

She wasn’t looking for evidence. At least, that was what she told herself. She was simply observing.

One afternoon, they were having lunch on the apartment terrace.

The sky was clear, the sea shimmered in the distance and Charles was checking emails while he ate.

Something completely normal.

Until his phone vibrated.

Ana had no intention of looking, she truly didn’t. But the device was sitting right in front of her and the screen lit up.

She only caught a glimpse of a name.

Sofia.

Nothing more.

The notification disappeared before she could read it.

Charles grabbed the phone immediately.

For the first time in a very long time, Ana felt something resembling jealousy, not because there was a woman named Sofia.

But because Charles seemed nervous.

“Who’s Sofia?” The question slipped out before she could stop herself.

Charles looked up.

“What?” he replied, his voice sounding almost like a sigh.

“Sofia. The person who texted you.”

For a brief moment, something crossed his face. Something so fleeting it could have been imaginary.

Then he smiled.

“An event organizer.”

“Oh.”

“Why do you ask?”

Ana shrugged.

“Just curious. That’s all.”

And she went back to eating.

The conversation ended there, the discomfort didn’t.

That night, Ana stayed awake long after midnight.

Not because she believed Charles was lying, but because she hated the feeling that had settled inside her. The feeling that she had become one of those women who examined every detail, searching for reasons to distrust.

She didn’t want to be that person, she had never been that person.

She trusted Charles, she had to trust Charles.

After all, he was the only constant in her life. The only person who had stayed. The only person who had chosen to remain.

Right?

(…)

The weeks continued to pass.

Charles was busier than usual, sometimes entire days went by without them truly seeing each other. They shared the same space but not the same time.

Ana tried to convince herself it was normal. Still, the uncomfortable feeling continued to grow. Especially because she started noticing small changes.

Charles smiled more when checking his phone, shielded the screen more often, stepped away during calls. None of it was enough to accuse him of anything but neither was it enough to ignore.

One night, she decided to talk. Charles was sitting in the living room. Reviewing documents.

Ana sat across from him.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Are you happy?”

Charles looked up.

Surprised.

“What kind of question is that?”

“A normal one.” Ana shrugged.

A small laugh escaped him.

“Yes. I’m happy.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“And are we okay?”

The smile faded, only slightly.

“Why wouldn’t we be?”

Ana hesitated.

For a moment, she was tempted to tell him everything. But something stopped her, because she was afraid of the answer and even more afraid of discovering she was wrong.

“Nothing. Forget it.”

Charles set the documents aside.

“Ana.”

A small jolt went through her because he almost never called her that anymore.

Ana.

Not Anastasia.

Ana.

“What’s wrong?”

For a few seconds, she was on the verge of telling him the truth. Then she shook her head.

“I’m just tired.”

Charles stood and walked toward her, he cupped her face in his hands and kissed her.

“Everything’s okay.” He whispered.

Ana wanted to believe him.

God, how she wanted to believe him.

Three days later, her world shattered, it happened in the cruelest way possible. Publicly.

Ana was eating breakfast when her phone began to ring.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

She frowned, picked up the phone and opened the first message. It was from a friend.

Are you okay?

The second.

Tell me it isn’t true.

The third.

I’m so sorry.

Her heart began to race. Suddenly. Without warning. Without explanation. Like some part of her already knew what she was about to find.

She opened social media and there it was.

Everywhere.

Charles and a woman, the same woman from the gala.

Sofia.

Holding each other, kissing, walking into a hotel together and leaving days later.

The image blurred.

Ana didn’t immediately realize she was crying, the phone slipped from her fingers onto the table. Her breathing became uneven, everything felt too distant.

No.

The word repeated over and over inside her mind. It didn’t make sense, this couldn’t be happening because Charles loved her.

Didn’t he?

The front door opened.

Ana looked up.

Charles had just come home.

The moment he saw her, he knew she already knew.

“Ana…”

She slowly stood, feeling like her legs could barely support her.

“Tell me it’s a lie.”

Charles closed his eyes, just for a second and that was enough. Because Ana understood before he said a single word. She understood that it was true, that the photographs were real. That all those strangers had known something about her relationship before she did.

“Ana…”

“Tell me it’s a lie.” Her voice broke.“Please.”

The word barely came out as a whisper.

Charles looked incapable of breathing, of finding the right words and then he said the one thing he should never have said.

“I can explain.”

Something died inside her, because explanations only existed when the facts were real and that meant everything was real.

The photographs. The kisses. The betrayal.

All of it.

(…)

For a long time afterward, Ana wouldn’t remember exactly what happened. The overwhelming sensation that the entire apartment was collapsing around her, in the middle of it all, one unbearable truth.

Charles had cheated on her.

The man around whom she had built her entire life, to whom she had given absolutely everything had betrayed her.

Ana realized something terrifying, she had no idea who she was without him.

She had spent so long becoming the woman Charles needed her to be… that she had forgotten how to be herself. The silence that followed was worse than the shouting.

Because shouting at least meant there was still something left to break. Silence felt like standing among the ruins after a fire.

Ana remained motionless.

Charles did too.

Separated by only a few feet, by something far greater.

“How long?”

The question came out as a whisper.

Charles swallowed hard.

“Ana—”

“How long?” This time her voice was firmer.

Because she was no longer asking for an explanation. She was demanding the truth. Charles lowered his gaze and that simple gesture told her more than any answer could have.

“Months?”

Silence.

“A year?”

Silence again.

A hollow laugh escaped her.

“My God.”

Charles took a step toward her.

“Please, listen to me.”

“No.”

“Ana—”

“Don’t touch me.” The words came out almost as a shout.

They stopped him instantly and Charles looked completely lost. Like he had arrived somewhere he had never imagined he would have to be.

“It didn’t mean anything.”

The words left his mouth and the moment they did, he knew he had made a mistake. Because Ana looked at him like he had just insulted her.

“That’s the best you’ve got?” she asked.

“It’s not what it looks like.”

“There are photographs of you kissing her.”

“I know.”

“There are photographs of you walking into a hotel with her.”

“I know.”

“Everyone is talking about the two of you.”

“I know.”

“Then explain to me what else it’s supposed to look like.”

Charles closed his eyes. For a moment, he seemed incapable of finding an answer, perhaps because there wasn’t one.

“Do you love her?”

The question surprised both of them. Ana hadn’t planned on asking it, it simply appeared, like it had been waiting all along.

Charles looked up and answered too quickly.

“No.” Not even a second of hesitation.

“No.” He repeated it. “I don’t love her.”

That should have helped, it should have made her feel better. But it didn’t, because an even more horrible possibility emerged.

“Then you did this to me for nothing.” Her voice cracked. “Do you understand that?”

Charles stood frozen.

“If you were in love with her, at least there would be a reason. But you weren’t. You just did it. And somehow that hurts even more.”

For several seconds, neither of them spoke, Ana could hear her own breathing.

Then something happened she had never seen before.

Charles started crying.

Not discreet tears, not watery eyes, actually crying.

The full weight of what he had done had finally landed on him.

Ana felt an immediate urge to comfort him and she hated herself for it. Hated herself deeply, because she was the one who had been betrayed.

She was the one who was suffering, yet some part of her heart still responded to Charles’s pain.

“I ruined everything.”

His voice broke.

“I know.” Ana’s own voice sounded distant “I know.”

Charles sank into a chair, his hands trembling.

“I don’t have an excuse.”

“No.” She shook her head. “No, you don’t.”

“I never wanted to hurt you.”

A bitter laugh escaped her.

“Well, congratulations. You did.”

For the first time since the conversation began, Charles didn’t try to defend himself, he didn’t justify anything. He simply lowered his head and accepted the blow. Perhaps because he knew he deserved it.

The argument continued for hours, until Ana felt completely drained and then came the hardest question, the only one that truly mattered.

“Why?”

Charles remained silent, for a long time, until he finally answered.

“Because I’m an idiot.”

Ana shook her head immediately.

“No. That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the truth.”

“No.” Her voice sharpened. “Why? Why risk all of this? Why risk me? Why risk us?”

Charles stared down at his hands and when he finally spoke, he sounded ashamed, like he hated every word.

“Because I liked feeling wanted.”

The answer hit her harder than anything else.

“That’s it?” She whispered.

Charles closed his eyes.

“I think so.”

Ana felt the urge to break something. To scream, to cry all over again.

The reason was so insignificant. He had risked their relationship because he enjoyed the attention, because he liked feeling admired, because someone made him feel special. And that had been enough.

“I don’t understand.”

“I know.”

“I loved you.”

“I know.”

“I chose you every day.”

“I know.”

“Then why couldn’t you do the same?”

Charles had no answer and that hurt more than any explanation ever could.

That night, Ana slept in another room.

Or at least, she tried to. Because sleep was impossible. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw photographs, the worst part was that she still loved him.

God, how much she hated still loving him.

The days that followed were torture.

Charles canceled commitments, ignored calls, practically disappeared from the world and devoted every waking moment to trying to repair something that might have been beyond repair.

Apologies.

More apologies.

And then even more.

“I don’t know who I am without you,” Charles confessed one evening.

They were sitting across from each other.

The distance between them felt endless.

Something broke inside Ana. Because she understood exactly what he meant, she didn’t know who she was without him either and that was precisely the problem. Charles had been the center of her universe for so long that imagining a life without him felt terrifying.

Like standing at the edge of a cliff. Like jumping without knowing whether there was anything waiting below.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he said.

Ana believed every word.

Because Charles loved her. She had never doubted that, he loved her in an imperfect way, a selfish way, sometimes immature, sometimes suffocating. But he loved her. Maybe that was what made everything so painful because hating him would have been much easier if he didn’t.

A week later, as the scandal slowly began disappearing from the headlines, Ana made a decision.

Not because she had stopped hurting, not because she had stopped being angry and certainly not because she had forgotten.

She did it because she still loved him and because fear was stronger than rage.

“I’ll try.”

The words came out quietly one evening.

Charles looked up so quickly that it seemed like he hadn’t heard her correctly.

“What?”

“I’ll try.”

The relief that flooded his face was devastating. He looked like a man who had just been given a second chance at life.

Ana realized part of her felt relieved too.

Charles crossed the room in seconds, dropped to his knees in front of her, took her hands and started crying again.

“Thank you.” His voice shook. “Thank you.”

Ana closed her eyes.

Because she didn’t know if she was making the right decision. She only knew she still wasn’t capable of leaving.

That night, for the first time since the scandal exploded, they slept in the same bed. Charles held her like he was afraid she would disappear, like letting go would be enough to lose her forever.

Ana stayed awake for hours. Staring into the darkness and listening to his breathing. Trying to convince herself she had made the right choice.

Trying to ignore a persistent feeling, the feeling that this wasn’t over, that there were still secrets, that there was still a far worse truth waiting for the right moment to come to light.

Only a few miles away, a woman stared at a positive pregnancy test resting on the edge of a bathroom sink.

Her hands trembling.

Completely unaware that those two small lines were about to change all of their lives forever.

(…)

The nights were the worse for Ana, because during the day, there were distractions. Work. Events. People. Conversations.

But at night, there was only the two of them and the silence.

Ana stayed awake for hours, listening to Charles’s breathing. Staring into the darkness, thinking.

Wondering where he had been that night. Wondering what he had said to Sofia. Wondering how many times he had lied. Wondering if he had ever thought about her while he was with another woman.

It was torture and the worst part was that Charles wasn’t even there to answer. Because the questions always came after he had fallen asleep, when she was left alone with her own mind.

One night, she slipped out of bed without making a sound. She walked into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator.

Not because she was hungry, she simply needed something to do.

Then she heard footsteps behind her.

Charles.

“Can’t sleep?” he asked.

Ana shook her head.

He stood still for a few seconds before moving closer, carefully, as if she were a wounded animal that might bolt at any moment.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

Ana closed her eyes, she was tired of hearing those words. Not because they weren’t sincere but because they didn’t fix anything anymore.

The headlines faded away. The internet found another scandal. Another victim. Another story.

But inside the apartment, nothing was over. Because the problem had never been the newspapers. The problem was that Ana still saw Sofia every time she looked at Charles.

Then came the phone call, on a Tuesday morning while Charles was out.

Ana recognized the voice immediately.

“Ana?”

Silence.

“Who’s this?”

The woman took a deep breath. Then she answered.

“Sofia.”

The world seemed to stop for a second and Ana almost hung up. In fact, her fingers had already started moving.

But something stopped her.

Maybe curiosity or fear or both.

“What do you want?” she finally asked.

There was a pause on the other end of the line. A pause that lasted too long.

“We need to talk.”

Ana knew nothing good could come after those words and yet, she agreed to meet her. Because part of her already knew. She knew there was still something left to uncover. Something Charles hadn’t told her. Something that would destroy whatever little was still standing.

And for the first time since the scandal, she was truly afraid of learning the truth.

Ana spent the next twenty-four hours trying to convince herself not to go. It was a terrible idea. Probably the worst idea she had had in weeks, maybe even months. Because what could she possibly gain from it? Nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

If Sofia wanted to hurt her, she would have the perfect opportunity. If she wanted to lie, Ana would have no way of proving it, and if she told the truth… Well. If she told the truth, it would probably be worse. And yet, she went because there was something slowly killing her: Doubt.

After the affair, she had learned that doubt could be far crueler than certainty.

The café Sofia had chosen was far from the places Ana usually frequented. Small. Quiet. Almost empty. As if it had been selected specifically to avoid curious eyes.

When Ana arrived, Sofia was already there, seated by a window with a cup cradled between her hands, for the first time, Ana was able to truly look at her.

Not through photographs, headlines or as the other woman. As a person.

She was younger than Ana had imagined and she looked nervous. Very nervous.

For several seconds, they simply stared at each other. Two women connected by the same man, two women who would probably rather be anywhere else.

Finally, Ana sat down.

“You have five minutes.”

Sofia lowered her gaze.

“I understand.”

“What do you want?”

The other woman took a deep breath, as if gathering the courage to say it. Then she spoke.

“Charles told me he’d broken up with you.”

A cold sensation crawled down Ana’s spine. Not pain, something worse, the confirmation of a fear.

“What?”

Sofia looked up.

“When we started seeing each other, he told me your relationship was over.”

Ana remained perfectly still.

“No.” The word barely came out as a whisper. “No.”

Because that wasn’t possible.

Charles had never said that.

Not once.

Because she could remember exactly where she had been during those months, by his side, in his bed, in his home, in his life.

“I’m not trying to justify anything,” Sofia said quickly. “I know I did terrible things. I know I should have looked deeper. I should have asked more questions but I’m telling you the truth.”

Ana barely heard her, her mind was trapped on a single thought.

Charles had lied, again.

“When did you find out?” she asked.

Sofia took a few seconds before answering.

“When the photos came out.”

Ana closed her eyes.

God, what a mess, an absolute disaster.

Then came the final blow. The one that shattered everything that was still standing.

Sofia rested a hand against her stomach, an unconscious gesture.

Ana noticed it immediately and the expression on the other woman’s face, too.

Fear

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

Sofia swallowed hard, for a moment, she seemed incapable of speaking, then she finally did.

“I’m pregnant.”

The world disappeared, because some words had the power to change a life and those were among them.

I’m pregnant.

The sentence kept repeating inside her head over and over again.

“How far along are you?” She barely recognized her own voice.

“Eight weeks,” Sofia replied. “Charles knows.”

That was worse.

Because it meant Charles had kept it a secret. That he had been given countless opportunities to tell the truth and had chosen silence every single time.

Ana started laughing.

Sofia looked at her with concern.

“Ana…”

“I knew it,” she said.

“What?”

“I knew there was still something missing. I knew he hadn’t told me everything. I just never imagined it would be this.” She stood so abruptly that she nearly knocked over her chair.

She needed to leave. She needed anything other than staying there and hearing more truths.

“I’m sorry,” Sofia said and for the first time, she sounded sincere. “I’m so, so sorry.”

Ana looked at her, to her own surprise, realized she didn’t hate her.

Because it was too easy to make Sofia the villain. Too convenient.

The person who had truly broken something was someone else.

Charles.

(…)

When she returned to the apartment, her hands were trembling and her heart racing. A rage she had been trying to contain for weeks was finally breaking through.

Charles was in the living room waiting for her. He smiled as soon as he saw her. For a second, Ana remembered why it had been so hard to stop loving him.

Because that smile still had the power to make her feel safe. Even now.

“How was your day?” he asked.

Ana dropped her bag onto a table.

“I saw Sofia.”

The smile disappeared instantly. As if it had never existed.

Silence.

“Ana…”

“When were you going to tell me?” The question came out calm.

That scared Charles more than any shout ever could.

“Listen to me—”

“When?”

He hesitated.

“I was going to—”

“When?”

Charles closed his eyes. In that moment, she already knew the answer. Never or at least, not anytime soon.

“She’s pregnant,” Ana said.

“I know.” Those two words finished breaking her.

Because there was no surprise, not even denial. Only confirmation.

Charles had known all along, while at the same time promising honesty. While asking for a second chance. While swearing he would never hide anything from her again.

“Why?” she asked, her voice finally cracking.

“Because I was afraid,” he replied.

“Afraid of what?”

“Of losing you.”

Ana felt like crying, even now, everything still revolved around him. His fears, His needs. His mistakes.

“Do you realize how selfish that sounds?” she asked.

Charles didn’t answer, they both knew it was true.

That night, they argued for hours. Longer than during the initial scandal. Longer than ever before.

Because infidelity had been a wound. But this was a lie built on top of another lie.

And when silence finally returned to the apartment, Ana understood that she didn’t trust him anymore. No matter how much she loved him. No matter how much he loved her. She didn’t trust him. A relationship could survive many things but it could hardly survive that.

Later, unable to breathe within those walls, she left the building.

Needing to escape.

And that was when she saw him.

Max.

Sitting alone at an almost empty outdoor café. A cup of coffee in front of him.

For a second, she thought about walking past. Pretending she hadn’t seen him. Going back home, continuing to pretend everything was fine.

But she was tired.

Max looked up. He recognized her immediately, something in his expression shifted. Because he saw her eyes and understood.

Not the details, not the story. But that something had happened.

“Ana,” he said simply.

She froze.

For the first time in weeks, she felt an overwhelming urge to be held.

Not by Charles.

By someone who hadn’t lied to her, someone who wasn’t asking anything of her, someone who was just there.

For the first time since the nightmare began, the idea of walking over to Max didn’t feel dangerous. It felt… safe.

Max didn’t ask questions, he just pulled out the chair across from him.

And said: “Sit down.” Nothing more.

Ana obeyed.

They stayed in silence for several minutes.

The waitress came by and asked if she wanted anything. Ana shook her head, the woman left again.

“Do you want me to leave?” Max finally asked.

It took Ana a moment to process the question.

“What?”

“I can go. If you’d rather be alone.”

She looked at his coffee, then the table and her own hands.

“No.” The answer came before she could stop it.

And for the first time in a long time, it was completely honest. She didn’t want to be alone.

Max nodded and he stayed.

Without trying to fill every second of silence.

“I saw her,” Ana said finally, her voice rough.

“Who?”

“Sofia.”

Max didn’t move, something about that reaction made her grateful it was him.

“And?” he asked carefully.

Ana let out a bitter laugh.

“She’s pregnant.”

For the first time, Max looked genuinely surprised.

He said nothing.

But it was in his eyes.

“Charles knew,” she continued “And he didn’t tell me.”

Silence returned.

“I’m sorry,” Max said.

And those words felt completely different from Charles’s apologies. Because Max wasn’t asking for forgiveness, he was simply acknowledging her pain.

Ana leaned her elbows on the table, covered her face with both hands and stayed like that for several seconds, trying not to cry.

“You know what’s the worst part?” she asked finally.

Max shook his head slightly.

“I still love him,” she said.

The confession hung between them.

“After everything. After the lies. After the humiliation. After all of it…” Ana made a pause “I still love him.”

Max lowered his gaze.

And it hurt him, too. Because he knew the that, he had always known it. Ana loved Charles, maybe more than was healthy.

“That doesn’t make you stupid,” he said finally.

She let out a small, broken laugh.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“I’m not.”

Max studied her for a moment. Then said something no one else had dared to say. Something she hadn’t even wanted to admit to herself.

“I think you’re scared.”

Ana looked up.

“Of what?”

“Of who you are without him.”

The impact was immediate, because it hit the exact center of the wound.

She looked away, toward the street, the lights, the luxury cars

Toward anything but Max’s eyes.

Because he was right and they both knew it.

Charles wasn’t just her boyfriend, he wasn’t just the man she loved, no, he was the center of everything she had built.

Her routine, her home, her present, her future, her everything.

And if Charles disappeared… What was left?

The question was so terrifying she didn’t even want to think about it.

[islagalaxie]

PRETTY - LANDO NORRIS

Lando Norris x Fem!reader

SUMMARY: Y/N spent her entire life being reminded she would never be enough—too ugly, too strange, too easy to overlook. She was raised to believe that love was conditional, and that beauty was the only thing that could make a woman worthy of it.

After years of trying to become someone easier to love, she finally succeeds. Then Lando Norris comes into her life and, for the first time, someone looks at her like she’s worth choosing.

TAGS: ANGST, FLUFF, SMUT, LOW SELF-ESTEEM, BODY IMAGE ISSUES, HURT/COMFORT, INTERNALIZED SELF-HATRED, MORALLY GREY FEMALE CHARACTER

WORD COUNT: 11K

NOTE: Hello everyone, first of all, I want to thank you for the support on my previous stories. I’m still new to all of this, and it truly motivate me to keep writing. I hope you enjoy this story, which feels a bit more raw to me than the others since it touches on some difficult topics. Please keep in mind that the main character has gone through significant unresolved trauma in her life, so some of her behavior and decisions may be questionable at times.

masterlist

“You’re ugly, but you’re a calculating bitch, and that gives you an advantage over the pretty girls.”

That was the sentence my mother said to me the day I told her about my insecurities with men.

It might come as a surprise to many that a mother would use such demeaning words to describe her own daughter, but to me, that was normal growing up.

All my life, I grew up not only under the pressure of a mother like mine, but also in the shadow of a sister who was my complete opposite. Lula was the kind of person who looked like every beauty standard had been sculpted into a single human being. Apparently, just like my mother, she believed that gave her the right to humiliate and throw hurtful words whenever she wasn’t happy with me.

The worst part was that I knew they were right. Back then, I was a very ugly child, extremely skinny, and my features were… unusual, to put it in a less hurtful way.

Life at home was difficult, but school was a thousand times worse. I had no friends. I was intelligent, yes, but I never stood out because I was far too shy to let anyone notice. My classmates were cruel to me. The boys would joke around by pretending to be my boyfriends, and everyone would gag at the idea.

One moment that scarred me forever was when my sister brought one of her friends home. When she introduced me, he made a face of surprise mixed with disgust, as if he couldn’t believe someone so beautiful could have such a horrible-looking sister.

That day, I cried alone in my bedroom. Everyone treated me so badly that it felt like being ugly was the worst sin a person could commit.

Things didn’t get any better in high school. The “hey, my friend is in love with you” jokes no longer affected me, but I watched my classmates grow out of their awkward phases and turn into princesses while I remained just as painfully skinny and ugly.

Then my mother did one of the very few loving things she had ever done for me and took me to a doctor. It turned out I had issues with my immune system, which was why I couldn’t gain weight. With medical treatment and proper care, I eventually overcame it.

Puberty finally arrived, and combined with all the sports I played, my body changed dramatically. I became curvier and fit, the soft curves gave me a beautiful ass and gorgeous boobs, and the extreme thinness disappeared with my childhood, never to return again.

By the time I reached university, maturity had made me practically invisible to everyone. The way I dressed certainly didn’t help. And while I preferred invisibility over being harassed with mockery, human beings are social by nature, and loneliness was beginning to take its toll on me.

Sometimes I felt my thoughts drifting toward darker, more troubling ideas. I think part of it also came from the things my mother used to tell me.

With my first job came my first love. At twenty years old, I had sex for the first time and discovered that I genuinely enjoyed it and that I was actually very good at it. His name was Elliot, and he was my supervisor.

I loved him. I truly did. And I felt loved in return, which is why I believed every word he told me.

Eventually, I realized I was being played when I caught him on a date with one of my sister’s closest friends.

And my sister knew absolutely everything.

When I confronted her, she simply shrugged and, with breathtaking cruelty, said:

“Did you really think a man like him would genuinely fall in love with someone like you?” She laughed. “Get your feet back on the ground. Men only go after ugly girls to fuck them because they’re desperate for anyone to pay attention to them. Women like me are the ones they marry and build families with.”

Her words felt like a blade driven straight through my heart. I already knew men were selfish, filthy creatures, so betrayal from one of them wasn’t exactly shocking.

But betrayal from my own sister—my own blood, the person from whom I still expected loyalty, unconditional support, and love despite everything—has no name.

And you may be wondering, why I’m telling you all of this?

So you can understand that all the chaos I went on to create was justified.

(…)

The cruelty my sister showed that day made it painfully clear that she was never going to change and that I could not trust her or anyone else in my family.

That harsh reality hardened my heart. I began to think that maybe I didn’t want to keep letting life beat me down, and that perhaps it was time to unleash the miserable bitch my mother always claimed was hiding inside me.

Unfortunately, I couldn’t be ugly and cruel at the same time, so I decided to stop being ugly.

Or at least become a little less ugly.

The following year, I isolated myself from everyone. I started training and eating healthy again. I became obsessive about taking care of my hair, followed a strict skincare routine twice a day, and began orthodontic treatment that eventually left my teeth perfect.

I also took several etiquette and glamour classes, where I learned things like maintaining proper posture at all times and walking correctly in high heels.

I replaced every single piece of clothing in my closet and made the effort to pay a stylist to help me build an entirely new look.

Every two weeks, I subjected myself to facial cleanings, waxing appointments, and every kind of cosmetic treatment imaginable.

It seemed to be working, but I needed something more drastic.

Every day, I looked at myself in the mirror, and there was always something about my face that still didn’t feel right.

I consulted a plastic surgeon, who confirmed that what I truly needed was a slight adjustment to my jaw and a nose job to improve the balance of my face.

And that was exactly what I did.

My mother didn’t approve because, to her, beauty had to be natural or it simply didn’t exist. So I went through the entire process alone.

By the time I had fully recovered, I looked like a completely different person from the one who had started this transformation.

Physically, at least.

Inside, I was still just as wounded and alone. I felt that even after everything I had done, my life still had no meaning.

During that time, I had moved to a different city for work and managed to make a couple of friends. One of our favorite things to do together was go out partying.

And on one of those nights, I met Lando Norris.

“Are you related to Taylor Hill?” was the first thing he asked after we were introduced.

“What?” I stammered a little. I was so used to being compared to beautiful women as a joke that I couldn’t tell whether he was serious or not.

“Yeah, the model. I mean, you look alike. You have similar features—the eyebrows, the lips, and your eye color,” he continued with a smile.

I looked into his eyes, trying to find even the slightest hint of mockery, but all I found was curiosity and genuine kindness.

“No, I don’t know her,” I finally replied.

“You could be sisters,” he laughed softly.

All I could manage was an awkward little chuckle.

“Do you want another drink?” he asked after noticing I had finished mine.

I hesitated for a moment. No guy had ever bought me a drink before.

“Yeah… why not?”

Lando got up from the couch and headed toward the bar.

I turned to look at my friend Jack, who immediately started making obscene gestures with his hand and mouth, mimicking someone giving a blowjob.

I grimaced in disgust.

Little asshole.

Lando came back a few minutes later and handed me a drink—the same tequila sunrise I had been having before.

“I haven’t seen you around Jack before. How do you know each other?” he asked before taking a sip of his drink.

I explained that we were coworkers and that we got along so well professionally that it naturally turned into a friendship.

“So, are you a psychologist too?”

“No, I’m an engineer, but I don’t work in the field anymore. I’m in the administrative department of a healthcare services company.” I didn’t mention that my grandfather—technically my step-grandfather—owned it.

“Oh. Well, I don’t know much about that, but I guess it must be interesting,” he nodded while looking at me.

“If you think answering requests from grumpy old people is interesting, then yes, I have fun every single day,” I replied sarcastically.

Lando laughed.

“Tell me about your job. Since I studied engineering, I understand the car aspect of F1 a little, but what’s it actually like being a driver?”

“Well, more than a job, I guess it’s my passion. It’s what I love doing most in the world.” Something in Lando seemed to light up as he spoke.

He went on to tell me about racing and which parts of it he loved most.

The two of us became completely absorbed in conversation for the rest of the night. Lando was definitely interesting—and he genuinely seemed like the kind of person who would make a great friend.

“He likes you,” Jack said the moment we got into his car after saying goodbye to everyone else.

“Who?” I asked, genuinely confused.

“What do you mean, who? The man you spent the entire night talking to. Lando Norris, you idiot,” he said as if it were painfully obvious.

“Jack, you’re misreading the situation.”

“I know what I saw, Y/N. That man was practically drooling over you.”

“Of course he wasn’t… and even if he was, I’m not interested in him. At least not like that. My type is completely different from him.”

(…)

“I still can’t get used to your face. You look so… weird.”

I let out a sigh.

“Hi, Mom. I missed you too.”

I hadn’t wanted to come to this “family gathering” because I knew the moment my mother saw me, she would start with her passive-aggressive comments.

My grandfather—technically my step-grandfather—was obsessed with golf. So obsessed, in fact, that he owned shares in one of the largest golf clubs in London.

It was his birthday today, and he had decided to celebrate it here.

And even though I didn’t get along with my family, I had to come no matter what, because he was one of the very few people who genuinely supported me.

“Let’s head to the first hole,” my grandfather instructed. “The earlier we start, the more we’ll get out of the day.”

We split into two golf carts and began our round.

This time it was my mother, my sister, my stepfather, my grandfather, my grandfather’s other son, his wife, and their little boy.

We played until midday before deciding to head back for lunch.

“I’m going to the bathroom for a second. I’ll be right back,” my sister announced before walking away.

“We’ll wait here for you, sweetheart,” my mother replied before turning to me. “Y/N, what have you been doing here in London now that you’re all alone?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

I swallowed hard. No matter how emotionally detached I was from her, my mother still intimidated me.

“Working,” I answered simply.

She let out a quiet scoff.

“I don’t understand why you made your father spend all that money sending you to school just for you to never use your degree. What a waste. But then again, nothing about you surprises me anymore,” she scolded.

A sharp pain settled in the center of my chest, but before I could respond, my stepfather spoke for me.

“Mirna, we’re celebrating as a family. Let her enjoy the day. She’s not the first nor the last person who doesn’t work in their field. At least she’s not wasting her life being lazy.”

My mother merely rolled her eyes at her husband’s harsh tone.

It wasn’t common for my stepfather to defend me. He cared about me in his own way, but he preferred not to interfere with my mother’s parenting. Many times, he comforted me when her cruelty crossed the line, though he always limited himself to telling me to try to understand her.

My mother and I were immigrants. We arrived in this country after my biological father became an alcoholic and buried himself in debt. Here, my mother met Roger, and they got married. Some time later, my sister was born.

I suppose part of my mother’s resentment toward me came from how much I resembled my father. Of course, that was never said out loud.

Roger always told me to understand her—that her life hadn’t been easy and that all she wanted was for me to succeed.

“Y/N is my best employee, and I have absolutely no complaints about her, Mirna. Don’t worry about her. She’s a very level-headed girl,” my grandfather added.

My mother simply shook her head with quiet disdain.

Her attention shifted toward my sister, who had apparently come back from the restroom and was now chatting animatedly with a man whose face I couldn’t properly see because he had his back turned to us.

Finally, my sister took him by the arm, and the moment he turned around, both of them started walking toward our table. The second I got a better look at him, my eyes widened in surprise.

“This is my family,” my sister introduced proudly, still holding onto his arm. “Family, this is my friend Lando.”

Her voice carried unmistakable excitement.

She began introducing us one by one, and the moment Lando’s eyes landed on me, his expression mirrored my own surprise.

“Y/N, it’s good to see you again.” He took my hand, giving it a small shake without losing his smile.

My sister’s smile faltered for a split second.

Almost imperceptibly.

But I noticed.

“You know each other?” she asked after recovering herself as though nothing had happened.

My mind immediately started moving faster.

She likes him.

That’s why she introduced him like that—like he was her future husband and not just a friend.

Pathetic.

“Yeah, we have some mutual friends,” Lando answered naturally.

My sister let out a small, obviously forced laugh.

“What a surprise… such a small world.”

Her eyes shifted toward me, and the smile she gave me was painfully tense.

I’ve got you, bitch.

“Yeah, that’s true. Lando is great company,” I replied this time.

The twisted thoughts that sometimes haunted me began to resurface. A plan was slowly forming in the darkest part of my mind.

My mother always said I was a calculating bitch.

I suppose it was finally time to make her proud and show her just how far I could go.

(…)

“Just the person I was looking for,” I said the moment I sat down across from the only person who could help me right now.

Jack lowered his glasses slightly so he could look at me over the frame.

“Missed me?” he asked sarcastically.

“Of course I did,” I replied in a sweet voice.

“Okay, now I’m actually getting a little scared.”

“You’re so dramatic. I just wanted to talk to you about… life, friendships, entertaiment, you know, very casual things.”

“Uh-huh.” He crossed his arms while studying me more carefully. “What does the lady want?”

“I just wanted to ask you a few things. You know… about your friend Lando.”

Jack burst out laughing.

“What?” I asked flatly.

“I thought you said you weren’t interested and that he wasn’t your type.”

“I never said otherwise. I just want to know more about him,” I replied, pretending it wasn’t a big deal.

“Alright then, what do you want to know?” He took off his glasses and placed them on the table between us.

“How often do you see him? I mean, do you hang out regularly or are you more like one-of-those-friends-you-see-once-a-year?”

“And why exactly do you want so many details?” His brow furrowed suspiciously.

“Just answer me, please?” I pressed my hands together pleadingly and stuck out my lower lip in an exaggerated pout.

Jack let out a sigh before answering.

“Well, I couldn’t really tell you exactly. We see each other pretty much whenever he’s in London. At least we try to.”

“And when is he coming back?”

“Y/N, I’m not answering another question until you tell me what’s going on or admit that you like him.” His voice was firm and final.

I knew that if I told Jack what I was actually planning, he would look at me like I was completely insane.

So I lied.

“Fine. I like him. I think he’s cute,” I answered, giving him exactly what he wanted to hear.

“You know what? I still don’t believe you.”

Indignation rushed through my body.

“It’s true.”

“Really? Since when?”

“I saw him again at the golf club over the weekend, and I got a better look at him. He’s actually very…” I paused, searching for the right words. “Charming. And really handsome too,” I finished.

“You know I still don’t buy any of this, but whatever. I’ll answer your question. He’s coming to my birthday party. You’re lucky.”

Excitement buzzed through my body. Finally, for once, luck seemed to be on my side.

“Thanks, Jack. I’d kiss you right now if it were professionally acceptable.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” He grabbed his glasses and pointed them at me. “You owe me an amazing birthday gift for the favor I just did for you—and for the ones I’m about to do.”

“Expect nothing less from me.”

We both stood up, and I took the opportunity to give him a hug that Human Resources would fully approve of.

I walked back to my desk replaying the plan forming inside my head.

My sister was the one who owed me the most. Her humiliation had crossed every limit I had, and it was finally time for me to strike back.

It was obvious she liked Lando, and I knew that in her airheaded little mind she was already imagining a relationship with him. She was so predictable it barely took effort to figure her out.

That night at the bar, when Lando and I talked for hours, I had felt his interest in me too. At the time, I dismissed it—mostly because of my insecurities—but now it was something I could use to my advantage.

I was going to make sure Lando and I slept together. My sister didn’t need to know, but if my assumptions about him were correct, he would never entertain her romantic fantasies after getting involved with me. His conscience wouldn’t allow it.

And just like that, the little fantasy bubble my sister was living in would burst. Knowing her the way I did, she would spiral into a depressive state for quite a while.

It was a simple plan.

Maybe even a stupid one.

But effective.

There was absolutely no way anything could go wrong.

(…)

Two weeks later, it was finally Jack’s birthday, and in true Jack fashion, he decided to celebrate it at a rooftop bar.

Earlier that same day, he had confirmed that Lando would actually be there.

So, for the occasion, I decided to wear black. The stylist I had hired once told me the color looked perfect against my tanned skin.

When I finished getting ready, I looked at myself in the mirror.

The black silk dress clung to my body with a soft, fluid drape. The halter neckline left my shoulders bare, while the open back dipped down to the curve of my waist, held together only by two thin straps tied behind my neck. The dress was absurdly short, brushing the tops of my thighs and barely covering my ass.

I paired it with impossibly high black patent heels, delicate straps wrapped around my ankles and open toes. Simple, elegant, and painfully uncomfortable.

I wore my hair in a low bun and left my curtain bangs loose to make my face appear slimmer.

My makeup was light. I still struggled to experiment with it. The ugly-girl complex wouldn’t let me. I was embarrassed by the thought of people seeing me as an ugly woman trying too hard to be beautiful.

I was giving myself one final look-over when the intercom buzzed. It was the security guard announcing that someone had arrived to pick me up.

When I got downstairs, I was met with a car I didn’t recognize. I was just about to turn around and ask the guard if there had been some mistake when the driver’s window rolled down, revealing none other than Lando in the driver’s seat.

Jack, I love you, you son of a bitch.

I couldn’t stop the smile that spread across my lips, and when Lando noticed my reaction, he smiled just as brightly.

“Lando, I wasn’t expecting you,” I said as I climbed into the passenger seat.

“Jack asked me to come pick you up, and I couldn’t really say no.”

Lando was dressed in black pants, a white sweater, and an open jacket layered over it. His curly hair fell slightly over his forehead. He had a beautiful smile—and even prettier eyes.

If I believed something serious could ever happen between us, I would probably allow myself to like him.

But that was almost impossible.

Lando was successful, attractive, and surrounded by thousands of beautiful women—women who, most importantly, were naturally beautiful.

So I settled for the idea of simply sleeping with him and ruining my sister’s life in the process.

We arrived at the bar, and almost immediately someone shoved a drink into our hands. Jack didn’t believe in warm-ups. He always went straight for the main event: drinking and dancing until he collapsed.

I sat down on a small couch while Lando wandered off to greet half the room. He clearly had that effortlessly popular-boy energy—the kind of person everyone naturally liked.

Meanwhile, I sat there alone, not speaking to anyone. Jack and Lando were the only people I knew in that place, and even though I had promised myself I would enjoy the night, my old demons decided to pay me a visit.

My thoughts turned dark.

I was an idiot. Of course my plan would never work. Lando would never truly look at someone like me, and even if he did, my sister would still go on with her life making mine hell.

I was stupid. All the effort I put into changing myself physically should have gone into something actually worthy. My mother was right. My sister was right. My classmates were right.

“Hey, why the long face?” Lando asked as he sat down beside me.

I snapped out of my thoughts, trying to hide the burning sensation gathering behind my eyes. I inhaled slowly, attempting to steady my breathing.

By then, Lando’s expression had already shifted into one of concern.

“I’m okay. The drinks are just a little strong,” I said, lifting my half-empty glass.

He didn’t seem convinced.

“Okay… if you want, I can get you something lighter.” He gestured toward the bar behind us with his thumb.

“No, don’t worry about it. I think I should probably stop drinking.”

I was ridiculous. My life was pathetic and meaningless.

I would probably be better off dead.

Apparently, my face betrayed my thoughts because Lando’s expression softened even further with worry.

“Do you want to go downstairs and get some air?” he asked, getting up before I could answer.

He took my hand and guided me toward the elevator.

Downstairs, we sat on a wooden bench near the parking lot.

“Aren’t you cold? It’s the middle of December, and you don’t even have a jacket.” He slipped off his own and draped it over my shoulders.

It was the first time a man had ever done that for me.

That made two firsts I had experienced with Lando.

I laughed softly.

“What?” he asked with a smile.

“Nothing. I’m just kind of a disaster,” I muttered, wiping my nose with the palm of my hand. At this rate, I was probably going to catch a cold.

“Hey, don’t talk about yourself like that. Everybody has bad moments.” One of his hands rested on my shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“My whole life has been a bad moment,” I laughed humorlessly.

“Well, don’t let tonight become one too.” His hand slid down to my bare back, rubbing slow comforting circles against my skin. “Come back upstairs with me, okay? I promise you’ll have fun.”

“Okay,” I answered after a moment of hesitation.

To hell with my plan.

My sister wasn’t worth it.

I was going to get drunk tonight, and tomorrow I’d go right back to drowning in my self-destructive little hole.

We went back upstairs and immediately started drinking again. We danced until my feet nearly bled. Around three in the morning, the party finally started dying down, and it was time to head home.

“I’ll take you home,” Lando whispered into my ear.

I simply nodded.

I was completely wasted.

We made our way down to the parking lot and headed toward his car. Once inside, I settled into the passenger seat, waiting for him to start the engine.

But Lando stayed still, his hands resting on the steering wheel before he slowly turned to look at me.

The intensity of his gaze made me uneasy.

“What?” I asked.

Without saying a word, he leaned toward me and pressed his lips against mine.

I froze in surprise for a second before finally kissing him back. Slowly, the kiss deepened.

His tongue brushed against my lips one last time before we finally pulled apart, our eyes meeting in the dim light of the car.

“I really like you, Y/N,” he whispered.

Change of plans.

The plan was back in motion.

(…)

Throughout my life, I had found myself in ridiculous situations. Even though I tried to avoid them, God seemed to have made me into some kind of experiment, using me to test just how much humiliation a person could endure before finally exploding.

Tonight, however, the situation was ridiculous in a completely different way.

And far from embarrassing me, it felt unbelievably good.

Lando drove with one hand while the other tangled itself in my long dark hair. My warm mouth wrapped around his large cock had him letting out quiet little moans (don't try this at home). I sat in the passenger seat, but the upper half of my body was bent over toward Lando’s seat so I could reach his dick more easily. The position was uncomfortable, but it was worth it just to watch him struggle not to close his eyes from the pleasure.

My neck moved up and down in a steady rhythm. I hollowed my cheeks slightly, and my tongue traced along his length every time I slid him in and out of my mouth.

I knew I was good at this.

During one of my weird phases, I had watched some porn—not because it turned me on, but because I treated it like study material. Which, in hindsight, was admittedly problematic, considering most of it is performative and completely detached from what sex is actually like. Though I only realized that later.

The point was, I had learned a lot.

I knew I could give a good blowjob, that I was flexible enough to handle almost any position, and that all the years of sports had given me enough stamina to ride someone for an hour straight without my legs cramping.

Back to the blowjob.

I took him so deep that the head of his cock brushed against the back of my throat.

“Fuck—”

Lando released my hair just long enough to jerk the steering wheel sharply. The movement was so sudden I had to stop what I was doing. I sat back up and realized he had parked beneath a tree in a dark isolated spot.

“Come here.”

He pushed his seat back, creating more space between himself and the steering wheel. Then he tugged his pants down further until his cock was completely exposed.

I climbed over into his seat and settled between his legs, my back pressed against his chest. Lando cupped my face, and we kissed again.

Suddenly, he shoved me forward. My breasts pressed against the steering wheel, in this position my ass was perfectly angled for him to pull my black thong aside.

“You’re so fucking wet,” he muttered against my ear. “So desperate to have my big cock inside you, huh?”

The sharp smack of his palm against my ass forced a moan out of me.

Lando took his dick in his hand and began rubbing the tip against the entrance of my pussy.

Slowly, he started sliding it inside me, stretching my walls and drawing a series of moans from my lips.

“Yeah… you love that, don’t you?”

“Uh-huh…” was all I could manage to reply.

Once he was fully inside me, I started moving up and down. Lando gripped my hips with both hands, matching my rhythm and making it easier for me to move. Because of the cramped space, he couldn’t move much himself, so most of the work fell to me.

With every hard drop onto him, the car rocked slightly, and in that tiny space the only sounds were my ass slapping against him and the moans spilling from both of us.

My pace stayed steady; I never once stopped to rest. The angle I was in made Lando’s cock hit deep inside me, enough to make my eyes roll back.

I was so wet I could already imagine a white ring of my fluids forming around the base of his cock.

“Wait, wait…” Lando grabbed my hips to stop me. “I don’t want to come yet.”

He took a few deeper breaths, trying to hold back his orgasm.

“Alright… now.”

He gave my ass a hard slap.

I decided to shift positions a little. I lifted both legs until they were bent, resting my bare feet on either side of Lando’s thighs. My back pressed completely against his chest. It looked like a mix between an Asian squat and a reverse cowgirl — the best I could manage in such a tight space.

Lando immediately understood what I wanted. Once he saw I was fully settled, he thrust back into me with full force. I resumed moving up and down, now with a little more difficulty, but without slowing for even a second.

Lando tilted my face toward his and started kissing me. At the same time, one of his hands found my nipple while the other began rubbing my clit.

The sensations were overwhelming, I could feel my orgasm building fast.

“Yes… just like that…”

Only moans escaped my lips, and I could barely keep my eyes open.

With a few more breathless cries, I came. My legs started trembling from the intensity of the orgasm.

Seeing the pleasure twisting through my body, Lando couldn’t hold back much longer. After only two more thrusts, he came too.

“Fuck!” he groaned as warm spurts spilled from him.

Somehow, I managed to climb back into my seat. Our breathing was ragged, and the heat radiating from our bodies had completely fogged up the windows.

“I don’t think anyone’s ever ridden me like that before,” he said with a straight face.

So serious that it made me laugh, and he quickly joined in.

“Want to come back to my place?” he asked, his eyes lingering on my bare chest.

I shrugged lightly.

“Why not?”

(…)

The next day, Sunday, I woke up with a horrible headache, fully prepared to run out of Lando’s apartment and disappear forever before he could wake up.

The problem was that Lando had gotten up long before I did and walked into the bedroom carrying breakfast before I could make my escape.

We ate together, and after a while, I finally managed to relax a little. We talked about trivial things, both carefully avoiding the obvious elephant in the room.

Later, I showered, Lando lent me some of his clothes, and then he drove me home. I wanted to say goodbye with a hug, but he was faster and kissed me instead.

Today is Monday, and just as I predicted, I came down with the flu. My whole body felt miserable and sluggish.

I still had to come to work.

The first person I saw was Jack, who immediately looked me up and down with an all-knowing grin.

Asshole.

I threw myself completely into work, so much that I entirely forgot to get up and find something to eat.

Turns out I didn’t need to.

With a quiet little laugh, Jack placed a paper bag in front of me that very obviously contained food.

“And what miracle is this?” I asked in surprise.

“Not from me, so don’t get too excited.”

Confused, I opened the bag and found several containers inside. One of them held soup.

“It’s from your new boyfriend,” he confessed mockingly.

My cheeks instantly started turning red, which only made Jack laugh harder.

“That’s what good pussy does to a man,” he said while walking away.

I nearly choked on my soup.

Son of a bitch.

I finished lunch and threw myself back into work. Nepotism may have secured me the position, but it certainly wouldn’t keep me in it, so I had to work hard.

I was focused on replying to a request when my phone buzzed with a message notification.

When I checked it, it was from an unknown number.

X: Hope you liked the soup. Jack told me what your favorite kind was. Get well soon ❤️

X: By the way, it’s Lando.

ME: Hi, Lando 😅

ME: Thank you so much for the soup and the good wishes. I’m already feeling a little better 🥰❤️

LANDO: glad to hear that

LANDO: I’m on vacation for the next few weeks

LANDO: I was thinking maybe we could go to the Christmas market together. What do you think?

I stared at my phone for a couple of minutes, unsure of what to reply.

The plan was supposed to end once I slept with Lando. Going out with him afterward had never been part of it.

Lando was sweet, and he treated me well, but deep down I knew I didn’t really want a relationship with someone at his level. That would expose me to situations even harsher than the ones I had lived through.

There was a difference between my family humiliating me and calling me ugly and the entire world doing it.

I wouldn’t survive that.

I preferred remaining invisible to everyone and living a quiet life.

But somewhere inside me, there was still a small desperate desire to experience the things I never got to have, and this was probably the biggest one of all.

I had never experienced what it felt like to go on a real date with someone. I mean, I thought I had been in a relationship with Elliot, but according to him, that had only existed in my head.

He had never made an effort to do anything because he knew I would settle for the bare minimum.

I thought about it a little longer and realized… maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

The plan had already succeeded, but if I had the chance to take things a little further, why wouldn’t I?

ME: I’d love to. When?

That Saturday, Lando came to pick me up at my apartment. We were both dressed comfortably this time—and properly bundled up. My flu had already passed its worst stage, but the moment we arrived at the Christmas market, Lando insisted on buying me a scarf.

“To protect your throat from the cold.”

We wandered through the crowds, stopping every so often at little stalls to eat sweets and drink hot chocolate. Overall, it was a really lovely evening, and I laughed more than I had in a very long time.

The cherry on top was ending the night moaning while Lando penetrated me mercilessly in his bed.

I would repeat it all over again without hesitation.

(…)

By the time New Year’s came around, I assumed my “relationship” with Lando would quietly fade into oblivion.

Instead, the opposite happened.

He seemed more and more interested in spending time with me.

And honestly, I always said yes whenever he invited me out or asked me to hang out because I genuinely enjoyed being around him.

I also had to admit that the sex played a big part in it too. We had an unreal kind of sexual chemistry.

The months passed quickly, and before I knew it, it was already March, and Lando had to leave for Australia to start the season. He seemed excited because things were looking promising with both the team and the car.

The day after saying goodbye to him, I had to attend a dinner my grandfather had organized, which of course meant my entire family would be there.

Throughout dinner, my sister seemed oddly downcast, and apparently I wasn’t the only one who noticed because my mother eventually asked her what was wrong. She only gave a vague answer.

I didn’t pay much attention to it. Her problems meant nothing to me, and frankly, I couldn’t care less about whatever she was going through. As long as she wasn’t dying, I figured she could deal with things on her own.

“Y/N, can you ask your mother to bring another bottle of wine? They’re in the kitchen,” my stepfather asked.

“Yeah, of course.”

I got up and headed toward the back of the house where the kitchen was, but just before walking in, I heard my sister’s shaky voice and instinctively stopped.

“I just don’t understand what happened. I mean, he seemed interested. I thought maybe we could become something more, but…” Her voice cracked at the end.

“But what?” my mother urged gently.

“But when I talked to him and told him how I felt, he just apologized and said he was dating someone and didn’t want to confuse things. He said he only saw me as a friend.” A quiet sob escaped her mouth.

“Oh, sweetheart… better men will come into your life.”

“Mom, it’s Lando Norris. I highly doubt anyone compares to him.”

My heart stopped for a second.

She was talking about Lando.

My Lando.

With all the time that had passed and the strange turn my plan had taken, I had almost forgotten this whole thing had started because I wanted to hurt my sister.

And apparently, it was working.

Just not in the way I imagined.

Lando is dating someone?

An uncomfortable knot settled in the pit of my stomach.

Why hadn’t he told me?

We were fucking just the day before, and not once had he bothered mentioning that there was someone else.

I couldn’t listen to the rest of the conversation between my mother and sister because my eyes started filling with tears. I went straight to the bathroom, trying to contain the anxiety attack already creeping its way into my chest.

Why would Lando play with me like that?

Why had he been so kind and attentive if all he wanted was to use me?

The answer was obvious.

Because he was a fucking man.

That was all.

A fucking man who saw me as easy prey.

Who saw right through me—through every insecurity and every complex I carried inside myself.

My eyes met my reflection in the mirror.

But then again, what man wouldn’t jump at the chance of having consequence-free sex?

My sister had been right. Men only sleep with the ugly girl because she’s desperate enough to serve them her pussy on a silver plate

And I was still that ugly girl.

No matter how much my exterior had changed, she was still alive inside me.

The following days felt like an out-of-body experience. I was there, but at the same time, I wasn’t. I did everything on autopilot.

Lando had started the season by winning in Australia, and I think he had been waiting for my congratulatory message, because after that, he started texting me relentlessly.

I didn’t answer a single one of them.

You would think that after being ignored like that, he would eventually give up and stop looking for me.

But no.

If anything, he seemed almost insane trying to get me to talk to him.

His messages went from desperate to resigned, then angry, and finally apologetic.

I wanted to reply. In fact, I was using every ounce of self-control not to.

Because if I answered him, I knew I’d lose control and end up telling him everything I overheard, and that would turn into accusations. I couldn’t be shameless enough to accuse him of using me when I had been doing the exact same thing from the very beginning.

“I don’t know what the hell is going on between you and Lando, but you two need to fix it. I can’t deal with his message-spamming, and I definitely can’t keep coming into work every day and seeing your abandoned-puppy face,” Jack said the moment he sat down beside me at lunch.

“Hi, Jack. Nice to see you too.”

“Don’t give me that bullshit, Y/N. What’s going on? Last I checked, things between you two were going amazingly.”

His expression made it clear he wouldn’t accept anything less than the truth.

I let out a deep sigh.

“The other day, I overheard my sister saying—”

I couldn’t even finish because Jack immediately let out an exasperated groan.

“Your sister is a fucking bitch. I wouldn’t believe a single thing that comes out of her mouth.”

“But… she sounded convincing.”

“I’m sure she did,” he rolled his eyes. “But don’t you think you should at least give him the chance to explain what happened?”

I knew I should.

But I couldn’t demand honesty from someone when I hadn’t given any myself.

“Do it for me, okay? So I can finally get that pain-in-the-ass man off my back.”

I laughed quietly, though there wasn’t much humor in it.

According to the F1 calendar, Lando should be in Japan by now. I calculated the time difference and decided the best thing would be to call him the next morning.

The following day, I woke up earlier than usual so I’d have time to talk to him.

I called his phone.

It rang without an answer.

Maybe he’s busy right now.

The time difference was around eight hours, so I knew he had to be awake already.

I was about to put my phone down and continue with my morning routine when it suddenly started ringing with an incoming call from Lando.

My heart immediately sped up, and my hands began trembling.

I cleared my throat before answering.

“Hello?”

“Y/N… where the hell have you been? I’ve texted you like a hundred times.” His voice sounded desperate.

“I’m sorry, Lando, it’s just…” The words disappeared from my mouth.

“It’s just what? You didn’t even have one minute to say, ‘Hi Lando, I’m fine, I just don’t want you in my life anymore’?” His tone turned sharper.

“It’s not that, Lando.”

“Then what is it? Why did you disappear like that? Did you even think about how that would affect me?”

The accusations kept coming.

“Lando, it’s just… I’m sorry, okay?” was all I managed to say.

“Sorry for what? Give me an actual explanation.”

“Fine. A few days ago, I overheard something about you, and it upset me a little.”

“What did you hear?” he insisted immediately.

“That you were dating someone else. I mean… I know we’re not officially anything, and you don’t owe me explanations, but I’m not willing to be someone’s second option.”

I finally admitted it, trying my hardest not to sound accusatory.

Lando went silent for a moment. The only thing I could hear was his uneven breathing.

“What?” was the first thing he finally said. “Who told you that?”

“My sister,” I admitted softly.

Lando started laughing, though it didn’t sound amused.

It sounded disbelieving.

I stayed quiet, simply listening.

“Okay,” he finally said after a minute. “I think I understand what’s happening now. Your sister and I have some mutual friends, and we used to hang out together sometimes. You know, parties and stuff like that. I saw her as a friend. Nothing more. I swear.”

I stayed silent, my anxiety practically eating me alive while he continued.

“The last week I was in London, we all went out again, and at one point she pulled me aside and told me she liked me.” He paused briefly, almost hesitant. “I never gave her any reason to think something could happen between us, so honestly, I was surprised. I told her I was dating someone and that we could only be friends.”

Another pause.

“Because you and I are dating each other… right?” he finished uncertainly.

I went completely speechless.

Lando and I were dating?

Since when?

I mean, yes, we went out together and spent time together constantly, but he had never officially asked me anything. Unless I was just stupid and didn’t understand how relationships worked.

“Y/N?” Lando’s voice pulled me back to reality.

“Yes—I mean, I don’t know… you never asked me.” My face burned from how stupid I sounded.

“I’m sorry. I know I should’ve been more direct so there wouldn’t be any confusion. I just assumed you already knew.” He sounded oddly shy now. “Y/N… will you be my girlfriend? I know this isn’t exactly ideal, but I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

My breath caught in my chest.

Lando couldn’t possibly be serious.

How had I even gotten to this point? He wasn’t supposed to mean anything to me. I was only using him to hurt my sister a little.

I thought about saying no.

I really did.

But then another thought followed immediately after:

Why not? (That should be my new life motto btw)

This transformation deserved a grand finale, and what better ending than having someone like Lando Norris by my side?

“Okay… yes. I accept.”

God, I was an idiot.

But I’d figure out later how to deal with the disaster that was inevitably coming with my sister… and with the rest of the world.

Lando let out a long relieved breath.

“I really like you, Y/N. Don’t ever doubt that for a second. I would never play with you or risk what we have.”

A stab of guilt twisted in my stomach.

I was such a bitch.

“Now tell me,” he continued, “what exactly did your sister say?”

A lightbulb practically went off inside my head.

“We were at the dinner my grandfather organized, and as always, she started making fun of me. Saying I was stupid for thinking someone like you would ever want anything to do with someone like me.”

“Someone like you?”

“Yes. Someone ugly, awkward, and pathetic like me,” I continued dramatically.

“What the fuck?”

“Then she said you only pretended to care about girls like me and that you would never in your life even touch me with a ten-foot pole because you already had a girlfriend.”

Inside, I was practically cackling like an evil witch.

“Y/N, you know that’s not true. Why would she say something that horrible?”

“Because she hates me. It’s really that simple.”

“And how does she even know you were interested in me? Did you tell her?”

The small smile that had formed on my lips vanished instantly.

“Well… I think she suspected it because I asked her a few questions about you,” I answered, trying to hide the slight tremble in my voice.

When my script started falling apart, I wasn’t nearly as good at lying.

Lando sighed.

“I didn’t think your sister was like that. Maybe I should talk—”

“NO.”

I cut him off before he could finish.

“I mean… I don’t think that’s a good idea. It would just create more problems between us.”

“Alright. I won’t do it only because you’re asking me not to. But I really don’t like that she’s talking so much shit behind people’s backs.”

I let out a small laugh.

“Don’t worry about it. She says plenty of shit to my face too.”

Lando laughed softly.

“Baby, I have to go. I need to get back to work. I’ll call you around noon, okay? Keep your phone close.”

And just like that, we said goodbye.

I replayed the conversation several times while showering and getting dressed.

How was it possible that out of nowhere, I suddenly had a boyfriend?

And not just any boyfriend.

Lando Norris.

My life had become so strange ever since I decided to become pretty—and cruel.

And speaking of cruel, I know lying to Lando about the conversation with my sister was wrong.

Even childish.

Why did I do it? Because I can.

Well… in reality, it was because according to my logic, if Lando and I were going to be in a relationship, then he couldn’t stay friends with my sister.

He was either with me or against me.

And I was willing to do absolutely anything to make sure it never became the second option.

(…)

A few months had passed since that day, and my relationship with Lando was going incredibly well. Even in the middle of the season, Lando always found time to come back to London so we could see each other.

I had also gotten the chance to meet his family and part of his McLaren team, and little by little, we kept growing closer and more attached to one another.

Our relationship still wasn’t public, partly because I was terrified of my family’s reaction and partly because I knew that once the world found out, I would never know what it felt like to be completely invisible again.

And that scared me more than anything.

Lando respected my decision, but it was obvious that, in some way, he wanted me to be present at his races. He was doing incredibly well, and even though half the season was still left, people were already projecting him as the future champion.

Which filled me with pride.

“You should come with me to Silverstone.”

I opened my eyes and lifted my head from Lando’s chest. His hand lazily played with my hair.

“I’m not really sure. What if someone notices?”

“Would that really be so bad?” Lando kissed my forehead before looking at me expectantly.

“No, of course not. It’s just… you know. I’m scared,” I admitted while holding his gaze.

“Y/N, sooner or later it’s going to happen. I don’t want you to think I’m pressuring you, but I would like you to be there at my races.” He noticed my hesitation immediately. “Look, if you want, you don’t even have to go near the cameras. We’ll keep you in the garage where nobody will bother you. Okay?”

I thought about it for a little longer, but in the end, I agreed.

It was time to accept that if I wanted to be with Lando, this was going to become my new reality. Sooner or later, I would have to get used to it.

We agreed that I would only attend on Sunday—the race day.

That morning, I nearly lost my mind trying to decide what to wear, how to do my makeup, and what to do with my hair. If this was how every race weekend was going to be, I was genuinely going to lose it.

Eventually, I settled on a short mauve-pink chiffon dress with a deep V-neckline, a ruched bodice, and bishop sleeves that weren’t overly dramatic. The waist was decorated with lace details, and the skirt fell in layered lettuce-edge ruffles.

I paired it with nude stiletto sandals fastened with delicate ankle straps.

I decided to wear only a light layer of makeup and leave my long dark hair loose.

Lando had already given me my paddock passes beforehand and arranged for someone from the team to pick me up and take me directly to the garage. By then, I already recognized several people, so I didn’t feel quite as out of place anymore.

I managed to talk to Lando for a little while before he disappeared into race preparations. Everyone treated me kindly. It was obvious they all knew I was Lando’s new girlfriend.

Once the race started, they insisted on giving me a seat where I could see everything better. The experience oddly reminded me of some of my engineering classes, which made me unexpectedly nostalgic.

During the pre-race broadcast, several cameras kept focusing on the garage.

And that was when it happened.

One of the cameras zoomed in directly on my face. I only realized because I suddenly saw myself on one of the large broadcast screens. I looked up and found the camera pointed straight at me.

I immediately looked away and tried to act natural while subtly hiding behind someone else.

Several people in the garage laughed after noticing my reaction.

How embarrassing.

Lando walked over to kiss my cheek goodbye before the race started, and unfortunately for me, the camera caught that too.

Anyone watching the broadcast at that moment could easily put the pieces together and figure out exactly what was going on.

I tried not to think about it and focused instead on the start of the race.

I would deal with the gossip later.

The race started, and the entire time I felt my heart lodged in my throat. I tried to stay calm, but there were moments when it became almost impossible.

In the end, Lando won the race.

His team wanted me there to greet him afterward, but honestly, I felt like I had enough attention for the day.

After the celebration, we decided it would be best to head back to London immediately. A few weeks of break were coming up, and Lando wanted to enjoy every second of them.

“Are you staying at my apartment?” Lando asked.

“Yes, but I need to stop by mine first to grab a few things.”

“What things? You can just wear my clothes, and tomorrow we’ll pick up the rest.”

“No, I need my skincare stuff. I can’t go to bed without doing it.”

Lando sighed dramatically and rolled his eyes in amusement.

“Alright, alright. Women and their things,” he muttered under his breath.

“Hey.”

Lando answered my complaint with a laugh.

Idiot.

We arrived at my apartment building after about two hours on the road.

We stepped into the elevator, and Lando immediately started kissing me while I tried to push him away. The last thing I wanted was for security to catch us on the cameras.

The elevator doors opened when we reached my floor, and we stepped out still caught up in our playful teasing.

“I always knew you were a fucking jealous bitch.”

My sister’s voice startled me so badly I nearly jumped.

Before I could even react, her palm collided hard against my cheek.

The shock was so intense that I froze completely.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Lando snapped instantly. “Who the hell gave you the right to hit her?”

His voice was furious as he stepped directly in front of me protectively.

“You knew perfectly well that I liked him, and you still acted like a slut and crawled into his bed. You’re nothing but fucking trash, and you always have been. That’s why I hate you, and that’s why Mom hates you too.”

Lula ignored every single one of Lando’s questions and kept screaming in my direction instead.

Every word felt like another knife sinking into my already battered heart.

“Are you insane? I’m not going to let you disrespect her like that,” Lando shouted back. All I could see was his back rising and falling sharply with restrained anger.

“Don’t defend her. You have no idea who she really is or what she’s capable of. She’s a miserable bitch who could never stand the fact that I was better than her at everything, so she decided to go after you. Don’t you get it?” Lula was becoming more hysterical by the second, desperately trying to “make him understand.”

“This is who she was before she started pretending to be someone else. She hates me because I’ll always be more beautiful than her, and because ever since we were kids, she’s been nothing more than dirt stuck to the bottom of my shoe.”

Lula shoved a handful of photos toward Lando, who silently began flipping through them one by one.

I barely caught a glimpse of them before all the blood drained from my face.

They were pictures of me as a child and teenager.

Before the surgeries.

Before I learned how to take care of my appearance.

My eyes immediately filled with tears from the humiliation and heartbreak crashing over me.

How much did my sister have to hate me to do something like this?

Was I really that disgusting to her?

Lando stayed quiet for a moment before finally turning toward me.

“Y/N… I’m so sorry.”

His expression was completely serious, while on Lula’s face, a satisfied smile slowly began forming alongside an even more smug look.

Then Lando took the photos in his hands and ripped them apart.

“I’m sorry you’ve had to deal with such a fucking bitch your entire life.”

He took my hand and guided me back toward the elevator.

The look on Lula’s face was fucking priceless.

She definitely hadn’t expected her little show to end like that.

(…)

“Y/N, say something. You’re being way too quiet, and you’re starting to worry me.” Lando rested his hand on my thigh, gently massaging it.

We had arrived at Lando’s apartment five minutes ago, and I still hadn’t fully come out of the state of shock my sister’s confrontation had left me in.

“It’s just… I…” I let out a shaky sob.

Lando’s face twisted as though seeing me like this physically hurt him.

“Shh, shh. Easy, baby.” He kissed the top of my head several times while holding me close. “Hey, you have absolutely nothing to be ashamed of. The ones who should feel ashamed are your family for treating you so inhumanely. You were just a little girl. It’s cruel that you had to carry the weight of not fitting beauty standards when you were that innocent.”

Lando’s words felt like a warm embrace around my bruised heart.

“I love you so much, sweetheart.” He pressed more kisses into my hair as my sobs only grew stronger. “Come on, don’t cry anymore. I don’t want your eyes getting swollen. They’re too pretty.”

“Lando… why do they hate me so much?”

Before Lando could answer, the sound of my phone ringing cut through the room.

We both looked toward it, and I felt my stomach drop.

Mom.

I wasn’t ready to face her.

But Lando, clearly determined to end this nightmare once and for all, picked up the phone, put it on speaker, and handed it to me.

“Hello?” My voice came out barely above a whisper.

“You ungrateful little bitch. How could you do something like this to your sister?” My mother’s voice exploded through the speaker, full of rage.

“Mom, I—”

I couldn’t even finish before she launched at me again.

“Never in my life did I think I’d end up raising enemies under the same roof. Your heart is rotten, and I’ve always known it. End whatever the hell you have going on with that man right now and get on your knees to apologize to your sister. It’s the very least you can do. I always knew you’d turn out exactly like your worthless father, a shameless wh—”

Lando snatched the phone from my hand before she could finish. He turned off the speaker and pressed the phone against his ear.

“Your daughter isn’t going to do a fucking shit, and you can go fuck yourself.”

Without another word, he hung up.

Then he powered off my phone completely and tossed it onto the couch.

I stared at him with my mouth hanging open.

The sheer shock of what had just happened made me burst into laughter even as tears continued streaming down my face.

What the actual fuck had just happened?

“Are you okay?” Lando looked at me with an expression caught somewhere between concern and amusement.

“Yeah, it’s just… I never thought I’d see you like that.”

“Neither did I. But I think we both have the right to lose our minds a little after everything that just happened.”

I stared at him while he reached over to wipe away my tears.

“I love you, Lando,” I finally confessed.

“And I love you more, sweetheart.” He leaned in and pressed a soft kiss against my lips. “Now come on. Let’s go get your things. You’re never going back there.”

The next day, we flew to the Maldives to forget about everything and everyone.

At least for a few days.

I still felt emotionally drained and had little desire to do much of anything, but Lando encouraged me to go out and explore with him. We ended up scuba diving and riding around on the hotel’s bicycles.

Very Pinterest-worthy.

That afternoon, we sat together watching the sunset by the shore.

I was sitting between his legs, my back pressed against his chest while his arms wrapped around me.

“What would you think about living in Monaco?” he asked after a long silence.

I lifted an eyebrow.

“Lando Norris, are you asking me to move in with you?” I teased.

“Yes. Why not?” he replied simply. “I want you all to myself. I want to have you beside me all the time.”

“Are you serious?” I pulled away from his arms and turned to face him.

“When have I ever not been serious with you?” He leaned back against his hands casually.

“It’s just… I don’t know. I have a life in London. I have my job there too.” I tried to come up with more reasons why I should stay, but I couldn’t find many. I no longer had a family there, and I could always visit Jack whenever I wanted.

“You can find a better job. Or not work at all if that’s what you want. I’ll take care of you.”

“You say it like it’s that easy,” I muttered.

“Because it is. With me, you never have to fight to earn anything. I’ll give it to you without thinking twice.”

The seriousness in both his voice and expression made my chest tighten.

“Okay… so we move in together, and then what?” I asked lightly, not expecting the answer that came next.

“We get married.”

He said it like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Lando…” I was left completely speechless.

“After the season ends,” he continued calmly. “I love you, and I don’t want to waste time. I want us to become one.”

“You can’t possibly be serious.”

(…)

He was serious.

Very serious.

Now I stood alone in a room, reflecting on what my life had become over the past year.

It was December again.

But not the same December.

This one carried a different kind of sadness.

I looked at myself in the mirror once more, and the woman staring back at me felt like a complete stranger. My old insecurities no longer haunted me the way they once had.

Now it was different emotions tearing me apart.

I carefully examined my appearance one last time.

The white dress flowed around my body in a fluid, asymmetrical silhouette. A single draped strap wrapped delicately over one shoulder while layers of semi-transparent chiffon sculpted my figure almost like art, emphasizing the crossing fabric at my waist. A slit along the skirt revealed flashes of my leg as I walked, extending into a soft train that brushed the floor behind me.

On my feet were beautiful pearl-white heels that were surprisingly comfortable.

My hair was styled into a classic low bun, covered by a veil made of sheer, weightless tulle that floated softly around me. The dramatic scalloped trim was embroidered with silver embellishments, translucent bugle beads, and shimmering crystals shaped like delicate organic patterns, almost like a halo resting above my head.

In my hands, I held a compact bouquet of white peonies tied tightly with satin ribbon.

And on my ring finger rested a piece of jewelry that caught the light with every slight movement of my hand. An oval-cut champagne diamond surrounded on each side by two delicate pear-cut diamonds, all perfectly set on a yellow gold band.

The ring Lando Norris had given me the moment we arrived in Monaco.

So yes.

As you can probably imagine…

Today was my wedding day.

And all I could feel was sadness.

Sadness because only two people were here with me today: my grandfather—whom I invited under the condition that he wouldn’t tell the rest of the family—and Jack, who honestly counted as both Lando’s guest and mine.

Sadness because I was about to marry a man who deserved far better than a life with someone like me.

Sadness because after a painful amount of introspection, I realized my mother had been right about one thing.

My heart was not pure.

And even knowing that, I was still going to give it to someone who expected to find innocence in it.

My thoughts never cleared, and carrying the full weight of my emotions, I walked toward the altar.

Alone.

Because even though my grandfather was there, I had decided that was how I wanted it.

Lando waited for me at the altar in a custom-tailored suit made specifically for the occasion. His smile was radiant, his eyes shining with excitement the moment he saw me.

The ceremony started.

And the priest’s words struck something so deep inside my chest, that for a brief moment, I questioned whether this was truly what I wanted.

Maybe I should let him go.

Maybe he deserved a life with someone who could genuinely make him happy.

But the thought alone nearly brought me to tears.

The mere idea of losing him felt unbearable.

I wasn’t perfect.

But I was willing to spend the rest of my life trying to become worthy of the love of someone who, for the first time ever, loved me without conditions.

“…Y/N?”

I lifted my gaze and found the priest staring at me expectantly, waiting for my answer.

“I do.”

[islagalaxie]

WANTED, LOVED, BLAMED - MAX VERSTAPPEN

Max Verstappen x fem!reader

SUMMARY: Everyone knows Y/N as the woman who breaks hearts and never looks back. The media paints her as cold, manipulative and impossible to love. But behind every headline and every rumor is a girl exhausted by toxic relationships, public scrutiny, and the unbearable pressure of being everyone’s fantasy. After years of heartbreak and scandals, Y/N finally decides it's time to choose herself. Until Max Verstappen walks back into her life.

TAGS: ANGST, SMUT, FLUFF, MENTIONS OF DRUG ADDICTION, MENTIONS OF EMOTIONAL MANIPULATION, EXES TO LOVERS, MENTIONS OF SELF HARM, HURT/COMFORT.

WC: 9.0k

NOTE: Just in time for Nürburgring. I was supposed to have this ready days ago, but it’s been so unbearably hot in my city that I think some of my brain cells got fried and had no idea how to continue. In a few days I’ll probably post another story but I’m still not sure if it’ll be with Lando or Max again, for now I hope you enjoy this one. English is not my first lenguage.

masterlist

“You’re the type of girl every broken man prays for twice,the kind that turns bad decisions into sleepless nights.

You’re the type of girl I still taste on whiskey and wine, the kind of touch that turns regret into desir-“

I immediately stopped Spotify’s autoplay, ripped my headphones off, and tossed them onto the bed.

How the hell was I getting betrayed by my own algorithm?

On the internet I pay for.

I searched for the artist’s name and blocked him immediately. I never wanted to hear another song by that piece of shit again, not even by accident.

It wasn’t enough that he and his family had turned our breakup into a public mess; now he had to go and write a song about me too.

And not just any song—one that amplified every prejudice people already had about me, trying to pass the rumors off as truth.

It’s already bad enough that people see me as a heartbreaker, a cold-hearted bitch, someone calculating and incapable of giving second chances.

Every bit of effort I’d put into distancing myself from that reputation—straight into the trash. I wanted to pretend I didn’t care what everyone thought, but deep down, I had to admit it stung a little.

I comforted myself with the thought that people were miserable. They wanted me to stay trapped in unhappy relationships just to prove I wasn’t as terrible as they say I was.

It all started when I was young, barely sixteen.

My first relationship was with an actor a couple years older than me. We’d worked together on a campaign for a huge clothing brand that was everywhere at the time.

We fell in love and became the it couple overnight. Every photo of us went viral. We were all over internet forums back then, obsessively reposted and picked apart by strangers.

Ironically, that was exactly what ruined us.

Even though I knew he loved me, it was obvious he cared more about staying relevant in all those spaces than about us.

It became suffocating. Constantly having to perform perfection, constantly selling this relationship goals fantasy—it wasn’t me.

Yeah, I was a model. My entire job revolved around selling impossible beauty, this untouchable image people would’ve killed to look like.

But the real me hated it.

So I left him.

At the time, it was huge. He went on interviews looking seconds away from tears, and because the world loves a perfect victim, I became the villain.

At eighteen, I got into another relationship, this time with a baseball player.

The guy was addicted to sex. And honestly? At first it’s flattering when someone wants you that badly, when they make you feel irresistible. But eventually it turned into a problem.

Every time I didn’t want to sleep with him, it became a fight. He pressured me so much that I ended up giving in. I felt coerced.

So I left him too.

And once again, the poor helpless man whose heart I’d supposedly shattered became the victim.

Then at twenty came another relationship, this time with a pop singer.

He wasn’t addicted to sex.

He was addicted to drugs.

Most of the time he was in such a pathetic state it was hard to even recognize him. He verbally tore me apart more times than I could count, until one day I finally said enough and told him to go to hell too.

That breakup was worse than the other two combined.

Because this time there were no sad interviews.

Oh no.

He dedicated an entire album to me.

Songs about my habits, the way I loved, the way I had sex, the way I seduced him, the way I made him lose his mind and all sense of control.

The album went triple platinum in almost every corner of the planet.

And of course everyone expected me to go running back to him after such a grand declaration of love and desperate apology.

Which I didn’t.

Because I knew exactly what it was: manipulation.

He built that entire circus hoping public pressure would push me back into his arms.

But I never gave in.

And people hated me for it.

From that moment on, I became the target of harassment from thousands of strangers.

And even now, years later, it still hadn’t stopped.

Which was exactly why I was so furious with my latest ex. Because despite knowing everything that had already happened to me, he still decided the best thing to do was pour all his feelings of “abandonment” and “heartbreak” into a song.

Forget it. Just forget it.

I told myself that over and over, trying to stop the headache already creeping in.

I grabbed a glass of water and went back to getting ready.

I was in Paris for a promotional campaign for a luxury watch brand. Everything about it was extravagant. They’d put me up in one of the best hotels in the city and arranged a driver to take me everywhere.

Being a commercial model sometimes came with a level of luxury most people could only dream about.

Once I was done getting ready, I headed downstairs to the lobby, where my manager, Lucille, and the driver were waiting.

The second we arrived, the makeup team sat me down, and someone handed me the outfit selected for the photoshoot.

The campaign was for matching watches designed for married couples, so this time the shoot involved two models: a man and a woman.

How painfully heteronormative, I thought.

“Y/N, thank you for agreeing to do this shoot. We thought you were the perfect model for the campaign, and your look contrasts perfectly with Max’s,” the director greeted me quickly before stepping aside. “This is Max. He’ll be your partner for today.”

Standing behind him was none other than Max Verstappen, dressed entirely in black, just like me.

“It’s nice to meet you, Max,” I said, shaking his hand. “I’m Y/N.”

“Yeah, I know who you are. It’s nice working with you today,” he replied with a small smile as he shook my hand back.

His gaze was intense, unwavering as he looked directly into my eyes. So intense that it sent a shiver crawling down my spine.

“Now that introductions are out of the way, let’s start the shoot,” the photographer instructed.

The session went smoothly. The watches were the main focus, so most of the poses were designed to highlight them.

In one of them, we ended up standing face to face. One of his hands — the one wearing the watch — rested against my waist, while mine was placed on his bicep. Our foreheads were almost touching.

His eyes drifted from mine to my lips.

I swallowed hard as that same electric feeling spread through my body again, every hair standing on end.

“Perfect,” the photographer suddenly called out. “Let’s wrap this up before the temperature in here rises any higher.”

Everyone laughed, Max included.

Heat rushed to my face, and all I could manage was a small embarrassed laugh of my own.

I slipped away to the small dressing room they’d set up so I could change back into my clothes. By the time I came back out, the crew was already packing up the equipment.

“Y/N, I was looking for you.”

Max walked over to me.

“Yeah, I was changing in there.”

“I wanted to know if you’d like to grab lunch. I know a good restaurant nearby we could go to,” he said with an easy smile.

For a second, I didn’t know what to say, so my eyes instinctively searched for Lucille, who was standing a few steps behind him.

She immediately gave me a subtle say yes look.

“Sure,” I said, turning my attention back to Max. “I’d love to.”

“Perfect.”

Lucille, the driver, and Max’s manager all headed off separately so Max and I could leave together in his car, a black Audi.

“You like the car?” he asked after noticing me looking around at the interior.

“Yeah, of course. I just didn’t picture this as the kind of car you’d drive.”

Max laughed softly.

“It’s practical for situations like this,” he answered simply.

We arrived at the restaurant and ordered almost immediately. The shoot hadn’t provided any food since it had been such a quick session, and by then I was absolutely starving.

We talked about a little bit of everything — our careers, traveling, the constant pressure that came with being public figures.

Talking to Max was easy.

He seemed like someone with a pretty harsh view of the world, yet somehow he still managed to be warm with people.

“You should come to the race this Sunday,” he said suddenly. “It’s here in France.”

“I’m not sure I can. I still have a few things scheduled here in Paris.”

“Come on, it’s just Sunday. I can get you really good passes,” he insisted.

“I could ask Lucille if I can take the day off.”

“Perfect. Let’s exchange numbers so we can figure out the details,” Max said, his smile widening.

My heart beat a little faster.

I probably shouldn’t have accepted the invitation, but whatever. I deserved a distraction from work too.

After lunch, Max drove me back to my hotel, and we said goodbye.

“And?” Lucille asked the second she saw me.

“And what?” I replied, slightly confused.

“What happened? Was there any flirting? Anything like that?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Lucille, for the love of God, I do not want to do this again,” I sighed heavily.

“Do what? I’m just asking an innocent question.”

There was nothing innocent about it.

Lucille loved stirring drama, and by now I knew all her little games.

“Nothing happened. It was just lunch, that’s it.”

“There’s obviously a lot of chemistry between you two—”

I opened my mouth to argue, but she cut me off before I could say anything.

“I know what happened with your previous relationships, and I know you told me you wanted to stay single for a while. But look at him. He’s successful, handsome… this would be amazing publicity.”

“Lucille, I don’t think I need any more publicity right now. You saw what that asshole did,” I snapped.

“I know, and I talked to his manager about it. Honestly, releasing a song about you when someone already dedicated an entire album to you? That’s not even original. If he wants attention from this, at least he could try being creative.”

I just sighed slowly.

I was stuck in a hole, and Lucille wasn’t exactly trying to throw me a rope.

“Lucille, I need Sunday off.”

“For what?” she asked immediately.

“I want to go to the Grand Prix this weekend,” I said, trying to sound casual.

“He invited you?” Lucille asked, disbelief written all over her face.

“It’s just something between acquaintances, so don’t get too excited.”

Lucille immediately burst into excited laughter.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll clear your entire weekend schedule.”

I closed my eyes, feeling the headache creeping back in.

(…)

Sunday finally arrived, and I have to admit, it was one of the most exciting — and stressful — days I’d had in a long time.

Max gave me the most expensive pass available, one of those where they place you in some ridiculously luxurious suite, where the food looks like it belongs in a magazine and you run into famous people every two steps.

A lot of people recognized me too, and every now and then someone would stop me for a picture.

The pass also included a ride-along with one of the drivers.

“When it’s your turn to choose, pick me,” Max warned with a grin.

“I’ll have to think about it. I’m not completely sure I want to die.”

“Ha. Ha. Ha,” Max replied sarcastically while I laughed like an idiot.

Obviously, I picked him.

And honestly, it was a great decision because by the time the ride ended, my ribs hurt from laughing so much.

Then came the race itself.

That was a whole different kind of stressful.

My hands gripped the edge of my seat every time the drivers flew through the corners at terrifying speeds.

Max won the race, and later that night he threw a small celebration. I was invited too, but I politely declined. It felt like a lot, and I didn’t want things to start getting confusing.

Which, as the following weeks proved, was pretty difficult to avoid.

Once I got back to my normal routine, I assumed things would end there, just a nice gesture from someone I’d worked with.

But Max quickly made it clear things weren’t that simple.

We talked constantly.

Nothing too personal or emotionally complicated, but somehow we could spend hours talking without getting bored. Just like me, Max was still in Europe, so the time difference barely affected us.

Our campaign with the watch brand launched in mid-August and received an overwhelmingly positive response. My social media exploded the first few days, and, I was grateful people had finally found something else to talk about in my Instagram comments.

A few days later, I was in Monaco filming a campaign for Cartier. And since the country is practically the size of a razor blade, it didn’t take long for Max to find out I was there.

Max V: You never told me you were in Monaco.

Max V: I saw you on the avenue lol

Me: Yesss 😭😭 it all happened so suddenly that I forgot to tell you.

Max V: We should meet up. Are you free tomorrow?

Max V: Let’s go on a yacht ride.

Me: That sounds amazing. I’m free all day tomorrow.

We worked out a few more details before ending the conversation there.

The next day, before noon, I was already lying on a yacht in my bikini, sipping an Aperol Spritz. Max had picked me up from the hotel a few hours earlier.

“So we can make the most of the day,” he’d said with a shrug.

We rubbed sunscreen onto each other’s backs before settling at the bow of the yacht. We talked about a little bit of everything, until eventually the conversation drifted toward our past relationships.

“I’m guessing you know at least something about mine,” I laughed dryly.

“Well, yeah. I mean, you can’t work in this industry without hearing at least some of the gossip. And honestly, the whole thing with your ex’s album was huge. I even have a couple songs saved on my Spotify. It was really good,” he admitted with a slight shrug, as if it wasn’t a big deal.

“Yeah, I guess you could say it was,” I replied. “Although hearing even the first note of any of those songs is enough to give me a panic attack. Sometimes I think I genuinely have PTSD.”

“Was it really that bad?” Max asked, his brows furrowing.

I sighed and started telling him everything — the emotional rollercoaster that relationship had been. How responsible I felt for his recovery. How guilty I felt every time he relapsed. The way he verbally tore me apart whenever he was out of his mind. How I’d practically had to run away from him in the end. And the manipulation he used afterward to try to make me come back.

“So yeah,” I finished quietly, “it definitely wasn’t an easy time. But I went to therapy, and what matters is that I got out of it.”

“Wow,” Max muttered, shifting slightly in his seat. “That definitely changes the way I see it. To be honest, those songs always had something kind of dark about them.”

“Exactly. That’s why I hate them. Now I can’t even have a normal conversation with a guy without most of them assuming I’m some kind of sex goddess they need to tame.”

We both laughed.

“And what happened with the last one?” Max asked, leaning back in his chair, one arm resting against it while he looked at me. “The one behind the recent song?”

“That one wasn’t nearly as complicated,” I said, laughing just remembering it. “Although it was a little insane.”

Max raised an eyebrow.

“I punched his mom.”

“What?” Max practically sat upright, staring at me open-mouthed in shock.

“I know it sounds terrible, but that woman was awful. She hated me from the moment we met, and he never once set boundaries with her,” I explained while Max listened carefully. “Long story short, we got into a huge argument and she told me her son was only with me because I could give him the only thing she couldn’t.”

“What?” Max repeated, somehow sounding even more horrified.

“Yeah. Then she shoved me, and honestly, I had no choice but to beat her ass,” I laughed, shaking my head at the memory. I wasn’t trying to excuse violence, but sometimes it felt justified. “He tried to brush the whole thing off like it wasn’t a big deal, but for me that was the final straw. So I ended things.”

“Jesus,” Max muttered. “That’s actually insane. I mean, I get that mothers want to protect their sons, but that level of obsession is just unhealthy.”

I hummed in agreement.

“And what about you?” I asked him.

“Me?” Max smiled faintly. “Mine isn’t nearly as interesting as your stories.”

“I don’t care. I still want to hear it.”

“Alright.”

Max Verstappen told me about his last — and basically only — serious relationship. How they started dating when they were younger, how they’d promised each other they’d stay together forever.

And how everything became difficult during the last year because of her jealousy and insecurities.

“The moment I won the world championship, she changed,” he explained. “She started saying every woman was interested in me and wanted me to cut off any kind of contact with them. I tried to understand her, tried to reassure her, but things reached a point of no return when she wanted to stop me from spending time with my sister.”

“What?” I asked incredulously.

“Yeah,” he laughed softly, though there wasn’t much humor in it. “She thought my sister was trying to set me up with one of her friends. Obviously that wasn’t something I was willing to tolerate, so I ended things about four months ago. We still talk sometimes, but I keep the contact very limited.”

“I get it,” I said quietly. “Relationships aren’t easy once they reach that point.”

Max looked at me intently, and I held his gaze, though with a hint of nervousness.

“I like you, Y/N,” he admitted. “You’re beautiful, and there’s something about you that makes me lose my breath whenever I see you.”

“That’s just the effect I have on people,” I replied, pushing my hair back with a smug little smile, trying not to let him notice how nervous I actually was.

Max laughed softly.

“I like you too, Max. You’re so unpredictable it kind of makes me melt a little.”

We stared at each other for a moment before sealing our stupid little confession with a soft kiss that slowly deepened into something more.

God, please don’t let this end.

(…)

What I failed to consider when making my little prayer was that I’m clearly not God’s favorite child.

And that became painfully obvious a few days later, when a bunch of pictures of Max and me together on the yacht leaked online. Thankfully, whoever had taken the photos must’ve left before we kissed.

Max V: hey, don’t worry about this. In a few days nobody will even be talking about it anymore.

Even though Max tried to calm me down, I knew that wasn’t true.

This would just become another stain on my reputation, and there was nothing I hated more than that.

I forced myself not to look at social media for days. Lucille also made sure to only schedule quick shoots that wouldn’t involve questions about this — or any other scandal — which I appreciated more than she knew.

She was always the one cleaning up my messes, and even though I’d asked her many times why she never dropped me as a client, she would always shrug and say: “I like gossip.”

Which always made me laugh, because I knew it was more than that.

We’d been together since the very beginning of my career, and it was obvious our loyalty would always belong to each other.

The days passed, and my anxiety only got worse because suddenly Max started acting strange.

He took longer to answer my texts. His replies became dry, almost cold.

I didn’t understand what had happened. When the photos first leaked, he hadn’t seemed worried at all — if anything, it had been the opposite.

I tried not to overthink it. I didn’t consider myself an insecure woman, but after everything I’d been through, deep down I knew something was wrong.

My doubts were answered that same Saturday.

Max was in Monza for the Grand Prix, and by that point we hadn’t spoken since Thursday.

Lucille was the one who showed me what was happening.

A video filmed on someone’s phone, showing Max walking through the paddock with his ex-girlfriend, Adrianne.

The same ex-girlfriend he’d told me he barely had contact with.

I shouldn’t have been surprised. Men are some of the most deceitful, disappointing creatures on earth.

Still, it hurt.

Especially after I’d opened up to him, only for him to do this the second things stopped being easy.

“Don’t worry, we’ve survived worse,” Lucille tried comforting me. “We’ll make the best out of this. At the end of the day, bad publicity is still publicity.”

She immediately started making calls. At some point her phone was probably going to explode from overuse.

Meanwhile, I picked up my own phone and opened Max’s contact.

Then I froze.

I tried typing something several times, but I kept deleting every word.

Instead, I opened Twitter — something I rarely allowed myself to do anymore.

As expected, it was complete chaos.

I skimmed through the comments, and my throat tightened.

@lightsoutlvr: lol what did that little bitch expect? Max isn’t like all the other idiots chasing after her.

@boxboxdarling: He humbled her SO bad 😭😭😭

@papayapaddock: it’s actually embarrassing how humiliated she must be lmaoooo

@radiocheckkk: imagine thinking you could pull THE MAX VERSTAPPEN just for him to dump your ass 😭

@clercarchives: finally someone knocked her off that high horse. she’s not even pretty, I don’t know how she’s even a model.

@safetylapzzz: you people are so cruel to her for absolutely no fucking reason. Her relationships are nobody’s business. She’s never the one making scenes, the only people talking are her miserable exes. If she were really that awful, none of them would still be crawling back trying to get her again.

By that point my eyes were already full of tears, but I did everything I could to keep them from falling. I didn’t cry over these things anymore.

All the awful things people could possibly say about me had already been said before.

I opened my phone again and searched for Max’s contact.

Me: I don’t know what happened, and honestly I don’t care enough to find out. I know you never promised me anything, which is why I’m not sending this message to demand explanations or accuse you of anything. I just want you to know that I never want to hear from you again. If we ever cross paths someday, I hope you ignore me, because you’ll get the exact same treatment from me.

I sent it and immediately blocked his number.

The next day, I got several calls from a private number, and for a moment I imagined it was Max trying to reach me.

I ignored every single one.

Eventually, whoever it was left a voicemail, which I ignored too.

I wasn’t ready to hear whatever he had to say.

Excuses, explanations — I didn’t care anymore.

Months passed, and like always, a newer scandal eventually replaced the gossip about me.

Lucille had been right: publicity worked, no matter what kind it was.

I buried myself in work and tried to clear my head that way.

From the few headlines I still paid attention to, I learned that Max had won his second championship in Las Vegas, exactly one week before my birthday.

And because every algorithm in existence apparently hated me, Instagram decided to show me the post his now girlfriend Adrianne made celebrating his victory.

With one of my ex’s songs playing in the background.

Fucking assholes.

(…)

Almost three years had passed since that awful mess.

Since then, I’d dedicated myself completely to my own growth in every possible way.

Professionally, things had been incredible. Not a single week went by without me having some kind of project, and about a year and a half ago I decided to start investing in businesses of my own.

The first one was a jewelry store — but not a traditional one, because we didn’t actually sell the pieces, we rented them.

Mostly designer jewelry.

Our clients were usually high-profile people in the entertainment industry.

The second business was a clothing store where we sold pieces from our own brand. And when I say our, I mean Lucille’s and mine, because of course she ended up joining my projects and becoming my business partner.

All of this came after a pretty severe emotional breakdown I had, which brings me to the personal side of my life. After a lot of self-reflection, I realized there were many things in my life that weren’t healthy — and it wasn’t just my relationships with men.

It was also the relationship I had with myself.

I went back to therapy and started working through things I’d been carrying since childhood. That’s when I realized I didn’t want to model forever. Beauty fades, and mine wasn’t going to be the exception.

So I decided to stop putting all my eggs in one basket.

And honestly, to this day, it’s been one of the best decisions I’ve ever made.

As for Max, I’d only heard bits and pieces about him over the years. I didn’t resent him, but I preferred not knowing anything about his life.

From what little I did know, he and Adrianne had broken up almost a year ago, and according to Lucille, the breakup had been nasty. So nasty that even their parents ended up making public statements about it.

The only other things I knew about him came from the constant flood of notifications I got whenever fans tagged me in posts pointing out that Max had liked my Instagram photos.

Because yes, after all that drama, he’d started following me.

The audacity.

“Y/N? Can we talk?” Lucille called out.

“Of course. What is it?”

“Y/N, you know I normally don’t like spreading gossip—”

I looked at her incredulously.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that,” she complained as my eyebrow slowly lifted. “Okay, fine. Sometimes gossip is entertaining, but that’s not the point.”

Lucille sighed.

“The store called me. Apparently Marco tried to take one of the Richard Mille pieces to lend it to one of his friends. The problem is he expected the friend not to pay anything — not even the insurance.”

“What?” I stared at her for a moment, speechless. “What the hell was he thinking?”

“I already told them not to give it to him. I’m assuming he’ll call you eventually, which is why I came to warn you first,” she explained seriously.

“Thanks, Lucille. I’ll talk to him. Please tell them nobody is allowed to take anything without paying unless one of us gives explicit authorization.”

“Of course, Y/N. I’ll leave you to it now, I have something else to take care of.”

With that, Lucille walked out of the room.

I took a deep breath and decided to call him myself.

Marco was a rising actor. He’d won an Emmy for his role in an incredibly successful HBO series, and we’d been seeing each other for about six months now.

I guess you could say we were dating. Although at that point, I wasn’t so quick to label my relationships anymore.

He answered on the second ring.

“Baby, how are you? I was just about to call you.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you were. I’m doing great. What about you?”

“Not so great. I tried renting a watch for one of my friends and your employee wouldn’t let me.”

“Marco, Lucille isn’t my employee, she’s my business partner. And besides, she told me a very different version of the story.”

“That doesn’t matter. I’m your boyfriend. I should be able to access the company’s assets without a problem.”

This asshole had to be out of his fucking mind.

“My business is one thing and our relationship is another, Marco. I respect your work, so I’d appreciate it if you respected mine too.”

“Why are you acting like such a bitch?” he snapped, and the question genuinely shocked me.

“What?”

“Yeah. Honestly, as your partner, I think I should own half of your businesses. I don’t understand why Lucille is even involved. Things need to change. If you actually want this relationship to work, then you need to put me in charge. I’m the man in this relationship, and I don’t deserve to be disrespected like this.”

All I could do was laugh in disbelief as I slowly pulled the phone away from my ear and stared at it.

“You’re a fucking idiot if you genuinely think I’m putting anything in your hands,” I spat. “Go manipulate someone else, because it’s not going to work on me. Whatever this was between us? It’s over.”

And without waiting for a response, I hung up.

Seriously, what the hell was wrong with men and their audacity?

I told Lucille everything that had happened, and since by now we practically had a crisis-management system for situations like this, we decided to get ahead of it and leak the breakup ourselves so we could control the narrative.

Of course, we made sure it was reported as coming from an anonymous source.

That way we could prevent him from going public first and turning himself into the victim — which, judging by the ridiculous amount of messages he’d left me, was most likely exactly what he planned to do.

He became so annoying that I eventually turned my phone off for a few hours just so I wouldn’t have to deal with him anymore.

At least not for now.

I was at my apartment when Lucille emailed me telling me to turn my fucking phone back on.

“Hello?” I called her the second it powered back up.

“Check your voicemails. Liam, the director for the new campaign, was trying to reach you, and since you disappeared off the face of the earth, he left you a message.”

As soon as we hung up, I started going through my voicemails.

I had fifteen in total.

I didn’t even know phones could store that many. I really should’ve cleaned them out ages ago.

I listened to Liam’s message first, then continued deleting the others one by one. Most of them were things I’d already handled, so they weren’t important anymore.

There were only two left when suddenly I heard it.

Max Verstappen’s voice.

My heart started racing so fast that I completely missed the first half of the message, forcing me to replay it.

“Hey, Y/N. It’s me, Max.

I know you probably hate me more than anyone in the world right now. I just wanted to say I’m really sorry about what you saw. There really wasn’t anything going on between Adrianne and me… it’s just complicated.

Like I told you that day on the yacht, Adrianne has issues, and when she saw the pictures of us together, she completely lost it. She called me desperate and… I had to help her. No matter what happened between us, she was still a huge part of my life, and I still care about her.

Please believe me when I tell you that everything I said to you was real. I still fully intended to be with you, but I understand that maybe you don’t feel the same way anymore. I just hope someday you can forgive me.

If you ever want to talk, I’ll always be here for you.”

My heart felt like it had dropped straight into my hands.

That was the voicemail Max had left me almost three years ago.

The voicemail I never listened to.

I sat there in silence for several minutes, trying to process everything.

But no matter how many times I turned it over in my head, I always reached the same conclusion: It didn’t matter anymore.

Three years had passed.

Whether he meant to or not, he had gone back to Adrianne. They’d continued their relationship for a considerable amount of time after that.

I no longer had any place in that story.

And nothing I did — or didn’t do — was going to change it now.

Without another thought, I deleted the voicemail and decided the best thing I could do was go to sleep.

I’d had enough for the day.

(…)

The voicemail haunted me for days.

It kept replaying in my head over and over again. I remembered every single word he’d said. I spent sleepless nights thinking about it, dissecting every shift in Max’s voice.

I was an idiot.

Not because I hadn’t listened to the message back then—that was the past.

I was an idiot for letting his words affect me now, after I’d already moved on and rebuilt so much of my life.

So I shut down whatever connection still existed between my mind and my heart and decided to forget about it.

Two weeks later, social media exploded with the news of my breakup with Marco.

As expected, the amount of hate thrown at me was massive.

Suddenly all the defenders of the indefensible came crawling out of the woodwork, giving speeches about how I was an empty woman who kept jumping from relationship to relationship trying to fill some void inside myself. That there was no way I could possibly be the good one in every relationship while everyone else was the villain.

The same old story.

What did surprise me was how many people defended me too.

A lot of them pointed out that if I wasn’t happy in a relationship, I shouldn’t have to stay miserable just to keep strangers happy with my life choices.

And they were completely right.

Then came the reactions from the F1 side of the internet, which, admittedly, made me laugh harder than they probably should have.

@papayapropaganda: SISTER WAKE THE FUCK UP @max33verstappen Y/N IS SINGLE AGAIN!!!

@fiawarcriminal: pls god don’t let him fuck this up again 😭😭😭😭

@monacograndee: we all know that asshole jumped out of bed the second he heard the news. he’s been waiting for this ever since Y/N and Marco started dating.

@piastripodcast: and fuck that racist bitch Adrianne. I swear to god if she ever bothers Y/N again I’m beating her ass.

@formulawhore: sisters is this really happening??? is there a chance my parents are getting back together??? 😭😭😭

@verstappenapologist: I see everyone getting excited about the possibility of Y/N and Max getting back together, but yall forgetting one small detail: Y/N has never gotten back with any of her exes 🙃

And there were hundreds of other insane comments just like those.

Sometimes it genuinely amazed me how creative people on the internet could be. Because realistically, the possibility of Max and me ever even speaking again only existed in their imaginations.

The months passed, and eventually that whole situation faded into the background.

It was December, and because of the holiday season, I barely had a single free day. Between my businesses and my modeling campaigns, I felt like I was one inconvenience away from completely losing my mind.

Today was one of those rare days where I only had one obligation to attend: a charity gala organized by one of the most prestigious newspapers in Paris.

My stylist and makeup artist had made me look so beautiful I honestly resembled a princess.

I walked the carpet before making my way inside the event without much fuss. One of the maîtres guided me to my table, where a small card with my name sat perfectly placed in front of the chair.

I picked up my glass of water and took a sip while looking around the ballroom.

I needed to know who had decorated the place so I could hire them for the rest of their life.

“Hello, Y/N.”

A very familiar voice greeted me.

So familiar that I nearly spat out the water in my mouth. I immediately started coughing, covering my lips to avoid causing a scene.

I turned my head to the right and found myself staring into blue eyes. Time had hardened them a little more, yet somehow they still carried a strange warmth beneath it all.

“Max…”

Max smiled.

“What a coincidence that we ended up at the same table.”

I glanced toward the name card beside mine and, sure enough, Mr. Max Verstappen was written there in the same elegant cursive font.

“Yeah… what a coincidence,” I replied softly.

“How have you been? It’s been a long time since I heard anything about you.”

Liar, I thought. You stalk my Instagram every week.

Obviously, I didn’t say that out loud.

“I’ve been really good. Everything’s been going great. What about you?”

Max shrugged lightly.

“I’m alright. Can’t complain.”

He looked like he wanted to ask me something else, but the host of the event interrupted us before he could.

His presence beside me felt overwhelming.

So overwhelming that I eventually had to excuse myself to the restroom just to wipe the sweat from my hands.

Calm down. It’s just Max.

I tried to keep my nerves under control, but it was nearly impossible.

When I returned to the table, Max was waiting for me with a glass of champagne.

“They were handing these out, and I thought you might want one.”

“Thanks,” I replied simply. “How was your season?” I asked, trying to keep the conversation flowing.

Max let out a sigh followed by a quiet laugh.

“Could’ve been worse, I guess.”

I looked at him attentively, silently encouraging him to continue.

He told me about how close he’d come to winning his fifth championship, only for Lando Norris to take the title in the end.

“But I’m not too worried,” he said before taking another sip of champagne. “I still have a long career ahead of me.”

Then his gaze shifted back to me.

“What about you? I saw you opened a jewelry company.”

Oh, so now you do know things about me?

Of course, I kept that thought to myself.

Instead, I told him a little about my professional life, because by now I’d learned my lesson: I didn’t share personal parts of myself with just anyone anymore.

The gala continued late into the night. We had dinner, kept talking about random things, made our donations, and eventually the event came to an end.

“I think I’m still hungry,” Max admitted, resting one hand against his stomach.

“Same here. These events aren’t exactly known for serving good food.”

“Want to go get burgers?” he asked so casually it almost sounded like we were old friends catching up.

I hesitated for a moment.

But when I looked into his slightly shy eyes, I couldn’t bring myself to say no.

(…)

If someone had told me a few months ago that I’d end up sitting in a luxury car, dressed in Miu Miu, eating burgers with Max Verstappen, I would’ve laughed right in their face.

And yet, here I was.

Living the exact scene I’d just described.

“This is way better than the caviar they served,” he said, and we both laughed at the same time.

“It wasn’t a coincidence that they seated us together, was it?” I asked while taking the last bite of my burger.

Max only looked at me with a small smile while chewing. He took a sip of his soda before answering.

“No. I know a few people, and I made sure they put us at the same table. Hope that didn’t bother you.” His smile widened slightly. “Although it seems like you enjoy my company.”

“It doesn’t bother me. I don’t have anything against you anymore. What happened is in the past.”

“Now that we have the chance, I’d like us to talk about it,” Max said, finishing his fries before turning his body toward me completely.

“I don’t think there’s anything to talk about. Like I told you back then, I don’t want to know.”

I wiped my hands with a napkin, trying to end the conversation right there.

“It is necessary. At least for me it is,” Max replied firmly. “I respected what you wanted and stayed away, but I need you to listen to me. These aren’t excuses — they’re my reasons.”

The tone in his voice made it clear he wasn’t going to let the subject go easily.

“Fine,” I sighed, throwing my hands up in exasperation. “What exactly do you have to say? That it was easier for you to go back to what felt safe? That dealing with the pressure of being with me just wasn’t worth it? Because trust me, I figured that out long before everyone else did.”

My chest rose and fell unevenly as I spoke.

Max stared at me with his mouth slightly open, but suddenly his expression hardened and his face flushed red.

“Of course that’s not it,” he snapped. “Have you ever stopped to think that maybe your life isn’t the only one complicated?”

The force in his voice shocked me, my own expression immediately turning into one of surprise.

“I told you back then that I wanted to be with you, and you never gave me the chance to explain anything.”

“Because there was nothing to explain!” I nearly shouted.

Max dragged a hand through his hair, clearly trying to contain his frustration.

I almost laughed.

Almost.

“You’re so fucking unbelievable,” he muttered. “So fucking stubborn.”

Indignation immediately flooded my body.

“Fuck you, you son of a—”

Before I could finish the insult, Max grabbed my face with both hands and kissed me.

I tried to pull away, but his grip never weakened.

I had no choice but to gave in.

Bastard, he still kissed just as good as I remembered.

One of his hands left my face and slipped down the strap of my dress, exposing one of my breasts. He started caressing it before rolling my nipple between his fingers.

He squeezed slightly harder, and a shiver ran through my entire body before settling right between my thighs.

The kiss broke, and his mouth moved lower. His lips wrapped around my breast while his tongue flicked over my nipple, sucking hard enough to make me gasp.

My hand tangled itself in his hair, stroking it softly, while my head fell back from how intense the pleasure felt.

I was already seconds away from begging him to fuck me right there when my common sense finally returned.

“Wait—” I let go of his hair abruptly.

“What’s wrong?” Max looked up at me, his brows furrowing slightly.

“We’re in a parking lot. Someone could see us.”

“No one’s going to see us,” he murmured against my neck, kissing it again. “The windows are tinted.”

For a moment, his mouth distracted me enough to almost give in.

But I forced myself to stay focused.

“Anyone can guess what’s happening in here, Max. I don’t want to end up in the press tomorrow.”

Max stopped kissing me and let out a frustrated sigh.

“Fine,” he muttered. “Then let’s go to my hotel.”

“What? No.” I shook my head immediately. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Come on, don’t be scared,” he teased softly. “Nothing bad’s going to happen. Quite the opposite.”

In the end, he convinced me.

Honestly, I could use a good fuck.

Once we arrived at the hotel, we took the elevator straight to the floor where Max was staying. Thankfully, no one got in with us.

The second the hotel room door opened, my mouth crashed against his again.

The kiss was filthy and desperate, like we’d both been craving it for years (we were).

He carefully unzipped my dress so he wouldn’t ruin it, and the fabric slid down to my feet, leaving me in nothing but my panties, my breasts completely exposed.

His hands gripped my waist while his mouth returned to my neck, kissing and biting at my skin. Somewhere between frantic touches and impatient movements, we managed to get rid of his tuxedo too.

I didn’t even realize when we started moving, but suddenly my back hit one of the walls.

His hands slid beneath my thighs and lifted me effortlessly. I wrapped my legs around his waist, and without another second of hesitation, he pushed inside me in one hard thrust.

The stretch made me moan instantly.

His hands gripped my ass tightly as he started moving me up and down on his cock. I matched his rhythm instinctively, using my legs to help bounce myself against him.

He was so deep it made my eyes roll back.

I wasn’t completely wet yet, so every thrust burned slightly along with the pleasure — but if I was being honest, I loved it exactly like that.

Eventually my legs started cramping, and Max seemed to notice because he stopped for a moment before carrying me to the bed.

He hovered over me and, in one quick movement, slid back inside me.

I grabbed the backs of my thighs to keep my legs spread and lifted, giving him the perfect angle to fuck me deeper.

His thrusts were rough enough that loud clapping sounds started echoing through the room.

I was so close to coming when Max suddenly flipped us over, leaving me on top of him.

I didn’t need him to explain what he wanted.

I adjusted myself over him and started riding him, pushing myself up and down while Max dug his heels into the mattress and thrust upward to meet every movement. His balls slammed perfectly against my ass.

Soon my thighs started burning, forcing me to slow down and rock my hips back and forth instead.

This new angle made his cock rub directly against a spot inside me that had my back arching uncontrollably.

Max grabbed my tits with both hands, squeezing them harder as my pace became faster and messier.

The pressure built until a small squirt escaped me.

“Fuck,” Max groaned deeply.

He grabbed my hips tightly and flipped me back underneath him, thrusting into me harder and more erratically now.

A few desperate thrusts later, he finally came with a low, broken groan.

We stayed silent for a long time, both trying to catch our breath — and our coherent thoughts.

I decided to speak before regret had the chance to settle in.

“I listened to the voicemail you left me.”

Max Verstappen turned to look at me immediately, giving me his full attention.

“I only listened to it a few months ago. Back then, I didn’t want to know anything about you, so I ignored it completely. Then I just forgot it was even there.” My eyes wandered around the room, anywhere but his face. “After I finally heard it, I thought about it a lot and came to the conclusion that it belonged in the past… so I decided I didn’t want to know anything else.” I swallowed softly before finally looking at him again. “But after tonight… I do want to hear your side of the story.”

Max let out a quiet sigh.

“Thank you, Y/N,” he said softly. “Like I told you that day on the yacht, Adrianne became a completely different person from the one I originally fell in love with. And even after we broke up, a part of me still felt responsible for causing it.”

I turned toward him fully, still lying on the bed, resting my chin against one of my hands.

“The day those pictures of us leaked, Adrianne called me hysterical. She said I’d betrayed her and that she was going to kill herself because of me.”

My expression immediately hardened into a frown.

“Yeah,” Max muttered. “Now I understand that it wasn’t my responsibility, but you can imagine how I felt back then. I contacted her father, and together we managed to calm her down under the condition that we’d meet in person.”

Max continued quietly.

“That was the day the video of us walking together got recorded. We were just talking. She wanted us to get back together, but I was firm about not wanting that anymore. Then afterward I saw the chaos online… and your message.” He paused briefly. “I felt horrible. I tried to contact you, but you never answered.”

There was no sadness in his voice anymore.

Just calm resignation.

“And I don’t blame you for that. Honestly.” He let out a dry laugh. “The problem was that after you stopped responding, I started spiraling emotionally, and Adrianne’s manipulation didn’t help. She kept insisting she was going to kill herself, and eventually I gave in and got back together with her because… at that point, what difference did it make?”

I stayed silent, listening carefully.

“I didn’t love her anymore,” he admitted. “I just still cared about her in some way. But whatever feelings were left died during the time we got back together. I kept hoping therapy would help her improve, but she refused to change, and over time I started losing my patience.”

Max paused for a second, swallowing hard.

“Everything finally fell apart a little over a year ago. Ironically, the person who gave me the wake-up call I needed was my father. He can be a real asshole, but he cares about me… in his own way.” He laughed quietly.

“I ended things with her for good. Her manipulation stopped working on me. Her father forced her into therapy, and since then I’ve cut off all contact completely. It’s obvious that even the smallest interaction would give her hope that we could get back together, and I left that behind a long time ago.”

He turned toward me more fully.

“Anyway… I want you to know I never stopped thinking about you. I know that makes me sound like a complete dick, but it’s the truth.” A faint smile appeared on his face. “When I found out you broke up with that idiot—”

I laughed softly, and Max joined in, slightly embarrassed.

“—I knew it was my chance. The problem was that I couldn’t figure out how to see you again.”

“Until I found Lucille’s Instagram and contacted her there.”

I rolled my eyes immediately because of course Lucille had been involved in all of this somehow.

Drama was practically her profession.

“And the rest you already know,” Max finished softly. “So now that you know everything… I want to hear what you think. I’ve made it pretty clear that I still want to be with you.”

I stayed quiet for a moment, trying to process everything.

“All this time,” I finally admitted, “I never once allowed myself to even consider getting back together with you, Max. But life moves in strange ways, and now here we are…” I glanced down at the thin sheet barely covering our bodies. “…lying in bed together after having sex.”

“Max, I understand your situation. I really do. But it’s difficult for me to trust people who’ve hurt me. That’s the main reason I’ve never gone back to any of my exes.”

Max watched me carefully, his expression soft and patient, ready to accept whatever decision I made.

“But over the last few years, I’ve made important changes in my life. And I’ve realized I need to allow myself to trust again.”

His eyes lit up instantly.

“I want us to try again,” I whispered. “I want to do things the right way this time. So let’s take our time and figure it out properly.”

“Yes,” Max answered immediately, pure happiness written all over his face. “Of course. We’ll go at whatever pace you want.”

His hand cupped my cheek gently before he leaned in and kissed me again.

(…)

Things ended up moving much faster than expected.

Max genuinely wanted to respect my wish to take things slow, but he was so excited that sometimes he reminded me of a little kid desperate to show off his brand-new favorite toy.

It sounded terrible, but honestly, it was the only comparison that came to mind.

We decided to spend New Year’s together — just the two of us.

We spent Christmas separately with our families because, even though Max had invited me to dinner with his, everything still felt too recent for me, and I wasn’t ready to throw myself directly into the lion’s den *wink wink*

We welcomed the new year in Aruba.

There was nothing better than the beach to escape Europe’s freezing weather.

We took such beautiful pictures together that I finally gave Max permission to post them and officially reveal that we were together.

As expected, less than a minute later my phone started vibrating nonstop with notifications.

I figured I’d entertain myself later by reading all the insane things people were probably saying online.

For now, I chose to ignore everything and focus on enjoying the breathtaking view in front of me — and the even more breathtaking man beside me.

“You know I’m completely crazy about you, right?” Max murmured between kisses.

I smiled against his lips.

“Yeah,” I teased softly. “That’s the effect I have on people.”

[islagalaxie]

CRUSH CRUSH CRUSH - CHARLES LECLERC

Charles Leclerc x fem!reader

SUMMARY: Sometimes the real problem isn’t what people think is happening, it’s everything they don’t see. Working in Formula 1 means living under a microscope—every look, every rumor, every mistake gets amplified.

Y/N is good at her job, but even better at keeping her head down… until she isn’t. One connection turns complicated, another turns impossible, and that's the moment when the line between personal and professional is gone.

TAGS: Unrequited love, jealousy, fluff, slight angst, implied unprotected sex.

NOTE: Hello everyone, I come here with this little offering. Please keep in mind that my English isn’t perfect, so there may be quite a few grammatical errors. I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

WC: 8.1K

masterlist

Having a crush is mortifying.

Having a crush on George Russell should be considered a humiliation ritual.

Or at least, that’s how it has felt ever since I realized that my little crush on the driver wasn’t as secret as I thought.

All it took was accidentally overhearing a conversation between a couple of team members and George himself to confirm it.

“If you could see her eyes when you walk into the room, it’s like they have LED hearts in them,” one of the mechanics said, laughing.

“Just shut up, Marc,” George replied, laughing as well.

“No, no. It’s funny watching her think she actually has a chance,” one of the girls from Social Management added.

“Don't be so mean,” and that was the last thing he said.

That day, I felt like I was dying of embarrassment. All I wanted was to get home and bury myself in my sheets. I even shed a few tears on the way back to my house.

From that moment on, it was as if my mind wouldn’t stop racing. Even the smallest things filled me with terrible anxiety. Whenever I saw George walk into a room, I would immediately get up and leave.

I avoided him like the plague—and not just him. I pulled away from almost everyone. I ate alone in a small supply room; sometimes I didn’t eat at all and instead buried myself in my work until it was time to go home.

George and I used to have a close working relationship. We would always talk, and we got along well. So it was obvious that sooner or later, he would notice that my behavior had changed.

“Are you okay? You’ve seemed a bit off these past few days,” he said, his brow slightly furrowed, his face serious with concern.

“Yes, I’ve just been a little tired. Thanks for asking,” I replied without even looking him in the eyes.

As if that weren’t enough, our brief exchange also sparked conversations among our coworkers. The gossip grew louder, and in response, I withdrew even further into myself. I hated being the butt of everyone’s jokes.

“What’s going on between you and George?”

I jumped at the sound of Lewis’s voice so close to me.

“Lewis, you almost gave me a heart attack,” I said, clutching my chest as I tried to steady my racing heartbeat.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. It’s just that for the past few days I’ve been hearing things—and seeing things—that make me think you two aren’t exactly okay,” he said, looking at me intently.

“Nothing’s happened. We’ve just both been busy with our own things,” I explained, trying to sound indifferent.

“I don’t believe you at all, but I’ll let it go for now.” He gave me a light pat on the shoulder and walked away without another word.

Just what I needed—now Lewis had noticed too.

(…)

I loved my job, but above all else were my dignity and self-respect.

That’s why I had decided to resign. Of course, I wasn’t about to make a spectacle of it by quitting before the season was over. That would only fuel the gossip even more, and all I wanted was a clean, quiet exit.

In the meantime, I just had to endure it—put up with my heart racing every time I saw George, pretend my feelings didn’t exist, and try not to let my coworkers’ whispers get to me.

It was easier said than done. But I was taking it one step at a time.

It was Sunday, and the Las Vegas Grand Prix had ended hours ago. I was sitting at the hotel bar, downing a couple of shots when Lewis sat beside me.

“How have you been?” he asked as soon as he sat down, gesturing to the bartender to bring him whatever I was having.

“Amazing, how about you?” I tried to sound at least a little convincing.

“Judging by what you’re drinking, I highly doubt you’re telling me the truth. What the hell is this? Motor oil?” he coughed slightly after taking the shot.

“Honestly, I have no idea. I just asked for something strong.”

Lewis turned to look at me, eyes narrowed.

“That just proves my point—you’re not okay.”

I simply shrugged and took another shot.

“You know,” he said after drinking some water, “I’ve been hearing a few rumors.”

My attention snapped back to him, and I felt my heart start to race.

“It’s not about you and George, don’t worry,” he added with a small laugh. “Someone from McLaren told me you’ve been looking for a new job.”

For a moment, I didn’t know what to say. I just stared at him in silence.

“I didn’t realize you were that unhappy at Mercedes, but I guess it makes sense after everything that’s been going on,” he said, taking another long sip.

“I need a change of environment. I love Mercedes, but I don’t feel comfortable there anymore. I’ve heard people—people I thought were my friends—say terrible things about me,” I admitted, meeting his eyes.

Lewis was one of the people I got along with best. He was always honest, always straightforward. We were close—I was almost like a little sister to him, which is exactly why he was always all up in my business.

“I don’t know when Mercedes stopped being a serious company and turned into a TMZ branch,” he joked, earning a small laugh from me.

“I’m moving to Ferrari at the end of the season.”

My smile vanished instantly.

“What?”

“Yeah. My team and I have already decided. Toto knows about it too, and he’s already looking for someone to fill the spot I’ll be leaving,” Lewis explained calmly.

“I don’t know whether to congratulate you or feel sad. I always thought Mercedes would be the end of the road for you.”

“So did I. But I’ve thought about it a lot, and I just don’t feel like myself here anymore,” he said with a slight shrug.

“I get it. In a way, I’m going through the same thing,” I let out a faint, humorless laugh.

Lewis looked at me intently.

“You should come to Ferrari with me.”

I nearly choked on my own saliva.

“What? Are you insane?”

“I want you to come with me. You’re one of the best at what you do. I’ve already spoken to Ferrari’s representatives, and they’re willing to make you an offer as soon as I give them the green light.”

“Lewis, it’s not that simple to just leave and follow you to Ferrari.”

“Why not? Isn’t that basically what you were trying to do by going to McLaren?” he challenged, holding my gaze.

“I mean… yes, but wouldn’t going with you look a little bit— I don’t know—like unfair competition?”

Lewis just laughed.

“Y/N, no one plays fair in this sport. Look, just think about it, okay? The season’s not over yet. You might have a change of heart and decide to accept.”

I simply let out a sigh and nodded.

The following weeks were a blur. The season was coming to an end, and I was buried under mountains of work. Every few days, Lewis would ask if I had thought about his offer, but honestly, with so much going on, I barely had a second to even consider it.

In the end, I gave him a positive answer just a few days before the final race of the season.

“You’ll see—this is the change you need. You won’t regret it,” Lewis said, pulling me into a hug.

And I prayed he was right, because I truly couldn’t handle another period of anxiety.

Ferrari contacted me later that same day with an offer that made my eyebrows shoot up. It was far more than I was earning, with fewer responsibilities. So I guess saying yes turned out to be the right call.

The season came to a close, and Max Verstappen was crowned World Champion—something everyone had seen coming, so it wasn’t much of a surprise.

Three days after Abu Dhabi, I officially handed in my resignation to Mercedes. It came as a shock to most of the team, including George, who fell silent and thoughtful when one of the data engineers told him.

Toto, on the other hand, didn’t seem surprised at all.

“The moment Lewis told me he was leaving the team, I figured he’d take you with him. He wouldn’t leave you here—you’re like his emotional support person,” he joked. We both laughed, a hint of nostalgia in the air. “You know you’ll always have a place here with me. If you ever feel uncomfortable, if you ever want to come back, just say the word and I’ll make it happen.”

“Thanks, Toto.” We shared a heartfelt hug.

My contract with Ferrari was set to begin in February, which gave me two months off. I took the opportunity to visit my parents in my home country, where they had recently bought a farm in a rural area.

That’s where I confirmed that what people say online is true—the only thing you really need to cure anxiety is to go outside and touch some grass.

And that’s exactly what I did. I fully immersed myself in farm life: picking fruit, tilling the soil, lifting heavy things, feeding animals, horseback riding and eating.

My problems seemed to disappear. No more hallway gossip, no more moments of crisis, and most importantly, no more thoughts of George Russell.

By the time my vacation ended, I was practically a different person. I could sleep without any trouble, and thinking about the past few months of my life brought nothing more than a faint sense of discomfort.

Physically, I had changed a lot too—and I realized it when my jeans wouldn’t go past mid-thigh. My ass had filled out by at least a couple of sizes, and my abdomen was completely flat. All the physical effort that farm work required had clearly paid off.

I was also a bit more tanned, and my dark curls had grown long enough to almost reach my ass. All of it contrasted with my light green eyes and my soft pomagrade lips. I had to admit it to myself—I looked hot.

A few days before February began, I returned, took care of some things, and went out with a few friends, including Lewis.

The news of his move to Ferrari was already official, and it seemed like he was adjusting well to the new team and its pace.

(…)

The first time I spoke to Charles Leclerc was during a meeting to go over some data from his practice sessions.

“You’re Lewis’s friend, right?” he asked, watching me closely.

“Yes—though in environments like this, we usually call each other coworkers, you know… to keep things a bit more professional.”

“I see,” he nodded, his eyes never leaving my face.

I had to admit, Charles was very attractive—but I didn’t want to dwell on those thoughts. I was here to work, and that’s all I intended to focus on.

Which turned out to be quite difficult, because Charles seemed to develop a certain fascination with me—and that’s putting it lightly.

Whenever we talked, he looked at me as if he’d never seen another woman before. Lewis would just laugh it off, but for me, it was concerning. I didn’t want to find myself in a situation like the one I had already gone through. He was sweet, but I started to put some distance between us.

(…)

It turned out to be completely pointless.

Every time I tried to distance myself from Charles, he only became more persistent about staying close. After a while, I gave up and let it be—mainly to avoid coming across as rude.

“So, what are you doing today?” he asked.

“I’m not really sure,” I replied. “I think I’ll just eat at the hotel and go to sleep.”

“You should come with us to a gathering tonight.”

“I don’t know if that would be very professional of me.”

“Don’t worry,” he said quickly. “It’s a dinner with some people from the FIA to celebrate the start of the season—basically a work event.”

“I don’t know…”

“Lewis will be there too, so you don’t have to worry.”

After thinking it over for a moment, I ended up agreeing. It was just a small gathering among colleagues—nothing more.

“Perfect, because I already confirmed you as my date.”

I looked at him, slightly alarmed, but he just laughed, and I let out a small laugh as well.

Around 7 p.m., Charles came to pick me up at my room. According to the invitation, the event was fairly casual, so I tried to dress accordingly.

“You look beautiful,” Charles said the moment he saw me, his gaze sweeping over me, a hint of fascination in his eyes.

“Thank you.”

We arrived at the venue, and sure enough, there were plenty of people from the paddock. At the start, the FIA president gave a short speech; everyone applauded, and then we were free to mingle.

I spoke with some people I knew, mostly people from Mercedes. Charles stepped away after a few minutes, but we remained within each other’s line of sight the entire time.

Eventually, I spotted Lewis in the crowd and walked over to talk to him, not noticing he was already in the middle of a conversation.

“I’ve been looking for you,” I said, playfully reproachful.

“You’re Charles’s date—I didn’t want to interrupt,” he replied, wrapping an arm around me and placing a kiss on my head.

“You’re Charles’s date?” George’s voice startled me. I had been so focused on Lewis that I hadn’t realized he was the one Lewis had been talking to.

“No—I mean, yes—I mean, I’m just accompanying him tonight,” I said with a nervous laugh. God, just take me now.

Lewis chuckled at my flustered state, but George—George had the most serious, unfriendly expression I had ever seen on him.

I gave him a small smile to ease the tension, and his expression finally softened.

“How has Ferrari been treating you?” he asked, changing the subject.

I went on to tell him a bit about my time with the new team. In the middle of my rambling, I didn’t notice that Charles had been watching us the entire time—and he didn’t look particularly pleased with what he was seeing.

“Do you and George have something going on?” Charles asked as soon as we were in the car, heading back to the hotel.

“What?” I nearly shouted, caught completely off guard by the question.

“Well… I guess that answers it.”

“No—of course not. He was just my coworker.”

“Because it didn’t look that way,” Charles said, his tone edged with accusation. “Not with the way he was looking at you… or how nervous you seemed around him.”

“Of course not—and besides, that’s none of your business,” I snapped, irritation creeping into my voice.

Who does he think he is?

“You’re right. It’s not my damn business.”

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

Charles chose not to answer. Instead, he drove recklessly the entire way back to the hotel. When we reached the entrance, he slammed on the brakes.

“If you want to get yourself killed, do it alone, idiot,” I said, stepping out and slamming the door behind me.

All I heard in response was Charles’s laugh.

(…)

From that day on, things were tense between us.

Charles barely spoke to me, yet he was always watching me. It was unsettling—every time I glanced to the side, his eyes were already on me.

I tried sticking closer to Lewis and avoiding Charles altogether, but after a couple of days, I had to stop. Lewis was starting to sense that something was off between us.

The months passed, and although things cooled down, I chose to keep my distance. Something Charles clearly struggled to accept. He respected my space—but whenever we were in the same room, our eyes would inevitably find each other.

It was frustrating. I genuinely just wanted peace at work—I didn’t want to get tangled up with a driver again. But Charles made that very difficult.

Every other day, I would find a small gift left on my desk. No note, no name—but I knew exactly who they were from.

And even though I pretended not to care, my heart would skip a beat every time I arrived in the morning and saw one waiting for me. I did my best to hide it—the last thing I wanted was to spark more gossip. I was comfortable in this job, and I intended to stay.

The Monaco Grand Prix came around, and things didn’t go well for Charles. Due to some issues with the car, he lost a podium finish—a heavy blow, especially in his home country.

When the race ended, the tension in the garage was suffocating. Charles was furious. Everyone was on edge, and no one dared to say a word to him.

Not even me. I stayed in a corner, watching as he vented his frustration at everything and everyone.

“Fuck this,” he finally snapped before storming out of the paddock without looking back.

“You should go talk to him,” Lewis murmured in my ear.

“Absolutely not,” I refused immediately. “He looks possessed, and I’m pretty sure I’m the last person he wants to see right now.”

“You’re wrong. You and I both know he has feelings for you,” Lewis said with a knowing smile. “And even though I don’t fully agree—because I know you’re at a disadvantage—Charles is still my friend. And right now, he needs you.”

I let out a deep sigh, ready to refuse again, but Lewis looked at me like he was daring me to say no.

So I didn’t really have a choice.

“Fine, I’ll go talk to him. Where the hell did he go?”

“Most likely home. Come on—I’ll take you.”

(…)

In less than ten minutes, we arrived at the apartment complex where Charles lives.

“Please let him know that Y/N is here to see him.” I immediately turned to look at Lewis as he gave instructions to the front desk staff.

“Lewis, what the hell?”

“What? It’s the only way he’ll let us in,” he shrugged.

“Mr. Leclerc says you can come up,” the receptionist informed us.

“Good. I’ll see you tomorrow,” Lewis said quickly.

“Wait—what?”

“Charles will only talk to you. If I’m there, he’ll blow up at me.”

“Lewis, you know that’s not true.”

“Sorry, Y/N. Let me know how it goes,” he said, raising his hand in a casual goodbye as he walked away backward.

He got into his car and disappeared from my sight in the blink of an eye.

“I hate my fucking life,” I muttered to myself.

The receptionist pointed me toward the building and floor I needed to go to. It took me a while—the complex was huge.

When I got there, I stood in front of the door for a moment, debating whether to knock or just run away. Unfortunately for me, I didn’t have much time to think, because before I could even raise my fist, the door swung open so abruptly that it startled me.

Charles stood there, his face serious and unreadable.

“I didn’t expect you, of all people, to show up at my door,” he said, not taking his eyes off me.

“I just wanted to see how you were doing. You didn’t look okay back there.”

Charles nodded slightly.

“Come in,” he said, stepping aside to let me in.

Inside, the apartment was spotless—so clean and organized it looked like something out of a catalog. Luxuries like this didn’t impress me anymore; I’d gotten used to them over time.

“Who made you come?” Charles asked as he sat down, gesturing for me to sit beside him.

“No one made me,” I said through clenched teeth.

“Then it was Lewis,” he concluded.

“I already told you—no one made me. I’m here because I want to be here,” I said firmly.

“Alright. I got my answer, so don’t worry about it.”

“How are you feeling now? That was… intense back there.”

“Yeah—and I feel like shit. I mean, I’ve kind of gotten over the race, but I hate that I let the worst side of me show in the garage,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration.

“We all understand. Don’t beat yourself up too much over it.”

We talked a bit more about the race and how he was feeling, until the conversation shifted.

“Hey, I wanted to apologize for the argument we had the day of the FIA gathering. I didn’t mean to cross any boundaries.”

“It’s fine, I accept your apology. I’d already moved past it anyway,” I said with a small shrug and a faint smile.

“It’s just… I got a little curious about what was going on between you and George.” And jealous… I added silently in my head.

“Like I told you that day, there’s nothing between George and me. We were just coworkers, and now we just have a… cordial relationship, I guess.”

“I see. So I don’t have anything to worry about.”

I frowned at him.

Worry?

“Don’t look at me like that. I think I’ve been pretty obvious about the fact that I like you.”

My cheeks immediately grew warm. I didn’t like where this was going.

“Charles, I don’t think this is appropriate…” I cleared my throat. “We work together. I don’t want things to get complicated.”

“Who cares?”

“I do. I care. I don’t want people starting rumors—it would be too uncomfortable.”

“No one has to know,” he said, as if it were the simplest solution. “I’ve seen the way you hold my gaze… and I’ve noticed how excited you get when you see the gifts I leave on your desk.”

I ran my hands over my face, trying to steady myself.

“Charles, it’s not that simple—” I turned to look at him, only to realize he was suddenly very close.

He cupped my face with his large hand, leaning in slowly. When he was just inches away, he whispered:

“No one has to find out…”

A shaky breath escaped my lips.

What have I just gotten myself into?

(…)

I was touch-starved.

That’s the only explanation I can find for why I let things escalate so much.

That Sunday, when I went to check on Charles Leclerc, we ended up having sex on his couch.

And then in his bed…

And the next morning, in his shower.

From that day on, neither my mind nor my life had been at peace. Every single day, I told myself how stupid I had been—how I could have put myself in a situation (not even similar) but worse than the one I went through at Mercedes.

At least back then, nothing had actually happened between George and me. It had just been a stupid crush.

While I was slowly unraveling from the anxiety, Charles was the complete opposite. He seemed to have blossomed. Every chance he got, he tried to kiss me, hold my hand, go out together—so many things. It was like watching someone who had suddenly realized life was worth living.

And that was a problem for me—because he wanted to live that life with me.

It had been almost three weeks since that day, and we were all preparing for the Austrian Grand Prix. I was sitting at my desk, going over some statistics on my computer, when a message popped up on my phone.

KIMI MY SMALL CHILD: So pretty 😍🤣🤣

Attached were a couple of photos. In both, George and I appeared. In the first, I was sitting right where I was now, yawning, while George stood a bit ahead, making a heart shape with his hands, framing my face.

In the second, I didn’t look any better—I had my eyes closed, as if I were resting for a moment, while George, from the same distance, puckered his lips as if blowing me a kiss.

I couldn’t help but laugh like an idiot. When I looked up, I saw the two of them a few meters away, laughing as they waited for my reaction.

I was so out of it that I didn’t notice when Charles appeared behind me and caught a glimpse of the photos Kimi had sent.

“Well…” he said, his tone far from amused. “That’s a bit much for someone you supposedly have nothing with, don’t you think?”

I turned to look at him and met his hardened gaze.

“Come on, Charles, we’re just messing around,” I tried to explain, sounding ridiculous even to myself.

“No, don’t worry. I understand perfectly.”

His chest rose and fell with restrained anger. He wasn’t looking at me anymore—his eyes were locked on George.

And George, not one to back down, returned the stare just as firmly. It was clear neither of them was about to be intimidated. Luckily, no one else seemed to be paying attention.

I let out a scoff, grabbed my laptop, and moved to another spot. I wasn’t about to get caught in the middle of their nonsense.

I replied to Kimi’s message and took a pill—my head hadn’t stopped aching these past few days. It was probably the stress Charles was putting me under, finally catching up to me.

(…)

The race was a disaster.

Between Charles and George, they were practically competing for the title of biggest idiot.

Charles nearly sent him flying off in one corner, and George retaliated by clipping his rear tire and sending him into a spin.

Everyone in the garage was on edge, biting their nails in anxiety. No one understood what was going on, and the engineers from both sides were just shouting and running around like headless chickens.

By the end of the race, neither of them made it onto the podium. Charles stormed in like a wild animal—and George didn’t seem much better.

Without wasting a second, Charles ripped off his helmet and headed straight toward the Mercedes garage. He didn’t even make it all the way—George met him halfway.

They started shouting all kinds of insults at each other, and it was about to turn into something worse before team from both sides stepped in and pulled them apart.

The look on my face must have said it all—I felt completely drained, like the blood had left my face entirely. Lewis watched the whole scene with concern, glancing at me every so often as if making sure I wouldn’t faint right there. Thankfully, I didn’t—my body hadn’t betrayed me like that… not yet.

Eventually, things settled down, and the entire team was sent back to their respective hotels.

I knew I had some responsibility in all of this, but I had no idea how to handle it. Alone in my room, my stomach tied in knots, all I could think about was how much of a coward I was.

My phone buzzed, and without thinking much, I opened the message.

GEORGE RUSSELL: Can we talk?

ME: About what?

GEORGE RUSSELL: I think you know. Where are you staying? I can come pick you up.

ME: I don’t think that’s the best idea after what happened today. Tell me where to meet you, and I’ll come.

George sent me a location, and I headed there.

It was time to face this—and end it once and for all.

(…)

“So, what’s going on between you and Leclerc?” George got straight to the point as soon as we sat down at a small café table in the city center.

“Nothing’s going on. We’re just coworkers,” I said, trying to downplay it.

“Oh yeah? Because that’s not what it looks like. It looks more like he’s completely obsessed with you and can’t stand you giving your attention to anyone else—especially me.”

“You’re seeing things that aren’t there.”

George let out a dry, ironic laugh.

“I’m not the only one who sees it that way. Even Lewis brought it up to me—he’s worried about his behavior. Please, Y/N, just be honest with me.”

I took a deep breath, meeting his gaze.

“Fine. We kissed a few weeks ago,” I lied outright, trying to make it seem insignificant.

“Are you sure?” George asked, raising an eyebrow.

I stayed silent, holding his gaze.

“I know you were in love with me, and that’s why you left Mercedes.”

“I wasn’t in love,” I shot back defensively. “It was just a small crush. And I left because Lewis asked me to—and because the conditions were better,” I added, another small lie.

“Either way,” he continued, “my point is that I never wanted to encourage those feelings, because I knew it could put you in a difficult position. I like you, Y/N—and I can admit that now, because I realize you don’t feel the same way anymore.”

His confession left me speechless. In all the time I’d known George, I had never imagined my feelings for him might have been mutual.

“Don’t let your life turn upside down again, Y/N. I know there can’t be anything between us now, but I still want to be your friend. And as your friend, it’s my job to look out for you.” He took my hand, giving it a gentle squeeze in reassurance. “You matter to me.”

A small tear slipped from my eye, and with my free hand, I quickly wiped it away.

“Thank you, George. You matter to me too.” We shared a brief hug.

“Come on, don't feel bad. I trust you’ll make the right decisions—and whether I agree or not, I’ll keep supporting you.”

With one last hug, we said goodbye. It was the closure I needed.

Now, I was definitely ready to leave this circus behind.

(…)

The problem was that the circus wasn’t ready to let me go.

When I got back to the hotel and stepped into my room, a very irritated Charles was already there, waiting for me.

“How did you get in here?” I asked, closing the door behind me.

“Where were you?” he shot back, ignoring my question.

“That’s none of your business.”

“Were you with George?” he pressed.

“That’s none of your business,” I repeated.

“So you were with him.”

“Yes, I was. We needed to talk about a few things after today’s spectacle,” I finally admitted.

“And what did you talk about? Your stupid feelings?” The way he said it was laced with bitterness.

“They’re not stupid—and it’s none of your concern.”

“It is my concern. You can’t play with my feelings like this. You can’t come here, go along with everything, and then run off to comfort that idiot who never had the guts to admit to your face that he was a coward that let everyone talk trash about you.” His voice kept rising with every word.

“How do you even know that? You know what? I don’t care. It doesn’t matter what you know or think you know. What matters is that you and I are a mistake. What happened between us was a mistake—one that won’t happen again. Because clearly, what you need is help. You’re fucking crazy.”

“A mistake? That’s what it was to you? Let me remind you—it didn’t happen just once. So it’s pretty clear you liked that mistake… and this ‘crazy’ man.”

Our breathing was uneven, the tension in the room thick enough to cut with a knife.

For a moment, neither of us said anything. We just stared at each other. The heat was suffocating. I parted my lips to say something else—

—but before I could say anything.

Charles kissed me.

It was the kind of kiss that felt desperate, like we both needed it to survive. His hands pulled me closer as his lips moved against mine, trailing down my neck.

Little by little, everything else faded away, and we gave in to each other once again.

I’d have time to regret it later.

(…)

And I really regretted it.

The following week, I was in England, having breakfast with Lewis when I felt the first consequences of my decisions.

The moment I put a forkful of eggs in my mouth, a sudden wave of nausea hit me. I had to spit everything out immediately to avoid throwing up.

Lewis looked at me with a raised eyebrow.

“Sorry, it just… tastes too much like eggs,” I tried to explain.

He laughed at my ridiculous excuse.

“Have some of mine,” he offered.

“No, no, I’m fine. I’ll just have some tea.”

Which turned out to be a terrible decision, because it left me feeling dizzy for the rest of the day.

We had a meeting in the afternoon, and as soon as it ended, I went straight to my room and drank the coldest water I could find. I took some acetaminophen and immediately went to sleep. It was so unlike me to turn in that early that it raised some concern within the team.

Lewis texted to ask if I was okay, and I brushed him off with a vague “yes.”

Charles, on the other hand, went straight to my room. He brought me something light for dinner and even fed me himself. He stayed with me for a while before eventually leaving for his own room.

The next day was more of the same. I felt awful, but I did my best not to show it. The only ones who weren’t entirely convinced were Lewis and Charles, who kept checking on me to see if something was wrong.

The race weekend passed, and after that, we had two weeks off before heading to Belgium.

That week, I decided to go to London with Lewis, going against Charles’s wish for me to go with him to Monaco.

Everything felt like too much, and spending that much time together didn’t seem like a good idea—not until things were clear between us.

Then Tuesday came, and that was the day my world fell apart. A small notification was all it took to trigger the disaster:

“Your period is 12 days late. Let’s assess your chances of being pregnant.”

The color drained from my face instantly. My mind started racing, doing the math, replaying dates. How could I be so stupid? I couldn’t even remember if Charles had used protection the first time we were together weeks ago.

My breathing became uneven, my thoughts spiraling—and that’s how Lewis found me, hyperventilating and on the verge of a breakdown.

“Hey, hey—what’s wrong?” he said, cupping my face with both hands. “Look at me. Breathe, please.”

I tried to steady myself, following his instructions—inhale, exhale. After a couple of minutes, I managed to calm down.

“Now tell me what’s going on.”

“I think I’m pregnant.”

“What?” His voice came out barely above a whisper.

“I’ve been feeling really sick lately, and I’m late—by a lot,” I started to spiral again, and once more, Lewis tried to ground me.

“Okay… maybe you’re overthinking this. Maybe it’s just hormones, stress from the past few weeks,” he said, trying to sound logical—but his expression gave away how worried he really was.

I just cried silently as he held me.

“Let’s not panic yet. We’ll find out first. Give me half an hour—I’ll get someone to bring a test.”

And he did. After a few calls, about forty minutes later, someone discreetly left a home pregnancy test at the door.

I went straight to the bathroom and took it, silently praying it was just a scare—that I was overreacting.

Unfortunately, not even two minutes had passed before the test beeped, and the small screen displayed the words:

“Pregnant 4–8.”

My legs gave out beneath me. I slid down against the wall until I was sitting on the floor.

I’m completely screwed.

(…)

Lewis tried to keep my spirits up, but there was no way I could see the bright side of any of this.

Meanwhile, he seemed to be on cloud nine—talking about becoming an uncle and the baby’s godfather, about all the things he wanted to buy, everything he wanted to teach.

I didn’t have the heart to shatter his excitement by telling him I wasn’t even sure if I wanted to continue the pregnancy. At least one of us deserved to feel happy.

The next day, I quietly went to a private lab for a blood test. Some part of me still hoped it would come back negative. But that hope didn’t last long—just a few hours later, the results came back with an undeniable: POSITIVE.

“You need to tell Charles,” Lewis said as soon as we got the confirmation.

“I don’t even know how to tell him… I’m scared.”

“Scared of what? He was part of this too—he deserves to know, no matter how he reacts.”

“I’m scared he’ll go even more off the rails,” I admitted. Lewis let out a small laugh. “Or that he’ll completely reject it.”

“Well, it makes sense that you have doubts. But hey—you’re not alone. If he turns his back on you, which I honestly don’t think he will, you’ll always have me. You’re like my little sister. We’ve supported each other through everything.”

With tears in my eyes, I hugged him. Lewis was one of the best things that had ever happened to me.

And he was right—I needed to tell Charles. But I would do it in my own time. First, I needed to be sure about my decision regarding the pregnancy.

The rest of the week flew by. Charles called me every day, always making it clear how much he missed me and how badly he wanted us to be together again. During one of those calls, he mentioned formally introducing me to his mom and his brothers. Of course, I already knew them—but now he was going to introduce me as what? His girlfriend? I couldn’t even say that we had that kind of relationship.

By Wednesday of the Belgian Grand Prix week, we were all back at the motorhome, back in work mode.

It’s true what they say—once you find out you’re pregnant, the symptoms seem to hit harder. In my case, I could barely keep the nausea under control. Any strong smell made me feel like I was about to throw up.

Lewis watched me with knowing eyes, trying to help by bringing me very cold juices—which, I had recently discovered, helped me a lot.

Charles, on the other hand, had started to suspect that something wasn’t quite right. Sometimes I would drift off into my thoughts, and when I came back, I’d find him watching me from across the room, his brows furrowed.

It almost made me laugh, because it reminded me of how everything started—me trying to avoid him, and him only becoming more determined to stay close.

“Why are you ignoring me?” he finally asked Thursday night.

“I’m not ignoring you.”

“Yes, you are. I know you too well, Y/N. There’s something you and Lewis are hiding from me.” His expression was tense, searching my face for the slightest clue.

“I’m not hiding anything. I’ve just been really busy,” I said, taking his hands in mine and pressing a couple of kisses to them. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to make you feel like I’m ignoring you.”

That seemed to work. Charles let out a sigh and cupped my face, pulling me into a kiss.

“I love you, you know?”

I froze at his sudden confession.

“You don’t have to say anything back. I just wanted you to know. And I want you to remember that whatever’s on your mind, you can trust me enough to talk about it.” He gently twirled a strand of my hair, smiling at me.

“I know… thank you for being there for me,” I said, hugging him tightly, silently telling myself I would find the right moment to tell him.

Soon.

(…)

Soon turned into more than a month later.

After all that time, I had finally decided that I wanted to continue with the pregnancy. By that point, Charles was openly saying we were in a relationship. There hadn’t been any official “will you be my girlfriend” moment or anything like that—but it wasn’t really necessary, considering how unconventional everything between us had been from the start.

It was late August, and Monza was just around the corner, so I was fully immersed in work.

In all that time, I still hadn’t gone to my first doctor’s appointment. I wanted Charles to come with me—I wanted us to see the baby together for the first time. At least, that’s what I had hoped for.

My symptoms had improved, mostly because I had figured out what triggered them the most and learned how to manage them. Thankfully.

Charles had relaxed a bit too, especially after my “mystery illness” suddenly seemed to disappear, almost like it had just been a virus. Thinking about it that way almost made me laugh.

It was a Saturday morning when my phone rang. The caller ID showed it was Lewis.

I answered, and before I could even say hello, he spoke quickly.

“Look at what I just sent you—don’t hang up while you check it, please,” he said urgently.

“Okay…”

I pulled the phone away from my ear and opened our chat. There was a link to an Instagram account. When I opened it, the first thing I saw was a photo of Charles with his ex-girlfriend, Alexandra. It wasn’t anything compromising—but the fact that he hadn’t told me where he’d seen her said enough.

A gasp escaped my lips.

“Did you see it?” Lewis asked through the speaker.

“Lewis… when was this?” I asked, my voice trembling.

“Apparently last night. I tried calling him, but he’s not answering. I know I shouldn’t have shown you before talking to him, but I didn’t want you finding out through all the awful posts going around,” he explained quickly.

My stomach twisted into knots, and I could only start to sob.

“Y/N? Are you crying?”

“No…” I said, my voice shaking.

“Yes, you are. Damn it—Charles is going to regret this, I swear. I’ll punch him the moment I see him,” Lewis muttered angrily. “Y/N, stay there, okay? I’m coming to get you.”

And just like he promised, he came for me. In less than two hours, we had decided that I would stay in London until further notice.

I sent my leave request to Ferrari, and they approved it without much fuss.

I packed my things, and Lewis arranged for me to fly to London on a private jet.

While all of this was happening, Charles finally showed signs of life—he blew up my phone with calls and messages.

I didn’t answer any of them.

I didn’t even read them.

I wasn’t ready to hear his excuses.

When I arrived in London, a driver Lewis had arranged took me to his house. I stayed there, lost in my thoughts, drowning in heartbreak.

Charles kept trying to reach me while I continued to ignore him.

Among all his messages, one came from someone unexpected.

GEORGE: Hey, I just saw what’s going on online with Charles. Can we talk?

ME: Hi, George. Yes, of course.

GEORGE: Sorry to bring this up—I know it must be a sensitive topic for you.

GEORGE: But I wanted to tell you what I saw yesterday. I’m not Charles’s biggest fan, but if I can keep you from getting hurt, I will.

GEORGE: I was at the same place where those photos were taken. Alexandra was there with some of her friends—you know, influencers and all that. She went up to say hi to him, and he just greeted her back.

GEORGE: I’m pretty sure that’s when the photos were taken. There was nothing inappropriate about it—at least not from what I saw or heard. Charles left shortly after, and then Alexandra and her friends did too. So I doubt anything else happened between them.

ME: George, thank you so much for trying to clear things up. Hearing your side makes me feel a bit more at ease.

GEORGE: Of course. You know you have a friend in me—that’s what friends do.

GEORGE: Hope we can see each other in Monza <3

I said goodbye and took a deep breath before dialing Charles’s number.

He picked up almost instantly.

“Love! I’m so sorry, please forgive me—I was an idiot. I never meant to hurt you. Please, tell me where you are.”

“Charles… what exactly happened yesterday?”

He went on to explain a version of events almost identical to what George had told me. Everything lined up perfectly, and my doubts slowly began to fade.

“Okay… I believe you.”

Charles let out a long breath of relief.

“Where are you?” he asked again.

“I’m in London, at Lewis’s place.”

“I’m coming. I’ll be there in a few hours.”

“What? No—” Before I could protest, he had already hung up.

Well… I guess we can kill two birds with one stone here.

(…)

Several hours later, the sound of the doorbell startled me. Charles was here.

I hurried to the door and opened it. The moment he saw me, he pulled me into his arms and kissed me.

“I missed you,” he murmured between kisses.

“We need to talk,” I said, my tone serious.

Charles nodded, and we walked over to the couch.

“Love, I want you to know nothing happened yesterday. I only have eyes for you—”

“Yes, Charles, I—”

“Give me a second. Everything they’re saying online is nothing but lies. They’re trying to create a false narrative just to drive traffic to their trashy outlets—”

“Charles—”

“I’ve already had my lawyers send cease-and-desist letters. It’s unbelievable how people twist freedom of speech to make things up without thinking about how much damage it can do—”

“Char—”

“—to someone’s life and to the people around them—”

“Charles, please let me speak,” I finally said, raising my voice slightly.

“Yes, my love. Go ahead,” he said with a small, sheepish smile, realizing he had gotten carried away.

“Charles, I have something very important to tell you. Something I should have told you a long time ago—and I’m sorry I didn’t.”

“Babe, I forgive you. Just tell me what’s going on—you’re making me nervous.”

“Charles… I’m pregnant.”

The words left my mouth, and I felt like all the air had been knocked out of me.

His face went through at least three different expressions in a matter of seconds. I wasn’t even sure he was breathing.

He just stood there, mouth slightly open, eyes wide, completely still.

“Charles?” I asked softly.

“What? When? How?”

I gave him the short version of how I found out, how far along I thought I was, and why I hadn’t told him sooner.

Charles started laughing like a mad man—a mix of nerves and excitement. He ran his hands over his face and through his hair, trying to process everything.

I watched him, a little worried—but he wasn’t reacting badly, and that was what mattered.

“My God… I’m going to be a father.”

I nodded, watching him.

“I’m actually going to be a fucking dad.”

“Charles, watch your language,” I scolded lightly.

“Sorry, sorry—the baby shouldn’t hear that,” he said, placing a hand gently on my lower abdomen.

“There’s barely anything there yet.”

“Doesn’t matter. It’s already perfect.”

His excitement made my chest tighten.

I tried to hold it in, but when he looked at me, his eyes glistening, I couldn’t anymore. I broke down crying like a fool.

We held each other there on that small couch, already making plans for a future that suddenly didn’t feel so far away.

(…)

“If you look here, you can see the limbs starting to form,” the doctor pointed out on the screen. It wasn’t completely clear, but there it was—the shape of a tiny, growing baby.

Charles could barely contain himself. When the doctor turned on the sound of the heartbeat, we both teared up.

“It’s perfect,” he whispered, gently stroking my hair.

That was the first of many ultrasounds he came to with me. His schedule wasn’t always easy, but he made an effort to be there every time.

Months later, in a hospital in Monaco, our baby was born: Jacques Lewis Leclerc.

You can probably guess who was the most excited of all.

[islagalaxie]

BIG REPUTATION - MAX VERSTAPPEN

Max Verstappen x fem!reader

SUMMARY: Y/N never planned to fall in love with someone like Max Verstappen, let alone in the middle of the chaos her life had become. After a failed relationship marked by infidelity and public exposure, the last thing she wanted was to feel something for anyone again.

TAGs: FAST BURN, SMUT, SLIGHT MENTION OF ALCOHOLISM, CLICHÉ, FLUFF, SLIGHT ANGST.

NOTE: Hi, this is basically my first story. It’s the first time since I was 14 that I’ve tried to write something, and Formula 1 kind of pushed me to give it a shot. Please keep in mind that English isn’t my first language, and I needed a bit of help from a translator hahaha, so some parts might sound a little robotic or awkwardly written. I hope you enjoy it ❤️

WORD COUNT: 9.5k

masterlist

Helping my best friend throw up in a tiny bathroom at a club in Oslo wasn’t exactly how I planned to end the night, but I guess not everything can be perfect, especially not after all the shit I’ve had to go through these past few weeks.

“Do you feel better?” I asked Ethan, patting his back.

“Yeah… thanks for not letting me drown in my own vomit.” The words came out slurred, and all I could do was let out a dry laugh.

“Let’s go back to the floor. I want to dance a little more.”

As we walked out of the bathroom, we were hit by the suffocating heat of the club. The air conditioning was on full blast, but with that many people packed inside, it was impossible to feel it.

We pushed our way through the crowd, and with some effort, we managed to reach the bar, where—miraculously—we found two empty seats. I gestured to the bartender and silently mouthed, “water.” Luckily, he understood and immediately handed us a couple of bottles.

“Here, drink as much as you can—you’re a fucking mess,” I said, unscrewing the cap and placing the bottle in his hand.

“Thanks.” He grabbed it with slightly trembling hands and immediately started chugging the entire bottle.

Sometimes I thought Ethan might have a serious problem with alcohol. He drank so much that there were times when he wouldn’t remember a thing the next day. Anyway, that’s a conversation for another time, because right now, I kind of wish I could get to that same state myself.

You see, until recently, I was a different person. I had a stable relationship, a stable job, and a life that—even if it wasn’t always happy—was comfortable and worked for me. All of that changed when I found my boyfriend, my future husband, in bed with a woman younger than me, prettier than me, and with a more glamorous and successful career than mine.

It hit me so hard that I ended up leaving everything familiar and safe behind, to travel aimlessly with my best friend.

“THIS IS MY FUCKING SONG, LET’S FUCKING DANCE BITCH” Ethan shouted over the music, immediately grabbing my arm and pulling me toward the dance floor.

We blended into the crowd and started dancing right away. Ethan, still consumed by the alcohol in his system, began putting on one of his shows.

One of those where he dances in a provocative, almost inventive way, like he’s in one of those L.A. dance videos where everyone just start doing random shit just for the sake of it. In another situation, I might've felt a little bit embarrassed, but since I’m also a drunk mess and in a place where no one knows us, I couldn’t care less.

The atmosphere was so good and so lively that I don’t even know when we ended up on the other side of the club. There, the two of us danced together, and after a while, other girls joined us. The moment couldn’t have been better—I was with my best friend of many years, enjoying what we loved most, without having to worry about cheating boyfriends, homewreckers, or people with nothing better to do than justify the harm done to someone who has been betrayed.

My mind wandered so much between my pain and my drunkenness that, when I came back to my senses, I was leaning against a wall, kissing a complete stranger. I pulled my lips away from the man who had his hands on my waist, and immediately he opened his eyes, silently asking what was wrong.

Very light blue eyes looked at me questioningly, but I was still a bit out of it and, for a moment, I couldn’t even remember how to speak. I studied his face a little longer, and something about it felt familiar—not in a “I know you from before” kind of way, but in a “I’ve seen you somewhere” kind of way.

“Do I know you from somewhere?” I asked, almost shouting over the loud music.

The guy laughed softly and just replied, “I don’t think so,” shrugging.

I shrugged too and thought, anyway, I probably won’t see him again, so what does it matter if we just give eachother a few kisses tonight?

We went back to what we were doing, this time with a little more passion. His hands tightened around my waist, and I placed mine around his neck—a very strong neck, by the way. His lips were a bit rough, but that only added spice to the moment. His kisses began to move from my mouth to my neck, and I let out a small moan as I felt them sending signals straight to my core.

That sensation was suddenly interrupted by Ethan’s unmistakable shout. I opened my eyes abruptly, and the first thing I saw was my best friend practically lifeless on the floor.

“ETHAN” I shouted, pulling away from the blue-eyed guy and rushing toward my friend. “What the fuck?”

“Y/N, I think I’m really drunk,” I managed to hear as I tried to lift him, with help from the pretty-eyed guy and another girl who had been dancing with us earlier.

“Your friend doesn’t look too good. If you want, I can take you to your hotel or wherever you’re staying,” the guy whispered in my ear.

I looked at him for a moment, unsure whether to accept or decline. In a situation like this, I would normally say no immediately. I mean, I don’t really know this person, and there’s a high chance something could go wrong given our state. I don’t know if it was his familiar face or the fact that dealing with Ethan alone would be a headache, but I ended up saying yes.

Between him and one of his friends (who appeared out of nowhere), we carried Ethan to the club’s parking lot, where the guy’s car was parked. Somehow, we managed to get Ethan into the back seat, and the guy and I got into the front.

“Aren’t you too drunk to drive?” I asked, a bit concerned.

“Don’t worry, I can drive even with my eyes closed,” he said with a slight laugh. I wasn’t entirely convinced, but he seemed fully aware of himself, and at that point, getting Ethan out of the car again would’ve been a challenge.

I gave him the name of the hotel, and he put it on the GPS. In what felt like the blink of an eye, we arrived. We got Ethan out of the car and I managed to sit him on the curb—completely passed out, as he normally ended up when he went clubbing.

“Thanks for your help and for bringing us here.”

“What do you mean, thanks? You need to pay me,” he said playfully, pulling me by the arm. Still surprised, I let him kiss me again. He pressed me against one of the car’s rear doors, and I just foolishly went along with it—all while my best friend laid unconscious no more than two meters away.

There, in the hotel parking lot, in that brief moment, I realized that maybe my life wasn’t so bad after all.

(…)

My life was bad after all.

In my attempt to heal from the disaster of my last relationship, I ended up making many mistakes, mistakes that were now catching up with me.

Opening Twitter had become my daily dose of torture, a place that constantly reminded me that, somehow, I could look even more pathetic than I already felt. Countless tweets from people talking about how awful I was for trying to ruin my ex’s career and his new girlfriend’s reputation by accusing them of being cheaters and homewreckers.

All of this witch hunt started because, Í “accidentally” (though it was actually very intentional), shared a TikTok video where someone exposed everything that had (supposedly) happened in our relationship. It was, to be fair, a very accurate summary.

My ex-boyfriend is a football player for one of the biggest clubs in Spain. He’s not Cristiano or Messi, but he has a solid reputation and stats to back him up. We met many years ago, when he was a nobody. Even so, from the very beginning, he became everything to me. I supported him when he needed it the most, I went to his games, celebrated his victories, and comforted him in his losses.

Unfortunately for me, I could've given him heaven and all it's fucking glory, and it still wouldn’t have been enough for someone as ungrateful as him. The moment he signed his big contract in Spain, he started to think I was no longer on the level of a “great” footballer like him. Little by little, he began replacing me and leaving me out of things. At first, I tried to understand, it was a new environment with new people. I told myself I just had to wait for him to adjust, go through his process, and then things would go back to normal.

That “normal” never came.

Because sooner than I expected, he made his final move, and while we were still together, he started going out with a “singer”, more than a singer, is one of those influencers who suddenly thinks she’s an artist just because she releases a song with a recycled beat and lyrics written by a Jack Antonoff wannabe. But oh well, who am I to judge? Maybe I’m just speaking from my very poorly hidden bitterness.

The point is, I found them both in the apartment we shared, in a position that left no room for excuses or justifications.

That same situation is what the girl in the video I shared was explaining. Of course, she didn’t know that I had actually caught them tangled up together on my couch. But she could guess—based on the number of “likes” they exchanged on social media, how they always seemed to be in the same places with the same group of friends, and, not least of all, how shamelessly they were photographed holding hands, walking through the streets of Madrid just a week after he made our breakup official.

But despite all of this, according to the entire internet, I’m the lunatic trying to destroy them for no reason and therefore I deserve hell in the form of cyber harassment.

With a sigh, I set my phone face down on the table so I could get a break from the chaos. I sipped my coffee while waiting for Ethan to come back from taking photos around the restaurant.

After the Oslo fiasco, Ethan woke up the next day and, as expected, didn’t remember a thing—neither the vomiting in the bathroom, nor the ridiculous dancing, nor the cute stranger who had taken us back to the hotel in his SUV. About a month and a half had passed since then, and during that time my friend and I had been traveling a bit. Right now, we’re in Mexico.

“Alright, sweetheart, I’m back,” Ethan said, sitting down across from me.

“How were the photos?” I asked flatly.

“Beautiful. Honestly, it’s a gorgeous place, and it’s going to look amazing on my Instagram feed.”

“I can imagine.”

Ethan is a content creator. Thanks to that job, we’d been able to afford all the trips we’d taken over the past few weeks. With my current situation, my savings wouldn’t have lasted nearly as long. I knew that at some point I’d have to go back to Spain and get my life in order, move out of the country, preferably, and find another job that actually gave my life some meaning. But for now, that was a problem for my future self.

My present self was enjoying her stay at a hotel in Mexico City, drinking coffee and eating chilaquiles at one of its many restaurants.

“Hello, miss,” one of the waiters said, interrupting my train of thought.

“Hi, yes?”

“Yes, I just wanted to let you know that your bill has been paid by another guest.”

What? I repeated the waiter’s words in my head, unsure if I’d suddenly forgotten Spanish or if I was just struggling to process it.

“Uh, someone here wants to eat you up,” Ethan said, wiggling his shoulders and dramatically tucking his nonexistent long hair behind his ear.

“Shhh, Ethan. Sorry—who?” I asked, finally finding my voice again.

“It’s the gentleman over there,” the waiter said, subtly pointing to one of the tables in front of me.

It took me a moment to figure out who he was, but after my eyes wandered around the room for a second, they landed on a very familiar pair.

My breath caught in my chest, and I immediately felt the blood rush to my cheeks. Of all the places in the world, of all the people in the world—this had to happen to me.

It was the same guy from the nightclub in Oslo. The same blue eyes, the same blond hair, the same slightly crooked smile. The. Same. Damn. Person.

And not just that—now that I was fully sober and could really study his face, I understood why he had looked so familiar.

Oh my God, I’m so screwed.

It’s fucking Max Verstappen.

Fucking Max Verstappen.

I hadn’t even gotten out of one mess before stumbling into another. Jesus, just take me already.

“Um… tell him I said thank you” I managed to say awkwardly to the waiter.

“He also asked me to give you this,” the waiter added, handing me a folded note.

“Thanks.”

“What the hell is it? Open it—I want to see it too,” Ethan said, already being his usual nosy self.

“No, Ethan. I don’t want to cause a scene. I’ll open it later.”

I looked back toward the no-longer-stranger stranger. He was smiling slightly as he watched me. When he saw me looking again, he lifted his coffee cup in greeting.

I rolled my eyes, a small laugh escaping my lips, and returned the gesture by raising my own cup. He just laughed.

I quickly finished my food and stood up to head back to my room, Ethan right behind me. When I glanced discreetly at his table again, he was no longer there.

(…)

Back in my room, after spending thirty minutes in a full-blown panic attack while Ethan kept insisting I should just open it and get it over with…

I opened it.

Text me +XX (XXX) XXX XXXX

That was all the note said.

“Girl, what the hell?” Ethan said, reading the same thing as me.

“I don’t know.”

“Sorry, but I don’t believe for a second that this guy just saw you and decided he wanted to talk to you.”

I let out a deep sigh at Ethan’s words, because obviously he had no idea this was the same person I’d ended up kissing in a club while completely wasted—and then finished the job by kissing him again in the hotel parking lot while he was slumped off to the side.

“I know him.”

“What?” Ethan said, full of disbelief.

“I mean… yeah. He’s the guy I was with at the nightclub in Oslo.”

“The guy who took us back? Damn, this is exactly the kind of thing I miss by not keeping my ass sober.”

I couldn’t help but laugh, he was absolutely right.

I looked back down at the piece of paper and sighed. I definitely shouldn’t text him. His world was even more chaotic than my ex’s. I couldn’t see myself dealing with another wave of online hate, because if anyone found out what had happened between us, I would be the one taking the hardest hit. People on the internet just needed the bare minimum to drag you to the gallows or push you into social suicide.

Even with all that in mind… I still wanted to talk to him. I mean, he seemed nice—or at least he had been nice to me. I had friends who were into F1, and from the way they talked, you could tell that Max Verstappen was the complete opposite of nice on the track. The guy was ruthless.

“Girl, just do it. One more scandal, one less scandal—what’s the difference? They’ve already thrown every insult at you. Nothing can be worse than what they’ve already said,” Ethan said, getting up from the small sofa and heading toward the door. “Just have some fun—that’s what this trip is about. I’m going out to take more photos; I’ll be back later.” And just like that, he walked out of the room.

Ethan was right. To a bunch of strangers, I was already the worst person to ever walk on earth. They judged and pointed fingers at me without knowing my side of the story. So why did I need to be conserned about what a bunch of jobless people thought? At the end of the day, no matter what I said or did, it wouldn’t change the perception they had of me.

And he was also right about another thing: I should have some fun. That’s why I left my job, why I left my “organized” life behind—to rediscover myself, to find a part of me that could actually make me happy.

So, without overthinking it, I grabbed my phone and saved the number.

ME: Hi, I assume you know who this is.

As soon as the message sent, I threw my phone onto the bed like a maniac while anxiety took over me.

“I did it, I did it, I did it—holy shit.”

I hadn’t even had time to chew my nails off when a message notification lit up my phone.

My heart started racing, and with trembling hands, I picked it up.

MV: Haha of course I know

MV: How are you?

Me: Surprised. I didn’t think the world was so small that we’d run into each other here

MV: Honestly, neither did I. But I kind of like that it happened

MV: Do you have plans for today?

Me: Not really. My friend has some things to do tonight, so I’ll probably just stay in.

MV: Would you like to go to dinner? We could do it here at the hotel, my treat, of course.

Me: I’d love that.

We worked out the details—what time and where we’d meet. He mentioned he was a bit busy at the moment and said goodbye with a promise to text me again shortly before we met.

(…)

The afternoon went by quickly, and before I knew it, I was ready, walking toward the entrance of the hotel restaurant. Ethan had helped me choose my outfit for the evening. Max and I had agreed it would be something quite casual, so I just wore a mini skirt, a long-sleeved blouse, and a pair of boots.

It was a bit chilly in the city, and I have a Caribbean soul, so I needed to stay warm as soon as the temperature drops to 20 Celsius.

Max was already standing at the entrance of the restaurant, dressed head to toe in black. As soon as he saw me, he smiled.

“Hi, how are you?” I greeted him, giving him a kiss on the cheek.

“Excellent. How about you?”

“Just as good.”

“Perfect. Shall we go in?”

We walked into the restaurant, and they seated us right away. We ordered our food and quickly got lost in conversation.

“How was your race yesterday?” I asked, taking a sip of my wine.

“So, you do know who I am,” he said, looking at me with a slight smile.

I just laughed softly at his remark.

“Yes—how could I not? I mean, I didn’t recognize you at the club because I was drunk, but you did seem a bit familiar.”

“I see. Well, to answer your question, it went well—I finished first on the podium.”

“Congratulations. I would have loved to see it.”

“Maybe one day you’ll get the chance,” he said, sipping his drink while holding my gaze.

“I don’t think so. After this trip, I’m heading back to Madrid.”

“You live there?”

I went on to tell him about the mess my life had become over the past few months—how I couldn’t really answer that question anymore because, at the moment, I didn’t belong anywhere. Then the questions about the aftermath of my breakup came up.

“And that’s why everyone is attacking you?” he asked, his voice laced with disbelief.

“Yep,” I nodded, pressing my lips together.

“Don’t give it too much importance. People aren’t interested in the truth—they only care about the version that gives them the most drama. You can explain the same thing a thousand times, but there will always be parts that don’t add up for them, and that will make you look guilty in their eyes. Trust me, I’ve been through that a thousand times.”

“I understand that, but it’s really hard for me to be judged so harshly. It’s suffocating to feel like no matter what you say, there’s no way to redeem your image in front of others.”

Max just nodded and looked at me with understanding. God, I must look pathetic.

Our conversation drifted to other topics, though they weren’t exactly cheerful either. He talked about his career, and I talked about mine—the uncertainty and unhappiness I had been feeling, how this trip with my best friend was also, in part, a creative outlet, and how I had started a small blog in the middle of the trip to rekindle my love for art.

“Surprisingly, it’s been really fulfilling. No one knows I’m the person behind it, because, you know, I’m not exactly the most loved person on the internet,” I said, and we both laughed in unison. “Unfortunately, I’ll have to put it on hold once I go back.”

“Why?” he asked.

“Because I’ll run out of content for a while. I have to move and basically start from scratch.”

“You could extend your trip a little longer.”

“That’s not possible. I’m here because Ethan invited me, but the campaign he was working on is over now, so he has to go back to England.”

“It doesn’t have to be with Ethan. You could come with me.”

I could only laugh. He must be crazy to even think I would go on a trip with him. My brother in Christ—we just met.

“Why are you laughing? I’m serious.” My laughter stopped immediately, and I looked at his serious expression.

“It’s not possible that you’re serious, we just met.”

“So? Come on, think about it. Nothing bad is going to happen to you. At least nothing that you don’t want.”

“It’s risky, and I don’t mean for me, I mean for you. Can you imagine if someone sees us together and they start another hate campaign against me, and you end up caught in the middle of all that? I wouldn’t forgive myself.”

“None of that matters to me. Trust me, I’ve been through much worse,” he said with a somewhat dry laugh.

“Even so, I’m not entirely sure it’s the best idea. I’ve already postponed my return for too long.”

“Look, just think about it, okay?. Come with me to Brazil, and if you still don’t feel comfortable, you can go back to Madrid. You don’t have to worry about anything—I’ll pay for everything.”

I let out a deep sigh.

“Alright, I’ll think about it.”

After that strange conversation, we continued having dinner, talking about trivial things.

When we finished, we said our goodbyes warmly—not before he leaned in and whispered in my ear, “Think about it.”

(…)

And I really did think about it.

All night, in fact, I barely slept. Every time I closed my eyes, I imagined the two of us together, repeating the kisses we shared in Oslo, but this time in the ocean, on a beach in São Paulo. Those ridiculous daydreams would jolt me awake immediately, startled. I couldn’t think like that. So far, he hadn’t made any indecent proposal, so I couldn’t just assume he wanted me for that kind of relationship.

“Are you an idiot?” Ethan asked me the next morning after I told him everything that had happened, including my doubts about what his invitation really meant.

“Hey, it’s fair for me to consider that. Just because he invited me on a trip doesn’t mean he wants to fuck me.”

“No man asks to take you to another country just because he wants only your friendship, especially not after there’s already been some kind of sexual interaction,” he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“Well, maybe I am an idiot,” I said, grabbing a pillow and pressing it against my face, letting out a small, frustrated scream.

“Yes, yes you are. If I were you, I would’ve hopped on that dick the second his lips touched mine in that damn club.”

“What the hell are you talking about? You’re absolutely insane.” I throw my pillow at him.

“Anyway, that’s not the point. What matters is that you have the chance to have a good time, at least one more weekend before going back to the sad, horrible reality waiting for you in Madrid. He gave you the option to leave whenever you want, so you have nothing to be afraid of.”

I just stayed silent. Ethan was right. What was the harm in going for a weekend? It wasn’t like things could get worse than they already were.

Besides, I didn’t really mind if his invitation had underlying sexual intentions. In fact, just the thought of it made a flicker of excitement settle low in my stomach.

“Fuck it.”

I picked up my phone and searched for his contact.

ME: I’ve thought about it, and I think I’d like to go see you race.

(…)

In less than 24 hours, I was already on a plane heading to Brazil. Max took care of all the reservations and, of course, paid for absolutely everything.

When I arrived at the airport, a car and driver he had sent were waiting for me. They took me to the hotel, I checked in, and when I walked into my room, I found a bouquet of flowers.

It was beautiful and delicate. The card simply read, From Max, with love. Nothing more.

It was Wednesday, and Max already had commitments related to the race he had that weekend, so we agreed to meet for dinner that night.

In the meantime, I took off my clothes and lay down to sleep. The past few hours had been so surreal that I was left completely exhausted.

That evening, Max took me to a beautiful restaurant near the hotel. Everything was handled with great discretion—at my request, of course.

The next day was much of the same. Max was busy with his responsibilities, and I kept myself occupied writing for my blog. I went out for a walk and took some photos—photos I planned to use for the blog, since I had long abandoned my social media. The less people knew about my life and where I was, the better.

Friday was media day for Max, but unlike the previous days, he finished much earlier than expected, so he decided we’d go to the beach. Of course, it was a private one, much less crowded, where no one could easily recognize him.

And you know what? Being delusional sometimes works, because there we were, kissing in the ocean on a beach in São Paulo. Like I had imagine. Just thinking about it makes me laugh like an idiot. If Ethan could see me now, he’d probably smack me for being so naïve.

Saturday was qualifying day, and as expected, Max finished in pole. It wasn’t a surprise to anyone, but it still gave me a certain thrill to see it all for the first time.

Sunday finally arrived—the day of the race—and everything turned out contrary to what was expected. Max had some technical difficulties that left him off the podium. When the race ended and the camera focused on him, he looked extremely pissed. My heart tightened a little because I knew he had been confident he would win this race.

“Hi, are you Y/N?” a young man in a Red Bull shirt asked as he approached me.

“Yes, that’s me.”

“Max asked me to take you back to the hotel. It’s going to take him a bit longer than expected to get out of here.”

I simply nodded and followed him to the circuit’s parking lot. Once again, everything was done with great caution so no one would suspect my reasons for being there. For that same reason, I had asked Max for a seat that wouldn’t draw too much attention.

The ride back was completely silent. When we arrived at the hotel, I went straight to my room.

Hours passed, and I still hadn’t heard anything from him, so I decided to send him a simple message asking how he was. The message went unanswered.

It bothered me a little that he ignored me, but I tried not to take it personally—it was clear he wasn’t in the mood because of everything that had happened during the race.

I had dinner at the hotel buffet and then returned to my room to pack my bags, since I had a flight the next day. With almost everything packed, I went to bed. It was only 9 p.m., but I had nothing else to do.

No more than 30 minutes passed before I heard a knock at my door. I woke up slightly startled and ran to open it. It was Max—fresh out of the shower, his hair wet and wearing a tight white T-shirt.

“Max…” I said softly.

“How are you?” he asked. “I’m sorry I didn’t answer your message, I got a bit busy with the team. Can I come in?”

I stepped aside and let him in. I closed the door, and when I turned around, he was right in front of me.

Without saying a word, he kissed me roughly. His hand went to the back of my neck and pressed me firmly toward him. Under other circumstances, I would have complained, but this felt so hot that I just had to let myself go.

As he kissed me, he moved us backward toward the bed and threw me onto it. He undressed almost completely and, on all fours, moved toward the middle of the bed where I had already settled.

Gently, he removed my small pajamas until I was left only in my panties.

He laid on top of me and took one of my breasts in his hand while the other went into his mouth. It felt so good that my pussy was getting all wet and warm.

With his tongue, he traced my abdomen and removed my panties, leaving me completely naked. His warm mouth began to lick my vaginal lips and my clitoris. His hands caressed my legs; one of them slid down until it found the entrance to my wet vagina and began inserting his middle and ring fingers at the same time in a rhythmic motion.

A pressure started to build in my lower abdomen, and I couldn’t help but grab his hair and press his face closer to create more pressure. My moans and the wet sound of his fingers moving in and out of me began to echo throughout the room.

With one last kiss, he pulled his fingers out and put them into his mouth to taste them.

He got up from the bed and removed his boxers, now completely naked. His cock wasn’t extremely long, but it had a thickness that I knew would make my eyes roll back the moment the tip entered.

“Come here, on your knees,” he said in a raspy, aroused voice.

I obeyed immediately and knelt in front of him, fully understanding what he wanted. I took his dick in my hand and began to stimulate it. His gland grew noticeably larger, and without wasting time, I took it into my mouth.

I started to suck and apply pressure. I wasn’t the most experienced at this, but apparently, it was more than enough for him because he began grabbing my hair, trying to push his cock deeper into my throat. We stayed like that for a couple of minutes until he made me stop.

He positioned me on the bed again, placing me on all fours. His dick entered my vagina slowly, as if trying to make the penetration gentler and easier for me. Once he was fully inside, he began moving his hips. Just as I suspected, the width of his dick touched very sensitive parts inside me, making me desperately want to moan like a cat in heat.

With one hand, he grabbed my curly hair and held me as he thrust harder; with the other one, he gave me a couple of slaps on my ass.

He put two of his fingers into my mouth, coating them with my saliva before using them to stimulate my clitoris again. There was so much happening at once that I didn’t know what to focus on. His thrusts became faster and stronger. I completely lost control and came while moaning desperately. Even then, his stimulation on my clitoris didn’t stop, causing that pressure inside me to build again—this time, I squirted.

His breathing grew heavier, and in a quick motion, he pulled out and ejaculated over my ass.

A couple of minutes passed as we both caught our breath. Immediately, he grabbed some toilet paper and cleaned me. I took the glass of water he offered, and we lay down together.

My head rested on his chest, his arms wrapped comfortably around me as he played with my hair.

“I wish you could see me win,” he whispered suddenly.

(…)

I didn’t go to see him win.

Well, I didn’t go because the next race was a few weeks away, and honestly, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to be there. Deep down, I felt that if I kept this going, things would get complicated—and as always, I’d be the one who ended up hurt.

After that night, we had breakfast together the next day. We talked about everything, and he made it clear that he’d like us to keep seeing each other, on my terms and however I preferred. I simply told him I’d think about it—that I needed to go back to Madrid, and if everything went well and I felt comfortable, we could meet again.

So yes, that’s how things were now. I took my flight to Madrid without any issues. Max took care of booking me a first-class ticket, so I just relaxed in my spacious seat, slept, and ate.

When I arrived at the airport, I went straight to my small apartment—one I had been sharing with a friend ever since I found out about my ex’s infidelity.

All my things were scattered around my room because I hadn’t had time to organize anything before leaving. I spent the whole day taking care of that—throwing away what I didn’t need, putting other things in order—and by nightfall, I sat on my bed in a room that felt nothing but peaceful.

I opened my laptop and braced myself for the mess my emails were going to be. Many of them had to do with contracts and other matters I used to handle before everything ended.

Yes, I used to work for my ex. It makes me laugh a little now. But at the time, it filled me with a deep sadness to realize that I had set aside my own dreams to help him with his, only for him to repay me like that. The shameless idiot expected me to keep working for him as if nothing had happened. Of course, I refused—and in less than a week, I left the city, abandoning all his matters. I suppose he must have everything sorted out again by now.

Among the emails, I found some collaboration offers related to my blog, which filled me with pure excitement and happiness. I didn’t know what would become of my life or my career from then on, but I did know I was going to focus on my dreams.

After reviewing everything, I decided to check my social media for the first time in a while. I found a few posts that mentioned me briefly, but nothing scandalous. It seemed like the whole situation had calmed down. Even so, I chose to keep my accounts private, it was better to avoid another wave of attention.

I also ended up searching for my ex’s name. Most of the posts that came up were about his recent matches, and others showed him with his new girlfriend. Honestly, they looked really good together. Maybe it really was necessary for me to step aside.

I let out a dry laugh.

My phone suddenly rang—it was Max calling.

“Hello?”

“Hi, beautiful. How was your arrival?”

Like an idiot, I let out a small, silent squeal of excitement, twirling a strand of my hair around my finger.

The conversation was easygoing and after about 45 minutes, we said goodbye.

“Think about what we talked about before you left.”

“I will,” I said before we hung up.

I didn’t know where all of this was going to end, but for the first time in a long time, I wasn’t afraid to face the consequences of anything.

(…)

As the weeks went by, my stay in Madrid became quite monotonous. I wanted to visit Ethan in London, but apparently he was busy on another one of his trips to Turkey, and honestly, I didn’t feel like jumping back into the hustle I had just escaped from.

I talked to Max every day—usually through text messages. On other days, when he was busier, he would call me at night, and we would spend a long time talking and telling each other about our days.

Max is a very serious person. He can even come across as a bit arrogant and sometimes ill-tempered—at least, that’s what I’ve gathered from the stories he tells me about his day-to-day life. But with me, he’s the complete opposite. He’s genuinely warm, takes the time to explain things when I don’t understand, and always has sweet words for me.

There was also a topic that kept coming up in our conversations: when would we see each other again?

He was usually the one to bring it up, and it always ended with him suggesting we meet in Las Vegas, where his next race would be. It sounded reasonable to me—it would give both of us time to handle our own lives, and for him to spend time with his family and friends before meeting again. Still, I couldn’t help having my doubts and feeling a bit nervous about it.

Against my better judgment, just a few days before the Las Vegas Grand Prix, I decided to give him an answer.

“All right, I think we can meet in Las Vegas. My passport and visa are up to date, so I shouldn’t have any trouble traveling.”

A soft laugh came from the other end of the phone.

“You have no idea how happy makes me to know I convinced you. I’m going to make sure you have a really wonderful time.”

The next day, I was already on another plane. I said goodbye to my roommate, unsure whether I would come back to her. Something in my mind told me that things wouldn’t be the same after this trip.

When I arrived in Las Vegas, none other than Max Verstappen himself was waiting for me at the airport. Of course, he was wearing sunglasses and a cap. The sign with my name on it covered the rest of his face.

When we got to the car, I couldn’t help but laugh at how ridiculous the situation was.

“What are you laughing at?” he asked with a slight smile.

“Your face, duh.”

He wrinkled his nose and, without saying anything else, pulled me toward him and kissed me, one of those kisses that left me almost floating.

The following days were amazing. Just as Max had promised, I had a great time in Las Vegas; we went to restaurants, casinos, and saw some live shows. To top it all off, the cherry on the cake was him finishing in P1.

“Did you like watching me win?” he said, breathless as he moved inside me.

“Yes… it turns me on seeing you soaked in champagne,” I replied, and it was as if something in him ignited.

The next morning, very early, we were having breakfast together at a small café near the hotel.

“Come with me to Qatar,” he said out of nowhere.

“What?”

“Yes. In fact, you should come with me all the way to Abu Dhabi. It’s the last race of the season, and there’s a high chance I’ll win the championship. I’d like you to be there with me that day.” He said it so casually, as if spending nearly two more weeks together were the most natural thing in the world.

“I’m not sure. My birthday is tomorrow, and I was supposed to spend it with my roommate.”

“What? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I don’t know… you didn’t ask, and it’s weird to just bring it up out of nowhere.”

“That's another reason for you to stay with me. I’m going to give you the best birthday.”

To be honest, if I went back to Madrid today, I wouldn’t really do much for my birthday. I’d most likely end up exhausted from the trip and from unpacking everything. So Max’s proposal seemed more appealing.

“Alright, it’s not like I’m doing anything else with my life anyway.”

Max let out a little laugh and kissed me.

My God, what a beautiful, sweet man.

(…)

That same afternoon, Max made a few calls—I assumed he was coordinating everything we were about to do.

We flew to New York on a private jet. On board, I met several members of his team, including his father, Jos Verstappen. From the random bits I had read about Max (yes, I did look him up, okay?), his father was often described as someone who bordered on narcissism. So when Max introduced us as if it were the most normal thing in the world, I felt like the ground beneath me wasn’t steady enough to keep me standing.

Still, he wasn’t rude to me—though I can’t say he was particularly warm either. Once we were seated on the jet, there was a moment when Max fell asleep, and apparently Jos decided that was the perfect time to say a few things to me.

“Max has spoken a lot about you over the past few weeks. You strike me as a very intelligent and interesting young woman—simple, elegant and reserved. You have the qualities someone needs to be by Max’s side,” the man sitting across from me said, with a calculated seriousness.

“Thank you,” I replied softly. It was easier to say that than to explain that, in reality, his son and I didn’t have anything defined—at least, not yet.

“No need. I looked you up online and saw the little scandal with your ex-boyfriend and his new girlfriend. Quite pathetic on his part, I must say.”

The blood drained from my face in that instant, and I could barely breathe.

“Don’t worry, don’t be alarmed. As long as you’re not a distraction to him, that part of his life is his to handle, and it doesn’t concern me.”

“I understand.” I swallowed hard, and little by little, the color returned to my face.

“Happy birthday. I’m going to find the restroom.”

He finally stood up, and I was able to release all the air I’d been holding in. He is truly an intimidating man.

Not long after that conversation, the jet was already landing.

When we arrived at the hotel, Max and I shared a room. His father and the rest of the team headed straight to Qatar.

The suite was beautifully decorated, and all I could do was laugh with happiness as I hugged him, overwhelmed by the surprise.

“It’s not your birthday yet, but I want to start making it special already.”

And it really was special.

That night, he took me out to dinner, and we also went up the Empire State Building. It was all very cliché—but I don’t mind, because I love clichés when they’re happening to me.

We made love when we got back to the hotel and fell asleep together as if we had known each other for years.

The next day, he woke me up singing “Happy Birthday” in my ear. In his hands, he held a small muffin with a lit candle.

“Make a wish.”

I closed my eyes and blew out the candle—without really making one.

A long time ago, I understood that wishes don’t come true, no matter how much hope you put into them.

“Come on, I have a surprise for you.”

“Another one?”

“Yes, another one. The trip was only part of it.”

When we walked out, I found the small entryway filled with gift bags.

“Max, you shouldn’t have,” I said, my voice trembling.

“Of course I should. This is nothing compared to what I’d like to give you.”

I just looked at him, not knowing what to say, so I thanked him with a kiss.

We spent the rest of the day walking around and exploring. Max insisted on buying me anything I liked—“whatever the birthday girl wants.”

We ended up so exhausted that at night we just ordered room service and went to sleep.

The trip to Qatar was long and a bit boring. I tried to sleep, but my schedule was completely messed up after so much traveling in the past few days.

When we arrived, I was taken to my room, and Max to his.

I decided to update my blog with the latest places I had visited. Lately, my site had been getting a lot of traffic, and I needed to dedicate time to keep it that way.

(…)

Sunday came quickly, and so did the race. The heat in Qatar was unbearable, so this time I accepted Max’s suggestion to watch it from one of the air-conditioned areas.

Jos was there as well. He greeted me naturally—even with a slight smile.

As expected, Max finished first on the podium. He celebrated the victory with his team, while I applauded from a corner, trying not to be seen.

The ride back to the hotel was quick. I was so exhausted that I just lay down and didn’t even notice the flood of messages and notifications coming into my phone.

I came back to my senses when someone started knocking on my door. I got up carefully, and when I opened it, Max was there.

“Max, what’s going on? I thought you’d be asleep by now.”

“An article just came out about us,” he said hurriedly. He didn’t seem alarmed, but I definitely was.

“What? What does it say? What do you mean ‘about us’?” I started asking, a bit (very) agitated.

“Yes. Apparently, someone from the press started following us since Las Vegas and took pictures of us together in New York.”

“God, what a nightmare. Show me the article.”

“I will, but please stay calm.”

“Yeah… yeah, okay.” Nothing was okay, but if I showed my anxiety, Max would hesitate to show it to me.

The article basically said something like, “New love on the horizon? Max Verstappen spotted on a romantic outing with what appears to be his new girlfriend.”

Further down, it included details about me—that I had been dating that piece of trash, my ex. It mentioned the cheating scandal and the backlash I received for how I handled it. Bastards.

Finally, it showed several photos of us together—one at the café where we had breakfast in Las Vegas, another one getting off the jet in New York, and more of us walking hand in hand.

“God, how could I be so careless?” I ran my hands over my face in frustration.

“Hey, it’s not anyone’s fault. These people think they can invade our lives without any respect,” Max tried to comfort me, but I was too lost in my panic to really listen.

I grabbed my phone and started reading the messages I had received while I was deeply asleep.

ETHAN BABYGURL: Girl, have you seen the pictures going around all over Twitter? I’ve been fighting off a bunch of bitches to defend your dignity. Call me as soon as you can. Love you, XO.

LAIA ROOMIE: Girllll, you kept that a secret! Living your best life and not inviting me. If he has any friends you can introduce me to, I’m available hahaha.

Mom: Y/N, your cousin just showed me some photos of you with a blond guy. I thought there was a chance you’d get back with that handsome footballer, but I see that’s not the case. Please call me, I want to talk to you.

I even had a damn message from the jerk who started this whole mess.

PIECE OF SHIT: You criticized me and gave me hell, but it looks like you moved on pretty fast too.

That was the final nail in the coffin. I didn’t even want to see what social media had turned into—there was no way I could show my face anywhere after this.

“Y/N, you don’t look okay. Please tell me what you’re thinking—you’re worrying me.” I don’t know when I sat down, but Max was crouched in front of me, his brow furrowed, clearly stressed.

“I’m fine, I’m fine. I just don’t know what to say, I don’t know what to do. It’s humiliating to be in the public eye like this again.”

“I know, and I’m really sorry. This is all my fault.” Max stood up, taking my hands and pulling me up.

“No, it’s not. It’s obvious you wouldn’t want this to come out.”

“That’s not the point—” he tried to explain, but I cut him off.

“You don’t have to make excuses. You and I have nothing. I’m nothing in your life. You don’t owe me anything.”

“That’s what you think? That’s what you believe we are? Nothing? After everything?”

I let out a shaky sigh.

“Max, we’ve known each other for a month—maybe a little more. What do you expect me to think?”

“I don’t know… maybe that I’m just waiting for the moment when you’re ready to make things official. Even though, to me, that’s not necessary. I already see you as the person I want by my side.”

“Max, it’s not possible for you to have that decided already. You’re just saying that because of the pressure.”

“Yes, it is possible. I’m a stubborn man—you’ve seen that yourself. I don’t back down, and when I decide something, it’s final.” His face started turning red, his breathing uneven. He was clearly affected by the conversation.

“Max… okay, you may have it all figured out like you say, whatever, but I don’t want to be anyone’s girlfriend. I’m tired of being someone’s girlfriend, only to be used and then discarded like I’m nothing—like I’m absolutely nothing.”

“Fine, I guess that’s fair. And I have a solution.”

“What—”

“Marry me.” He dropped to his knees.

“You’re crazy—of course not,” I said immediately, shaking my head in disbelief. “Didn’t you just hear me say we’ve only known each other for a month?”

“I don’t care. The only thing that matters is that I’m fucking crazy about you”

“That’s not a good enough reason to make a decision like that.”

“In my world, it is.”

It was more than clear that continuing to argue with him made no sense. I sat back down on the bed and started wondering how I had ended up in the middle of all this.

“Y/N, please, believe me when I tell you that you’re the only thing that matters to me right now, and all I want is to be with you. I don’t care about skipping the whole dating stage if that’s what it takes to prove it to you. And if, in the end, you decide you don’t want to be with me anymore, I’ll accept it without a problem. But give me a chance.”

Is it even possible? Is it possible that someone like me could go through so many ridiculous situations? I don’t even have the mental energy left to process the chain of unfortunate events that brought me to this exact moment.

But is it also possible that something good like this could happen to me?

Max has shown, in the short time we’ve been seeing each other, that he genuinely cares about me, I have no doubt about that. But is that enough to sustain a marriage?

What the hell am I even thinking? Of course it’s not. I just met him. The only thing I’d achieve by accepting his ridiculous proposal is making myself look desperate in front of everyone, again.

I was ready to turn him down once more when I looked straight into his eyes. There was determination in them, but also a hint of fear.

And then I started to think… why the hell should I care about what people think of the decisions I make? Why should it matter if I fail? Getting married after knowing each other for only a month isn’t exactly the most sensible choice but neither was going with him to Brazil, and here we are… happier than ever.

“Y/N, please marry me,” he pleaded again, interrupting my thoughts.

I don’t think it can get any worse, and if it does, I’m willing to take the risk.

“You’re going to have to buy me a ring,” I said, crossing my arms.

Max just laughed, delighted by my particular way of accepting his proposal. He stood up and pulled me into his arms.

(…)

Max won in Abu Dhabi.

And with that, he won the World Championship.

I was so overwhelmed with emotion that I couldn’t stop jumping among the crowd, trying to catch a glimpse of my now fiancé stepping out of the car victorious.

He ran toward his team, who were waiting to celebrate. Champagne was everywhere, and they lifted him up, making him bounce as they cheered. I could only laugh, completely carried away by the moment.

When Max finally touched the ground again, he searched for me in the crowd, and the second our eyes met, he ran straight toward me.

I welcomed him with open arms.

“Congratulationsss!”

“I wouldn’t have done it without you here.”

I was sure he would have, but I wasn’t about to argue. I just leaned in and kissed the helmet he still had on.

Max had to leave to complete all the ceremony protocols, but he asked someone from his team to take me back to the hotel so I could start getting ready for the celebration later that night.

When I got back, I did just that, I showered, got dressed, and did my makeup. Just as I was finishing, Max walked into the room.

“You look beautiful,” he said, blowing me a kiss.

“And you look soaked.”

Max just laughed.

He went in to shower and get ready, and once he was done, we left the room together. Inside the elevator, I was about to press the button for the first floor, but Max stopped me and pressed the one for the rooftop instead.

“Huh?” I looked at him, confused.

“Just wait,” he said, winking.

When we got upstairs, everything was dark.

“I wanted us to come up here first to see the city.”

The city lights were breathtaking. We were so high up it almost made me dizzy.

“Y/N.”

When I turned around, the entire terrace lit up with soft golden lights. I took in how beautiful everything looked—until my eyes landed on Max, kneeling.

“Max…”

“I forgot everything I wanted to say, but… will you marry me?”

I almost choked on my own breath.

It was completely unexpected. I thought that after his desperate proposal a few days ago, things would just stay that way.

With tears in my eyes, I managed to answer:

“Yes… of course, yes.”

From the small box in his hand, he took out a ring and, with trembling hands, slipped it onto my finger.

Overwhelmed with happiness, he lifted me into his arms, and we started spinning around. I could only laugh and cry at the same time.

My life wasn’t perfect, and I doubted my future marriage would be either, but fuck it, I was going to do everything to make it work.

[bobdylanyaoi]

i’m in trenches you’ve never heard of

[cuntstappen]

[ruben-dias]

ERLING HAALAND LET ME SUCK YOUR COCK