🧡 ᴜɴᴘʟᴀɴɴᴇᴅ — ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 20: ᴛʜᴇ ᴘʀ ꜱᴛᴏʀᴍ 🧡
ꜰ1 x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ʟᴀɴᴅᴏ ɴᴏʀʀɪꜱ ᴀᴜ | ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ + ᴅʀᴀᴍᴀ
⚠️ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ:
ᴍᴇᴅɪᴀ ꜱᴘᴇᴄᴜʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴀɴᴅ ᴇxᴘᴏꜱᴜʀᴇ
ᴀɴxɪᴇᴛʏ ᴏᴠᴇʀ ᴘʀɪᴠᴀᴄʏ ʟᴏꜱꜱ
ʀᴇꜰᴇʀᴇɴᴄᴇꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴘʀ ᴍᴀɴɪᴘᴜʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴ
ꜱᴜʙᴛʟᴇ ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ᴅɪꜱᴛʀᴇꜱꜱ
The flat was eerily quiet that morning, too quiet for a world that had just begun to stir around them like a restless tide. (Y/n) stared at the closed laptop on the table, its screen dark but its implications loud. She still felt the phantom scroll under her fingertips, Reddit comments, blurry photos, usernames speculating about “Lando’s girl,” and timestamped sightings no one should have been able to link together.
Lando stood by the window, arms folded, watching the street like someone waiting for a storm that had already started. His hoodie was still on from the night before, and his hair was a mess, he hadn’t slept. Neither of them had.
“They don’t know it’s you,” he said after a long stretch of silence, though his voice lacked conviction. “Could be anyone.”
She turned slightly to look at him. “But it is me.”
He looked away.
A flicker of something bitter—regret, maybe—settled in her chest. Not for the pregnancy. Not for the mess. But for the sharp change in tone. The easy banter, the playful sarcasm, it had all gone silent. Replaced now by damage control and tension she couldn’t quite name.
Lando’s phone vibrated against the windowsill.
A message from his PR team.
Another from his manager.
He didn’t pick it up.
She sat back on the couch, pulling the blanket tighter around her legs, her eyes scanning the blank television. “Do you think this ruins your season?”
His head whipped toward her. “What? No. Don’t say that.”
“I mean… if people start talking. If they get ugly about it. You’re still fighting for podiums.”
His expression twisted, caught between frustration and heartbreak. “This doesn’t ruin anything. You don’t ruin anything. They can talk all they want. I’m not going anywhere.”
She nodded once, but the knot in her throat didn’t budge.
Later that day, a knock echoed through the flat again. (Y/n) tensed, but Lando checked the door this time. A courier. A small envelope marked confidential.
Inside was a note from the team. A scheduled meeting. No official reprimand, but it was coming. A “conversation,” they said. About privacy, optics, timing.
“I’ll handle it,” Lando said, throwing the envelope onto the counter like it offended him. “They don’t get to tell me how to live.”
But (Y/n) wasn’t sure they had a choice anymore.
That evening, Amara called. She kept her voice low and calm, but her words were urgent.
“You need to prepare. The boutique’s getting calls. Some press pretending to be customers. Some just… nosy fans.”
(Y/n)’s stomach turned. “They’re looking for me?”
“Not directly,” Carla said. “But they’re circling.”
By nightfall, her name hadn’t trended, but the internet had become a minefield. She stopped opening Instagram. She muted tags. She shut off push notifications. And yet, it was Oscar’s quiet warning from the day before that echoed louder than anything else:
“If I noticed, others might too.”
The next morning, Lando was already dressed when she woke up. Black hoodie, cap low over his brow, car keys dangling from his fingers.
“Team meeting,” he said. “Shouldn’t take long.”
She nodded from her place on the bed. “Be honest with them?”
He paused at the door. “Depends on how they ask.”
When the door clicked shut behind him, (Y/n) exhaled shakily. The world outside their flat wasn’t just watching, it was sharpening its claws.
She made herself tea. Turned on a soft playlist. Tried to pretend the headlines weren’t inching closer to the truth.
But around noon, the headline finally changed.
“Norris linked to mystery woman after clinic visit. Sources suggest she’s been staying at his Monaco residence.”
Her breath caught.
No name yet. But the tone had shifted.
The comments were wild.
Who is she? Is this the same woman from the boutique sighting? PR stunt or real girlfriend? She's pregnant. I’m calling it now.
(Y/n) slammed the laptop shut again.
When Lando came back that afternoon, his expression was grim.
“They’re not thrilled,” he admitted. “They want to shape a narrative. Maybe say we’re just dating. Not confirm anything else yet.”
“And you?”
“I told them I wasn’t lying to make things easier for them.”
She looked at him. “So they’re gonna go along with it?”
“For now.”
Silence fell between them again. This one heavier than before.
She placed a hand gently on her belly, barely showing, but impossible to ignore now.
“You think we can survive this?” she asked softly.
Lando crossed the room in three strides and knelt before her, one hand on her knee, the other covering hers.
“We already are.”
But as the noise outside grew louder, and the whispers turned into questions, neither of them said the one thing that hovered like a shadow:
What happens when the world stops speculating, and starts knowing?
To be continued... 🧡
🧡 ᴜɴᴘʟᴀɴɴᴇᴅ — ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 21: Qᴜɪᴇᴛ ᴛʀᴜᴛʜꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ᴋɪᴄᴋꜱ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ 🧡
📝 Note from the Author: And just like that, the quiet ended.
This chapter marks the beginning of the unraveling, not of their bond, but of their anonymity. It’s no longer just whispers behind closed doors. The storm’s on its way. And Lando and (Y/n) will have to face it together… or not at all.
If you felt the weight of that last line, “We already are,” drop a 🫶 or 🌧️ in the comments. I’d love to know how you’re feeling as everything slowly tilts into the spotlight.
Thank you endlessly for reading. Your support fuels every single word I write, and I’m beyond grateful.
With love, me 🧡
