🌅ʙᴇꜰᴏʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴜɴ ꜱᴇᴛꜱ ᴅᴏᴡɴ – ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 6: ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴏʏ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ʙʟᴜᴇ ʟɪɢʜᴛ🌅
ꜰ1 x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ʟᴀɴᴅᴏ ɴᴏʀʀɪꜱ ᴀᴜ | ʜᴇᴀʀᴛʙʀᴇᴀᴋ + ꜱᴇᴄᴏɴᴅ ᴄʜᴀɴᴄᴇꜱ
⚠️ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ:
ᴄʜɪʟᴅ ᴀʙᴅᴜᴄᴛɪᴏɴ/ᴋɪᴅɴᴀᴘᴘɪɴɢ
ᴍɪꜱꜱɪɴɢ ᴄʜɪʟᴅ
ᴄʜɪʟᴅ ᴀʙᴜꜱᴇ/ʜᴀʀꜱʜ ᴅɪꜱᴄɪᴘʟɪɴᴇ
ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ᴛʀᴀᴜᴍᴀ
ᴘᴀʀᴇɴᴛᴀʟ ɢʀɪᴇꜰ
ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ᴍᴀɴɪᴘᴜʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴ
ꜰᴀᴍɪʟʏ ᴄᴏɴꜰʟɪᴄᴛ
ᴛᴏxɪᴄ ᴏʙꜱᴇꜱꜱɪᴏɴ
ʜᴇᴀᴠʏ ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ
ᴘꜱʏᴄʜᴏʟᴏɢɪᴄᴀʟ ᴅɪꜱᴛʀᴇꜱꜱ
How did she know the woman?
That question burned through (Y/n)’s mind ever since she first glimpsed Nanny Rosa’s eyes beneath the brim of her headscarf—that brief moment in the paddock when she helped the boy, her boy, and the older woman whisked him away with a look that said everything and nothing at once.
Because she did know her.
Not from Leo’s infancy, nor from some fleeting encounter in Monaco. No, the thread tied deeper. It led all the way back to childhood, back to summer afternoons and the scent of pomelo peel in the air, to another house in another country, Manila, and to a boy named Caleb Altamiras.
Caleb had been a part of her childhood as much as her brothers had. They had played together, studied under the same private tutors, attended formal balls their families hosted to show off legacies and surnames. From a young age, they had been promised to each other, not out of love, but alliance. The Altamiras name came with old money. The Young name came with power.
It was a neat agreement. Polished. Inevitable.
But the heart rarely walks the path the world lays out for it.
────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────
She was nineteen when everything changed.
It had been a rainy April in London, her second year at the Royal College of Art—her focus then still on jewelry design, a quiet passion nurtured in secret behind the walls of boardrooms and stock valuations.
He was twenty, already in Formula 1, already known, a name murmured across screens and speed headlines.
She hadn’t recognized him at first. He was in the corner of the café, hoodie drawn low, nursing an espresso like it held the answers to the universe.
They’d fought over the last warm croissant.
He offered it to her anyway.
That was how it started.
Casual. Unexpected.
Lando Norris—British, fast, infuriatingly disarming—became the bright interruption in her otherwise planned life. They began to meet between lectures and late-night races. Sometimes he'd fly back just to see her, only to leave again with the taste of her kiss still lingering in the air.
She hadn’t meant to fall in love.
But it was the kind of love that didn’t ask for permission.
The kind that shattered childhood promises.
────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────
Caleb had not taken it well.
He had tried to be polite at first, tried to believe it was a phase, a rebellion, something fleeting and excusable.
But the months passed. The photos spread. The stories leaked.
(Y/n) was smiling with someone else now.
And the boy who had once traced the shape of her name in cursive on his palm turned cold.
When the Young family severed ties with the Altamiras, citing the relationship’s irrelevance to (Y/n)’s future, the Altamiras name, once a close ally, vanished from their circles like a stain scrubbed out.
But anger lingers where silence settles.
And so, Caleb, quietly, over the years, let that rage consume him. He used his inheritance, his access, his charm. He built masks and wore them well.
And when the moment came, when (Y/n) and Lando had their child, and the world celebrated with champagne and headlines, Caleb made his move.
He took what he thought had always belonged to him.
────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────
It was Rosa who had watched it unfold. She had raised Caleb since he was eight—watched the boy grow bitter, possessive, too quiet when he should’ve laughed, too calculating when he should’ve loved. She had tried to stop him that night in Monaco. Screamed. Cried. Threatened.
He had turned on her with eyes like glass.
“You raised me,” he hissed. “Now raise him.”
And so, she had.
For five years, she raised Leo with all the love she could give, all the gentleness she could sneak in between Caleb’s wrath and suspicion. She kept his scars hidden. Tended his bruises when Caleb turned away. Hid the truth until Leo was old enough to feel it.
But now, now that Caleb had begun to slip further into cruelty, Rosa could no longer remain still.
She risked everything.
────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────
The message came at midnight.
“Aquaria KLCC. 3PM. I’ll bring him. Come alone.”
(Y/n) had stared at the screen for minutes before her breathing returned.
Her fingers trembled.
She didn’t ask her brothers. Didn’t alert the team.
This was something she had to do on her own.
By sunrise, she had slipped out of the estate in a modest grey sedan, hair pinned beneath a scarf, sunglasses heavy on her nose. She crossed the border into Malaysia without drawing a single eye. Years of diplomatic privilege had taught her how to disappear when she needed to.
The journey felt endless.
Her hands remained clenched around the steering wheel, knuckles white. She played no music. Spoke no words. Her only companion was the hope that bloomed so violently in her chest it hurt to contain.
By the time she reached Kuala Lumpur, the sky was low and humming with heat.
Aquaria KLCC, the vast aquarium beneath the glittering towers, SSSstood like a submerged dream. Children rushed through the entrance. Tourists posed beside plastic sharks. Life buzzed.
And then she saw them.
A small boy, hand in hand with a woman whose back she knew even after so many years.
Nanny Rosa.
────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────
(Y/n) didn’t move too quickly. She kept her distance, heart pounding. Her steps were steady, composed—though her entire soul burned with the urge to run and sweep the boy into her arms.
Rosa turned slightly. Her face had aged, but her eyes, deep and kind and endlessly tired, met hers.
She smiled. Small. Sad.
Then she stepped aside and murmured, “I’ll be waiting outside.”
Just like that, she slipped away.
And (Y/n) was left with the boy.
Her boy.
Leo.
────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────
He was crouched near a tank of jellyfish, pointing at their glow with a kind of awe only children possessed. The light played over his features—high cheekbones, soft curls, and those eyes. Her eyes.
She knelt down beside him.
“Hello again.”
He turned, then stared.
“You…” he whispered. “You’re the lady I bumped into. In Singapore.”
She smiled, lips trembling. “Yes. That was me.”
He blinked at her for a long moment, then gave the softest grin. “You helped me with my hand.”
“Yes,” she said. “It looked like it hurt.”
He held out the same hand— now clean, the skin nearly healed—and she gently took it in hers.
“I still have your handkerchief,” he added. “Nanay said I should keep it.”
(Y/n)’s throat closed. She swallowed hard. “That was sweet of her.”
For a moment, they simply looked at each other. No words. Just the sound of water and muffled footsteps.
Then Leo tilted his head.
“You look like me,” he said.
And she broke.
Not visibly. Not loudly.
But inside, every wall shattered.
────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────
They spent the afternoon walking the winding halls of the aquarium, pausing at every tank, watching the sharks drift by in the long glass tunnel. She bought him snacks. A toy turtle. A novelty fish hat he insisted on wearing sideways. He giggled freely. Spoke endlessly.
He told her he liked drawing.
He hated green beans.
He didn’t understand why his Papa never smiled at him.
At that, (Y/n)’s heart splintered again.
“You know,” she said softly, crouching beside him near the penguin enclosure, “if you ever need someone to talk to, I’m always here.”
Leo beamed at her. “You’re nice.”
She laughed gently. “Thank you.”
“You should meet my Nanay,” he added. “She says nice people are rare.”
“I think I already have.”
He blinked, confused, but accepted her hand when she offered it.
────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────
By the end of the day, Rosa returned.
She didn’t speak at first. Only looked at (Y/n), eyes glistening.
Then quietly, she said, “He’s starting to remember.”
(Y/n) nodded.
They exchanged a long look—heavy with gratitude, regret, and something deeper.
And when Rosa walked Leo back toward the car, the boy turned, waving enthusiastically at (Y/n).
“I hope I see you again!”
She smiled through the ache. “You will.”
And she meant it.
To be continued...
🌅ʙᴇꜰᴏʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴜɴ ꜱᴇᴛꜱ ᴅᴏᴡɴ – ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 7: ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴡᴀꜱ ᴛᴀᴋᴇɴ, ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʀᴇᴍᴀɪɴꜱ🌅
📝 Note from the Author: Hello, my dear Alarwynnites!
So… how are we feeling after that chapter? HAHAHAHAHA
Because personally, I am not okay. Ehhhh, not really HAHAHAHA
Leo spent five years unknowingly missing his real family, Rosa has been carrying the most heartbreaking secret imaginable, and (Y/n) nearly got taken out by a six-year-old casually saying, "You look like me." Like EXCUSE ME??? SIR??? ~(>_<。)＼
Also, can we please talk about Rosa for a second? Everyone say thank you, Rosa. Everyone give Rosa a hug. Everyone buy Rosa flowers. Because this woman has been doing the Lord's work for FIVE YEARS while Caleb has been busy collecting red flags like Pokémon cards. 💀
And Caleb… My guy really saw a happy family and said, "I think I'll make that everyone's problem."
Therapy was free compared to whatever this was.
But honestly, my favorite part of this chapter is that despite everything, Leo's heart is still so kind. He doesn't know the truth yet. He doesn't understand why meeting (Y/n) feels different. He just knows she makes him feel safe.
And if that doesn't hurt your feelings, I don't know what will.
Thank you so much for reading, liking, reblogging, commenting, screaming, crying, throwing your phones across the room, and joining me on this emotional roller coaster. Every interaction means the world to me ヾ(≧▽≦*)o(≧∇≦)ﾉ(/≧▽≦)/
Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go continue writing a story that is somehow becoming more painful with every chapter.
With love, me 🧡
ᴅɪꜱᴄʟᴀɪᴍᴇʀ: ᴛʜɪꜱ ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ ɪꜱ ᴀ ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇᴛᴇ ᴡᴏʀᴋ ᴏꜰ ꜰɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴ. ᴡʜɪʟᴇ ɪᴛ ꜰᴇᴀᴛᴜʀᴇꜱ ʀᴇᴀʟ-ʟɪꜰᴇ ᴘᴜʙʟɪᴄ ꜰɪɢᴜʀᴇꜱ, ᴀʟʟ ᴇᴠᴇɴᴛꜱ, ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀɪᴢᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱ, ᴛɪᴍᴇʟɪɴᴇꜱ, ᴀɴᴅ ꜱɪᴛᴜᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ᴀʀᴇ ᴇɴᴛɪʀᴇʟʏ ꜰɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ᴀɴᴅ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛᴇᴅ ꜰᴏʀ ᴇɴᴛᴇʀᴛᴀɪɴᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴘᴜʀᴘᴏꜱᴇꜱ. ᴀᴘᴏʟᴏɢɪᴇꜱ ɪɴ ᴀᴅᴠᴀɴᴄᴇ ꜰᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ɪɴᴀᴄᴄᴜʀᴀᴄɪᴇꜱ ʀᴇɢᴀʀᴅɪɴɢ ꜰᴏʀᴍᴜʟᴀ 1, ᴍᴏɴᴀᴄᴏ, ꜱɪɴɢᴀᴘᴏʀᴇ, ʟᴇɢᴀʟ ᴘʀᴏᴄᴇᴅᴜʀᴇꜱ, ɪɴᴠᴇꜱᴛɪɢᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱ, ᴏʀ ʀᴇᴀʟ ɪɴᴅɪᴠɪᴅᴜᴀʟꜱ ᴘᴏʀᴛʀᴀʏᴇᴅ ɪɴ ᴛʜɪꜱ ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ.
