Free fall [6]
Warnings-: mentions of drugging, some emotional manipulation.
Summary-: lia and oscar ctach up at a post shoot team bonfire and suddenly lia is left with confusion and the dread of realizing her whole life was a lie
chapter 6 "Little white lies"
The cool air of the office did nothing to extinguish the fire under Lia’s skin.
She slammed the door of the staff changing room and leaned her back against it, her chest heaving as if she’d just run a marathon. Her skin felt like it was crawling—specifically where his hands had been. The pressure of his palms on her waist was a ghost-weight she couldn't shake off, a physical brand that made her feel like a traitor.
What is wrong with you? she screamed at herself in the silence of the room. You are getting married. You have the ring. You have the life. Stop it.
But her brain was a traitor, too. It kept replaying the day like a highlight reel she hadn't asked for. The way he’d explained himself at lunch—the raw honesty of a man who had sacrificed everything to be the best. The way he looked now—no longer the scrawny teenager who’d left her at a party, but someone solid, defined, and devastatingly mature. He had a plan for his life. He had a plan for everything.
She had spent the whole day throwing Logan’s name at him like a shield, a constant, desperate reminder that she was spoken for. She was trying to convince Oscar, but mostly, she was trying to convince herself. She was trying to tell her heart that the fire between them was a snuffed-out candle, a cold wick, a dead thing.
Then he had touched her, and the candle had turned into a forest fire.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket, a sharp, angry vibration. She pulled it out, her heart sinking as she saw a string of notifications from Logan. He’d sent a link to the sanctuary’s social media—a "sneak peek" video the crew had uploaded of the interview.
Logan: You didn’t tell me the interview you’re literally stopping mid-wedding planning for is with Oscar.
Logan: Are you planning on coming home or are you spending the night there?
Lia let out a jagged sigh, her eyes stinging. She didn't text back. She called.
"What?" Logan’s voice was the first thing she heard. He sounded bitter, the kind of sharp-edged tone he only used when his pride was wounded.
"What do you mean, what?" she countered, trying to sound exhausted rather than guilty.
"Why didn't you tell me it was with Oscar? What need would you have to hide that from me, Lia?"
"Because you get possessive, Logan!" she snapped, pacing the small room. "I knew if I told you, it would become a whole thing. I just wanted to get the job done."
Logan let out a harsh, dry scoff. "Possessive? Lia, I literally invited the guy to our wedding. If I were jealous, why would I let him be at our special day?"
"There’s a difference between jealous and possessive!" she shot back. She could feel the headache blooming behind her eyes. Logan’s "security" always felt a little too much like a fence.
She noticed it when thoer family finalized the arranged marridge
Logan started joking about how she dosnet need anyone in this world
Which turned into fights every time she had to go out
And ended with her now cutting of all her frineds.
Her bridesmaid was logans sister! And logans bestfriends girlfriend.
She had no one to confide in but logan. And she had found out very soon that he preffered it that way.
"I'm doing my job. I'll be home by midnight."
"Midnight? The shoot finished an hour ago."
"There’s a crew bonfire. It’s networking, Logan."
"Why do u need to network baby? Its not like yourbgetting promoted" he said
She felt rage prickle under her skin
"Excuse me?"
Logan smacked his lips "I mean just- were gonan get married have kids, you wont time to work as hard as u do normally. So what the point right now?"
For a minute lia felt stunned. At a loss for words
Logan, look i just- i have to go.."
She sighed instead.
"Ok but dint spend the night, i need you in my bed" he said at despite herself it made her smile
"I know, I’ll see you then." She said
She hung up before he could respond, staring at the blank screen of her phone.
She felt like she was being squeezed from both sides. On one side was Logan, solid and safe but suffocatingly present; on the other was Oscar, a ghost who had suddenly become flesh and bone, pulling her toward a past she’d sworn was dead.
She looked in the mirror, wiped the stray mascara from under her eyes, and straightened her skirt. She was going to that bonfire. She was going to sit across from Oscar Piastri, she was going to be "normal," and she was going to prove that she could handle him.
But as she reached for the doorknob, her hands were still shaking.
She wasn't just worried about what Oscar would do. She was worried about what she might do if he touched her again. the orange glow of the embers flickered against the dark expanse of the scrub, but Lia didn't feel the warmth. She felt like she was vibrating on a frequency that only one other person could hear.
She played the part of the happy bride-to-be perfectly for forty-five minutes. She laughed at the sound guy’s jokes and chatted with the lead cameraman about lens flares, but her internal radar was locked onto the McLaren-branded shadow moving on the periphery.
She retreated to the drink table, her hand trembling as she reached for a can of Coke.
"You really shouldn't have something sugary this late," a voice murmured beside her. Oscar was leaning over a bowl of chips, not looking at her, his profile sharp against the firelight. "Doesn't it make your tonsils flare up?"
Lia’s heart didn’t just stammer; it stalled. He remembered. Seven years of global travel, high-speed adrenaline, and thousands of faces, and he remembered her minor medical annoyances from Year 11.
"I’m an adult, Oscar. I can handle a flare-up," she said, though her voice lacked conviction.
"Hey," he said, finally turning to face her. "Can we just sit? And catch up? It’s been so long."
The war inside her was deafening—Logic screaming leave, and Heart whispering stay. But then Oscar popped the seal on a bag of chips and held it out to her, a silent offering of peace. The buzzing in her head suddenly went quiet. She nodded, and they drifted toward the edge of the light, away from the prying eyes of the crew.
"You first," she said, leaning against a log.
Oscar didn't hold back. He talked about the paralyzing fear of that first flight to London. He talked about the monk-like existence he’d led—no girls, no parties, just the simulator and the gym, desperate to prove he belonged. He talked about the euphoria of leading the championship and the hollow, gut-punching agony of losing it because of a team strategy that favored someone else.
"I know that feeling," Lia sighed, staring into the dark. "Going in head-first, giving everything, and losing out. Not because you messed up, but because in someone else’s eyes, you just weren't... enough."
Oscar looked at her, the silence between them heavy with the subtext of that night seven years ago. He knew she wasn't talking about journalism.
"You know," he said softly, "the night I left was the most horrible night of my life. My best friend picked a fight with me. Someone assaulted me. I got broken up with. I had to leave my home behind. It was like in two seconds, everything I knew just... poof. Gone."
Lia’s head snapped up. "You got what?"
Oscar let out a dry, mirthless laugh. "Well, 'assault' is a bit harsh, I guess. But that girl you saw me with... she’d been pushing drinks on me all night. I was out of my mind, and she just jumped on me. I didn't even know where I was until I saw you standing there. And then I found out she roofied me." He shrugged
"You what?!" Lia exclaimed again.
Oscar paused then.. just stared at her..
"Lia- I think u have hugely misunderstood this entire-" oscar saud but was cutoff when someone patted him on the shoulder and dragged him up.
"Oscar! Come tell us some stories aboit the track.. we have some huge f1 fans her" they said wrapping around him..
He looked back at lia once who sat there with the chips and a coke with a look of pure confusion.
When she relaized this conversation was interrupted for good she downed her coke.. threw away the chips and left.
Her head throbbed, her heart ached, and ger throath burned!
Dammit! Fucking tonsils!
Had he really been roofied?
The world tilted. Lia felt a sudden, cold rush of vertigo. She remembered Logan standing outside the party, crying, telling her that Oscar was "halfway to leaving her," that he was an arrogant prick who didn't care who he hurt.
Lia sat frozen. The story she’d lived by for seven years—the story Logan had fed her piece by piece while she was at her most vulnerable—was a lie. Logan hadn't been a victim of Oscar's ego; he’d been the architect of the fallout.
She felt a wave of nausea. She realized she was sitting with a man who had been framed, while wearing the ring of the man who had done the framing. The betrayal felt physical.
Logan was standing in the kitchen, his arms crossed. "You're an hour late. I was worried."
"I left at midnight," Lia said, her voice sounding like it belonged to a stranger. "It’s an hour’s drive from the location to here."
Logan stared at her for a long beat, searching her face, before his expression softened into that familiar, "safe" smile. He stepped forward, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her into his chest.
"Thanks for coming home," he murmured into her hair. "I hate sleeping without you."
Lia stayed still, her cheek pressed against his shirt.
Lia woke up at 5:00 AM, the silence of the house weighing on her like a physical pressure. She didn't let herself think. Instead, she went to the kitchen and started on the waffles, the smell of butter and maple syrup filling the space. It was a peace offering to a god she wasn't sure she believed in anymore.
She brought the tray into the bedroom, surprising Logan as he blinked awake in a morning haze.
"Waffles?" he murmured, leaning back against the headboard with a sleepy, satisfied grin. "What’s the occasion?"
"Just felt like it," Lia said, sitting on the edge of the bed. She took a sip of her coffee, her heart hammering against her ribs. She hated the manipulation. She hated the lie. But she needed to know if the foundation of her life was built on solid ground or sinking sand. "You know, Oscar said the funniest thing yesterday. Said he couldn’t even remember what you guys had fought about."
Logan stopped chewing, his jaw tightening almost imperceptibly. "Of course he doesn't. He doesn't even care that much. He only cared about F1 and himself. He picked a fight just because he thought, he was better than me. What an ass."
Lia traced the rim of her mug. "You never really told me the details, you know? Just that it was bad."
Logan sighed, leaning back. He told her then—the same story the boy in the driveway had told seven years ago, but polished by time. He spoke of Oscar’s ego, of how Oscar had bragged about being "the one," and how girls had been chasing him all night.
"He kept walking away," Logan said, a bitter edge creeping into his voice. "Like he was making them play tag or something. Enjoying the chase until he got so drunk he couldn't even stand."
And there it was.
Lia felt a cold clarity wash over her. They were describing the exact same scene, but the framing was worlds apart. What Oscar had described as trying to escape a situation he didn't want, Logan had painted as a smug, arrogant game. Logan hadn't lied about the facts, but he had dressed Oscar’s actions in the most villainous intentions possible so he could feel justified in his own resentment. He had seen what he wanted to see because it made his own jealousy feel like a moral high ground.
An hour later, as Lia drove to work, her body felt like it was shutting down.
The realization hit her with the force of a high-speed collision: she hadn't been a reliable narrator to her own life. She had taken the worst possible version of the truth and let it define her for seven years. She had thrown away what could have been an epic love because she hadn't been able to calm down, to breathe, to simply communicate.
She felt hollowed out—the type of drained that only comes when you realize your entire adult identity is built on a lie you were too scared to question.
She pulled into the sanctuary at noon, expecting the set to be buzzing. Instead, it was quiet.
"Why is nothing set up?" she asked her lead assistant, her voice sounding far away.
"We’re sorry, ma'am," the assistant said, looking slightly sheepish. "Oscar took the whole crew surfing with him at dawn. It turned into a late breakfast and... well, it turned into a whole thing. He said it was 'team building.'"
Lia turned her head. Down by the equipment shed, she saw him.
His hair was salt-crusted and wet, but he was already dressed and moving, helping the crew stack heavy surfboards and haul lighting gear. He wasn't standing around like a celebrity; he was working. He looked revitalized, his laugh carrying across the red dirt.
"He’s really committed to the job, ma'am," the crew member added, sounding genuinely impressed. "He’s been great with the team. Really pushed everyone to have a good time before we started."
Lia watched him hoist a crate onto the truck, his movements efficient and focused. She remembered what he’d said at lunch about not doing anything halfway. Whether it was racing, or a brand deal, or... them.
"Yeah," Lia whispered, her throat tight as she watched the boy she’d misunderstood for a decade. "He doesn't do anything halfway."
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