🧡 ᴜɴᴘʟᴀɴɴᴇᴅ — ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 2: ᴅɪꜱᴀᴘᴘᴇᴀʀɪɴɢ ɪɴᴛᴏ ʀᴏᴜᴛɪɴᴇ 🧡
ꜰ1 x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ʟᴀɴᴅᴏ ɴᴏʀʀɪꜱ ᴀᴜ | ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ + ᴅʀᴀᴍᴀ
⚠️ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ:
🇪🇲🇴🇹🇮🇴🇳🇦🇱 🇩🇮🇸🇹🇷🇪🇸🇸
🇮🇸🇴🇱🇦🇹🇮🇴🇳 🇦🇳🇩 🇩🇮🇸🇸🇴🇨🇮🇦🇹🇮🇴🇳
🇮🇲🇵🇱🇮🇪🇩 🇳🇴🇳-🇨🇴🇳🇸🇪🇳🇸🇺🇦🇱 🇸🇮🇹🇺🇦🇹🇮🇴🇳 (🇳🇴🇹 🇬🇷🇦🇵🇭🇮🇨, 🇧🇺🇹 🇩🇮🇸🇴🇷🇮🇪🇳🇹🇮🇳🇬)
🇲🇪🇲🇴🇷🇾 🇱🇴🇸🇸
🇫🇦🇮🇳🇹🇮🇳🇬 / 🇵🇭🇾🇸🇮🇨🇦🇱 🇨🇴🇱🇱🇦🇵🇸🇪 🇩🇺🇪 🇹🇴 🇸🇹🇷🇪🇸🇸
🇹🇭🇪🇲🇪🇸 🇴🇫 🇸🇭🇦🇲🇪, 🇸🇪🇨🇷🇪🇨🇾, 🇦🇳🇩 🇻🇺🇱🇳🇪🇷🇦🇧🇮🇱🇮🇹🇾
In the days that followed, (Y/n) became a ghost in her own life.
She told no one, not even Amara, her closest friend and confidante. Not because she didn’t trust her, but because saying it out loud would make it real. And she couldn’t let that happen. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
Instead, she clung to her routine like a lifeline. She opened the thrift shop each morning with robotic precision: flipping the "Closed" sign, turning on the soft jazz station that played from the dusty speaker behind the counter, sweeping the hardwood floor even if it didn’t need it. Every hanger she adjusted, every antique book she alphabetized, felt like another brick in the wall she was trying to build around herself.
Her body moved through the motions, but her mind was elsewhere, flashing back to her apartment room she didn’t remember walking into, and a man she’d only known through race broadcasts and glossy interviews. The way he had looked at her. The disbelief. The discomfort. The guilt. Then, worst of all, the money.
(Y/n) felt humiliated all over again each time her memory tried to rewind to that night, only to play back static.
Still, she kept quiet.
Monaco, for all its glittering skyline and constant tourist buzz, was a small city in the ways that mattered. Gossip traveled fast. She didn’t want to be a headline. She didn’t want to be that girl. If Lando hadn’t recognized her beyond that night, all the better. Their worlds didn’t have to collide again.
Amara, meanwhile, was her usual vibrant self, full of anecdotes, laughter, and a contagious zest for life. She talked often about how Monaco felt like “living inside a music video,” and how lucky they were to work just a few streets away from literal royalty. When she announced she’d be taking a week off to show her cousin around the Riviera, (Y/n) smiled and wished her a good trip, even though the idea of being alone at the shop twisted her stomach into knots.
“You’ll be fine!” Amara said brightly, squeezing her shoulder before disappearing into a cab. “Carla’s gonna help you out. She’s great. You’ll love her!”
Carla was great. A little older, soft-spoken, always wearing vintage scarves and cat-eye glasses. She brought chamomile tea in a thermos and told stories about her childhood in Tuscany as they folded clothes and arranged displays. Her presence was soothing, and for the first time in days, (Y/n) didn’t feel completely alone.
Then came Luca.
He arrived one afternoon carrying a tray of lattes with his name scribbled in loopy cursive on the cups.
“Cousin tax,” he said with a grin as he handed Carla her drink. “And one for your coworker.”
“Hi,” he said, turning to (Y/n). “I’m Luca. I work over at Le Lait down the street.”
(Y/n) forced a polite smile and accepted the cup. “Thanks. I’ve seen you there. I usually come by after closing.”
“Figured you looked familiar,” he said. “So you’re the girl who always orders an oat milk flat white and tips like she’s a celebrity.”
“I’m just trying to make sure you all still like me when I ask for extra caramel,” she joked weakly.
Luca had dimples that appeared every time he smiled, little brackets that made him look younger, even with the slight stubble on his jaw. He didn’t push, didn’t pry, but he did linger. He came by twice more that week, once with muffins, once with a playlist recommendation scribbled on a napkin.
Then, on Friday, as Carla stepped out to make a call, Luca leaned on the counter.
“You know, I’ve been trying to find the right way to ask this,” he said, eyes flicking to hers, “but… would you want to grab a drink sometime? Or coffee when you’re not the one closing up shop?”
(Y/n)’s breath caught. Not because she hadn’t seen it coming, but because a part of her wanted to say yes. She wanted to feel normal. She wanted to not carry this weight. But her heart was too heavy, her thoughts too loud.
“I’m really flattered,” she said gently. “But… I’m not in the right place right now. I’m sorry.”
Luca’s smile didn’t falter. “No worries. Had to shoot my shot.”
She appreciated his grace. And as he left, waving goodbye like nothing had changed, (Y/n) felt the sting of her own isolation settle deeper.
By the time Amara returned, (Y/n) was emotionally drained. She smiled and hugged her tightly at the shop, let her ramble about train delays and cousin drama, all while pretending she wasn’t counting the seconds until she could go home and collapse.
“You look like you need a vacation more than I do,” Amara said, teasing. “Tell you what, pick me up at the station tomorrow and I’ll bring croissants. You deserve them.”
“Alright,” (Y/n) said, managing a tired chuckle. “I’ll be there.”
The next morning, she dressed in a soft beige cardigan, the kind Amara said made her look “effortlessly Parisian,” and tucked her hair into a loose clip. She felt light-headed but chalked it up to the poor sleep she’d had all week.
The train station wasn’t far, just a ten-minute walk past the sun-drenched cafés and uphill through a short flight of stairs. The platform was humming with arriving travelers, the air filled with announcements in French and Italian.
(Y/n) stood near the railing, eyes scanning the crowd.
That’s when the edges of her vision started to blur.
Her heart raced, not in the panicked way it had when she first woke up next to Lando, but in a way that made her legs feel like paper. Her stomach churned. Her hands trembled.
She blinked rapidly, tried to steady herself.
But then the world tilted.
The chatter around her became distant, distorted, like someone was speaking underwater. Her knees buckled. Someone shouted. Then, nothing but darkness.
To be Continued… 🧡 🧡 ᴜɴᴘʟᴀɴɴᴇᴅ — ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 3: ᴛʜᴇ ᴅɪᴀɢɴᴏꜱɪꜱ 🧡
📝 Note from the Author: I just want to say thank you to everyone who’s reading, reblogging, or even just silently vibing with Unplanned. 🧡 Your support means more than you know.
I’ll try to update as soon as I can, I’m letting myself rest and sleep for now 😴💤 But I promise I haven’t forgotten about this story.
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Thanks for sticking around. You’re the best. With love, me 🧡
