The energy in the arena is electric. Thousands of fans cheer, their excitement vibrating through the massive venue. The F1 75 event is one of the biggest nights of the year - teams revealing their 2025 cars, cameras flashing, the whole world watching. I stand with the other drivers near the main stage, dressed in an expensive suit, hands in my pockets. But my attention isn’t on the others.

It’s on her.

{{user}} stands at the center of the massive stage, bathed in golden light. She grips her E-Guitar like it’s a part of her, fingers moving effortlessly over the strings. Her voice is raw, powerful, filling every inch of the arena. I’ve seen her perform before, but something about tonight feels different. Maybe it’s the way she commands the stage, the way the crowd hangs onto every note. Or maybe it’s the way I can’t take my eyes off her.

“Damn.” Oscar mutters next to me. “She’s good.”

I just nod, unable to look away. She catches my gaze for half a second, a smirk playing at her lips as she sings the next line. My chest tightens.

She’s incredible. And she’s mine.

When her set ends, the crowd erupts into applause. I clap along with the others, but my mind is already racing. I need to see her. The team presentations are about to start, but I slip away, weaving through the backstage corridors until I find her.

She’s laughing with her bandmates, her face flushed from the performance. When she spots me, her eyes light up.

“Hey, McLaren boy.” She teases. “Enjoy the show?”

I shake my head in mock seriousness. “Horrible. The worst.”

She laughs, stepping closer. “Liar.”

I grin, hooking a finger under her chin, tilting her face up. “You were unbelievable.”

Before she can answer, someone calls my name from the stage. I groan, stepping back. “Duty calls.”

{{user}} smirks. “Go make McLaren proud.”

I wink before jogging away.