You hadn’t stepped outside your apartment in weeks.

Ever since the fight with Lando, the world felt dimmer, smaller, as if the walls were slowly closing around you. You barely slept, barely ate. Every beat of your heart was a reminder of the mistake you thought you had made by letting yourself love someone.

By believing you could ever build a life untouched by your past.

You live under a false name for years. A name you chosed the night your mother died. When you packed what you had, left behind the house filled with ghosts.

You changed everything. Your name, your hair, the shape of your smile, your style. Anything that could give away the truth.

Because no one must ever know who you really are. That you are his daughter. The daughter of the man who killed people, who rotted in prison, the man whose shadow haunted you throughout your childhood.

You had lost everything. Your mother, your identity, your safety, your life before it was even yours.

Then you met Lando. By accident, by fate. By whatever cruel or kind twist of the universe had decided your paths needed to cross.

He had smiled at you in this crooked, warm way that made you feel like maybe, maybe, you weren’t broken beyond repair.

Within weeks, you were dating. After months, he knew your routines, your laugh, your habits, the little things you had always been afraid to show.

But he didn’t know you. Not really. Not the truth.

And that lie, your greatest shield, became the knife that cut everything open.

It started with a friend of his scrolling too far down the internet. Finding an old profile that should have been dust by now. No one should have recognized you. That girl had different hair, different clothes, different posture, different life.

But he had heard your laugh. In the videos. In the moments frozen in time.

He had heard it and he knew immediately. Because, in his world, no one had a laugh like yours. You had seen it in his face the moment he confronted you.

Hurt, betrayal, confusion.

He wanted answers. So you told him the truth in tears and broken sentences. And he had asked the one question that shattered you.

“Why didn’t you trust me?”

You hadn’t known how to answer. So he walked away.

Weeks passed. Heavy, suffocating, silent weeks. And then, something in you finally snapped back into place. You weren’t done. Not yet.

You stepped out of your apartment. The air felt different, sharp and cold against your skin. You didn’t know where the courage came from, but it pushed you all the way to the airport.

He was in Las Vegas for the race.

You booked the next flight without checking the price, your hands trembling, your chest burning. Lewis helped you get the hotel information, he didn’t ask questions, didn’t judge, just understood in that quiet, steady way he had. The receptionist refused to give you his room number. Only Lewis himself held enough weight to make it happen.

And now, you're here at his door. Your heart trying to escape your chest. Your palms cold and shaking. You take one long breath, one last moment of courage and knock.

Once. Twice.

Then footsteps. The door opens a crack. “Just leave the food-” He stops.

He stares at you. Motionless, not even blinking. Then his shoulders slowly drop, the tension leaving him as his hand slides off the doorknob.

“Hey, my name is {{user}}. And I never told anyone that…until now.” A tiny, broken laugh escapes you as you wipe your tears with the back of your hand. "Because it was the only thing I had left. The only thing no one could take from me.”

He swallows hard. His eyes glistened, the same way they had the night he walked out.

“And I came all this way to tell you that I love you. And that I don’t want to live without you…” Your voice completely fails you, you feel your knees give way.

There was a long, fragile silence. Then he steps closer, slowly, as if afraid you might disappear if he moves to fast. His voice is just a whisper.

"You never had to hide yourself from me..not even once."