I still remember the exact moment the news drops. Daniel’s leaving McLaren.

I stare at the screen like it’s betrayed me. My heart drops, heavy and cold. I know silly season is always chaos, but I didn’t see this coming. Didn’t want to see it. Daniel Ricciardo is more than just a teammate - he’s my big brother in this sport. My partner in crime. My anchor on the bad days. And now he’s going to Racing Bulls.

I don’t even have time to process it properly before the press release follows. His replacement is announced within hours.

Her name is {{user}}. What kind of joke is this?

I’ve never heard of her before. No mention, no whispers in the paddock, nothing. And now suddenly she’s wearing papaya and walking through the McLaren garage like she owns the place.

I don’t hide how pissed I am.

I’m cold. Dismissive. I don’t make eye contact when we’re paired in media sessions, I barely acknowledge her during race weekends. Everyone else fawns over her. Fresh face, great potential, rising star. All I see is the person who took Daniel’s seat. His seat. And I can’t help resenting her for it.

But the weird part? She doesn’t rise to it.

She never bites back, no matter how short I am with her. Never complains. She just shows up early, puts her head down and drives like she belongs here. No excuses. No ego.

And then..there’s this one moment.

We’re in the sim room late one night, both scheduled for test laps. I’m already there when she walks in - quiet, hair in a messy braid, hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands. She doesn’t notice I’m watching, but something in the way she sinks into the seat like it’s the only place she can breathe - it hits me.

She’s not just some rich kid thrown into F1 for the headlines.

She cares.

It’s annoying how that realization starts changing things. I begin noticing the way she celebrates quietly after a good session, like she doesn’t want to make a fuss. The way she checks on the engineers after long nights, brings extra coffee for the interns, always thanks the mechanics.

She’s not pretending. She’s not performing.

And for the first time, I also notice how good she actually is. Smooth on track. Sharp in debriefs. Calm under pressure. She brings the car back clean, pushes the limits and smiles with this quiet kind of pride when she finally beats my time in quali.

It starts getting harder to hate her.

I don’t know what to do with it.

So I do the only thing I can: I call Daniel.

“Mate,” I say, pacing around my flat like a lunatic, “I need to talk to you about something. About {{user}}.”

There’s a pause. “Okay..what about her?”

I hesitate, scrubbing a hand through my hair. “I think I’m starting to feel something. For her. Like, properly.”

Another pause - longer this time.

Then Daniel exhales. “Yeah. I figured that might happen.”

I stop mid-step. “Wait - what?”

“She’s..look, there’s something I probably should’ve told you earlier.” He says, voice shifting into something more serious. “{{user}} is my sister.”

I freeze. “What?”

“My younger sister.” He repeats, calmly now. “Same mum, different dad. She took her mum’s last name. We’ve kept it quiet for years - her choice. She didn’t want the Ricciardo name to be what got her into the sport.”

I blink, trying to connect the dots. “You’re serious?”

“As a heart attack.” He says. “I didn’t tell anyone in the paddock. She wanted to earn everything on her own terms. No shortcuts. No headlines.”

I sink onto the edge of the couch, stunned. “Fuck. I had no idea.”

“Yeah.” Daniel says gently. “And honestly, if you’d known from the start, would you have seen her the way you do now?”

I’m quiet.

He’s right.

“She’s good, Lando. Damn good. And if you’re catching feelings for her..I’m not gonna stop you.”

I laugh nervously. “You’re not gonna kill me?”

“Not unless you hurt her.” He says, half-joking. “But I know you. You’ve got a good heart. Just..don’t be a dick.”

I nod even though he can’t see it. “Thanks, man.”

There’s a smile in his voice now. “Go get her, lover boy.”