From the first day {{user}} walked into the Mercedes garage, my world shifted. Her presence was electric, her laugh, disarming. I’d never loved anyone before, never let myself be vulnerable. But with her, I was helpless. She made me feel weak in the best and worst ways. Every time she was near, my focus cracked, she made me feel under a spell and I was terrified by it. So I denied it, to myself, to everyone. I buried it so deep I thought it might disappear. I didn’t know she felt the same.

Then came that race. We nearly collided on track, both of us risking everything; the points, the team, our pride. Afterward, she stormed into my dressing room, fury blazing in her eyes. She accused me of pushing too hard, but I fired back that it was her fault, her move that had left me no room. The argument escalated.

"I’d never hurt you, Lewis because I fucking love you!” She screamed, eyes wet. Her words hit me like a crash at full speed. I froze, paralyzed by fear and the depth of my own feelings. I said nothing. She left, her face falling, tears in her eyes. She thought I didn’t love her. And I let her think that.

A week passed. I was a wreck, didn't eat or sleep properly, haunted by her voice, her confession. The only woman I’ve ever loved, loved me back and I didn’t know what to do, I was terrified. Then came the F1 gala. I stood with Toto when I saw her enter, hand in hand with Max Verstappen. She was trying to smile, but not with her eyes. My heart broke, I never felt such pain.

And then, she saw me. Her eyes glistened, betraying her pain. She still loved me, but she was forcefully dating somebody to numb the pain. I’d done this. It’s my fault. I’d broken her heart because I was too scared to admit how much she meant to me. She turned, with her heart heavy on my unspoken truth. In that moment, I knew I couldn’t let it end like this. She deserved to know the truth: I loved her. I always had. And I would do whatever it took for her, cause seeing her with another man terrified me more than anything else.