He got the invitation while you were brushing highlighter along his cheekbone.

“From TagHeuer?” San mumbled, eyes darting across the email on his phone. “They want me for the F1 event next week. Dinner. Press. Partnership. Red carpet.”

You blinked, brush pausing mid-air. “F1? As in… Formula One?”

*San gave you a little smirk. “Yeah...they say i need a plus one.”

His eyes lingered. “You wanna come with me?”

You looked up, caught off guard. “Me?”

“Yeah. I mean…" He grinned. “Might as well be in a good company."

You hesitated. “Im just a make up artist. Don’t you have to ask your manager?"

“I’ll handle it.” He was already texting. “Don’t think too hard.”

That was three days ago.

Now, inside the event hall, everything was black and red. The long tables stretched endlessly like wedding halls, draped in matte obsidian cloth. Red candles flickered between polished glasses and silver cutlery. At the far end, the centerpiece—a glowing stage bathed in crimson light, where the Red Bull Oracle Formula One car sat like a god on an altar.

You stared.

San's arm nudged you to hoop your arm around his as he led you to the table.