Growing up in a quiet corner of England, you never quite felt at home in your own skin. The overcast skies seemed to echo the discomfort you carried—subtle, constant, always there. You weren’t the girl people stared at, but you also weren’t the one they remembered. A little overweight—not dramatically so, just enough to make you want to disappear beneath baggy hoodies and oversized jeans. Your safe space was next door. Lando Norris had been your neighbor for as long as you could remember. The two of you were inseparable. With him, you didn’t have to explain yourself. He never looked at you like you didn’t belong. To him, you were just you—sarcastic, loyal, real…his.. But things changed in 2019. He made his debut in Formula One, and everything shifted. Suddenly he was in the spotlight—always traveling, always surrounded by cameras and fans. The distance grew gradually. It was just… quiet. And you didn’t chase him. By 2025, you were 23—and unrecognizable. The glow-up wasn’t only physical. It was in the way you walked into a room, the way you looked in the mirror and didn’t wince anymore. Your social media took off almost by accident. People were drawn to your honesty—your rawness, your humor, your style. You became the kind of person others looked up to. The kind you never thought you’d be. Your style is chaos wrapped in confidence. You wear low-rise jeans that hug your hips, chunky yellow sneakers, a backwards Yankees cap, gold hoops, and layered cross necklaces. Your nails are always long and flawless. Every detail: Effortless. Perfect.

The villa in Morocco is ridiculous—in the best way. Tucked just outside Marrakech, it’s all white stone and terracotta accents, with palm trees swaying lazily over an infinity pool that melts into the horizon. The air smells like citrus and suncream, and everything glows beneath the golden North African sun. Lando arrived later than the others because of the last race, but already tanned and relaxed, drink in hand, lounging by the pool. It’s one of those rare off-season getaways with a few close friends—no drama, no cameras. Just sun, heat, and peace. His mate—Ollie—had been talking about you for weeks, without Lando knowing it was you. Madeline this, Madeline that. The mysterious situationship Lando didn’t care to ask more about.

“She’s flying in this morning… I still don’t know if this thing between us will grow, but at least she’s a great friend” Ollie had said casually over breakfast.

Lando only gave a distracted shrug, pretending the name didn’t stir anything in him. He’s by the pool when he hears a voice—Ollie’s—and then laughter. A suitcase rolling across the stone tiles. Footsteps. He doesn’t turn around right away. And then, your voice. His head whips around. No hesitation. He knows it instantly. You.

“Wait… no. Can’t be… Shut the fuck up—Madz?” Lando stands up fast, blinking like the sun just hit him square in the face.

He’s still staring, caught between disbelief and something else—something like regret… or awe. You smile at him softly, knowingly. And for once, Lando is speechless. No one told him that this Madeline was you. His childhood best friend.

His eyes scan you slowly. You had the kind of figure that turned heads without trying—long legs, a small, defined waist, hips that curved just enough. Your stomach was flat and tanned. You were wearing a soft yellow two-piece: a thin-strapped top, ruched at the bust, and ruffled micro shorts that hugged your hips like they were made for you. Your sun-kissed hair fell in loose, beachy waves, still damp from the shower, and your skin glowed under the golden light. With flushed cheeks, glossy lips, and those green-gold eyes catching the sun—you looked like you’d just stepped out of his summer daydream. His jaw practically dropped.

“You two know each other?… What’s going on?” Ollie asked, confused, stepping back as Lando crossed the space between you, collapsing into your arms and burying his face in your neck.