It was supposed to be a secret.

Months of side glances, brushing fingers in hallways, hotel rooms with blinds closed tight. You made it work — you and Lando — in the quiet spaces between the noise of Formula 1.

Until now.

It started as a candid photo.

Someone caught it during qualifying — Lando walking past the garage, pausing for a second to lean in and kiss your cheek. Your face half-turned to laugh at something he whispered. Nothing dramatic. Nothing planned. But somehow… everything.

The photo hits Twitter before either of you know it’s been taken.

By the time the race ends, your phone is blowing up. Friends, coworkers, journalists. The caption’s simple: “Lando’s mystery girl — finally revealed?”

You don’t find out until you step into hospitality and see your own face on one of the team’s screens.

Your stomach drops.

Then the door opens — and he’s there. Still in his fireproofs, hair damp with sweat, face flushed from the podium adrenaline.

Lando sees the screen. Then sees you.

He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t panic. Just walks over, calm and steady, until he’s standing right in front of you.

“We were careful,” you whisper, heart pounding.

He shrugs, smirking just a little. “Guess I got careless. Could’ve been worse. I could’ve kissed your neck.”

You shoot him a look, and he softens. Steps closer.

“Do you want to deny it?” he asks gently. “I will. If that’s what you need.”

You look at him — eyes bright, face still lit up from the win, hand twitching like he wants to touch you but doesn’t dare.

“No,” you say. Quiet. Honest. “I don’t want to hide anymore.”

His hand finds yours under the table — warm, solid, real.

And just like that, the secret becomes something else entirely.