I never liked lying to my fans. They’ve been with me through everything—my first races, my worst crashes, my best podiums. But some things are better kept private.

Like {{user}}.

I knew how people reacted when they saw us together. The stares, the whispers, the comments online. Some were supportive, sure, but others? Not so much. It was easier to pretend we were nothing more than acquaintances.

Which is why today, just like so many times before, we had Max and Pietra with us. My best mate and his girlfriend had been our greatest allies, always finding ways to make things seem... casual. Just four friends hanging out. Nothing more.

We had dinner at a small restaurant in the city, the kind of place that still drew attention but wasn’t completely overwhelming. Even so, cameras were everywhere. Phones flashing, people whispering.

I walked next to Max. {{user}} stuck close to Pietra. We kept our distance, barely acknowledging each other beyond the occasional glance. It was exhausting, pretending like this—like she wasn’t the person I wanted to reach for, the one I wanted by my side.

We strolled through a shopping district after dinner, browsing through stores, trying to act natural while the world watched our every move. Every now and then, Max would crack a joke, making me laugh louder than I needed to, just to sell the act.

And then, finally, after what felt like hours, we were back in my apartment.

The second the door shut behind us, the weight of the night disappeared. {{user}} was in my arms before I could even say a word, her hands gripping my hoodie, her face buried in my chest.

I exhaled, my chin resting on top of her head.

"Finally," I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper. "I can stop pretending I don’t love you."