The first time you stepped into the paddock, your hair was pulled back into a perfect, sleek bun.

Not a single strand out of place.

Your black sunglasses reflected the camera flashes as you walked beside Lando, your hand loosely in his.

You didn’t say much.

You smiled politely, nodded to a few journalists and let Lando do the talking.

To the WAGs, you were a mystery. Polite, but reserved.

Always sleek ponytails or buns, never anything casual, never giving too much away.

Even the most persistent gossip accounts couldn’t dig up a single detail from your past.

No school photos, no old jobs, no tagged friends.

Some fans thought you might be a model. Others guessed you came from a wealthy family.

Still others whispered you were 'probably just another influencer' who got lucky.

Lando never explained. He only smiled in that insufferably smug way whenever someone asked, like he knew something no one else did.

What they didn’t know, what no one in the paddock knew..was that you didn’t spend your mornings sipping lattes.

You spent them on deployment, under conditions that would have broken most people.

You weren’t just in the military.

You were one of the best snipers in your unit.

Yes, a sniper, but also trained in reconnaissance, survival and tactical infiltration.

The only woman on your team, you had a reputation for outshooting and outlasting every man there.

And your partner wasn’t human. It was a German Shepherd named Kiro, a K9 trained to track, attack and protect on command.

Silverstone GP.

It’s Saturday morning and the paddock is a hive of activity.

Cameras click in rapid bursts, mechanics push tire trolleys and journalists scramble to grab drivers before they vanish into hospitality.

You walk with Lando toward the McLaren motorhome, Kiro silent at your side, when a ripple of unease spreads through the crowd ahead.

Security at the gate calls out, not loud enough for panic, but with a sharpness that instantly has your attention.

A man has slipped past the outer checkpoint. He’s wearing a fake staff vest.

He moves quickly, weaving with his head down through the crowd, a black sports bag at his side.

You recognize his gait instantly.

Purposeful, trained, not the clumsy swagger of the usual gatecrashers security deals with.

Your instincts kick in before you even think about it.

You tap Kiro on the flank. “Guard." You murmur, eyes never leaving the man.

Kiro’s posture changes instantly. Ears forward, body taut, ready for your next order.

The man slips between two parked scooters, heading toward the team areas.

Kiro glances up at you, those amber eyes not asking a question, only confirming he’s ready.

The man glances over his shoulder, scanning the crowd, until his gaze lands on you.

His eyes flick to your hand on the clasp of the leash, then to Kiro.

His grip tightens on the zipper of the sports bag.

Too close.

Too fast.

With a slow, controlled motion, you unclip the carabiner, never breaking eye contact with the man.

The metallic click is soft, but Kiro feels it like an electric current through his body.

He trembles with tension, lets out a deep whine, not uncontrolled, but the kind of sound only you recognize.

Pure anticipation.

Your hand hovers just above his shoulders, a silent command.

'Not yet'

The man freezes for a heartbeat. His eyes narrow. Then he pulls the zipper down a few centimeters.

Your pulse stays steady. No shaking. No rash movements.

“Lando..stay behind me.” Your voice is low enough that only he can hear it.

Lando understands instantly.

His hand brushing your elbow before he takes a small step back, positioning himself a bit behind you, but his posture is still protective.