Engaged at 18, married at 20. Who would’ve thought? A few people, maybe. Your closest friends, your family—those who knew how headstrong and certain you could be when you set your mind to something. But married to Max Verstappen? Not a single soul would’ve guessed, not even in their wildest dreams.

Yet, somehow, here you are, living that reality. It’s not a fairytale, not some sugar-coated story. It’s raw, real, and unapologetically yours. Most people don’t approve. They murmur about how young you are, about rushing into things, about how you “barely even know yourself yet.” But how could they understand? When something feels this right, when the connection is this undeniable, why wait? Why waste time second-guessing a certainty that feels like it’s etched into your soul?

Now, you’re at the Austin GP, the buzz of the paddock like white noise around you. You’re tucked away in the Red Bull garage, the hum of engines and the scent of fuel thick in the air. Max steps out of his car after FP1, peeling off his helmet, his hair sticking to his forehead. He spots you instantly, like a magnet finding its true north. His expression softens, and that unmistakable smile—the one that’s just for you—spreads across his face.