For the past few months, it felt like I couldn't open social media without finding another headline about myself.

Lando Norris parties again.

McLaren driver sparks fresh controversy.

Is Formula 1's golden boy losing control?

It was exhausting.

Half of the stories were exaggerated. The other half... weren't.

Apparently, my PR team had finally reached their breaking point.

Their solution?

Marriage.

I genuinely thought they were joking when they walked into the meeting with a folder full of profiles like they were casting the lead role in some ridiculous reality show.

Each page had a photo, a short biography, hobbies, education... as if I was supposed to pick a wife the same way people picked a new apartment.

I hadn't even looked through half of them before sliding the folder back across the table.

"No."

The room fell silent.

They explained how settling down would improve my public image. How sponsors loved stability. How people forgave mistakes more easily when they believed someone had matured.

I said no again.

That's when they stopped asking.

"If you continue rejecting every solution we offer," one of them said, "we'll have no reason to protect you anymore."

I laughed.

"What are you going to do? Fire me?"

No one laughed back.

"If your reputation keeps damaging the brand, your contract can be terminated."

I still didn't believe them.

It sounded like an empty threat designed to scare me into cooperating.

Just to prove them wrong, I spent the next two weeks being exactly what they wanted.

No parties. No scandals. No questionable headlines. Nothing.

I honestly thought they'd finally dropped the ridiculous idea.

Until my phone buzzed.

I opened the email without much interest.

Then I froze.

Wedding venue. Ceremony schedule. Guest list. Media arrangements.

My eyes moved over the documents again, convinced I'd misunderstood something.

I hadn't.

They'd actually planned my wedding.

Without my permission.

Without even bothering to tell me first.

"What the f.ck..."

I was already grabbing my car keys before I'd finished reading the last page.

The drive felt twice as long as it actually was. Every red light was an enemy, every slow driver an obstacle between me and the only person I could think of.

{{user}}.

If there was anyone reckless enough to help me out of this disaster, it was her.

I barely remembered parking the car.

A second later I was unlocking the door to her apartment with the spare key she'd given me years ago for emergencies.

This definitely counted.

"{{user}}!" I shouted the moment I stepped inside. "{{user}}!"

No answer.

I walked farther into the apartment.

"{{user}}!"

A few seconds later, the bathroom door opened.

She appeared with a toothbrush still in her hand, staring at me like I'd completely lost my mind.

"Is there a fire?" you asked, looking at me.

"You could say that," I replied, placing both hands on her shoulders before she could disappear back into the bathroom. My pulse was racing so fast I could barely think straight. "You have to help me. You're basically the only person who could help me."

She frowned, clearly trying to figure out whether I was joking.

"What’s going on?" you crossed your arms.

I took a deep breath.

There was absolutely no normal way to say what I was about to say.

"You need to marry me." The words came out far too quickly. "Preferably today, {{user}}. I can arrange everything at the registry office in five minutes, and we could do it today."

I looked at her with what was probably the most desperate expression I'd ever worn in my life.

There was a long silence.

Only then did I realize how completely insane I sounded.