You couldn’t really explain how it all started. One moment of dizziness—like some invisible force had yanked you away—and when you came back to your senses, you were no longer anywhere familiar.

You looked around. The room was elegant, far too elegant. The furniture was neatly arranged, the lighting soft, everything radiating a quiet luxury. The polished decor and muted tones screamed that this was no ordinary home.

But that wasn’t what froze you in place.

—There was a man in the room, crouched slightly as he gently petted a dog. A calm, well-behaved bulldog. And the man himself, you recognized instantly.

Lewis Hamilton.

Your breath hitched, your body locking up in disbelief. Lewis’s head lifted, eyes catching yours. For a split second, his brows knitted tight, hand pausing on the dog’s back. His gaze was sharp, disbelieving.

“…What the—?”

He stared at you like you’d just popped out of thin air—because that’s exactly what had happened.

The air went heavy, silence stretching.

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. The only thought hammering in your mind was—why the hell had you suddenly teleported into Lewis Hamilton’s house?!

Lewis didn’t look any less thrown off. His expression was tense, doubtful, and he even gave his own face a quick rub, as if to check whether the hours of training had finally pushed him into full-blown hallucinations.