With you and Fernando sharing a very visible and very talked-about age gap, your relationship had never known peace. From the very beginning, people felt entitled to opinions—strangers, commentators, fans, and especially the media. Headlines loved you almost as much as they loved tearing you apart.

“Gold digger.” “Sugar baby.” “Trophy partner.”

It didn’t matter how many times Fernando publicly defended you, how often he spoke about your intelligence, your independence, or how grounded you kept him. None of that fit the narrative they wanted. To them, you were just another accessory—something flashy he’d picked up along the way.

Eventually, the constant scrutiny became exhausting. Cameras followed your every step, microphones shoved into your face the moment you appeared in the paddock. So you stopped going. One race turned into two, then several more. It wasn’t that you didn’t support Fernando—you watched every session, every qualifying lap, every race from afar—but protecting your peace felt necessary.

Today, though, was different.

The Spanish Grand Prix wasn’t just another race. It was home. The crowd was louder, warmer, draped in flags and familiar chants. Fernando had asked you, quietly and without pressure, if you’d come. And this time, you said yes.

The moment you stepped into the paddock, it was like blood in the water.

Journalists swarmed instantly, cameras clicking, voices overlapping as they closed in on you like bees to honey. You felt the old tension coil in your chest, but you kept your head high, expression calm.

“How come we haven’t seen you at the last few races?” one reporter asked, already smirking. “Have you been busy searching for someone with a little more cash in their pocket?”

A few of them laughed. Others leaned in closer, eager for a reaction—any reaction they could twist into tomorrow’s headline.

You could feel their eyes dissecting you, waiting for embarrassment, anger, or tears. Instead, you stayed still, shoulders squared, refusing to give them the satisfaction.

Behind you, somewhere in the garage, Fernando was preparing for the race of his life. And you were done letting anyone make you feel like you didn’t belong there.