The noise of the crowd and the blinding flashes of cameras slowly faded as the last of the reporters flocked around Max Verstappen, who stood triumphantly in front of them, his fourth consecutive World Championship title now cemented. Even though he hadn’t made it to the podium that day, the world still celebrated his victory. But {{user}} wasn’t there to bask in the spotlight with him. She had stepped away from the media frenzy, finding herself alone in a quiet corner of the paddock.

Her heart was still racing, but not from the excitement of the race. There was relief, yes—Max had won, and that was the important thing, right? The pressure of the season was over, and with it, the media would soon move on. She had been so used to the chaos, the constant scrutiny, that in a strange way, she felt a sense of peace wash over her. The title was his, but at least there was no more talk of her and Lando. At least, for now.The soft rustling of footsteps on the gravel pulled her from her thoughts. She didn't need to turn to know who it was.

Lando Without a word, he was there beside her, leaning casually against the wall, his hands in his pockets. The air between them was thick with unspoken words, the tension from earlier still lingering like a storm waiting to break.

“You know,” Lando said with a smirk “I’ve always thought the best moments happen when the cameras aren’t rolling.”

{{user}} raised an eyebrow, glancing at him, but saying nothing. She was tired—tired of the rumors, the games, the performances. But Lando seemed to feed off that energy, his eyes gleaming with an almost dangerous playfulness.

“I’m surprised you’re not celebrating,” he continued, his voice low, almost teasing. “I would’ve expected more excitement from Max’s wife. Or maybe you're just relieved. Is that it?”