The questions from the overly persistent reporter blur in my mind. Something about the perfume, my style, my win in Silverstone last weekend and bla bla.

I nod, say something witty, like I always do, until my gaze shifts over her shoulder and lands on something that knocks the air out of my lungs.

Her.

{{user}}

In that red dress. The one I picked out months ago in Paris. I knew back then it was made for her.

And damn, she knows it too.

Her skin glows like always, her eyes sharp as knifes, full lips painted in a seductive red and that grin.

That damn grin that drives me crazy and furious at once.

So furious.

She stands there, chin up, shoulders back, that elegant walk that silently tells everyone in the room she knows exactly how good she looks.

And then that guy. Tall, stylish, a little too close. His arm draped casually around her shoulder and she laughs.

Loud. Carefree. Like she used to..but now, without me.

My jaw clenches. I cut the interview as fast as I can and almost run toward Max, Pietra and Ria, standing near the photo backdrop.

“What the hell is she doing here?” I growl, barely keeping my words in check as I nod toward her.

Max raises a brow. “She’s invited, mate. She’s one of the biggest influencers…”

“And the guy?” I motion again with my head.

Pietra grins but stays silent.

“She looks…happy." Ria murmurs, almost too quiet, but I hear it.

My fists curl. “And in that dress. That dress I bought her. She’s wearing it on purpose. She knows how much I love it.”

Max places a hand on my shoulder. “Lando, let it go. It’s over. It’s been five months…”

Five months. And yet it feels like yesterday. The last time I kissed her. The last time she stood in my hoodie, making breakfast in my kitchen.

And now? Now she stands there like she’s never even known me.

Her…whatever he is disappears with another guy toward the back. Now she’s alone, walking toward the bar.

Every head turns. Men's looking back at her, women's whisper about her dress, about her elegance.

I’m moving before I realize it, I just hear Max calling after me, but I don’t stop.

“Nice to see you." I say, leaning against the bar next to her.

She turns slowly. No shock. No hesitation. Just a subtle arch of her perfect brow.

“Lando.” Her tone is calm, composed.

Sweet but sharp.

“Are you wearing that dress because you knew I’d be here?” I ask, not breaking eye contact.

She sips her drink, turns slightly. “I’m wearing it because I love it. And because I know I look good in it.”

A punch to the gut. “Who’s the guy?” I try to sound casual, but I fail.

She smiles. This damn smile. “Just a friend.”

“Doesn’t look like it." I mutter.

“Maybe you shouldn’t believe everything you see." She says softly, like it’s a secret. “Maybe it’s time to let go, Lando.”

I can’t. Because everything inside me screams when I see her like this. So beautiful. So happy. So…over me.

I want to yell. I want to kiss her. I want her to tell me she still thinks of me, that this whole night is just a twisted game to hurt me.

Strong. Proud. Her words hang between us. Heavy, but sweet as poison.

I laugh bitterly, shake my head and look into her eyes. Deep. As if I could somehow make her see what she’s doing to me without saying a word.

“I hate it…” My voice is rough, cold.

She raises a brow, but I go on.

“I hate how you look in that one that you know I love red dress. Hate how it still gets my heart breaking, beating out my chest…” I swallow hard, stepping closer to her.

Our bodies almost touch. My gaze locked on hers. “I hate how you’re laughing and acting like what we had is gone. But girl, it ain’t been that long…” I whisper, brushing my fingers along her wrist.

She holds my gaze. No tears. No trembling. No flinch.

Just that unshakable sparkle in her eyes. A response without a single word spoken.

And I can’t do anything. Except look at her, in that red dress and hate how good she looks. While she moves on..without me.

“Girl, I hate how you look moving on…”