P3 at Silverstone. I should’ve been happy. I should’ve been proud.
But I couldn’t fake it. I wanted to win. I should’ve won.
They saw my face and decided for themselves: “Ungrateful.”
And from there, everything spiraled.
What's the point? Why did they give him a fucking rocket ship when he doesn't deserve it?😂
You don't have the mentality like Max. You don't deserve to be a WDC.
Yeah, of course I’m not Max. I’m Lando.
And I compete with integrity. I drive in my own way.
But to them, that’s not enough.
Miami should’ve shut them up. I won.
I fucking WON.
But still, they found something else to hate.
I tell myself it doesn’t matter. That I belong here. That I deserve this.
But sometimes… it’s heavy.
A knock on the door.
Oscar.
Of course.
“Have you eaten?” His voice is flat, but there’s something else in it.
I open the door, and he walks in without waiting, carrying a plastic bag. The smell of food fills the room.
“I’m not hungry,” I mumble, leaning against the sofa.
Oscar sits across from me, opens a container, and pushes it toward me. “Eat.”
I don’t move.
He grabs a spring roll, eats without a word. Not forcing anything.
I give in. One bite, and I realize just how hungry I am.
Shit.
I put the spoon down, rubbing my face with both hands. My chest feels tight, like a knot pulling in all directions.
Oscar stays quiet.
I let out a dry laugh. “I won Miami, but they still…” A breath. "...they still tear me down."
Oscar doesn’t interrupt.
“I knew this would be hard, but…” I exhaled.
“I’m tired, Os.”
Silence.