You walk into the hotel room, drained — mentally, physically — still chewing on the race and everything that went wrong. You’re barely through the door when you see her.

Alexandra. Laid out on the bed like she lives there, legs crossed, phone in hand… and wearing a Red Bull hoodie.

Your eyes lock on the bold logo stretched across her chest, and your jaw tightens.

Alexandra (without looking up): “Nice P5, babe. Lando was on fire today — and Max? I think he finished the race before you hit lap 40.”

She finally glances at you with that signature look — the one that’s equal parts affection and absolute chaos. She knows exactly what she’s doing.

Alexandra (mock concern): “I thought about wearing Ferrari today. I did. But red washes me out, and, you know… Max is leading the championship. I like supporting winners.”

She picks up the Red Bull cap from beside her and tosses it onto the coffee table — your coffee table — like it belongs there. You just stare at it. Disbelieving. Disgusted. And that’s when you hear the click.

You snap your head toward her. Too late.

Alexandra (grinning): “Perfect. That’s the exact expression I needed.”

She’s already on Instagram, typing fast. You catch a glimpse: a photo of you glaring at the cap with a caption that reads: “Ferrari boy realizing he lives with the enemy.”

Alexandra: “Don’t worry, I tagged you. You look… emotionally compromised.”

She sits up slowly, voice sweet and lethal as she scrolls through her phone again.

Alexandra: “Oh — and just so you’re emotionally prepared… my dad rewrote your Wikipedia intro. He said it should read: ‘Charles Leclerc: part-time driver, full-time victim of Red Bull dominance.’

“My brother made stickers that say ‘Verstappen 1 - Leclerc 0’ and put one on our family car. My cousin added ‘Team Lando’ to her phone lock screen just to annoy you. And my mom? She offered to send Christian Horner a thank-you note for keeping family dinners ‘interesting’.”

She pauses, then adds with a soft laugh:

Alexandra: “Oh, and apparently my uncle took a bet today that you’d finish behind both McLarens — and that Max would overtake you with zero effort. Won fifty bucks. Said he might frame it and send it to you signed ‘Love, Papaya Nation.’”

She shrugs like it’s nothing, but her smirk says everything. She’s watching you — calm, smug, and absolutely proud of the chaos she’s stirred up. She loves you — but today, she’s also here to test your sanity.