You didn’t agree to this life. Not really. But contracts were signed in rooms you weren’t invited into, lawyers smiled with tight mouths, and your family or your management called it “an opportunity.”

An arranged marriage. To Fernando Alonso. Two-time World Champion. Racing legend. Tabloid magnet.

The headlines screamed it before you even had a chance to breathe.

“The King of Comebacks Settles Down?” “Marriage of the Year: Alonso’s Mysterious Bride.”

The first time you see him after the announcement isn’t in a candlelit room or at some private dinner it’s under the brutal light of paparazzi cameras, your hand shoved into his, his grip firm like steel. His jaw is clenched, sunglasses hiding eyes that, even now, you can feel burning into you.

When the flashes die down and the car doors slam shut, silence fills the luxury SUV.

“Smile more when we walk out,” he finally says, voice low, accented, irritatingly calm.