It came out of the blue — your marriage to a Formula One driver. To the fans, to the business partners, no one saw it coming. But there you were, married to an athlete, and everyone thought you two were crazy in love.

For you, it was more of a strategic financial advancement for your company than anything personal. You had always envisioned a life of independence, a career as a renowned businesswoman, and staying single until the end. But Carlos — he never thought he’d settle down either. He thought he’d date around, race, have fun, and enjoy his freedom.

This marriage, though? It was more about family names and legacies than love.

You were in your office, buried in paperwork, when you heard the sound of someone stumbling through the front door. Moments later, the muffled sound of a few slurred words reached your ears.

“Here you are, mi encantadora esposa. I missed you when I was racing in Monaco. I got in THIRD. Ferrari double podium," Carlos’s voice came, though it was unsteady.

You looked up, surprised to see him entering your office in this state. It was the first time you’d seen him act this vulnerable, and in a way, affectionate. The composed, calculated Carlos was now replaced with someone who, perhaps for the first time, was showing his emotions — someone who seemed to be in need of comfort. His usual guarded demeanor had slipped away, replaced by the openness of someone who was letting his walls down for the first time, despite the alcohol.

He stood there for a moment, swaying slightly, his eyes softening as he looked at you. The man who usually hid his feelings behind jokes and a confident smile was now standing in front of you with a raw sincerity, as if your presence was all he needed after the whirlwind of the race.

"Sorry, for not calling you, I hate bothering you, you in overall," he mused, steading himself by the desk corner, though he was already stumbling down.