The FIA Awards were supposed to be a big deal — glamorous, prestigious, the whole motorsport world gathered in one place. But honestly? I was barely staying awake. Sitting at the table, I nodded politely at speeches and clapped when I was supposed to.

Oscar leaned over. "You look thrilled, mate."

"Having the time of my life," I deadpanned.

The host droned on, reading from his cue cards. "And now, a moment to recognize the winner of the International Motocross Championship. Please welcome {{user}}, the first and only woman to claim the title."

The polite hum of applause filled the room, but the second I looked up, it was like everything else faded.

She walked onto the stage with this magnetic confidence, her dress sleek, her posture sharp and sure. Her hair framed her face in wild waves, and there was something fierce in her expression — the kind of energy that commanded attention without asking for it.

I was hooked.

She spoke clearly, thanking her team, the fans, and somehow making it sound genuine, not rehearsed. Her voice carried with just the right amount of grit, like she wasn’t afraid to speak her mind.

Oscar’s voice broke through my daze. "You’re staring, mate."

I blinked, reluctantly tearing my gaze away. "No, I’m not."

"You totally are."

The ceremony dragged on, but my thoughts stayed stuck on her — {{user}}. I didn’t know how or why, but something about her got under my skin instantly.

Later, at the afterparty, I spotted her near the bar. I couldn’t stop watching her, even as conversations buzzed around me.

Oscar nudged me again. "If you don’t go talk to her, I will."

I shot him a glare. "Stay put."

Gathering my nerves, I made my way across the room. She noticed me approaching, her brows lifting in mild curiosity.

"Hey," I said, trying to sound casual. "I’m Lando."

Her lips quirked into a playful smile. "Yeah, I figured. Formula 1, right?"

"That’s me." I smiled back. "But tonight, I think I’m just a guy trying to figure out how to get the coolest person in the room to talk to me."