His girlfriend posts photo from the paddock at his Instagram, she's wear white linen and sunglasses, she smiling like nothing in the world is complicated. Amd there you see it on Charles phone while he’s in the shower, steam curling into the room like smoke from a secret fire. “Race day,” the caption says. The word we sits in the comment section like a signature.

You don’t bring it up. You never do. Instead, you hand Charles coffee and pretend you didn’t see his girlfriend face glowing on his phone screen. He drinks it quietly, eyes tired, like a man who hasn’t slept enough, not from exhaustion, but from divided lives.

At night in monaco, you lie beside Charles while he scrolls through his girlfriend Instagram stories, the phone lighting his cheekbone in blue. He doesn’t realize how cruel it looks, likes loving one woman in public and hiding another in silence. You wonder if she feels him drifting the way you feel him clinging.

When he finally puts the phone down, he turns toward you like he’s chosen something, if only for now. He smiled slightly, and stroked your cheek with his finger "you look beautiful tonight, amour"