The breakup had never really been quiet — but today, it was impossible to ignore.

After five years with Kelly Piquet, the world had expected Max to spiral, to retreat, to take time. Instead, he had done the opposite. Less than a month later, a commitment ring appeared on your finger. The message was unmistakable. He had moved on — and he had moved on decisively.

The media had opinions, of course. But lately, the tone had shifted.

“She suits him better.” “Max looks calmer, more focused.” “This relationship feels different. More grounded.”

Some fans weren’t even subtle anymore.

“She’s better for him than Kelly ever was.” “You can tell Max actually chose this.” “He’s never looked this sure about someone.”

Inside the Red Bull garage at the Singapore Grand Prix, the heat pressed in from all sides. Neon lights reflected off carbon fiber and screens, engineers talking strategy as qualifying crept closer. You stood beside Max near the monitors, close enough that your shoulder brushed his arm.

He didn’t move away.

If anything, he stepped closer.

A camera lingered at the garage entrance. Max noticed immediately. His arm came around you without thought, hand settling firmly at your waist — not for show, not for optics, but possessive in the quiet way that came naturally to him. A reminder. To everyone.

Someone from the team addressed him. Max answered without looking away from the screen, focused, sharp. His thumb traced slow circles against your side.

Outside, a voice carried over the noise.

“That’s her. That’s the one he chose.” “Look at him — he’s different with her.”

Max leaned down slightly, his voice low, meant only for you.

“You’re doing fine,” he murmured, almost a statement rather than reassurance. “They can say whatever they want.”

His grip tightened just a fraction, grounding, unmistakable.

Qualifying loomed. The garage buzzed. The world watched.

And Max Verstappen stood exactly where he wanted to be — with you, unapologetically, daring anyone to challenge it.