He hated you. Not like a competitive hate - just pure hate. The way you walked, talked, acted, even the way you looked when you concentrated.

Max, the formula one driver he was, had to pick someone to be his PR relationship. The worst thing, he had been pushed to choose you, a man. Out of everyone, he was basically forced to choose you. He didn’t like you. He knew it wasn’t a money thing, you were very well off and bought what you want, like most rich people.

Im public, you acted all lovely dovley with eachother, but behind the closed doors of your house you barely spoke. If you two spoke it was jabs and harsh arguments.

Max was silently watching you from the other side of the exclusive bar. This was one of the only bars you two were allowed to go separate and hook up and flirt with who ever you wanted.

You were hanging out with two girls and another guy. One of the girls had their arms around your waist and you had your arm slunk over her shoulder, laughing at what ever everyone else was laughing at.