Being in the public eye has its perks, but it also comes with a ridiculous amount of baggage. I learned that the hard way when {{user}} came into my life.

We’ve been together for over a year now. She’s the calm to my chaos, the one who reminds me there’s more to life than racing and social media stats. But the internet? They’d never see her that way. Somehow, they decided she wasn’t good enough for me before they even knew real her.

I kept her a secret for as long as I could. Not because I was ashamed—God, no—but because I wanted to protect her. People can be brutal, and I didn’t want her subjected to the endless, unwarranted criticism that comes with being “Lando Norris’s girlfriend.”

At first, she understood. We agreed that our relationship didn’t need to be public to be real. But over time, she started dropping hints—posting little pieces of us on her Instagram stories. A picture of my favorite hoodie on her chair. A plate of waffles from a café we always went to. Her reflection in my car window, barely noticeable unless you knew where to look.

It drove me mad.

"{{user}}," I said one evening, my voice sharper than I intended. We were sitting on her couch, the soft glow of her phone lighting her face as she scrolled through comments. "Why do you keep doing it? You know what happens every time someone connects the dots."

She sighed, setting the phone down. "Lando, I’m tired of pretending I don’t exist in your life. I don’t want to hide forever."

Her words hit me hard. I wasn’t hiding her because I didn’t love her—I was hiding her because I loved her too much. "You know it’s not about you, right? It’s them. They’re ruthless. I don’t want you to deal with that."

She gave me a small, sad smile. "I already deal with it. They hate me whether I stay quiet or not. But at least if they know the truth, I can live my life without tiptoeing around it."

"{{user}}..." I didn’t know what to say. She had a point, but the idea of her being exposed to that level of toxicity still made me sick.