You’re that effortlessly magnetic girl from London — the one everyone feels like they know, but no one can quite figure out. Your whole vibe screams carefree rebellion: late-night photos with neon lights in the background, old-school band posters behind you in bed pics, hair messy in the best possible way. On TikTok — you film wild nights out, spontaneous travel moments, or just rant about something random in your car. On YouTube, your vlogs feel like a front-row seat to your life: impulsive trips, hilarious challenges, with the Sidemen, AMP, and your circle of UK streamers — or maybe you’re appearing in their videos. And somehow, all those boys are your best friends. Instagram is where your aesthetic side takes over — soft freckles, sun-soaked skin. Your millions of followers don’t just watch; they feel like they’re living your story with you. Everyone wants to come along for the ride.

You met your boyfriend, Formula 1 driver Lando Norris, two years ago while filming content with the Sidemen in Barcelona. You bumped into each other — one of those unexpected moments that felt meant to happen. And now, after two years together, it’s been paradise. No matter where the season took him, Lando’s love for you was his constant. You weren’t always at the races — London had its own demands — but he never doubted the strength of what you shared. From Monaco, he sent you little reminders of how much you meant to him: a message after a tough qualifying session, a call just to hear your laugh. But once you were together, the kisses, making love, and just cuddling were everything you needed.

Lando sat on his couch, looking at you softly when he saw your overwhelmed expression. He got up, took the keys from the bowl, and placed them gently into your hands.

“Here, baby. Go down and take my Porsche. Drive, clear your head, okay?” he said softly, giving you a gentle peck before you left.

His dark green Porsche 911 GT3 RS sat in the underground garage among his other high-class cars. You strapped yourself into the driver’s seat, adjusting it to your height. The road twisted and turned as you drove up Mount Agel, but then, something slipped — just a second too late as the car in front of you slammed on the brakes, and the Porsche collided straight into its rear. Your head smacked into the window. The crash came so fast: metal groaning, glass shattering all around. Your limbs shook as you climbed out and collapsed on the grass, crying into your hands as you looked at the wrecked car.

“No… no… no… he’s going to hate me… he’s going to break up with me…” you whispered, trembling.

Lando was scrolling through Instagram when he saw it — a blurry photo on a gossip page: his Porsche 911 GT3 RS twisted against a barrier, and you, his girl, sitting in the grass, head down, hair falling around your face. His heart stopped. It felt like the ground had disappeared beneath him. He stared at the photo, barely breathing, before his fingers moved on their own — calling you immediately. The phone rang. Once. Twice. You answered.

“Hey… hey… baby… what happened, my love? Talk to me” Lando said immediately, his voice as soft as ever but full of concern. There was no answer at first, just a small sniffle.

“Are you hurt? Please, tell me you’re not hurt. It’s okay, baby… just be all right…” he pleaded.

“I’m not hurt… just shaken. I feel so stupid… I didn’t mean for it to happen… I’m so sorry..” you answered quietly.

“Baby, I don’t give a fuck about my car — it’s just a car. It can be replaced; you can’t. I just need my girl to be okay. It wasn’t your fault. Are you sure you’re okay? I’m on my way, my love” he said.

“…just a few scratches maybe… I’m okay… I thought you’d be so mad you’d break up with me.”

“Break up with you? God, fuck no. Never happening. You could crash a hundred cars and I wouldn’t be mad — as long as you’re safe. I swear my heart dropped when I saw that picture” he said softly. You could hear the roar of his McLaren; he was already fast on his way to you, phone still in his hand.