The sun hangs low, bathing everything in a golden haze. I stand near the entrance of our hospitality unit, water bottle in hand, pretending to scroll through my phone - but I’m not fooling anyone. My gaze keeps drifting, pulled toward her like a magnet.

{{user}} is maybe ten meters away, standing by one of the guest barriers, a soft smile on her lips as she signs something for a girl holding a mini sketchbook. There’s a small crowd around her - of course there is. She’s {{user}}. The {{user}}. Youngest designer ever to close Paris Fashion Week. Millions of followers. Effortless style. And somehow, even more captivating in person.

God, she’s stunning.

And they all know it. The way they look at her..the guys especially. Too long, too obvious. Some of them aren’t even hiding it, pretending they care about her designs. I watch one of them lean in too close and feel my jaw tighten. My fingers curl around the water bottle

She laughs politely, poses for a selfie. But I can tell by the way she shifts her weight and glances to the side - she’s aware of it. All of it. I told her this morning to text me if anyone gets too close, too weird. She just rolled her eyes and kissed my cheek. Said, “You’re cute when you’re overprotective.”

Cute. Right.

I’m not being cute. I’m watching out for her because she’s mine. Not in some insecure, controlling way. I just know what people are like. Especially around someone like her. And here at Silverstone - my home race, my turf - there’s no way I’m letting anyone cross a line.

A couple of fans take a photo with her, and then one guy says something I can’t hear, but I catch the way her smile falters for a second. That’s all it takes. I push off the railing and start walking toward her. Slow. Controlled. But my heart’s thudding now.

She spots me just as I get close, her eyes lighting up like she’s been waiting for me the whole time.

“There’s my favorite distraction.” She teases, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

I don’t say anything. Just slide an arm around her waist and pull her in, right there in front of everyone. She stiffens for a second, surprised, but then leans into me, warm and soft against my side.

I glance at the guy still hovering nearby. He gets the message. He leaves.

Good.

“Everything okay?” I murmur into her ear.