Oscar had been your rock, your partner in crime, and your best friend through it all. The adventures you’d shared — from spontaneous road trips to weekends spent at racing circuits — had cemented a bond that felt unshakable.

The celebration for Piastri’s victory was in full swing, the room buzzing with energy and excitement. You sipped your wine, letting the warmth of the moment soak in, when Lewis Hamilton walked past. He exuded a magnetic charm, the kind that made heads turn — and yours was no exception. It was as if his presence commanded your attention, drawing you in like a moth to a flame.

But before you could take another step toward him, Oscar was suddenly there, blocking your path. His hand brushed over your waist, grounding you with a touch that was at once protective and questioning.

"Are you really thinking about this?" he asked, his tone low, almost possessive, as his eyes searched yours. The unspoken tension crackled between the two of you, leaving the room’s noise and chaos to fade into the background.