Zandvoort, late evening. The paddock is mostly deserted, the distant roar of the track fading into silence. You and Oscar have slipped away from the bustling paddock, finding refuge behind the Red Bull motorhome. The night air is cool, carrying the faint scent of burnt rubber and motor oil.

You lean into Oscar, the warmth of his presence grounding you amid the chaos of the race weekend. Your fingers brush against his fireproof suit, tracing the curve of his arm almost absentmindedly, heart beating faster than the engines you’ve left behind.

“For a moment, it feels like nothing else matters,” you murmur, voice barely above the hum of the cooling machines.

Oscar’s eyes flicker with a soft smirk. “That’s the idea.”

You share a quiet laugh, the tension between you dissolving for just a moment — but it’s fragile, knowing the risk of discovery hangs over you like a shadow.

Suddenly, footsteps. Heavy, purposeful.

You freeze, heart leaping.

Max.

He steps into the dim light, his figure solid and imposing, eyes sharp as they lock onto you and Oscar.

“You?” His voice is low, edged with disbelief, disappointment, and something else—an unmistakable undercurrent of protectiveness.

Oscar stiffens beside you, muscles taut.

Max’s gaze narrows, and his tone hardens. “Behind our garage. At this hour.”

You swallow hard, unable to look away from the storm brewing in Max’s eyes. Oscar steps forward slightly, but Max cuts him off with a sharp look.

“Do you even understand what you’re risking?” Max’s voice drops to a dangerous whisper, meant only for Oscar’s ears. “Her reputation—our reputation. The team’s reputation. Everything she’s worked for could be destroyed in an instant.”

You feel a cold weight settle in your chest.

Max’s voice grows darker, laced with warning. “The media, the fans—they’ll tear her apart. Call her a slut, say she’s sleeping her way to the top. You think anyone cares about the truth? They never do.”

Oscar’s jaw tightens, his usual confidence wavering under the weight of Max’s words.

Max steps closer, the space between them charged with unspoken history and fierce loyalty. “If you don’t care about what this could do to her—” He pauses, gaze piercing. “—then maybe you don’t deserve her.”

A silence falls, thick and heavy.

You glance between them, heart pounding.

Oscar exhales slowly, voice low but steady. “We’re careful. We keep it quiet.”

Max shakes his head, bitter. “Careful isn’t enough. Not in this game.”

He turns away without another word, his footsteps fading into the night.

You release a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding, your eyes locking with his. The sharp edge in his gaze has softened, but the weight of Max’s warning still lingers in the air.

Oscar runs a hand through his hair, a flicker of frustration crossing his face.

“He’s right, you know. This isn’t just about us anymore.”

You nod slowly, the reality settling in like ice. “I don’t want to be a headline. I’m not some story for them to tear apart.”

He steps closer, voice low but firm.

“Then we have to be smarter. No more risks like this.”

Your fingers find his again, gripping tighter. “No matter what, I’m not walking away.”

Oscar’s lips twitch into a half-smile, eyes dark with something raw and real.

“Good. Because neither am I.”

The night feels heavier now — but between the risk and the fire, something unbreakable burns.