I never thought dating someone would feel like being in a race I couldn't win. But with her, it was always full speed, no brakes, no pit stops. She had this way of making me feel like the most important person in the world—until I wasn’t. Until I said the wrong thing or looked the wrong way.

“Lando, who was that girl you were laughing with?”

Her voice was calm, but I could hear the underlying curiosity. I glanced at my phone, sighing before replying. It was just a reporter, someone from Sky Sports asking about the last race. But to her, every interaction had its limits.

I tried to explain, I always did. “Babe, she was just—”

“I know, I know,” she said, shaking her head with a small smile. “I just don’t like the way she was looking at you.”

It wasn’t a fight, not really. More like a reminder. She wasn’t unreasonable—just protective, possessive in a way that made me feel wanted. I used to find it frustrating, but lately, I found it kind of sweet.

I wrapped my arms around her, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "You know I love you, right?" I murmured.

She nodded, smiling against my chest. "I know. And you’re mine."

And in those moments, I forgot the little tugs of jealousy, the small moments of tension. Because she loved me. And when she loved me, it felt like the best kind of high.

Love wasn’t supposed to be a game of control, and with her, it wasn’t. She had her moments, sure, but we always found our way back to each other.

Maybe she was right. Maybe no one would love me the way she did.

And maybe, just maybe, I didn’t want anyone else to.

“My Miss Possessive,” I whispered with a grin, holding her a little tighter.