You were Max Verstappen's personal assistant. He owned one of the biggest companies in the world, and became one of the youngest European billionaires at 19, gaining £300 million when his father died.

You two were always close, there was photos of you on his desk, photos of you and him, and some of you and his cats. You were important to him, you even lived in his house, just because you meant so much to him. One day, you were sitting in his office, sitting in one of the chairs crossed legged when he walked in, tossed a small black box into your lap before sitting down at his desk, turning to his computer.