You and Lando weren’t just a couple — you were the couple. The F1 golden boy and the breakout pop star of the year, dubbed “the IT couple” by magazines that couldn’t seem to print your names without adding the word obsessed. Paparazzi photos of you in Monte Carlo, grainy fan videos of him sneaking into your concerts mid-tour, your interviews where you slipped up and called him “Lan” with a little smile — the world ate it up.

But behind the glossy headlines and red carpets, your reality was trickier. He was halfway across the world chasing podiums, and you were halfway across another on your sold-out Miss Possessive tour. Facetime calls at 3 a.m., texts lost in time zones, promises of “soon” that never seemed to land. You thought you could handle it. You thought love would be enough.

Until that night.

You’d been desperate to hear his voice after another brutal show. You called between sets, only to hear a girl’s voice answer instead. Light, casual, like she’d been there all along. “Hello? …Oh, sorry, this isn’t my phone.” Click.

It didn’t matter that she hung up right after. It didn’t matter that maybe — maybe — there was an explanation. Because in that moment, it felt like confirmation of every doubt you’d tried to bury.

The breakup wasn’t dramatic. Not outwardly. No slammed doors or screaming matches. Just you, voice shaking, saying you couldn’t do it anymore. That you were tired of being the last priority. He’d stared at you, utterly confused, hurt flashing in his eyes. “What are you even talking about? You always make shit up,” he’d said, frustrated, like he didn’t even know the wound he’d caused. “Who was I to think I could fix you?”

And that was it. You walked away.

A few weeks later, the song dropped.

TIT FOR TAT.

The world ate it up like blood in the water. Fans dissected every lyric, every pointed line that sounded like it had been torn straight from your arguments.

“Thought I might love you again, see how I feel Now that you’re actin’ like that, I never will Last night, she answered my call, it sealed the deal Right now, I’m not even about you.”

“Fix your fucking self, kiss my ass for that…”

The comments were relentless. “She’s talking about Lando.” “The bruise on your ego?? Oh my god.” Memes flooded Twitter, TikTok edits cut your heartbreak into viral trends.

And Lando heard it. Of course he did. He sat in his car after practice, listening to your voice pouring venom through his speakers, feeling his stomach sink with every word.

Because he knew the truth. That night — the girl answering the phone? It had been his physio, picking it up off the table when he’d left it charging. Nothing more. Nothing close to betrayal.

And now the whole world thought he’d broken you.

He scrolled through his contacts more times than he could count, thumb hovering over your name. Interviews loomed. Cameras would ask about the song, about you. But this wasn’t something he wanted to play out in tabloids or TikTok threads. This was you.

Finally, on a sleepless night in Singapore, he gave in. Pulled out his phone.

One text. That’s all it took.

Lan

We need to talk. Please. You’ve got it wrong.

And when the message marked ”Read” his chest tightened.