Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Hurry up Ana, we will miss the flight!” Isabella shouted for what it feels like the hundredth time. Like that would make any difference. Anastasia was late for everything. Her mother always joked that Ana was late even for her birth.

“Ana, I swear to God, if we miss the flight, you`re not walking out of here alive!” Izzy was on the brink of a meltdown. “OK, chill Izzy, I can hear she is coming down the stairs.”  I said as I heard a door slam. “I`m coming, sorry, sorry!” said Ana, dragging her suitcase down.

 “Took you long enough! I hope you didn`t forget anything, because I will leave you here and fly to Monaco with only Eli. “Isabella said while looking at her watch.

“The driver is waiting, let`s goooo!” I shouted. Finally, this vacation was about to start.

Every year around my birthday, the three of us took a two-week vacation somewhere. Why then? Because on my birthday the person I cared about the most left and never looked back. It was a celebration of me being able to pull through and look back to laugh at my stupidity. A celebration of having the most amazing people by my side no matter what.

We entered the car while the driver took care of our luggage. As he was pulling into traffic, heading for the airport, Anastasia finally connected the dots “Hey, how can we miss the flight if we are taking a private jet?”

Isabella and I started laughing uncontrollably – Ana`s face was priceless. “I had to get you to move faster Ana, you were taking forever, like every fucking time.” Izzy said while trying not to laugh. “Well yeah, but I wanted to double check my list for the trip – what if I forgot something important?” Ana said while looking at her phone.

“OMG, you actually have a to-do list on your phone???” I asked, although knowing the answer. “Bloody hell, you two are annoying. Fine, here, deleted! Happy?” Ana turned her phone screen for us to see. “Very! Thank you!” said Izzy.

“Eleonora, are you looking at a stupid list for the trip, too?” Isabella whined. “No, I was thinking that even though I will be on vacation, why not adding content on Instagram?” Both girls started fixing their hair. “You are gorgeous, selfie time bitches!” I said and made a few snaps. I uploaded the shots, tagged us and put my phone away.

The girls started chatting about a new book series, which I also read, but I wanted a few minutes to collect my thoughts. It was always like that around August. Melancholy creeped up on me even though years have passed, and I presumably moved on. My thoughts always took me back to my 17^th birthday, to the utter devastation that followed after Lando left.

August 15^th, 2017

I was a nervous wreck. My birthday party started an hour ago and I was still hiding in my private bathroom like a coward. Izzy haven`t managed to find me yet but she will soon. I still wasn`t ready....and maybe never will be. Once again, I stared at my reflection in the mirror. “You can do it Eli, don`t back out now.” If only I was able to convince myself. Struggling with my self-esteem and my mental health since I can remember. Trying to fit in in a privileged world where everyone has the highest expectation for what you have to be but at the same time just waiting for you to make a mistake so they will annihilate you for good. Among this insane reality came Lando.

Father and Adam Norris started working together but became friends in the process. Mum invited the Norris family for a dinner and that`s when I met Lando. We were both shy at first, clearly uncomfortable. My brother went to play his video games, and I was left to try making conversation with another shy individual. So, after dinner our parents sent us out of the dining room to hang out. We were sitting on the sofa in our living room, looking everywhere but at each other. Finally, after a long time he spoke “Would it be alright if you put on the TV Formula 1?” I looked at him, just a faint hint of a smile was visible on his face. “It`s just…I haven`t missed a Grand Prix but if you don`t want to watch it…” He was blushing and it made my heart flutter. I gave him the remote “Sure, let`s watch it but I do not know the channel.”  He chuckled and started pressing the buttons fast. I peeled my eyes from him and looked at the broadcast. This was absolutely foreign to me, but it looked like he knew every term that the spokesperson on the TV used. I found myself engaged in the dynamic of the race. Thirty minutes in there was a “yellow flag” and I sneaked a look at the boy next to me. He was staring at me and when caught looking, he blushed and said “I`m sorry, just looked at you to see if this is boring you.” I smiled at him. “No, it`s not boring but can you explain what just happened and what is a yellow flag?” From there on his shyness was gone. I listened to every little detail about racing, also learning that was his dream – to be in Formula 1. He was aiming for his goal, racing for years and winning trophies. At the end of the evening, we exchanged phone numbers and started texting every day. We became fast friends and as time passed realization hit me – I was falling for him. He was the nicest, caring, understanding person I`ve met and by the time I turned 16 years old I was head over heels smitten and in love. However, fear of losing our friendship and ultimately him, kept me and the need to confess my feelings quiet. Until now. He was about to leave town, pursuing his racing career. I wanted him to know how much love and adoration I feel for him. To assure him I will be by his side no matter what. I looked again at my reflection, fixed my make-up, hair and took a breath. A loud slam of my bedroom door startled me. She found me.

“Eleonora, where the hell are you?? Everybody is downstairs, waiting for the birthday girl! I`m all for dramatic entrance but an hour is an insult!” Izzy yelled while bursting open the bathroom door. I looked at her through the mirror. No words needed – she knew of the pact I made with myself.

“Eli, it will be fine. We all have seen the way he looks and cares for you. I`m certain he loves you like you love him.” she said while hugging me from behind. “What if I make a fool of myself? What if I am dead wrong about everything?”. Izzy turned me around and put her hands on my shoulders. “If he doesn`t love you, he is the biggest idiot in the world. You are amazing and deserve the best person by your side. If he can`t see that then good riddance!” Isabella hugged me tight and did not let go until I did. She always does that with me, it was our love language for each other. I knew I could count on her about everything. “Thank you, Izzy! Alright, no time like the present.” I said laughing. “Let`s get this party started and get your man, girl!” she said, switching to her party animal mode.

We made our way to the stairs and the loud music hit me in the chest. Why did my parents agreed to this and not just booking a venue I would never know. The house will be in shambles after this – I probably cared more about it than them. Isabella grabbed my hand when we started going down the stairs. I looked at my guests. Ana was there leaning on my brother – they started dating a few months back. Some of my brother`s mates made an appearance. Max Fewtrell was there – I did not recall inviting him but being Lando`s good friend for years made him a constant presence everywhere. All of my classmates were there – I don`t even talk in school with half of them but at times like this they suddenly became friends with me. Maria, Zara and Jacob were there – we met at the French language course I took, pressured by father. I loved the fact that they treated me like a normal person – no prejudice, no excluding me because of my last name. They were genuine and just great people. My eyes kept searching the packed place for him until there was no need – Lando has already spotted me. He was smiling at me, staring intensely and then he winked – oh no! I moved my mouth saying “Don`t you dare!”, but he just laughed and moved his head saying “no”. I saw when he took a big breath and then he started yell singing “Happy birthday Eli! Happy birthday Eli!”

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“Eli!!!!” Izzy snapped me back to reality. “We are here! C`mon!”.

We exited the car and saw John waiting for us. Not that it was possible to miss him – he was huge and fortunately for me my bodyguard of almost 4 years. Being the daughter of one of the richest people in England was a blessing and a curse. My father`s PR company represented everyone who was anyone in England, but he made branches in other European countries as well. This has made my older brother Nicholas and me targets and after an incident involving my wellbeing, father hired John to be my shadow and keep me out of harm’s way. At first the idea of having someone to hover over me constantly was irritating, to say the least. With time I grow fond of John – he was not a man of many words, and I felt safe when he was around. For the first few months, he refused to leave me out of his sight for even an afternoon. I knew he had a wife and a daughter that`s 2 years old now. It pained me to think that he cannot spend any time with them. So, after a lot of bargaining, we made a deal – whenever John is off duty, I am supposed to wear a panic button called “Silent beacon”. When the button is pushed, it transmits my location to John`s smartphone. Double click will make a distress call to 999 and sent the police my way. However, it is inconvenient to pull it out from your purse or pocket. I ordered a custom-made ring with a lid, under which I hid the button. John said it was ingenious and gave me one of his rare smiles. Hopefully, I won`t need to use it.

“Good day, Miss Kimbel.” John said while extending his hand to the driver to handle my luggage. “Was everything alright during your ride to here?”

I looked at him and smiled. “Yes, John, nothing of importance happened. Just to give you heads up – from 14^th to 17^th, I expect more guests. My brother will arrive with his friends. Also, Jacob and Zara. Nick will stay in Ana`s room, the others have their own separate rooms booked in “Hotel de Paris Monte – Carlo”.” John just nodded, acknowledging he heard me.

The three of us waited patiently while the staff took care of our luggage – a perfect time for me to have a few puffs of my vape. “I`ve said it a million times, I`ll say it again – when are you going to let go of this dreadful habit?” Izzy said, while eyeing me, clearly annoyed. “Hey, hey, hey – my body, my rules. In addition, I have to put up with you two and God knows that requires the strength of whole army of Huns. Leave me and my vape alone.” We started giggling but Ana did not join us. She was staring at her phone, the color drained from her face. “Ana, what’s wrong? Is everyone alright?” She did not reply and Isabella and me were behind her in a second, looking at the screen. She was looking at my Instagram post from earlier – it had almost million likes by now, nothing out of the ordinary when we posted content. “Ana, talk please – what is going on? Why do you look like you`ve seen a ghost?” Isabella asked concerned. At this point, I was checking every corner of the display, looking for clues. Then Anastasia pressed to see who liked the pictures – that is when I saw it: @maxverstappen1 like this, and down further - @landonorris like this. Izzy was swearing, not very ladylike and I couldn`t fish out my phone from my purse faster. My hands were shaking uncontrollably – please no, this can`t be happening, not now. I haven`t told even my friends the news, I was not mentally prepared for my new endeavor, I thought I had two more weeks. Finally, I managed to unlock my phone and open Instagram. And there it was: @maxverstappen1, @charles_leclerc, @carlossainz55, @landonorris and 489 others started following you.

Chapter Text

Lando`s POV

August 11^th, 2023

I couldn`t be happier that our summer vacation was cut prematurely. It was insufferable – everyone was with girlfriends except Charles and me and although I cared for my friends and fellow drivers, I`ve had enough. Seeing everyone so happy and in love while I can only have a meaningless one-night stands was making me grumpy, like an old man. It`s not that I didn`t want a girlfriend or a serious relationship, hell, I had one last year. I was just screwing things up for myself – always ending up comparing every girl to the one I actually want but could never have. Eleonora… It was an everyday fight with my mind not to think of her. Every year around her birthday, it gets especially harder not to think of Eli – as if the daily struggles are not enough. The memory of her, taunting me, reminding me of my idiocy was not going away. And I`ve tried, I really did. However, no amount of alcohol, girls and other distractions did anything for me – she wasn`t going anywhere. I find myself more often than not to look at her contact in my phone – the thought of calling or texting her itching on my fingers. I still hold on to our old texts – the good ones and the bad ones. I re-read them occasionally and when I get to the last of them, I know I am purposefully punishing myself.

Eleonora Kimbel: Did you get there safe? Text me when you can :)

Eleonora Kimbel: Lando? Are you okay? I can`t get a hold of you for the last 4 days. Please text me, I`m worried.

Eleonora Kimbel: I tried calling again, went to voicemail. Is everything ok?

Eleonora Kimbel: Talked to your mother, she said you are fine…Why are you ignoring me?

Eleonora Kimbel: Congratulations, on making the cut in McLaren for 2018, you will be great, I know it. Hope to hear from you soon.

And then there were the final texts – if I could go back in time and do things differently, I would.

Eleonora Kimbel: I`m sorry for what I said at my birthday party – maybe you felt pressured, but that was not my intention. Please Lando, I can`t lose you…

Eleonora Kimbel: Happy birthday! I hope all your wishes come true!

Lando Norris: You don`t take a hint, do you? I`m sorry but I don`t have the time for friends and “girlfriends”. Leave me alone!

Yep, I am a fucking prick. After that, there was nothing but silence. A deafening, never-ending, nerve wrecking silence. For the first few months it was bearable…until it wasn`t. I knew her too well to know she would`ve been devastated. I also knew I could not expect any information from Isabella and Anastasia – against my better judgement I contacted them still. Ana just told me to fuck myself and hung up. Isabella, however, was very creative of her insults – I wasn`t expecting anything less. Still, my hope was flickering because she did not hang up immediately. Boy was I wrong. After she finished her rant, I begged her to tell me something, anything, of how Eli was doing – she started laughing and then threatened me not to go near Eleonora or it will be the end of me. Knowing Izzy, it was not a joke. Thus began my stalking of anything Eli related online. I was not particularly proud of it, but that didn`t stopped me. Didn`t know I looked for something in particular until I saw a picture of her with another guy and it made me blind with fury and rage. That`s when it hit me – I was hoping she wouldn`t move on so I can swoop in when I muster the courage. Caught myself looking at that picture for hours, analyzing it like a scientist analyze specimens. It was at that moment that I saw the way she looked at the bloke – Eli used to look at me like that. To say that I was distraught would be an understatement. Cursing everything and everyone, especially myself, I didn`t went out for days, drowning and numbing my feelings with alcohol. After all, every glass was helping me more and more in my quest to pretend that everything was alright. Months passed and I successfully terminated my stalking habits, until a call with my mother.

“Hi mom, what`s up?”

“Lando, darling, have you called the Kimbels yet? Do you know how Eli is, I can`t reach her mother.”

“You can`t reach Angela, does something happened with Eleonora?”

“Oh dear, clearly she isn`t in a state to make calls or write texts.”

“Mum, please, what is going on???”

“Eleonora is in a hospital; I think she was in an accident.”

After that, everything was a blur. I called every one of our mutual friends and acquaintances but the ones I reached were of no help. Looked online for an article but there was nothing. I wanted to see her, to hold her hand but I didn`t know what hospital she was admitted in. Still, I booked a flight to London, as I knew from my mother that Eli was planning to move there. When I arrived, I got a call from Maria, one of Eli`s friends – Eleonora was admitted in “Wellington hospital”. 

I sprinted there, going straight to the receptionist on duty. After lying that I am her brother, she told me that Eli was in room 303. I thanked her and ran past the elevators, not planning to lose time on waiting. Taking two steps at a time, I arrived on the third floor. Unfortunately, there were many people there – Isabella and Anastasia were there, a few police officers and a huge guy in a black suit. Why were the police involved? I ran in the long corridor, ignoring Ana and Izzy until I was tackled and held down by the big guy. “Who are you and why are you here?” I did not justify him with an answer and just went on trying to get out of his grip.

“It`s okay John, he won`t do anything to Eleonora, because I will not let him!” Isabella`s voice was closing in and from my point of view, which was the floor, I saw hers and Ana`s heels.

“Would you be so kind to put him on his feet, John?” Isabella asked.

He did not answer but lifted me like I weighted nothing, and my eyes met Isabella`s.

“Izzy please, I have to see her! What happened? Is she going to be alright?”

Isabella and Anastasia have been crying, I could tell. Still, they looked at me with so much hate that suddenly I felt like the smallest person on earth.

“Where were you the last two years, Lando?” Izzy`s question took me by surprise but I didn`t get the chance to answer because she wasn`t actually going to let me talk.

“How did it feel, Lando? To lead her on and then crush her? Did it make you feel superior, to know that you made her suffer? Do you feel like a big man now, gracing us with your presence? Should we, mere mortals, bow down to you, our Excellency, now that you remember that we exist and particularly Eleonora? Are you actually so delusional to think that we will let you slither your way in her life at a time like this? “She was shortening the distance with every sentence until our faces almost touched. “Eleonora will be fine, but do not pretend that you care for her wellbeing.” Isabella stopped for a second and then leaned near my ear and whispered, “You forgot what I told you – don`t come near her ever again or I will end you.” Isabella pulled away after that and said, “I could say that it was nice to see you Norris, but I am no liar…unlike you.”

I tried to reason with this guy John, but he literally pushed me in the elevator and went back to Eli`s door. After leaving the hospital, I sat at the nearby coffee shop and pull out my phone. Found Eli`s contact and brushing a tear that escaped my eye due to the truths that Izzy said to me, I pressed the call button.

I held my breath, my brain going into overdrive – what do I say to her? After three signals, I heard the call connect “Hello Lando.” It was not Eli but her mother Angela. “Hello Mrs. Kimbel, how is Eli?” She tried to hide a little sob that escaped her mouth “Not good at the moment but the doctors are hopeful that she will make a full recovery.” As she said that my world started crumbling down – what if she doesn`t make a full recovery? “Mrs. Kimbel can you tell me what…” But Angela Kimbel interrupted me “Isabella wants to talk to you. It was nice hearing you and I`ll make sure to tell Eli that you called”. It was quiet for a few seconds and then I heard a sound that can only be described as a hiss, which was followed by “Listen here you little shit! Obviously, you did not take a hint, so this is your final warning – leave Eli alone or so help me God!” Then the line died…and with it my hopes.

For two weeks I couldn`t sleep, imagining the worst scenarios in my troubled mind. Then Maria texted – Eleonora was discharged and heading home to recover fully. I was so happy I could fly. I wrote her a thank you and continued with my mission – to talk to Eli. I opened our chat and before I had the time to change my mind, I wrote:

Lando Norris: Hey, El. :) how are you feeling?

I then stared at the message like that will make her reply faster. After a few minutes “read” appeared below. I couldn`t contain my excitement and started pacing in my living room like a maniac still holding the unlocked phone in my hand. When I saw the bubbles that indicated that she was replying, I sat down on the sofa, waiting. Not long after a message appeared:

Eleonora Kimbel: I`m fine.

She was most definitely not fine; she used this short sentence too many times in the past for me to be fooled.

Lando Norris: El, I know you are not fine. You know you can tell me the truth.

At that particular moment I do not know why I wrote that – everything was in the gutter because of my mistake. I guess I got cocky because she actually replied. Her message that followed put me back in my place:

Eleonora Kimbel: I don`t know how you have the audacity to tell me “you know” that I am not fine. You haven`t known anything for a very long time. But you should know this – I don`t want your sympathy and fake concern. Do not contact me again, cuz` I have no time for friends or boyfriends.”

Chapter Text

Eleonora`s POV

August 11th, 2023

“So, you`re going to be working for “Red Bull Racing” and not with anyone but Max Verstappen?” Izzy asked once again. The cat was out of the bag due to the avalanche of Formula 1 drivers that flooded my Instagram. Our PR company was working with Red Bull for a few years now, but they asked for someone in the paddock for the remaining of the year to stray any immediate media threats regarding the reigning world champion. I couldn`t understand why father was so adamant that it should be me – we had plenty of good people that would be more than happy to oblige his request. I was most definitely not pleased at the prospect to see Norris almost every weekend until the end of the season. When asked why I should go, father came up with the excuse that I`ve met Max before and that I already knew Lando – pathetic if you ask me. That is not a good enough reason, not by a mile. He just wanted me out of trouble – forgetting I stopped getting in trouble almost 4 years ago.

“Yes, that`s right.” I said while looking at the clouds passing by the plane. I loved flying – it gave me the blissful feeling that I am far away and above all the problems and drama in my life. Just for a few hours, I can pretend that nothing and no one can ever reach me. Turns out my past was closing in on me and I had no control over it.

“That is not necessarily a bad thing.” Ana spoke. We looked at her, waiting for the elaboration.

“Well, being near Lando will suck. However, think about the positives – you always wanted to watch a Grand Prix live and now you will have the chance to watch all of them. You will go to their parties, mingling with hot guys, and I`m sorry – I like Jacob, but you need a real relationship and not your “friends with benefits situation” that is going on for far too long.”

“Ana`s got a point. It`s not an ideal situation but you can extract all the positives. If I were you, I would go for that hottie Leclerc – he is single now. And you know better than me that Ferrari is always the right choice.” Winking at me, Izzy sipped her Frappuccino. “It is also a good opportunity for me and Ana to join you in the paddock and the three of us will make all the boys drool”. Laughing at her last comment made the atmosphere breathable again. I knew they will understand and bring out the support – my anxiety was taking a toll on me, yet again.

“Have you forgotten that I am taken?” Anastasia asked, still giggling.

“For your own good I hope that you don`t forget that you are taken by my brother. Meeting hotties in Monaco is not an excuse to step out of line.” We were laughing like high school girls until my phone received a notification. It has come to this – I will be scared of my phone from now on.

I sighed and took the phone from the table. It felt heavier than usual, like my heart at this moment.

“Girl, please, unlock the damn thing!” Izzy was getting impatient. I sighed one last time and unlocked it. I had a lot of comments and messages. I usually don`t pay much attention to neither of those things. However, the top comments stood out:

@maxverstappen1: Can`t wait for you to join our team, Eli.

@carlossainz55: Ay, Cabron – why do you always get the best looking of them all?

@charles_leclerc: I`m with Carlos on this one, you have Kelly. Stop being so selfish, bro!

@maxverstappen1: @charles_leclerc, @carlossainz55 I get the best, because I am the best – 2 years in a row. And stop creating drama in my relationship!!!

@charles_leclerc: I`ll take the blonde one on the right then!

@landonorris: @charles_leclerc I wouldn`t do that if I were you.

@charles_leclerc: @landonorris Why? You like her too?

@landonorris: @charles_leclerc Most definitely not! I am a man of immaculate taste! And I prefer brunettes ;)  

I couldn`t put into words what will happen after Isabella sees this. I gave my phone for Ana and Izzy to look at. Should`ve bid my farewell to my smartphone because it will be smashed on the floor pretty soon.

I knew when Izzy was done reading it. The sound of her gritting her teeth can be heard on the ground, I was sure.

“That insignificant weasel!!! How dare he trash talk me like that??? He, of all people! The audacity, I can`t even! He is a dead man when I see him!” Izzy was fuming and I used this moment to snatch my phone from her hands.

“In all fairness, you are a little scary…” Ana said while creating a distance between her and Isabella.

“I am most definitely not!!!” Izzy said and flipped her long blonde hair behind her shoulder.

“Bestie, you are scary, but we love you!” I smiled at her and then looked at Ana. “Ana, remember what we practiced when she executes her first murder?”

“I do not recall; I do not recall.” Izzy did not appreciate the laughter, but the sound helped her to calm down.

“Practice girls – I will kill him!”

After the storm, I looked at my Instagram again. “It`s time for me to intervene in the circus called Formula 1.” The girls cheered as I started writing. Both of them moved to my sides to have a better view.

@eleonorakimbel: @maxverstappen1 I am really excited for the rest of the season. Also, you suck at keeping secrets!

@maxverstappen1: Couldn`t wait any longer and it was nice to tease these idiots. Where are you beautiful girls off to?

@eleonorakimbel: @maxverstappen1 You are aware that I know Kelly, right?

@charles_leclerc: @maxverstappen1 Have you no shame??? Eleonora, all of us are excited to meet you!

@eleonorakimbel: @charles_leclerc Likewise. :)

@landonorris: Why does “Kimbel PR” represents “Red Bull” and not “McLaren”?

@eleonorakimbel: @landonorris “Kimbel PR” strive to represent the best of the best, which at this time you are not. I hope this answers your question.

“OMG girl!!! You called him out publicly! I am so loving this right now!” Isabella was dancing in her seat and Anastasia joined her in the dance party.

@maxverstappen1: This is the funniest thing I have seen all day! @redbullracing You should have requested her sooner!

@kellypiquet: Eli, I just heard the amazing news. Penelope and I miss you very much! See you soon love!

@eleonorakimbel: @kellypiquet I miss you too! Give Penelope a hug from me and tell her I haven`t forgotten of our deal for a movie night marathon. xoxo

@landonorris: Can some of us join in on this marathon?

@eleonorakimbel: @landonorris As it`s a “Frozen” marathon and Penelope says that princess dresses are mandatory, I cannot wait to see you in drag.

The three of us were wheezing, crying from laughter.

@maxverstappen1: @landonorris Made a screenshot, so you can`t get out of it. I will personally order your dress mate!

“We will be arriving in Nice in about 15 minutes. Please be seated and fasten your seatbelts.”

Still laughing we took our seats. The stewardess cleaned the table and went to follow the pilot`s order. As the plane started to descend, I remembered that there were some DM`s that I still haven`t checked. I regretted opening the app immediately. Right at top of the list was his name, the name I was so sick of hearing and reading:

Lando Norris: I can`t wait to see you!

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Lando`s POV

August 11^th, 2023

Finally, I was home. It took everything from me to look happy and cheerful and now I can be my bitter self in peace. Kicked my shoes away from the door, dropped my luggage and went straight to take a shower. Need to wash this lovey dovey vacation of my body. As I removed my clothes and went in, I exhaled in satisfaction when the hot water came down on me. I so wished for my thoughts to go down the drain like the water. Would`ve been nice for a change – my mind blank for a few hours.

Max was nowhere to be seen, as I dressed casual for staying in for the remaining of the day and night. Went for a snack in the kitchen but knowing perfectly well that everything in the fridge will be healthy, it was pointless. As I looked through the contents in the refrigerator, all of them tasteless and stale, I decided to order in. Made myself comfortable on the huge sofa and unlocked my phone to look through menus. I had messages in the group chat with some of the drivers. Yes, we do have a group chat – mainly for us to gossip like high school girls. Most of the times it was on mute. I dealt with these people much too frequent to put an extra effort on my days off. The chat was on fire though, so my curiosity took the lead, and I opened it.

SuperMax: We will be having a new addition to the team, and I can`t wait to see your faces after she is introduced.

Honey Badger: It`s a she? Great! When she meets me, you will be forgotten – you and your Sid face.

Chili: So, you`re just going to say that and not tell us who she is? Cruel bro, just cruel.

Percival: OMG, just tell us her name. You know I can`t deal with the stress!!! What would her role be in the team though?

Agent George: I do not even know why I talk with any of you! Primitive neanderthals – like this girl is not a person but a commodity in the store. My word…

SuperMax: She will handle all of my PR, Charles. I want to torture you more but as I am merciful – here is a link with pictures of her. She is the curly brunette. Oh, and you can all suck it.

Every new girl in the paddock was like a headline on a newspaper front page – everybody wants to read it and understand what the fuss is about. I try to steer clear of getting involved with someone I work with – too much unnecessary headaches. It was simply not worth it and was a huge distraction. Still, I wanted to see why Max was so cheerful all of a sudden. I clicked the link.

“Fuck…” Eleonora`s perfect face was smiling at me. I did not dare blink out of fear that the image will disappear. Her big emerald green eyes sparkled with joy, probably because she was with her best friends. Her curly, long, chestnut color hair was reflecting the light coming from outside the vehicle windows, making her locks reddish.

I remember the color so well; I used to play with her hair all the time when we were spending our time together. I was fascinated by it, moving her curls in different directions to admire it. It was always special to look at her under the sunshine rays, which were very limited due to the English weather. I knew she would be somewhere outside when the weather is nice…

As the security outside the Kimbel`s let me in, I saw Patrick Kimbel in front of the stairs of the mansion, talking on his phone. He saw me and smiled, waving at me to approach him. He was a self-made mogul and for this, he had my utmost respect and admiration. He was a nice person to have a conversation with, unless Eli haven`t met another one of his sky-high expectations. Always pushing her to the brink of a burnout. I did not understand what more was there to ask of her – Eli had perfect grades, she took French and Spanish courses, took violin lessons, she was an intern in “Kimbel PR” and taking courses for college. Her rebellious phase was closing in, I can sense it – she was fed up with pleasing her father. I suspect she was waiting to become of age to pack her bags and leave which I will absolutely support. Haven`t met a person that deserve it more than Eleonora.

“How are you lad?” Mr. Kimbel extended his hand for a handshake.

“Good day, Mr. Kimbel. I`m fine, thank you for asking.” I said while shaking his hand.

“How is the racing going? Adam told me that you`re doing exceptionally well. He is proud of you, you know. We all are.”

That put a smile on my face – my family and particularly father, were very proud of everything me and my siblings accomplish. Even if it is insignificant for everyone looking our way. I was grateful my father don`t pressure me to be anything other than myself.

“I am doing fine but there is always room for improvement, especially now, as I want a place in Formula 1.”

“Ah, young man with ambition and determination. How I wish Eleonora had that in her – she will not be wasting her potential with silly books and music.”

This comment irked me – she most definitely had it in her. In fact, Eli was the most intelligent, resourceful and determined person I have ever met. On top of that, she was kind and loving, remaining unaffected by the poison thrown at her on a daily basis in her own home. Felt sorry for him for not seeing he had a beautiful daughter – inside and out. Everyone that had the pleasure to have her in their lives should consider themselves lucky and blessed.

Even though I wanted to defend her, I knew it will fall on deaf ears and would probably cause more damage than good to the already tensed relations they both had.

“Speaking of Eleonora, is she home?”

“Yes, somewhere in the garden I presume. It was nice seeing you Lando, but I have meeting in the office and can`t stay longer to chat. Give my best to Adam and Cisca, will you?”

“I will sir, thank you!”

He and I shook hands and Mr. Kimbel turned to enter his car as the driver started the engine. I knew my way around and hurried when entering the Kimbel`s garden. It was spacious and very well maintained thanks to the eight gardeners that looked after it. Didn`t waste time on admiring it though, because I was headed for the big clearing where Eli was most likely to be spending her afternoon.

Soon enough I saw her. I stopped in my tracks to admire the sight before she spots me. Eleonora was sitting on a blanket, sprawled on the grass in the middle of the sunny meadow. There was no wind, so her hair was resting on her right shoulder, unmoving. Eli had put on denim shorts and black tank top probably for the sole purpose of soaking as much vitamin “D” as possible. The sun made her porcelain skin look translucent and I involuntarily swallowed hard. Started walking slowly towards her, just so I can have a few more seconds of bliss by looking at her. Eleonora was unaware of my presence, engrossed in the book she was reading. Her lips curved into a smile all the while still reading. Looking at her was a sight for sore eyes and for many months now I knew why I was so mesmerized every time – I have fallen in love with her.

I thought of confessing my feelings but couldn`t find the courage. I was trying to convince myself that there have to be a right time to do it. Delusional! Being scared of her rejection was the reason and for that postponing was my shitty way of dealing with these new feelings. Eleonora is beautiful and perfect and I…well I was just me. Don`t know if I will ever be good enough for her.

“Are you just going to stand there the whole time?” She said, now smiling broadly.

“Just admiring your garden.” What an idiotic answer.

“Oh, so you are a racer and part time gardener? Good to know you have other hobbies.” She giggled and patted the place next to her. “Come, sit with me.”

She slid her bookmark on the page she was on and closed the book.

“What are you reading, El?”

“The Count of Monte Cristo. I now understand why it`s one of the classics.”

“Isn`t that the one where the main character was put in jail for a crime he did not commit?”

“Yes, it is, Lan! Have you read it? No, wait, stop! If you did no spoilers, please.”

She was really cute when her nerdy side took over.

“I haven`t read it. You are safe from the curse of the spoilers. However, I have seen one of the many movies based on the book. You should behave or I will tell you what happens in the end.”

She started laughing at that. Eli had the most amazing laugh, and it always made me feel giddy when I was the reason for it. Then I remembered she was smiling while reading – this was a story for anything but smiles.

“El, I saw you smile when reading it, why is that?”

Eleonora fidgeted with her hands after my question. Clearly uncomfortable with what her opinion on the matter is, she looked away.

“You shouldn`t silence your opinion El…especially around me.” I gently touched her chin and moved her head to meet my eyes. “It matters. And you matter. Who cares what your father has to say?”

We were looking into each other eyes, everything faded away. This moment right here is the one I was waiting for. Why wasn`t I saying anything to her?

“You know Lan, I`ve always envied the color of your eyes. The blue changes into aquamarine in the sun, so beautiful.” Eleonora said while moving closer to me, not breaking eye contact.

I so wished I were brave enough to kiss her. El closed her eyes and leaned towards me, she was ready to have her first kiss. However, I being the imbecile in my own life story, pulled away sharply.

She opened her emerald eyes to look at me. Saw the hurt in them – it was there for a split second, before Eleonora managed to hide it. Lando Norris, the stupidest of them all.

“Um, so, about my question?”

Eli moved away from me, creating a distance between us.

“Well…I enjoy the way he is enforcing his vengeance. Some will say that it is spiteful, but I am firm believer in justice. If the system is incapable, one must take affairs into his own hands.”

Eli`s face features hardened after she answered. She looked at me, moving her head a little higher, as a challenge for me to try to contradict her.

I smiled proudly at her. Eleonora was finally starting to show her true self and spreading her wings. I was impatient to see her in full bloom.

“Do you think you have it, El?”

“What?”

“Do you think you have it in you to take affairs into your own hands if it comes to it? To right a wrong, to stand up for yourself and others? To not let anyone silence your voice even if it makes you look different from what anyone thought you were?”

Eleonora eyes found mine and without an ounce of a second thought, she said:

“I hope the day when you have to find out for yourself never comes.”

Didn`t think much of it when she said it. But now… As I followed her profile, hiding behind my mates, I`ve tried to be funny and asked a question. Not before I played a little joke on Isabella though – for old times` sake. I was still cackling when Eli replied.

Man, did she snap back. It felt unreal – she was never like that, especially with me. “…To not let anyone silence your voice even if it makes you look different from what anyone thought you were?” Serves me well.

Apparently, she knew Max and Kelly – he never said anything, which irritates me. I could`ve seen Eleonora sooner. Some friend he is. I read the new interactions on her post – movie marathon, huh? I wrote my comment – if she thinks I am backing out so easily, she is dead wrong.

While waiting for her reply (as I was certain she will provide one), I thought what a perfect opportunity this is. Eli and I will see each other almost every weekend. I will finally get the chance to apologize and do everything in my power to win her back. Lando from back then would have been amazed by my determination right now.

When Eleonora`s reply was posted, I couldn`t help but laugh – over the years she became feisty, and I enjoyed challenges greatly.   

Nevertheless, in no time the other drivers will be all over her DM`s so I have to make my move before them. I will not let anyone have her – she is mine.

Opened my DM`s and wrote:

Lando Norris: I can`t wait to see you!

It took five minutes for her to answer. I used the time to finally order some food – sparring with Eleonora made my appetite return, obviously. As I opened her message, I couldn`t help but smile – she is not going to give in easily. However, Eli was blissfully unaware that I would do whatever it takes to get her back.

Eleonora Kimbel: Wish I could say the same!

Chapter Text

Eleonora's POV

August 11th, 2023

The helicopter landed in Monaco and I couldn't get off any faster. How I missed it – the extraordinary view of the marina, the beaches, the exquisite food in the restaurants, the boutiques, the nightclubs. I was in love with this place, which resulted in me buying a penthouse apartment in Monte Carlo two years ago. Occasionally I let my brother Nick use it when he is in Monaco with his friends. The conditions were simple – do not make changes in the apartment and, for the love of God, do not break anything. So far, he was sticking to the rules and my home away from home was as beautiful as I left it.

The three of us were waiting patiently while John and the drivers of the two black Audi A8 were dealing with our luggage. Isabella and Anastasia will be taking those cars to the hotel, while I was waiting for mine to be driven to the helipad.

"What is the plan after we are settled?" Izzy wouldn't want to waste any time of her vacation.

"I will take a nice bubble bath; have a quick bite and then how about I meet you guys in the lobby, so we can go shopping? I am in desperate need of new, well, everything!" I said. A cheer followed the statement – it was mandatory to stroll through every boutique in Monte Carlo and they knew it perfectly well.

"Bestie, your ride is here." I heard Isabella and turned to see my beautiful Lamborghini Sián FKP 37 (black, of course, because why not?) getting closer to me until it came to a stop. A young guy came out of the driver's seat, walked the distance between him and me and handed me the keys. "Miss Kimbel, a pleasure!" I nodded, and he continued, "Your car is in perfect order, everything was thoroughly checked, as requested by Mr. John Terry. If you need anything else, no matter the time of day, you can reach me through Mr. Terry."

I thanked him and got in the car. I took a minute to look at the interior and connect my phone so I can listen to music on the way to my apartment. My love for fast and expensive cars started when I met Norris but developed after he was no longer in the picture – I felt free when driving fast and even the memory of him was not able to taint it. I couldn't wait no longer to roar the engine. "John, please deliver my luggage to my place and I will call you when I'm ready to go. Girls, I'll text you when we are heading your way."

While everyone was entering the Audi's, I was speeding away, and for a brief moment I didn't have a care in the world.

-------------------------

Driving through the Monaco's streets were a different kind of experience – the narrow streets, bursting with expensive cars, and the narrow sidewalks, bursting with Monegasques and other rich people who don't give a damn who you are, always made me feel like I was invisible in the crowd. The windows were rolled down and the salty air was filling up the inside of the car. I was waiting on a traffic light, singing quietly along my Spotify playlist when the first flashlight was caught by my peripheral vision. And then another, and another one. A fucking delight – I was here for 20 minutes, and the paparazzi have already spotted me. I exhaled loudly, frustrated with the irritating situation and sped up as soon as the light turn green. So much for my invisibility, down the drain it goes. I was hoping for a day or two of incognito, alas hope springs eternal.

I pulled out my vape from my purse – the nicotine hit immediately calmed my nerves. It was an awful habit, I knew that, but it was helping me keep the anxiety at bay. I wouldn't want to go on another spiral and lose the healthy progress I made over the years. I was still visiting my therapist – it was mandatory after the episode with bulimia and the incident with my ex-boyfriend. The latter was the reason I now detested physical touch and anyone getting in my personal space – a few people close to me were the exception. I was purposely stopping myself to get close to anyone. I was a fool when I was young – to think I will be able to find love. Laughable! I wasn't worthy of love even before Norris and my ex broke me, so I shelved my silly teenage, books driven, movie influenced dreams and moved on with my life.

Occasionally, I will look back at my younger self, just for a few minutes, to bask in the delusional glow that I had in the past. "Silly, stupid little girl!" my father had said when he came in her hospital room four years ago. I didn't say a thing, because he was right and the shame I felt was going to overflow and make me cry. Patrick Kimbel never cries, and he expects of his children the same thing. "Crying is a sign of weakness and you mustn't show any!" he always said. And then I stopped – haven't cried in years. It was also the moment when Patrick Kimbel started to be proud of me – when I finally lost the humane part of myself.

The sound of my ringtone came from the speakers of the car. Speak of the devil – my father was calling - "Hello father."

"Hello, did you arrive safely?"

"Yes, everything is alright. I am heading to my place right now and John will join me shortly."

"Good. Just wanted to remind you that on the 24th you have to be in The Netherlands for the upcoming race weekend."

"I know. I will be back on the 24th and leave immediately after packing for work. Everything is in control, do not worry."

"I know it is and will be – you've proven yourself and couldn't think of anyone better for the job."

"Thank you. I have to go father; I've arrived at my building. Talk to you soon."

"Goodbye Eli."

I used her remote to open the underground garage of the building and entered. The security person nodded when he saw me, and I did the same. When I got the place at "Odeon Tower", it came with four parking spaces – I left it at that, because it was easier when I had people over. I parked my Lambo, took my stuff, locked the car and headed to the elevator. Before using the code for the lift to go directly to my apartment, I wanted to go to the lobby to give them a heads up on John's arrival.

I made my way to security in the lobby and smiled. "Bonne journée! J'attends de mon garde du corps qu'il me livre mes bagages dans 20 minutes. Je vous ai envoyé par courriel une liste de visiteurs autorisés. En cas de changement, je vous en informerai à l'avance." (Good day! I expect my bodyguard to deliver my luggage in 20 minutes. I have emailed you a list of approved visitors. If there are any changes, I will inform you in advance.)

"Mademoiselle Kimbel, c'est toujours un plaisir de vous recevoir ici! La liste a été bien reçue, vous n'avez pas à vous inquiéter. Nous avons fait en sorte que la salle de fitness et la piscine soient ouvertes en dehors des heures de travail, comme vous l'avez demandé." (Miss Kimbel, it is always a pleasure to have you here! The list was well received; you do not have to worry. We arranged the fitness and the swimming pool to be open after hours for you to use, as you requested.)

"Merci beaucoup! Je vous souhaite une bonne journée." (Thank you very much! Have a nice day!)

"Merci Mademoiselle! Je vous souhaite un agréable séjour!" (Thank you miss! I wish you a pleasant stay!)

I was waiting for the elevator when my phone rang, it was Izzy. "Girl, you have been spotted. But to be fair, you look amazing in the pictures! I texted you the link" I sighed. The photographer did not waste any time, obviously.

"Damned paparazzi! They are like hounds, sniffing their prey out. Not much I can do now."

"It was bound to happen sooner or later. Might as well embrace the chaos."

"I guess you are right. I will text you when I am headed your way, Izzy."

The elevator doors finally opened, and I stepped in while looking at the pictures – they were nice, I gave the photographer that. "Eleonora Kimbel, the daughter of multi billionaire PR mogul Patrick Kimbel, was spotted driving on the streets of Monte Carlo. Is she there to meet Max Verstappen, the reigning Formula 1 World Champion, to discuss media strategies? Click here for more on this story..."

I shook my head and pressed 47. The display showed the field for me to put in an access code. I started typing when I heard someone shouting, "Hold the door, please!"

I rolled my eyes and finished typing the code. However, the person swooped in the cubicle before the door closed.

"Thank you!" he said, breathing heavily while pressing 24.

I made a humming sound to acknowledge I heard him; my eyes remained glued to my phone. After a few seconds, he spoke again "Eli, is that you?"

I was never a believer in luck. It was an excuse for lazy people with lack of ambition to justify why others have it better than them. Determination, hard work, ambition, talent, intelligence, setting goals – that is what takes you places, and luck had nothing to do with it. With that being said, I was most definitely a believer in the Murphy's law: "Anything that can go wrong will go wrong." This moment, right here, represented another example of the perfection of that law. All of these thoughts crossed my mind when I raised my head to look at Max Fewtrell's face.

"Long time no see, Max."

Lando's POV

August 11th, 2023

I finished another slice of pizza before deciding that, indeed, I was pigging out at this point. I would regret it later when I would have to burn everything while working out, but for now, I was satisfied. One thing was missing for this meal to be perfect, I thought when entering my bedroom and opening my secret stash of sweets. I pulled out a "Kinder" and stuffed my mouth fast before Max returns and find me with chocolate covered face. Feeling content with myself, I started my PlayStation 5 so I can play some games and maybe stream, if I felt like it. Thirty minutes into the game, yelling and swearing at the screen, is where Max found me.

"Back so soon, Lando? How was the vacation?"

"Not soon enough, Muppet. And it was irritating – I need a vacation after this one."

"Rest now, because the end of the season is far away."

"Don't remind me."

"Have you eaten? I smelled something not so healthy."

I laughed and said, "I bought you pizza too, eat so we can game."

Max face lit up and he hurried to the kitchen. I removed my headphones and followed him. He was already eating when I reached him. With a full mouth, he managed to say, "Thanks mate, I was really hungry." He swallowed loudly and before taking another bite, said, "Guess who I just saw?"

I groaned, not this game again. "I do not know. Max? Kelly?"

Max laughed. "Think harder, it is not someone you will expect. I'll give you a hint – it's a girl."

This was getting ridiculous, why he wouldn't just tell me like a normal person would do?

"Wonder Woman, for sure. C'mon mate, just spill it out already."

"Fine. I am doing it only because you would never figure it out. I just saw Eleonora and we had a brief chat."

What did he just say? How on earth? "Stop pulling my leg, Max. You are not a child."

He looked offended when he spoke "I am not, it's the truth. We met in the elevator as I was coming here. She was going to the 47th floor though, didn't know someone was living there. Exchanged a few words before I got off. She looked mighty fine, by the way. Puberty blessed her with everything in all the right places."

Well now, he did not just say that.

"Shut up, before I kick your idiot ass to the curb. Why didn't you say anything sooner?"

Max was shocked. "Why do you care so much and why do you yell? Did I do something wrong? Lando! Where are you going?"

My shoes were already on my feet as I sprinted to the door, grabbing my keys and phone. Max was still yelling when I slammed it. Fucking retard! Dealing with his stupidity will have to wait. I ran to the elevator and pressed the button. Faster, faster, c'mon. Finally, the lift opened, and I jumped in. What the hell? An access code? I had no way of knowing it, so I ran out and find my way to the stairs. Why are there so many fucking floors in this building? When I reached floor 47, I thought I was dying. There was only one door, so I didn't have to lose time figuring out behind which one she is. There was no doorbell, so I slammed my fist on the front door five times. I'll be damned if I leave without seeing her!

It was really quiet, maybe she already left? Nevertheless, I wasn't going to give up that easily. I continued with hitting the door with my fist. After a couple of minutes, I thought of stopping and sitting in the corridor to wait until she came back it`s when I heard her "For fucks sake Norris! How did you even get here? Get out before I call security!"

Obviously, there was a camera and a speaker near the entrance, but I couldn't see one. Well played, Eli! "I should've known you would outsmart me on the first move – a code and a camera. Just so you know, I live in the building; security will not oblige your request. Oh, and I used the stairs."

"You are still trespassing a private property, and they will "oblige" my request. Did you used the dictionary on your way here, Norris? That is mighty fancy word for you."

Her comment made me chuckle. "Maybe I got smarter."

She snorted at my response "If that was true and you indeed became smarter, you would know that I wouldn't want you here. Stop wasting my time and leave!"

A sigh escaped my lips. All right, here goes nothing. "Please Eli, open the door. I just want to talk, preferably face to face. I know things are bad between us now but let me try to change them for the better. Please El..."

Silence ensued. I knew it will be hard but still had hope that she will at least listen to what I wanted to say. After a few minutes, I sat on the ground, preparing mentally for being here all day and night – Eleonora will go out eventually.

Rested my head on the wall and closed my eyes. I deserved this, all of it. Squirming like the low life I am in front of her door. Begging her to listen to what I have to say. If only I did things differently, back then...

August 15th, 2017

"Happy birthday Eli! Happy birthday Eli!" Everyone at the party started singing after they heard me. Eli was blushing; she did not like the attention. However, it was her day, and she deserved all of it. She came down the stairs, stopping to greet everyone and accept their wishes. I took this opportunity to gawk her – she has put her hair up and left a few curls to gently rest around her delicate face. She was wearing makeup, and I saw that Eli used some eyeshadow to compliment her extraordinary eye color. The pink cheeks were doing wonders with her porcelain-colored skin. She was the most beautiful thing that I laid my eyes upon. I would miss her so much when I leave tomorrow.

Finally, Eleonora reached me. I opened my arms, and she immediately went for the hug I offered. Eli's face was in the crook of my neck, and I heard her say "I am so glad you are here; this is overwhelming. I should be happy today, but all I keep thinking about is you leaving tomorrow."

I sighed and rested my cheek on her head "If there was any other way, I would've taken it without thinking. We can visit each other, and we can always text or call."

She was quiet, not letting me go. I felt her silent tears on my neck. I tightened my arms around her and said, "Nobody deserves your tears, little bird. This is not goodbye forever. And..."

It's now or never Norris. El knew, though. "I love you! I hope that if my feelings are one sided, you will not disappear. I can't bear to lose you."

I pulled from the hug to look at her. Reached with my left hand to wipe her tears and she smiled.

"I should have said it sooner...I love you too! You will never lose me, El. My whole world revolves around you, and I will try every day to be worthy of your love."

No backing out now. I captured her lips with mine. Long overdue. Her lips felt so soft, moving in unison with mine. We took our time, slowly exploring one another. She tasted sweet, like strawberries and cream. I felt her tongue pushing gently to gain access and I let her. She brushed it shyly against mine, before finally pulling away and giggling.

"Happy birthday, El!" We looked at each other, smiling. I know we will make it work.

I grabbed her hand and pulled her towards the DJ her parents hired.

"What are we doing, Lan?"

"You will see soon!"

We came to a stop in front of the DJ. I went behind the station and leaned to his ear to tell him my request. He nodded and I went back to Eleonora.

"Okay, what are you up to, spill it, Norris!"

She was adorable while trying to be serious right now.

"Just wait, El."

"Alright boys and girls, this one is for the birthday girl, and I  will wait to see her on the dancefloor!"

The first tunes of Ed Sheeran's "Little bird" started playing and I looked at my girl. I couldn't remember the last time she was so happy.

"You remembered?" she managed to say, and I extended my hand to her.

"Dance with me, little bird."

She took my hand, and I swirled her around to the sound of our song.

"If we take this bird in, with its broken leg; we could nurse it," she said
Come inside for a little lie down with me
and if we fall asleep, it wouldn't be the worst thing...

Eli was singing quietly to the song and her eyes never left mine.

But when I wake up, and your make up is on my shoulder
And tell me if I lie down, would you stay now?
Let me hold ya, oh

But if I kiss you, will your mouth read this truth?
Darling, how I miss you, strawberries taste how lips do
And it's not complete yet, mustn't get our feet wet
Because that leads to regret, diving into soon
And I'll owe it all to you, oh, my little bird
My little bird

"I love you, thank you for everything!" she said, and I pulled her close to me. The song, beautiful like her, went on, as we danced close to each other.

If we take a walk out in the morning dew.
We could lay down, so I'm next to you
Come inside for a little homemade tea
And if you fall asleep, then at least you're next to me
And if I wake up, you say, "It's late, love, go back to sleep"
I'm covered by nature and I'm safe now
Underneath this oak tree, with you beside me

But if I kiss you, will your mouth read this truth?
Darling, how I miss you, strawberries taste how lips do
And it's not complete yet, mustn't get our feet wet
'Cause that leads to regret, diving into soon
And I'll owe it all to you, oh, my little bird
My little bird
My little bird
My little bird

And of all this things I'm sure of
I'm not quite certain of your love
You made me scream, but then I made you cry
When I left that little bird with its broken leg to die

But if I kiss you, will your mouth read this truth?
Darling, how I miss you, strawberries taste how lips do
And it's not complete yet, mustn't get our feet wet
'Cause that leads to regret, diving into soon

But I'll owe it all to you, oh, my little bird
My little bird, whoa-oh-oh, whoa-oh
My little bird
My little bird
You're my little bird

The song has come to an end and people around us cheered and applauded. Eleonora laughed and made a little curtsy.

The night was great and after a final hug and a promise to Eli to text her tomorrow, me and Max left. We were waiting for dad's driver to arrive and Max picked up conversation.

"I saw you with Eleonora. Are you guys a thing now?"

"Yes. I was nervous for nothing Max. She loves me too!"

"That is great bro, I am happy for you. The fact you considered that you may jeopardize your racing career and still want to be with her, it's admirable."

I looked at him, puzzled. "What do you mean?"

"Well, she will be a huge distraction. You won't be focused enough, because you will miss her. You will always think about what she is doing and for a while, it will be long distance. Questions like "is she with another guy right now" will likely arise."

I haven't thought of that at all. Those were good points he is making. What if I ruin my career before it hasn't even started?

"Don't stress it too much, Lando. You weighted the pros and cons, deciding you choose her above everything you aspire to achieve. She is worth it, after all. You guys will be fine."

The driver arrived and we got in the car. He dropped Max at his house and continued to mine. My brain was going to explode. What have I done? I can't risk my racing career; I've been working for years for this opportunity. But what would I say to Eleonora? Is she going to understand? How do you break down to the person you love that you choose what you want? After you said you loved them? I grabbed my phone and started to text Eli... I could not do it. The best next thing to do was to go the cowardly way – to disappear from her life. She will find another guy eventually and I will achieve my goals. Max is right – I don't need any distractions. I left my phone on the seat next to me. "I am sorry, El" I thought "Please, don't hate me for this..."

I opened my eyes and looked at the closed door in front of me. I shouldn't have listened to Max back then, that is on me. I was dumb and too self-centered to understand what I will be losing with this decision. If I were her, I won't forgive me too. Yes, I deserve this pain, all of it... 

Chapter Text

Eleonora`s POV

August 11^th, 2023

The nerve Norris had, banging on my door and demanding I should listen to him. Preferably, face to face – what a joke. Eleonora was walking back to her bathtub, which was ready for her to soak in. She removed her clothes and jewelry and got in. The hot water immediately relaxed her tensed muscles, and her tortured groan echoed in the big space. After few brief moments of calm, her mind took her back to the unpleasant situation that she was dragged in. Fucking Fewtrell! He could`ve kept his big mouth shut, don`t guys have other things to talk about? Eli never really liked him and now her dislike for him grew even bigger.

Eleonora remembered how she reached to him when Lando stopped talking to her.

“Max, please, he is not replying and picking up the phone.”

“What do you want me to do, Eleonora? To make him want to talk to you?”

“Could you just tell him that if this is about his racing career, I understand and will wait for him? When he is ready, he can reach out.”

Max started laughing; obviously, my desperation was amusing to him.

“I won`t pass on any messages. Lando made a decision, and you should respect it. This is not a good look on you Eleonora, keep what dignity you have left and move on, because Lando already did.”

Max Fewtrell – the best friend of Lando Norris. They deserve each other, two peas in a pod. However, next time I see his slimy face, Max better not talk to me or things are going to get messy.

I looked at the time on my watch – the food I ordered will be delivered soon. I got out of the bathtub quickly, dried off myself with the towel and got to my wardrobe to put on some clothes. Eleonora choose a black, loose around the hips dress with a belt, white handbag and pumps – she had many good features, but height was not one of them. Good thing the fashion industry had the back of short girls all around the world. After Eli fixed her hair and makeup, she left her bedroom and went down in the main room.

She started her laptop to play some “World of Warcraft”. Eli started gaming after she bought her house in London and moved out of her parents – her father did not allow her to play, all the while, her brother Nick had no such restrictions.

She was just finishing a daily quest, when she heard from the intercom “Mademoiselle Kimbel, service d'étage!” (Miss Kimbel, room service!)

I got up from the chair, grabbed the one hundred euro bill for the tip and opened the door.

“Merci beaucoup, monsieur! Voici quelque chose pour vous, pour vos ennuis.” (Thank you very much, sir! Here is something for you, for your troubles.)

“Ce n'était pas un problème, mademoiselle! S'il vous plaît, laissez-moi mettre votre repas sur votre table.” (It was no trouble at all, miss! Please, let me put your meal on your table.)

I moved away, so he can enter. As he passed me on his way in, I saw Lando, looking like a lost puppy, still in my corridor, staring at me. He was not blinking, taking shallow breaths. I narrowed my eyes when he took a step towards me.

“Don`t you fucking dare, Norris!” came out of my mouth and he stopped in his tracks.

“Tout est prêt mademoiselle. Le service de ménage s'occupera du plateau demain après le petit déjeuner. Je vous remercie encore une fois! (Everything is ready miss. Housekeeping will take care of the tray tomorrow after breakfast. Thank you again!)

I smiled at him when he passed me. I followed him with my eyes when he got in the elevator and left.

“You could`ve left with him, there are a lot of stairs until you reach the 24^th floor.”

I took a step back, closing my door, but he quickly shortened the distance and grabbed the handle.

“Eli wait!”

“Let go, Norris. You are way over your head at this point.” I tried to move the door towards me, but he was stronger and stubborn to no end.

“No! I just want to talk, and I am not leaving until you`ve listened to what I want to say.”

I took a breath and looked at him “What is it that you need to say that cannot wait another 6 years or more? You barge in here, demanding of me to hear you out! Fine! Speak!”

He was silent, only looking at me. I`ve had enough.

“Unfucking believable! Goodbye, Norris!”

“No, wait! Eli… I am sorry.”

“Oh, okay, wow! Didn`t see that one coming. I heard you; you can leave now.”

“El, please! I really am sorry. For what happened between us, for what I did – for everything. Every day I wish I can go back and act differently, but I can`t. I think of you all the time and I miss you! I hope you can find it in you to forgive me and we can start over, El!”

I tried to contain myself, but couldn`t. The first giggle escaped my mouth, and I started laughing like crazy. After a full minute I was able to stop and look at him – he was mortified.

“Oh Norris, I haven`t laughed like that in a while. Please come in, my food is getting cold. You can entertain me further while I eat.”

I left him at the entrance and went to sit down at the table. My pasta Bolognese smelled amazing, and I immediately twirled some on my fork and started eating. Heard him when he walked in and closed the front door. His footsteps were quiet when he approached me.

“Sit, sit. I want to hear more of what you prepared to say to me.”

Lando pulled up a chair on the other side of the table to sit and looked around my apartment.

“Nice place you`re staying at, Eli.”

“Thanks, decorated it myself when I bought it.” I said while eating.

“This is yours?”

“Yes. Come to think of it, if I have known you will get a place in the same building, I would`ve gotten a different apartment.”

“Ouch! But deserved, I guess. What was so funny back there?”

I took my time to finish my meal, have a sip of water and wipe my mouth, grabbed my vape and had a pull, before I looked at him.

“Everything, the whole damn interaction. You expect me to believe all that acting of yours was genuine? You don`t regret anything – it turned out amazingly for you. You are thriving in Formula 1, as you should. You have a nice home in one of the most expensive places on earth. You have a different model to sleep around for every day of the week. Two side businesses, state of the art cars, sponsors, campaigns. All of this was your dream, so don`t try to insult me by saying you would`ve act differently if you can go back in time.”

“I would have changed the way I treated you. I acted like an asshole, you deserved better. What I said back then was the truth – I lov…”

“Stop! No! For a moment there, I thought that maybe we can have normal interactions, especially now, as I will be in the paddock for work, but I can see it is not possible. Let me help you with this little brain fart of yours, Lando – you did not love me back then. If you actually did, you wouldn`t just ghosted me. I suffered so much and you didn`t care – no explanation, no nothing. The most painful part was that you promised that I won`t ever lose you. I cared deeply for your stupid arse, turns out I never knew you.”

“It`s not like that, you did know me! I just got scared that you will…”

He stopped himself midsentence.

“I know what you are going to say, but I would really like to hear it coming out of your mouth. C`mon, Lando – you were so brave and persistent, coming here to talk. Be the man you think you are, say it!”

Lando sighed, fidgeting with his bracelets. After few moments more, he looked at me and said, “I got scared that you will hold me back and that will jeopardize my career.”

There it was. The conclusion to which I came many years ago. It was out in the open, at last.

“Thank you for the clarification, I thought as much back then. But you see, if you would`ve thought about it more than 5 minutes, before deciding that I am the problem and you need to get rid of me in order to be successful, we wouldn`t be in this situation, Norris. The only person that can hold you back is you. However, you projected all your insecurities and doubts on another person, blaming them unfairly. With that being said, I get it, I had my fair share of self-doubt back then. But the thing I will never understand is why you did not tell me all of this. I was ready to forgive you, hell; I was so in love with you that probably would have forgiven you anything. Instead, you hid like a mouse, ignoring the situation until it faded on its own.”

“I was just a boy, Eli. Didn`t know how to deal with everything.”

“Funny…It is all about you, always was.”

“That is not true!”

“Isn`t it? I was also a kid, and you broke me! You finished what my father was aiming for as long as I can remember! I was left all alone to pick up the pieces while you moved on with your life, unscathed. Nothing you can say will make it better, ever!”

“Eli, please…I was devastated when I made the decision. I thought about you every day, still do. The shame and guilt are always there.”

“Oh, that`s how it is? You want forgiveness only for the sole purpose of easing your guilty conscience, not for making things right. I shouldn`t be surprised – Lando Norris looking out only for his egotistic self. You don`t have to suffer in my company anymore, I forgive you.”

“I want your forgiveness so we can start over, I want you back in my life, El!”

“You can`t have me back, because I am not the same person you remember. That Eleonora died 6 years ago. This one, however, doesn`t want you or anyone else in her life.”

“But I still love you!”

“Now, now – you said you became smarter, whilst continuing to contradict yourself on every step.”

Lando was on his feet after my comment and ran to reach me. Instinctively, I got up and put my chair like a barrier between us. He stopped, his eyes questioning my move. I was praying he can`t see the fear on my face. My heart was trying to keep up with the anxiety attack that was coursing through my body. The walls started to crumble; I felt the cold sweat on my back, rolling down like ice cubes on a hot surface. I knew what was coming – soon, I won`t be able to breathe normally. I tried the exercise that the therapist taught me “Look around you, what do you see? Start naming every single thing around you. This will ground you, Eleonora.”

Wooden chairs, carpet, sofas, table, fireplace, stairs, paintings. It wasn`t working. The walls were closing in, suffocating me. I started gasping for air, trying my best not to fall.

“El, are you okay? What is happening? Talk to me, please!”

I was fighting to resist the brutal attack my body was experiencing. Why did I let Lando inside? Everything started to get foggy, and I succumbed to the floor. I felt his hand around me, positioning me to lay on his legs.

“Eli, I am calling an ambulance! Can you hear me? Stay with me, please, don`t close your eyes!”

I was using the last bits of my strength, trying to speak.

“No….call….Izzy….no….doctors……”

 I felt his movements and heard when the call connects.

“What do you want, Norris?”

“Izzy, I`m with Eli in her apartment and I think she can`t breathe properly. She managed to say to call you and I…”

“Shut up and listen. She needs cold water. Put her in a bathtub or in the shower if she can stand. We are coming.”

“Eli, I hope you can hear me. I am going to carry you to the bathroom. Can you point where it is?”

I tried to answer but no air was coming inside my lungs. My time was running out and I was ready to give in…

Lando`s POV

August 11^th, 2023

“Eli, look at me, please. Don`t give up!”

I could barely register her shallow breaths. I needed to find the bathroom and fast. I grabbed her and started running. Kicked three of her doors before I found a bathroom. Hurriedly I jumped in, turning the faucet and stepping in the tub with Eli. I sat down and positioned her fast, moving her head to rest on my chest. I wasn`t much of a religious guy but found myself praying for a second time in my life – the first time was when she was in that hospital. I moved a little to look at her face – she`s gotten even more beautiful when we were separated. My “brain fart” as she called it, was due to my mind short-circuiting by the sight she has become. Time may have changed us, but it turns out I was exactly where I was before – in love with her.

My line of thought seized when I heard her take a sharp breath. Thank you, God!

“El, can you hear me?”

Eleonora didn`t answer, but her breathing sounded a lot better.

“I don`t know if I should be saying this now, because you are not responding, but what I said back then was the truth. I am deeply sorry for what I did. I sacrificed our love and what we had out of fear of failure. I miss you so much it hurts. I want you back in my life, El. If you are willing to let me back in, I would do whatever it takes to prove to you that I have learned from my mistakes and will never hurt you again.”

“You should be more worried for yourself – Izzy will be here soon.”

She chuckled at her little joke. Eli opened her eyes and looked at me.

“How are you feeling?”

“Like someone hit by a bus. I`ll be fine, though.”

“You scared me there, El. What happened?”

“That is a story for another time, Lando.”

“You looked terrified before. As if you thought I will hurt you.”

“That is what I thought.”

“Eli…. How can you even think that? I…”

“Again, story for another time.”

We fell silent after this, the running water still splashing when it fell down.

“Thank you for helping me, you could have left, I know is not any of your concern.”

I sighed. “I guess I deserve this kind of mistrust – I wouldn`t have left, though. And you are welcome. Don`t do this to me again, El. You can find a different way to finish me off, not like this.”

We both laughed at my feeble attempt to lighten the mood. Eli was dozing off, fighting her closing eyelids.

“I heard what you said, Lando, when you thought I was not conscious.”

“We will talk later, you can sleep.”

I was stroking her wet hair, inhaling the scent I adored so much and missed. Her breathing was normal again, she was finally asleep. I didn`t dare to move and just held her close.

After 25 minutes, she asked of me to stop the water. Holding her with one hand and reaching with the other one, I managed to turn the faucet. I got us back to our original spot in the tub when she said “I accept your apology, Lan. But the only thing I can give you is friendship, and it will take time.”

“We will work it out, Eli. Thank you for this chance. Now go to…”

There was a commotion in Eleonora`s apartment. I guess the cavalry have arrived. Everyone barged in - Isabella, Anastasia and this guy? I remembered him from our little interaction in the hospital.

“You did this, Norris! You can`t just let her live her life peacefully! She didn`t have an episode in years, then you show up and this is the result!”

I wasn`t paying any attention to Izzy`s meltdown – Eleonora was drifting to sleep, and she was the only thing that matters at this moment. Isabella can pull all her hair out, for all I cared.

“Izzy, I am fine now. I just need to rest a bit.”

“You were fine before he magically appeared here, Eli. Get your ass out of here Lando No-wins! Let go of her!”

Isabella tried to pull me out of the bathtub, but she was dead wrong if she thinks I am leaving Eleonora without a fight.

“Let go, you little…”

“Izzy, stop.” Eli said and Isabella let go of my hand. She was throwing daggers at me with her eyes, which was pretty amusing.

“John?”

So that was his name. He moved in an instant, kneeling to the edge of the tub.

“Yes, miss Kimbel?”

“Lando stays, that’s an order.”

Chapter Text

Eleonora`s POV

August 11^th, 2023

After an anxiety episode, the body is so drained out of energy, that sleep comes almost immediately and it`s more like a blackout. However, certain sensations around the individual can pull them out of this slumber for a few minutes at a time. That had been happening to Eleonora for the past few hours. She was hearing bits and pieces of the things going around her.

“What are you even doing here, asshole?” Eli heard Izzy irritated question.

“Eleonora invited me in, of course.”

“I find it hard to believe. What did you do to her?” Isabella said persistently.

“Absolutely nothing, I don`t know what happened, we were talking and then…”

Darkness embraced Eleonora.

----------------------------------------------------------------

“Why don`t you just throw him out, John?”

“Miss Richi, I have my orders from Miss Kimbel.”

Eli heard Lando chuckling and Isabella snorted.

“Eleonora was in no state to make conscious decisions, I`m sure when she wake up, she won`t even remember saying that. I don`t want him near her!” Izzy banged on something.

“Isabella, I am warning you, if you continue to make noise and disturb her, you will be on your ass on the other side of Eli`s front door.” Lando said.

“How dare you speak to me like that? You show up after all this time and you think you have any say in anything related to Eli?”

“Miss Richi, Mr. Norris has a point. Miss Kimbel needs her rest, and you are being a tad bit loud.”

Lando snickered after John`s answer.

“I am not being loud; I am being the only reasonable person in this room. You don’t know him, John. This pathetic excuse of man cannot be trusted.”

“Miss Richi, your personal relations with Mr. Norris do not concern me. What Miss Kimbel says goes. If you are unhappy with that, you can go back to your hotel room.”

“Izzy, come sit with me, I made coffee.” Ana said quietly.

“You have to back me up on this, Ana!”

Everything faded after that.

-------------------------------------------------------------------

When Eleonora finally woke up, it was dark outside. She was still feeling groggy, but she needed to use the restroom. It was quiet, if anyone was in her house they were fast asleep. Nevertheless, knowing her friends, Eleonora was sure they wouldn`t just leave her in this condition. Eli removed the sheet that was covering her and sat in her bed. She was in her bedroom, but couldn`t remember how she got there. Moreover, she was dressed in one of her silk nightgowns – again, her mind was blank.

Eli got up, turned on one of her night-lights and went into the bathroom. After finishing, she washed her hands and looked at herself in the mirror. I`ve looked worse. Eleonora`s makeup was removed, which was probably Isabella`s doing and she made a mental note to thank her for this. She wasn`t bruised or puffy, just sleepy.

Eleonora wanted to lie down and continue sleeping, but decided she needed to hydrate her exhausted body. There was certainly iced tea or water in her fridge, and she wasn't about to turn down either. She found her ballerina slippers by the nightstand, put them on, and quietly exited her room.

Eli stepped lightly into the hallway so as not to disturb everyone in her home. She heard John's light snoring in one of the guest rooms. Right next to his room was the bedroom that Isabella slept in when she stayed to visit Eli. The door was slightly ajar, and Eleonora peeked inside - Isabella and Anastasia had obviously decided not to be alone after the shock Eli had served them. Eleonora never downplayed how much her two friends did for her, and that they had to suffer alongside her. She dearly hoped it wouldn't happen to her again anytime soon to bother them like this.

She backed away from the door and kept walking until she reached the stairs to the main room. When she purchased this place, the room was separate from the kitchen area, but Eli wanted the place to be spacious and welcoming. Because of that, the wall separating the two rooms was knocked down and whenever she had guests, Eli could chat with them while she did something in the kitchen. The large countertop was her favorite place to have her coffee in the morning, sitting on one of the highchairs, or to drink wine in the evening after she had gone home. Looking in that direction as she came down the stairs, she saw Lando sitting in one of her highchairs.

Only one of the lamps above the counter glowed, creating a sense of privacy. Lando was propping his head up with his right hand, while his left was cupped around his glass of what looked suspiciously like scotch. His auburn curly hair reflected the dim light over his head and the shadows added to the haggard and tired look his face reflected.

Eli expected him to be home by now - it was more than enough that he had helped her. He wasn't obligated to do so, or to stay afterwards. Still, she was grateful to him, which led to the fragile truce they'd reached a few hours ago. Eleonora wasn't sure she was ready to have the conversation that was inevitable after her promise to give him a chance by letting him back into her life. Isabella wouldn't be too happy to find out, but that would be a problem for another day.

Eleonora used the last few seconds before Lando sensed her presence to look at him without being blinded by anger. He had become a handsome young man. Unfortunately, a man she didn't know at all. She would never admit it out loud, but she had missed him too. Or rather, she had missed the boy she kept in her memories. The man she was currently watching was evoking unease and fear in her, both feelings that had been missing from her relationship with Lando in the past. Only time will tell if she made a huge mistake with her decision.

“You`re still here, I thought you would`ve gone home by now.”

He abruptly lifted his head to look at her and his tortured features softened, followed by a relieved smile.

Lando`s POV

August 12^th, 2023

Over the years, Lando had gone through heaps of scenarios for his first meeting with Eleonora. From ones where she throws herself into his arms the moment, she sees him, to ones where he has to beg for a second chance but finally gets it and he and Eli pick up where they left off. However, in none of them is Eleonora fighting for her life the moment he tries to get close to her.

The truth was that he had no idea what these anxiety episodes were, nor how to proceed in such a situation. Eli's reaction to his attempt to get close to her was like a sobering slap across his face - on second thought, it would have been better if he had actually taken a slap from Eleonora. It pained him more to see the terror in her eyes that the thought of being touched by him had caused in her.

The picture of Eli trying to gasp for air but failing would haunt him as long as he lives. Knowing that he had brought that out in her at that moment was the most horrible punishment he could imagine. He didn't know what had happened to drive her to this state, but he would do everything in his power to help her – if she lets him.

He had also struggled with mental health issues, especially after the death threats against him and his ex-girlfriend. Ultimately, it had led to the end of their relationship. Lando had sought help and hadn't regretted that decision. At a convenient time in the future, should one arise, he would discuss the subject with Eleonora.

All night, before everyone went to sleep, Lando had been trying to get information out of Isabella and Anastasia - what had happened to bring Eli to this condition. Alas, they had remained completely silent, and his confusion was growing.

The apartment quieted down during the night, but still, Lando couldn't sleep. All he wanted was a strong drink to calm his nerves. He could have gone downstairs to get something but quickly realized that he wouldn't be able to go back in later. He poured himself a glass with some of the liquor into Eli's house, hoping she wouldn't mind.

The first sip was like a balm for his exhausted state. The scotch was first-rate. Eleonora obviously has a taste for good alcohol, too - I shouldn't be surprised.

Looking at the amber liquid in his glass, he didn't realize Eli had approached until he heard “You`re still here, I thought you would`ve gone home by now.”

In an instant, my eyes found her. She was standing at the foot of the stairs, her right hand holding the banister. She was wearing a nightgown and no makeup - Isabella and Anastasia had taken care of Eli when John carried her into her bedroom. Her small and delicate figure was lost in the shadows in the room, but I could still see her gaze. My relieved smile appeared immediately - she looked perfectly fine, and all the tension up to that point drained from my body in that smile.

Eli started to close the distance between us, and I had to use all my willpower not to look anywhere but at her face - her pink nightgown was hugging her body too well in places I shouldn't be thinking about right now. I moved uncomfortably in the chair and swallowed hard, before saying, “There was no chance I would leave before I was sure you were okay.”

Eleonora was already beside me, but she passed me and headed for the fridge. Opening it, she said, "Do you mind if I join you? I really need a drink."

"Of course not. I will be delighted. Let me help you!"

"Thanks, Lando. I'll get everything out and then you can take the items."

I leaned against the counter to wait for her to finish getting ready so I wouldn't get in her way. Eli pulled a platter of meat and two bottles of iced tea out of the fridge. She opened the cupboard I'd gotten mine glass out of to get one for herself plus two tall glasses. Eleonora took the bottle I'd helped myself to earlier in the evening and left it next to the other stuff. From a drawer near her stove, she pulled out a cutting board and a knife.

"Would you get the baguette out of there, Lan?" she asked, pointing in the direction of a large wooden box on her kitchen counter.

I fulfilled the request, and she smiled at me. Cutting into it, Eli said, "You look like you're getting culture shock. Don't you have a kitchen?"

"I never thought I'd see you roaming the kitchen, let alone in a nightgown, so the shock was inevitable." I said, chuckling.

"Actually, I've always wanted to roam around the kitchen in a nightgown, so the joke's on you." Eli said, laughing.

“It suits you, El.”

"If you behave, I might cook for you one day." Eleonora said, handing me the board with the sliced bread.

Taking the board from her hands and starting to carry it to her counter, I said, "I'm intrigued and scared at the same time – it sounded like a threat. But I'm brave enough to try, at the risk of you poisoning me on purpose."

Going back for the rest of the stuff I looked at Eli - she was looking at me outraged, the bottle and the glass in her hands "How dare you? I am very good at cooking! Just because you make the soup to be sliced with a knife and fork doesn't mean we're all incapable of cooking something without it being radioactive."

Laughing hard, I reached for the last things that needed to be taken "You won't let me forget it, will you? In my defense, it's the thought that counts."

"No thoughts were involved at all! A little more and you would have shouted, "It lives!" like Frankenstein and your creation would have crawled out. Your mother threw away the pot and ladle after that. The woman was in shock, I don't blame her."

We had already settled ourselves one chair apart from each other and were laughing at the memory. I tried not to think about the fact that Eleonora didn't sit next to me, but I wasn't going to bring it up for now.

"You're the one to talk! Who ruins scotch with iced tea?"

Eli smirked and said, "You haven't even tried it yet and you're already judging. Typical Lando Norris."

Watching her, I sipped the scotch and then the iced tea. Holy shit, this is delicious! I wasn't going to hear the end of it, and she knew she'd won, grinning at me. I didn't say a word though; I wanted to tease her. After a few seconds, she couldn't stand it "Well Norris, how is it?"

"All right, you win, it's really good! Do I want to know how you managed to find that this combination fits together?"

Eleonora laughed "One night after a long gaming session I had run out of Coke and didn't want to replace it with water - and voila! I was so pleased that even the bad raid failed to spoil my mood."

I gawked at her, flabbergasted, and she chewed most unperturbedly, as if she had said what the weather was today.

"Did you say gaming session?"

Eli looked at me and rolled her eyes, "Yes Lando, gaming session. Turns out gaming was as cool as I imagined. After I moved to London, I bought everything I'd only watched with a fascination over the years."

“Do you stream, El?”

She laughed at my question "What do you think? My channel will fill up not because of how I play, but because of my name. I will leave the streaming to you and Fewtrell, you guys need the validation and views more than I do.”

"Ouch! I'll ignore your snarky comment, because I'd really love to game together sometime."

Eleonora chuckled, "I'll think about it, but don`t get your hopes up."

For a few minutes, Eli and I just ate without disrupting the comfortable silence between us. I had so many questions, but I didn't want to rush to ask them - Eleonora needed time and I was going to give her as much as she required. She got up to put everything away after we ate, assuring me that she didn't need any help. Then with our glasses, we moved to one of the two large sofas positioned in the center of the room.

Staring at the glass in her hand, she spoke "You know, Lan, I fought to the very end to have someone else sent to take my place at “Red Bull Racing”. I really didn't want to see my past every day."

I watched her and listened very carefully, trying to push the unpleasant feeling her words left in me to the back of my mind - she had every right not to want to see me.

Eli kept talking "But everything happens for a reason. And I'm glad you're here."

Her words brought a slight smile to my face "And I'm glad to be here. Please don't write me off, El, I miss you..."

She looked me in the eye, downing the last sip from her glass. I could feel her distrust of my words radiating off her. After a few breathless seconds, she said, "I think it's time to sleep, but I'll stay here, I don't want to go up to my bedroom. There are two couches, and we won't get in each other's way, and you need sleep too."

She put the glasses in the sink and quickly shot back to the couch. Apparently, her love of sleep hadn't changed over the years. I turned off the lamp over the counter, and lay down on the other couch, facing her.

"Lando?"

"Yes?"

"If you snore and keep me from sleeping, I'll kick you out of here."

We both giggled, like we used to do as kids when we had our sleepovers. After we quieted down, Eli fell immediately asleep - her body hadn't rested from earlier. Sighing, I said softly, "Good night, little bird."

--------------------------------------------------

Waking up, the smell of freshly made coffee and pancakes was the first thing I registered. However, I decided not to open my eyes and continue pretending to be asleep. Eli and Izzy were having a conversation, and I listened in on the interaction.

"You're not funny at all, Eli. Why shouldn't I hit him over the head with the frying pan? His head is empty anyway, it won't hurt him, and you'll make me extremely happy."

Eleonora giggled, "If it had been a day earlier, I would have been the one with the pan or the knife. But he's my guest and he helped me a lot yesterday - so put the pan back Izzy."

I heard Isabella's groan and the opening and closing of cabinets. There was movement around me, and I listened to Izzy's pleased exclamation "Great idea, Ana. Would you help me?"

I didn't understand what Ana had said, but it had obviously pleased Isabella. Reassured that Eli had stopped her best friend's assassination attempt on me, I drifted off.

A huge amount of ice-cold water splashed in my face jolted me out of my peaceful sleep. Jumping off the couch, I stepped on the ice cubes that were in the water, slipping, and falling on my ass on the floor.

Isabella and Anastasia were dying with laughter, and Eleonora flew into the room in her bathrobe.

"I left you for 5 minutes to take a shower, what's wrong with you two?"

Eli and I looked at each other for a second and burst out laughing. Izzy scored a point this time, but I'd repay her in the future.

Isabella walked over to me as I stood up “That`s for trash talking me, dumbass.”

Chapter Text

Eleonora`s POV

August 12^th, 2023

Walking with Lando to the door and opening it, he turned to me and said, "Don't be a stranger, El, I'll be waiting for you to text me."

The instant déjà vu that flooded my mind left a bad taste in my mouth.

"Yeah, those are words I've heard before. Don't count on the same result as then. But thank you for helping me."

He looked visibly offended, but that wasn't going to make me take back my words.

"You know it won't be like it used to be, I promised you."

"Please don't promise me anything - we know how you muddle things up after that."

Lando kept his eyes on me, saying, "I'll prove it to you in time."

Snorting, I said, "Anything to make you feel better. By the way, in case you decide to come again, you don't have to go all the way up to the 47th floor - you can use the elevator to somewhere closer to my floor and go up just a few floors."

He looked at me amazed and then burst out laughing, "How did I not think of that yesterday?"

Isabella's voice came from inside the room "We don't have high expectations from a slow developing individual."

Lando didn`t break eye contact with me when he answered, "Don't worry, Isabella. I'm sure you'll find an innocent soul to suck off here very soon too, and you won't be so hungry anymore."

I couldn't contain myself and burst out laughing. He started laughing too.

"You fucking bastard!" Izzy shouted and turning in that direction I saw Isabella sprinting towards Lando.

"That's your cue, run!" I managed to say, and he winked at me and disappeared into the hallway.

"You're a coward, Norris, let's settle this!" Izzy was already beside me, fuming.

"Alright, alright, enough. You'll have a fight another day. We're going shopping, and we have to go through your hotel with Ana."

Isabella groaned and started looking for her bag.

---------------------------------

"Girl, if you don't take the dress, it'll be a crime." Izzy was behind me as I looked in the fitting room mirror.

"I'm not sure about the color..."

"Are you kidding, that red looks great on you! Get it, better yet, put it on at your birthday party! I saw some Louboutins that were made for this dress, now I'm going to ask for them in your size."

Isabella rushed out of the fitting room to retrieve the shoes; I spun around to look at myself from all sides.

Truth be told, it wasn't the color that bothered me, but the fact that there was almost no dress - no back at all, little fabric covering my breasts, which in turn strained the material; the neckline came to my navel, and the dress was so short it barely covered anything. Admittedly, the color complimented my white skin and dark chestnut hair and definitely drew attention to my breasts and ass - which was not what I was aiming for.

As I looked at myself, my phone received a notification - a message from Norris.

Lando Norris: What are you doing? I miss you already.

I sighed as I read it. It is amazing how the male brain works. I started to reply.

Eleonora Kimbel: It was for someone else, I'm sure. Be careful next time, lest you piss off one of all your girlfriends.

Isabella showed up with several pairs of shoes and dresses to match. I'd just put on a silver sequin dress that left very little to the imagination when I got a reply from Lando.

Lando Norris: It wasn't for anyone else, and I don't have any girlfriends - unless you change your mind, of course ;) So, what are you doing, El?

If we are going to get on each other's nerves, so be it.

"Girls, will you take a picture of me in the dress?" I said as I straightened my cleavage.

"Who are we going to tease today?" asked Ana.

"Guess who?" I replied, holding out my phone for them to read the messages.

They both giggled and Izzy pulled the dress down, so the curve of my breasts was more visible.

"Suffer asshole." Isabella said as Ana took the pictures.

She forwarded them to me and went back to her fitting room. I hastily dropped a reply.

Eleonora Kimbel: That's what I'm doing right now. #2 attached files.

I muted my phone because I didn't want to deal with any more distractions. After another 30 minutes, we were done with the purchases for the day and got in the cars to go to lunch at "Le Louis XV - Alain Ducasse". Tossing the packages in the seat next to me, I drove my car to the restaurant, with John and the girls in the Audi behind me.

Approaching the restaurant, the dashboard screen in the car registered that Jacob was calling me. I smiled as I pressed the button to take the call. "Hi, Jake!"

"Hello, beautiful. I haven't heard from you in a few days, how are you?"

"Great, I'm resting up intensely before I get enslaved to Formula 1 for the rest of the year. You haven't given up coming on the 14th, have you?"

"No way, I wouldn't miss your birthday, and I've prepared something special for you."

"Awww, you know I don't need anything, boo."

"I know, but I hope I will make you happy nonetheless."

"You make me happy. I've booked you a hotel room, but that doesn't mean you won't stay with me - to make me even happier."

He laughed and said, "I can't wait to make you happy like this. I'll call you when I arrive with the others."

"I can't wait! See you soon!"

"Bye, Eli!"

I was still smiling when I stopped in front of the restaurant. The valet gave me a wide grin as I got out of the car and handed him the keys.

“Mademoiselle Kimbel, quel plaisir de vous voir! Le restaurant vous attend!” (Miss Kimbel, it is such a pleasure to see you! They are waiting for you at the restaurant!)

Smiling back at him, I said, “C'est un plaisir d'être ici à nouveau. Je vais attendre le reste du groupe avant d'entrer.” (It's a pleasure to be here again. I'll wait for the rest of the group before heading in.)

The boy touched his hat with his hand out of respect, got in the car and drove it away. My sunglasses failed to disguise me, and the paparazzi who were on the sidewalk across from the restaurant began jostling to get their shots from the best possible angle. As I waited for John and the girls to show up, I pulled my phone out of my purse. I was about to scroll through Instagram but saw that Lando had replied.

Lando Norris: Fuck, Eli! Do you know what you're doing to me?

Lando Norris: Did you buy the dress? You can`t just send me that kind of photos and then ignore me!

I giggled and started typing.

Eleonora Kimbel: What am I doing to you, Lando? You asked what I was up to, and you were given an answer. And what's wrong with the pics?

Apparently, the phone was in his hand because his reply came immediately.

Lando Norris: You make me want for that little dress of yours to be on the fitting room floor, preferably ripped down the middle.

Oh, wow – that escalated quickly. Another text followed.

Lando Norris: The only thing wrong with the pics is that I can`t reach to touch you.

Now I understand why he has so many girlfriends - he definitely knows what to say when he needs to. I'm not about to give in that easily, though.

Eleonora Kimbel: I got the dress and don`t you worry your pretty little mind – it will be ripped, and I will make sure to tell you when it happens. I can send you the fabric – you can put it in your spank bank, along with the pics. ;)

He would be furious; however, I was enjoying this greatly. Finally, the Audi pulled in and John and the girls got out of the car. Isabella was annoyed “I am so hungry, and some idiot decided to dent his car and the one in front of him.”

We entered the restaurant and were seated immediately. Every time we try to persuade John to sit with us, but he prefers to have a particular view in big spaces, so he took his lunch to a different table. We ordered and were chatting when I received a text.

Lando Norris: I hope you are joking – no one is tearing that dress but me!

I put the phone down but, in an instant, grabbed it again, because his text irritated me – who does he thinks he is? Izzy and Ana looked at me, puzzled.

“What is it, Eli?” Ana asked.

“I will reply real quick and will show you.” I said while typing fast.

Eleonora Kimbel: You are not touching that dress, at all. But picture this – someone undressing me, touching me, making me moan and then cum. In this scene, you are not the person doing all those things to me. Do not think for a second that you have some moronic claim over me – I can fuck whomever I want!

As the girls were reading my interaction with Norris and fuming like me, he dropped one final text – I was sure there would be more in the future.

Lando Norris: This is far from over, El – live in your delusion while you still can! ;)

-----------------------------------

After our lunch, the girls and I went to the Les Thermes Marins Monte-Carlo - the most exclusive place in Monaco for spa treatments and relaxation. It was luxurious and calm, and I was in desperate need of some calmness. After our spa treatments, manicures and pedicures, Ana, Izzy and I retreated to one of the open tents by the pool. John was sitting at the end; the warm weather had finally made him take off his jacket. He was sipping at his iced water, scanning the people around him with a glance through his dark sunglasses. We, on the other hand, were drinking our second smoothie in a row, and I don't think it would be our last.

The waiter magically appeared to clear our empty glasses and bring the next three smoothies. After asking him for a plate of fresh fruit so we'd have something to clean the green taste out of our mouths, I turned to the girls "I think I'll go for a swim. Will someone join me?"

Neither of them showed any desire to move from their spot and I grabbed my towel and headed for the pool. Leaving it on the nearest lounge chair, I approached the edge and dove into the water. Swimming was one of my favorite sports - it worked all my muscles and refreshed my mind at the same time. After doing a few lengths, I propped myself up with my back against one side of the pool and put my face up to soak up the sunrays above me. I stood in this position for a while, enjoying the serenity and calm that came over me. The sun suddenly hid. Opening my eyes, I saw John, above me, looking straight ahead. I turned my gaze in that direction and saw a young man moving briskly towards me. The sun was blinding me, and I couldn't make out the features on his face. Instinctively I turned and swam towards the pool stairs when I heard "Eleonora, wait!"

I had no intention of waiting and was already on the stairs when John had changed position, and I heard him say "Stand back sir." Ignoring the situation, I put on my flip-flops and grabbed my towel to soak up the dripping water from me. Then I heard the strong accent "I'm so sorry, I just wanted to formally introduce myself to Miss Kimbel, we'll be working together - I'm Charles Leclerc."

Turning my head in the direction of the voice, I saw Charles, water seeping from his bathing suit, standing at a distance from John and visibly worried. I managed to contain my laughter and walked over to the two men "It's okay John but stay close". He nodded and took a step to the side.

“Charles Leclerc, c'est un plaisir de vous rencontrer, malgré les circonstances intéressantes.” (Charles Leclerc, a pleasure to meet you, despite the interesting circumstances.) I said, smiling, and held out my hand. Charles took it, but instead of a handshake, he brought it to his lips.

“Dame Chance, tout le plaisir est pour moi Eleonora.” (Lady Luck, the pleasure is all mine, Eleonora.)

I giggled at his little wordplay. “Quel charmeur, je suis impressionné.” (What a charmer, I'm impressed.) Smiling, he asked me “Maintenant, je sais où vous alliez avec vos charmantes petites amies. Vous passez souvent vos vacances ici?” (Now I know where you were going with your lovely girlfriends. Do you vacation here often?)

“Pas assez souvent, mais nous passons des vacances dans d'autres endroits au cours de l'année, nous ne nous attachons pas trop à un seul endroit.” (Not often enough, but we vacation in other places during the year, we aren’t hung up too much in one place.)

“Avez-vous une destination préférée?” (Do you have a favorite destination?)

“Il y a beaucoup de choses à voir partout, donc je n'ai pas de préférence. Mais je préfère qu'il fasse plus chaud - le climat anglais n'offre pas assez de journées ensoleillées et chaudes.” (There's a lot to see everywhere, so I don't have a favorite. However, I prefer it being warmer - the English weather doesn't provide enough sunny and warm days.)

“J'aimerais que tu me dises où tu as été avec tes copines.” (I'd love for you to tell me where in the world you've been with your girlfriends.)

“Voulez-vous vous joindre à nous? Les filles seraient ravies de vous rencontrer.” (Would you like to join us? The girls would love to meet you.)

His smile was shining brighter than the sun when he said “Ce serait avec plaisir! Je vais prendre mes affaires et je reviens vous voir.” (It would be my pleasure! I'll go get my things and come to you.)

He started to walk away, and I shot into our tent. I couldn't say anything because Izzy beat me to it, "Was that the hottie Leclerc?"

I laughed and said, "Yes, he is. He will join us. Ana, I hope I don't have to remind you that your eyes shouldn't be darting, control yourself."

Isabella snickered and Ana had the decency to blush.

"Here he comes." Izzy said with a sigh, and I giggled.

John entered the tent, and Charles was close behind him. He smiled and said "Ladies, I am delighted to be in your company. I'm Charles Leclerc." He kissed Ana's hand and then made his way over to Isabella. Without taking his eyes from Izzy, he brought her hand to his lips and said, "Pictures do not do your beauty justice, Isabella."

Oh, my God! I was suddenly feeling warm, and I wasn't even participating in what was happening. It took Isabella a few seconds to come to her senses. "Thank you, Mr. Leclerc. I hope you enjoyed the view."

He chuckled and said "Definitely...And I'm still enjoying it."

I glanced at Anastasia, she caught my gaze - we were definitely redundant, but there was no way we were going to get away right now.

The conversation flowed smoothly - Charles was a charming and intelligent conversationalist. Isabella was totally smitten - the undisguised interest of the two made me feel like a voyeur. Ana and I often glanced at each other, and I even caught John snickering. After a story from Charles about how the Ferrari mechanics had hidden his shoes, he said, "I've had a lovely afternoon in your company, but I don't want to keep you any longer - you must have dinner plans."

"Yes, we..." started Anastasia, but I cut her off. “Actually, Ana and I have something to do and we're going to be late. Izzy will have to have dinner alone."

Isabella looked at me - she knew exactly what I was doing, but she didn't object.

"In that case Isabella, would you do me the honor of taking you out to dinner?"

She smiled and nodded. As they exchanged phone numbers, I rejoiced like a little child - Izzy deserved only wonderful things to happen to her.

"I'll pick you up at 7 from the hotel. If anything comes up, do not hesitate to call or text me." said Charles and then he turned to me “Eli, it was lovely to meet you, and we will see each other very soon.”

He took his farewells with all of us and with one last look at Isabella, left.

"Girl, get your stuff and let's go. We need to decide what you're going to wear immediately!" I said and we all scurried off.

Lando`s POV

August 12^th, 2023

I've been angry all day and can't settle down. I've frayed my nerves with Eleonora and the realization that I'm back to square one makes me want to kick myself. I could have just enjoyed the beautiful pictures, but I decided to be cheeky - why do I always fuck myself over. The thought of her being with someone else, and him being allowed to touch her, was blurring my vision. I had to think of something to gloss over the situation, but my mind remained blank - just lovely.

After being at the gym for hours, showering and playing “Call of Duty”, I was desperate for something to distract me from the mess I created. Our group chat with the other drivers was active again and I decided it wouldn't hurt to join in too.

Percival: I had an amazing afternoon and beat all of you.

SuperMax: What do you mean?

Chili: What did you do this time?

Agent George: Charles, just tell us how you beat us, because you can`t do it on the track.

SuperMax: I couldn`t have said it better. :D

Percival: I spent my afternoon with Eleonora and her friends. In addition, I have a date. I dare you to beat that, Muppets.

My anger rose again. How had he managed it? Moreover, whom did he have a date with? If it's with Eleonora, I'll beat him up.

SuperMax: No way, she is here on vacation? I should call her, so we can meet up.

Lando Norizz: Get in line, Max!

SuperMax: Well, well, well Lando. I was wondering when you will show up.

Chili: It`s OK, Max. Lando thinks he has dips, because he knows her the longest. :D

Lando Norizz: Do you ever shut up, Carlos?

SuperMax: How do you know her?

Percival: She didn`t mention you at all and we spent a lot of time together.

Agent George: My condolences, Lando. :D

Lando Norizz: How did you even managed to get in the vicinity, her bodyguard is gigantic?

SuperMax: Did he beat your ass, Norris? Obviously, she prefers Charles and now they are going on a date. Sucks to be you! :D

Lando Norizz: There is no way she is going on a date with Leclerc.

Chili: Why not? You guys were really close in the past, but you haven`t seen her in what? Was it 6 years?

Percival: Why do you care so much if I have a date with her?

Agent George: Knowing Lando, he did something remarkably stupid, and she hates his guts right now. :D

SuperMax: Also, he is jealous.

Percival: Let me end your misery, Lando. I am not having a date with Eli.

SuperMax: I, on the other hand, know why – she has a thing going on with another guy.

Lando Norizz: Who is it?

SuperMax: You know her the longest, can`t you ask her yourself?

Agent George: Obviously not, I told you – he screwed things up with her. Am I wrong, Lando?

Percival: What did you do, Norris?

Chili: I know, I know!

Lando Norizz: Don`t you dare, Muppet!!!

SuperMax: Just ignore him, Carlos. Please, continue with your story!

Lando Norizz: Carlos, no!

Chili: I feel really pressured, Lando, I`m sorry :D They were inseparable; she told him she loved him. He told her he loves her, too – at her birthday, I must add. The next day he ghosted her and did not explain to her anything.

Agent George: Wow, Lando… I called it, though!

SuperMax: You crushed her and at her birthday? That`s retarded, even for you.

Percival: You idiot! How can you do this to her?

Lando Norizz: Thanks a lot, Carlos.

Chili: I wanted to share my disappointment of you!

Agent George: As you should, Carlos. Lando, you are a daft sod, and I support her hate towards you.

SuperMax: Well, I know Eleonora enough to tell all of you that he made a huge mistake. She is a catch.

Percival: I second that.

Lando Norizz: I can always count on all of you to support me…

SuperMax: We just can`t comprehend the stupidity. Give us time :D

Percival: I would really like to roast you more, Norris, but I have to get ready for dinner.

Chili: We want details after, Charles.

Percival: I`ll think about it. See you later, guys.

I closed the chat, more nervous than I was at first. There's a man in her life - I'm not surprised, but it doesn't make me feel any better either. Despite everything, I do not intend to give up on Eli - I will continue to be persistent. I picked up my phone, opened our chat and texted her.

Lando Norris: Do you have any plans for the evening?

Chapter Text

Eleonora`s POV

August 12^th, 2023

The panic that had engulfed Isabella was amusing, but also understandable - when you like someone and want to impress them, the nerves kick in. Rummaging through her suitcases to pull out all the suitable options, I was reflecting that this euphoria has long been buried and forgotten for me - falling for someone and wanting to be the best version of yourself. However, this moment was not about me, and we needed to act fast, because time was of the essence.

"Ana, I've taken all the dresses out of her suitcases! Start sorting them by color, and I'm going to go dig through Izzy's purchases from today!" I said franticly.

Anastasia immediately set to the task, and I rushed over to the packages left on the couch. I had to get my head around it quickly because we hadn't even started on the underwear, shoes and accessories. Isabella was showering and would be appearing soon and if we weren't at least a little prepared, she would panic.

Ana and I labored non-stop for another 15 minutes before Izzy showed up. I had narrowed down the dress choices to two colors that I thought were most appropriate for the upcoming dinner - black and red. While Isabella was approving and rejecting options, I set about preparing bags and shoes, and Ana started pulling out jewellery and arranging it next to the aforementioned. After a few small heart attacks, Izzy settled on the classic - the little black dress. The dress was strapless, and while Izzy put it on, I tossed her the bra that came with her panties. Anna put away the bag, shoes and jewellery selection for the dress, and I busied myself with Isabella's hair.

I looked at her through the mirror of the dressing table – I`ve never seen her more nervous.

"It'll be all right, bestie. I've become the witness to something that cannot be described in simple words - trust me." I put my hand on her shoulder and she grabbed it.

“Eli, I saw the same thing with you and Lando and look what happened.” Izzy said.

I sighed, “I know what you mean, but I think it was just not meant to be. Which does not mean that the same thing is going to befall you. Now stay still while I blow dry your goldie locks.”

Giggling, I set about the task. After I finished with her hair, I continued with the makeup application. As I worked on my masterpiece, Ana was putting away everything that was scattered around the room, just in case the evening went a certain way.

Two minutes before 7 o'clock, Isabella was completely ready for her meeting with Charles, beaming like I hadn't seen her in a while.

"Have fun, Izzy. If you need anything, call us right away. Naturally, we want a full report after the date." I said, winking at her.

We laughed, and after one last hug in front of the elevator, Isabella got on and headed to her rendezvous.

Ana and I decided to order food at my place so we wouldn't catch the couple somewhere since we had lied about having something to do. Anastasia went in her room for a quick change of clothes and I waited by the door. Pulling out my phone, I saw a message from Lando:

Lando Norris: Do you have any plans for the evening?

Rolling my eyes, I tucked the phone back into my bag - I'd dealt with and was fed up with his juvenile antics for today. Ana appeared 2 minutes later and we headed to my car - I had already dismissed John for the evening, it was enough for him to put up with us during the day. On our way, I called one of the drivers to be on standby to take back Anastasia to her hotel. At the same time, Ana was ordering the food, so it would be delivered when we arrive.

As we entered my apartment, I went to grab something to drink for both of us and Ana took care of the music. The food arrived and after tipping the boy, we sat on the carpet around the coffee table between my sofas. We did that as long as I can remember and it felt normal. I lighted the candle that was on the said table and Anastasia clapped her hands like a child “You always have the most amazing scents, you should consult me when we get back to London – Nick does not care for this kind of stuff.”

I laughed at her statement “It`s only fitting – guys do not care for candles and pillows, especially my brother.”

“Eli, I was meaning to ask you – do you think Nick will ever propose to me? I don`t want to be impatient, but we are together more than six years and…well, nothing is happening.”

I looked at her – she was not in the wrong. However, my brother was clueless, like many guys. If you do not nudge them, they will stay in their comfortable bubble, thinking everything is perfect.

“Certainly I can talk to him, but I have to ask – are you ready for this type of commitment? You are still 23 years old, aren`t we too young for marriage?”

“I think I am ready for this next step. Children, however, not so much.” Ana said, making a horrified face.

We had a lovely dinner - laughing at the fake scenarios we made up about the two of us with babies, talking about work, plans for the future and contemplating what went down as we speak at Isabella`s date with Charles.

At half past nine, Anastasia decided to call it a day and after a call from the concierge on duty that the driver have arrived, she left for her hotel. I had something planned for the evening, before going to bed, so I went to my wardrobe to pull out shorts, a tank top and a hoodie, if I get cold. I took my phone, vape, wallet and keys, put on my sneakers and quietly closed the door behind me.

As I waited for the elevator, I saw the emergency door for my floor opening and Lando emerging from behind it. Just my fucking luck!

“You know, Norris, if you are homeless, you can just tell me and we can find a solution. If you`re not, this frequent unannounced visits need to stop.” I said when he walked the distance to where I was standing.

He did not laugh at my snarky comment “You left me on “read” and I got worried. Also I wanted to apologize for what I said earlier – I crossed a line and I`m sorry.”

“Apology accepted and I am fine so you don`t need to worry. I don`t want to be rude, but I have somewhere to be.”

He moved his head back and forth, scanning the hallway “Where is John? Is he not going to accompany you?”

How irritating of him “No, he is not. I usually go to this place alone and John is not my shadow, regardless of how it may seem from the outside. Now, have a lovely evening, Lando.”

I stepped in the cubicle and pressed the button for the underground parking lot. For a split second, I thought that he will get the idea and leave and that hope died when Lando got in the elevator with me.

“What do you think you are doing, Norris?”

“I am going with you, of course. What does it look like?”

I gritted my teeth “It looks like you, getting on my last nerve. I don`t need you babysitting me. Press 24 or should I do it for you?”

His face features hardened after my answer “For years you didn`t have any additional security and now you have a personal bodyguard? I think I`ve said enough on the matter, Eleonora – I am not leaving, so you better deal with it!”

Oh, it`s on! “From where you get this audacity, Norris? You can`t boss me around – I am not one of the girls you can fuck around with. Get over yourself!”

He snorted at my comment “You are the smartest person I`ve ever met and still don`t get it – if you were one of the girls you mentioned, I wouldn`t be doing this right now.”

“So you are saying you`re an asshole with your girlfriends? Great advertising!”

Lando smirked before answering, “I am saying it how it is, do you want me to lie to you?”

“No, but you did it anyway. Now, I simply do not care.” I spitted.

We fell silent after that. I deliberately wanted to hurt him – for him to feel just an ounce of the pain I felt in the past. The powerlessness, the betrayal, the sleepless nights, the staring at messages left unanswered and the crying - the endless rivers of tears.

He broke the silence first “It`s understandable for you not to care, Eli, but I meant what I said – I`ll prove to you that this time everything will be different.”

We looked into each other's eyes - he really believed what he was saying. For the first time in so long, I felt the familiar pull I always had looking at Lando. I tore my gaze away the moment the feeling engulfed me - refusing to accept the betrayal of my own body. Unfortunately, he was no longer the awkward teenager I remembered and couldn't be fooled so easily, "You can fight all you want El, but we felt the same thing just now."

I wasn't going to dignify him with an answer - there was no need to feed his already inflated ego. The elevator reached the parking lot and I hurried out before Lando. Rushing to my car, I remembered an important detail I'd missed - he hated being driven. I am so going to enjoy this!

I reached the Lambo, unlocked it and got in, all the while smiling. Lando was staring at the car “I am leaving, Lan – in or out?” I said, giggling.

As I was connecting my phone to the car for music and navigation, he opened the passenger door and got in. I kept quiet, but he saw my never leaving smile on my face “Well played, Eli! If you were not the stubborn individual I knew, I could`ve asked to drive.”

This time I laughed out loud “In your dreams, Norris. And you invited yourself to my little trip so suck it up!”

“Where are we going anyway?” he asked, irritation in his voice.

“Tête de Chien, also known as Dog`s head.”

I glanced briefly his way and he was looking at me “I`ve never been, only heard of it from Charles.”

“The view is amazing, especially at night. It`s my favorite place to be alone and think. However, this time I have to share it with you – don`t make me regret it more than I do.”

He laughed at this “I`ll be good, I promise. In addition, I want to point out – nice ride, Kimbel! I wonder how you got this exquisite taste of cars?”

Smiling, I replied, "You may have had a hand in the whole thing, but my current position in the company requires certain benefits to stand my ground with the customers. Of course it's a huge bonus how good I feel in my awesome wheels."

"What do you mean by current position?" he asked.

"Three years ago, Nick and I officially became owners in the company - 30 percent each. Our father holds the remaining 40 percent. That decision comes with a price - you have a particular image to maintain. The fact that I am a woman makes the task even more challenging. I have to prove myself more times than I would like, even though I have substantially more profit than my brother."

I heard the sharp intake of breath before Lando replied, "I've always been very vexed by your father's crystal clear favoritism."

"The need for women to prove themselves more than men is nothing new, unfortunately. But I should point out that the relationship with my father is completely different from what you remember - he's proud of me, can you believe it?"

I glanced at Lando, who was looking at me quizzically. We both burst out laughing. After a full minute, we managed to contain it in order for any of us to speak normally.

"I must admit I am very surprised. Some cataclysm have had to happen - someone must have died."

Lando didn't know that wasn't far from the truth, but I managed to mask the uncomfortable feeling and replied, "I'm his strongest weapon at the moment - I manage to charm clients without seeming vulgar; I don't miss an event, I know everyone by name and people are won over very quickly; Patrick Kimbel hasn't had that type of success since he made the company and it's his favourite subject - how I've finally reached my full potential and that's cause for admiration and pride on his part."

“Which explains why he wants you in the “Red Bull” paddock – I assume they are a huge client.” he chimed.

“They are his client and sending me there shows the amount of trust he has in my abilities – Nick was not pleased, let me tell you that.” I said, snickering.

"You know a lot more about Formula 1 than Nicholas and in this case your father is right - a prepared representative can start doing the job straight away. Also, I am not a huge fan of your brother and it makes me happy that he was dismissed for the part."

I giggled at his little rant, "I think you're happy because if it hadn't happened that way, I wouldn't be giving you a ride right now."

For a few seconds Lando was silent and it felt like he was not breathing at all. I sneaked a glance in his direction – he was staring at me.

“What?” I asked, trying to disperse the heavy air that I felt enveloping the small space we were occupying.

“I don`t think I can put into words what being here with you means to me. Happy is far from the right word for it.”

Lando`s POV

August 12^th, 2023

Eleonora's eyes remained fixed on the road ahead when she answered, “Is there even a right word, Lando? For any of this?”

Being in love, I thought but instead said “I`m sure we can think of something.”

Her smile was radiant and I was staring, trying to remember every little detail of this moment, when I said, “I have a confession. You would think it`s inappropriate but I am going to say it anyway – you driving the car…it`s hot.”

Eli burst out laughing, “From where do you get your pickup lines? This was atrocious!” she mocked me.

“Hey, that was mean – it was a good one and you`re just a hater.”

“I can`t believe this kind of pickup lines gets you laid, honestly. Girls are desperate these days, it seems.” she continued to laugh at me.

“Yep – really mean.” I pretended to be offended.

“Alright, I`m stopping. To see that I am truly sorry, I will let you pick out the music.”

Astonished, I said “What, really? You don't let anyone fiddle with the music you put on, ever.”

"I hope you understand how serious I am right now. Which doesn't mean overdoing it, Lan."

I wasn't going to wait for a second invitation and took the phone off the stand, pressing the Spotify icon. Her main playlist was something else - there were all sorts of music styles and instead of picking something to play in the car, I busied myself reading the song titles. In the past, Eli never gave me access to her playlists, living with the thought that everyone was ready to judge her. I looked at her - she was driving perfectly calm, not at all bothered. I smiled and stuck my nose in the phone again - these changes in her made me feel proud of how much she had achieved, even though I had sadly made her life bitter. She still seemed to adore Ed Sheeran - I'm convinced his entire discography was on the list. Except for one song I purposely searched for - "Little Bird". I wasn't going to pour salt in her wound by asking if everything about me had been erased from her life - I didn't want to be thrown out of the car and have to go back to square one. Hmm, that's interesting: The Prodigy – You`ll be under my wheels.

I pressed on the song, very intrigued to hear it. The song started off well and Eleonora exclaimed, "Oh, Lando, you don't know what you did."

Worried by what Eli said and the fact that I could feel the Lamborghini accelerating, I quietly asked, "What do you mean?"

She cackled, “This song demands me to put the pedal to the metal.” Well, fuck!

Eleonora started pushing the Lambo, and I grabbed the seat with both hands "Can't we discuss it?"

Eli laughed out loud "Your job is to drive one of the fastest cars in the world, and you look like you're dying of fright?"

I refused to look at the road in front of us and turned to her - Eleonora looked carefree, grinning ear to ear and her eyes were shining. She took my breath away. I wanted her to always be like that, especially with me. The song ended and another one started. Eli began to slow down.

"You can let go of the seat now, Lan, I won't be happy if you rip it. And besides, we've arrived."

Eleonora parked the car, got her stuff and got out. I followed her, looking around as I closed the door - I couldn't see where we had to go to get to the spot in question - it was pretty dark in the parking lot.

"Come on Lan, follow me. It's 500 meters to the overlook, I'll turn on the flashlight on my phone." Eli said and headed for a gap in the greenery I hadn't noticed.

I followed her, careful where I stepped. Eleonora struck up a conversation as we shortened the distance "It really seemed like at any moment you were going to give up and meet your maker. Were you that scared?"

"I swallowed a lot easier the fact that I wasn't driving while you drove calmly." I replied, hopping over a root on the made-up path.

"I love to drive fast. Of course, I can't get close to you and the other Formula 1 drivers, and I rarely get the chance to do it. I promise I'll control myself on the way back." she said, giggling.

"I'll be prepared for next time, and they obviously taught you well on the driving course. I'm sorry I missed this moment in your life - I could have taught you too." I spoke.

She sighed, "You know, Lan, I've reached a point in my life where I justify a person's behavior with 'That's the best they were capable of at the time.' It saves me a tremendous amount of anguish and keeps my feet firmly planted on the ground."

I didn't say anything. I walked after her and watched her silhouette in front of me. I didn't deserve her to condone my mistake, no one did. She always gave everything to everyone and expected nothing in return. Why should she put up with anything? We continued walking when her phone made a sound, and I jumped out of my skin.

Eleonora tried to suppress her laugh, but I heard her anyway, "You've been trying to finish me off for the last two days and now you're giggling?" I asked.

She was quiet for a few seconds and then with a low voice I heard her say “The scariest things are those that are right in front of our eyes, and we remain blind to them until it is too late.”

Jesus, what nightmares were plaguing her mind? I was about to ask a question on the matter when she exclaimed “This is it!”

Emerging from a crevice between two bushes, I found myself facing the stunning sight amplified by the night. The view was extraordinary!

From somewhere on my left I heard Eli`s voice “Looking down you will be able to see the panorama covering the whole of Monaco, while further east is the French town of Menton and the border with Italy. On the western side, at the foot of the hill, a small seaside town called Cap-d’Ail is visible; also, all 3 of the corniche roads to Nice; and even Nice, Antibes, and the hills near Cannes.

“This is amazing, El!” I managed to say after a few moments and only then realized that she was silent and absent.

Looking around me, I saw Eli sitting on one of the rocks situated above the view. The rock was slightly concave, as if someone had tried to form a bench in its core. Eleonora was gazing into the distance, the slight breeze gently blowing her loose hair. The smoke she exhaled from her vape contrasted with the darkness of the night, making me feel like an intruder in this intimate moment for her. I figured I'd keep quiet - she wanted to be left alone, and I teased her until she gave in to my stubbornness and took me with her to this place. Still, she took the time to make me feel included by sharing information about the view.

For a few minutes, the wind in the leaves on the branches was the only thing I could hear. I was just wondering if I should sit down somewhere on the grass at the edge of the cliff, so as not to annoy her, when she asked, "Would you like to sit next to me, Lan?" and then patted the vacant spot beside her on the rock with her palm.

After her reserved demeanor during our impromptu dinner the previous evening, I was pleasantly surprised that she allowed me to join her. I moved slowly, not wanting to startle her - yesterday's incident was giving me uneasiness and I didn't want us to relive it.

Standing next to her, she lifted her head and locked her eyes on mine. I had the feeling she was looking right through me. Not taking my eyes off hers, I slid over to her side and sat down in the vacant seat. Eleonora finally released me from her gaze and asked "Are you happy Lando? Do you feel satisfied with your life?"

Her mind was always working on frequencies unknown to me "I am happy and satisfied with my life, not every day and not all day, however. Having said that though, I want two more things and if I achieve them, everything will be perfect."

Eli just hummed at my answer, but I couldn't resist the urge “Why do you ask?”

I heard her take a deep breath before answering "Because I want to be reassured that you're happy. I know how much effort you put in to be where you are right now, and I wanted to make sure it was worth it. Despite everything that's happened between us, I wouldn't want to see you miserable."

The one thing I was sure I didn't deserve was that moment with her - in her own way, she was telling me that she forgave me and that she only meant well. And I was praying she would break up with her boyfriend when I saw their picture online a few years ago - I still had a lot to learn from Eli. I knew what a selfish asshole I was - I didn't deserve her, but I wanted her, and I wasn't going to give up.

"Thanks, El. You don't know how much that means to me."

Eleonora didn't answer but rested her head on my shoulder. I suspected what a huge step this was for her, and I didn't want her to regret trusting me.

Eleonora's closeness always brought me comfort - she was the constant in my life, whatever happened, I always wanted her to learn first. When I made the decision to turn my back on everything we had, I hadn't considered the abyss I would create. Over time, I learned to tuck things away deep within myself - no one could take her place, and it wasn't the same when I tried to share anything with anyone else. Now I had another chance, and I was not about to waste it like before.

“What about you, El?” I asked, while tilting my head over hers.

“What about me?”

“Are you happy? With what you achieved?” I elaborated.

She lifted her head from my shoulder and her eyes found mine, "I wish I could be someday."

She had sadness in her eyes. She knew how to mask her pain perfectly, and for these few seconds, she had given me a glimpse into an essence that was hidden to most people around her. I wanted more than anything to reassure her that I would do anything to make her happy – only, my words had no value anymore and all I had left was my actions.

Eleonora turned slightly and brought her face closer. She did not take her eyes off mine. Is this true? Should I get closer, what if I startle her? I so wanted that closeness, but was I imagining it at this very moment?

“El, I….” I mumbled but she started to talk.

“You know Lan, at this light, your eyes are the deepest, darkest blue I have ever seen. So beautiful.”

The previous time she complimented my eye color I remember pulling away like an imbecile. This time I wasn`t backing out. The last thing that went through my mind was that this was her pickup line, and she was so much better than me at this. She closed her eyes, and a shy smile was visible on her perfect face. My eyes closed off on their own accord and my lips found hers.

Chapter Text

Eleonora`s POV

August 13^th, 2023

That kiss was not in my plans - not now, not ever. I still carried the bitterness of the past - the one from Lando and the one from my ex-boyfriend. I didn't know if I would ever forgive Lando completely, forgetting the past was out of the question. The pain had changed me, and I was as grateful as I was devastated. If Lando lingered in my life long enough to see the new, ugly side of my present that had emerged from the wounds of my past, he would leave on his own - and I wouldn't stop him. Everyone deserved to find their happiness, and I no longer had anything to give him to make him happy. I saw him tentatively step towards me as I offered him a seat next to me - he was slowly beginning to realize how shattered I was. While his euphoria of having me back in his life was present, he would try to anticipate when and what I needed. When it evaporates, so will his desire to be around me. He will not be able to undo my past and my pain and will grow tired eventually. This will be the second time he chooses himself and this time I will not judge him; I will be ready for it. I was misleading him at this very moment, feeding our shared delusion that we could have any kind of future together. Our time was up, but I was still the only one who knew it. I had let the little selfish voice in my head grab the reins. Which had led to my desire to kiss him, to see what feelings this would bring in me, how far we could go before we destroyed each other - it appeared we were still at the beginning of a battle with a predetermined end.

His lips were soft, but unlike our first kiss, there was nothing innocent about this one, and their softness was lost in the urgency with which he captured my mouth. Lando wasted no time and slid his right hand behind my neck, pulling my face closer as if there was any more space left. His left arm went around my waist and in one swift motion, pulled me to him. His tongue invaded my mouth and began to caress mine. My skin was on fire, and the cool wind of the night couldn't do anything about it. I needed to take a breath, but Lando had a tight grip on me, and I could not get the much-needed air. His right hand was in my hair, looking for something to keep on to, and I used the moment to nibble on his bottom lip and secure my air accordingly. Lando growled, I had never heard such a sound come out of him and grabbing me with both hands, he shifted me on top, straddling him.

He held my waist with one hand and wrapped the other around my hair to pull my head sharply back. This gave him access to my neck and he began kissing the exposed skin under his lips. I searched for something to hold on to and put one arm around his neck, the other tangled in his curly hair pulling at the strands. Our breathing was rapid, and we were disturbing the silence of the night; I dearly hoped someone hadn't had the same idea as me and caught us here. I felt his erection beneath me and the pulling under my stomach intensified. I rubbed lightly along his length and Lando responded by swapping kisses on my neck with light bites. Each bite sent shivers to my core, and I suspected I wouldn't be able to hide the wetness gathering there. I bit my lip to control my moans and searched for any sanity left in me to tell him to stop.

Our lips found each other again, but our kisses were as ragged as our breathing. Lando slid both hands down my back and rested them on my ass, squeezing it and pulling me onto his clothed cock at the same time. I whimpered at the touch, but it only made him more ambitious, and he began to move under me, stimulating the spot. I wasn't even trying to control my moans anymore; I could feel my orgasm getting closer.

"Fuck, El, I can feel your wetness through all the fabric. Can I touch you there?"

I opened my eyes and looked at him - Lando was no less of a panting wreck than I was, there were beads of sweat on his forehead. His eyes looked at me with admiration and desire, their color black because of the scarce light. I wanted this moment with him. I nodded and his smile illuminated his face. Regardless of the situation, I chuckled at the sight.

In one well-practiced motion, his hand found the elastic of my shorts and his index finger began tracing shapes on the taut skin of my stomach "Do you have any special feelings about these shorts?"

The fog of my arousal dissipated because of the absurdity of his question at that moment, "Um, it's just clothes. Why are you ask...Lan!" I couldn`t finish my sentence and stared at him in disbelief as the sound of my shorts being ripped echoed in the silence.

I'd just sucked in a breath to give him a piece of my mind - how was I supposed to go home looking like this, but he sensed the impending storm and silenced my mouth with his own as his fingers caressed my vulva through the fabric of my thong.

I tried to focus on my anger, but Lando started biting my neck again. I suspected he was purposely leaving marks on me to indicate his territory - he must have heard about Jake. Men and their flaunting. We'd talk about it afterwards with him.

I hadn't realized when he'd moved my thong out of the way. Lando started stimulating my clit with his thumb, and I took advantage of his hand on my back to relax and indulge in the incredible sensation. My head hung back, I had my eyes closed and couldn't control my moaning.

His index finger found my opening and slid inside, facilitated by all the wetness. Lando began to study the place, making me squirm on top of him. "So wet, tender and tight. You're so fucking beautiful!"

I barely registered his words - I was completely focused on his fingers, which wouldn't stop stimulating me. I was on the verge of cumming and didn't know how he would react. As if reading my mind, I heard Lando say, "Come on El, cum around my fingers, I want to watch and hear you." With one final thrust of his finger into me, my orgasm flooded me, stronger than anything I'd felt before. My cries echoed, no longer caring if anyone heard or watched us. As I came down from my high, I heard Lando's quiet words, "Unbelievably beautiful…”

I dropped down on him, and he held me tight. I was waiting for the shameful feeling – I am half-naked, sitting on a guy and outside, surrounded by nature. However, nothing was happening.

We were finally quiet, both of us lost in thoughts about what we just did. After few minutes I moved back, to look at him and our eyes met each other, “I am not sure what happened, Lan, but it was amazing and…. well, also scary.”

He was studying my face very seriously and I was at a loss for words – was he regretting the moment we shared? Lando remained silent and I had no intention of apologizing or contemplating it. Nevertheless, it will be a long drive back to my place.

I sighed and broke the silence “We should go, it`s getting late.”

I tried getting up, but he wouldn`t let me move. Instead, he retrieved my stuff from the ground, put them in his pockets, got up, holding me in his embrace and started walking, with me attached to him like a monkey.

“Are you going to carry my naked ass all the way to the car?” I teased him, he chuckled, and with a giddy voice, answered, “I will carry your perfect naked ass to your place, if I can have my way. However, you wouldn`t be too pleased for once and I don`t want anyone gawking at the magnificence of it.”

Oh, him and his clever mouth! “So, what is your grand plan then?”

“Actually, it was your plan, and I am just following it.” he said and halt to a stop. I turned my head and saw my hoodie, hanging on the branch I left it on. Lando put me on my feet and without wasting time, I grabbed the oversized hoodie and slipped it on, hiding the loss of pants. Lando was smiling, trying to contain his laughter.

“I took the hoodie so if I get cold, I will have something to put on. It was not so you can get back at me for the dress texts by destroying the first piece of clothing you got your hands on.”

I tried to sound serious, but my voice cracked, and he noticed, “You know El, I was really irked with your comment regarding the dress, but what happened was waaaaayyyyyyy better. And I will take into consideration what you said – I am taking the ripped fabric of your shorts to put it as a token in my spank bank.”

Bastard, this is not over! “Can I have my phone back? We need the flashlight.”

He gave it back with all my stuff and I put the light on and started walking back to the parking lot with him behind me. We were walking for a while when he started talking “I saw your face back at the rock and you are wrong.”

I stopped and turned around to look at him “What are you talking about?”

“After what happened, you were looking at me hurt, like you thought I regretted it. You`re wrong – just wanted to put it out there so there will be no misunderstandings.”

I watched his face to look for any telltale muscle movements - there were none. “Then what was with the face?”

We never took our eyes off each other. He closed the distance between us and stood so close to me that I had to raise my head to be able to see him. "My face was like that because you said amazing but also scary. Why are you afraid? I don't ever want to cause fear in you, and I definitely don't want you to regret what happened. I had the most unforgettable night of my life, and I dearly hope it won't be the last. I know our relationship doesn't exactly have a name right now, but I'm not about to give up - even though you have a thing with another bloke."

I sighed and put a hand through the curly mess my hair has become during our make out session before answering him “It is not a thing. We have a friends with benefits arrangement that is remarkably loose in its core – at some point I thought we could be something more, but he manages to disappoint me on every step, I want someone who will choose me over and over again, every time. He is not that person. To clarify, I am not seeing anyone romantically and for the unforeseen future I plan to keep it that way.”

I purposefully left out the answer to his question – it was not the time, nor the place for that kind of conversation. I guess Lando got the memo, because he did not mention the absence of answer on my part but instead said “I guess I went out of my way, El – you will not like the way your neck will look like in the mirror.” he looked at his sneakers. Oh no!

“I knew it!!! How can you do this to me? Are you insane?” I fumed, turning around and stomping to my car, not bothering to slow down and wait for Lando.

He was running behind me, trying to keep up “I`m sorry, Eli! I got carried away.”

“This is not an excuse – in two days' time is my birthday, and I will look like a horny teenager tramp. The paparazzi will have no mercy.” I was angrier due to the fact that he thought this was alright for him to do, not by the sight of hickeys – I had enough makeup to hide thousands of them.

I unlocked my car and got in, contemplating leaving him outside to fend for himself. I looked at Lando, running to the Lambo – his eyes were pleading because he knew I was capable of driving away and letting him walk to Monaco. He stopped in front of the car, weighing his chances.

I sighed and rolled down my window “Get in, Norris, before I change my mind!”

Lando`s POV

August 13^th, 2023

We had already been in the car for 5 minutes and Eleonora had not said a word. She hadn't played any music either, which left me completely alone with my thoughts.

It was true that I had gotten carried away - I really had no intention of overstepping her boundaries. But I had absolutely no plans whatsoever of regretting what had happened - my fantasies with Eli were starting to become reality, and I'd be damned if this was the first and last time I'd ever be able to touch her like this. I could still feel the curves of her body against me, the taste of her lips on mine and the wetness of her arousal on my fingers. Eleonora responded to my every touch greedily and took everything I offered her and to this point I have never been happier to put someone else’s pleasure first and ignore my own. Watching her reach her climax made me feel proud - of myself and of her. With myself, that I was able to give such pleasure to this sensual creature I adored, and with her - that she was beginning to fight all that was tormenting her and was willing to give in to her desires.

I didn't know who the man was with whom she had a friends with benefits arrangement, but I had no doubt he was a fool - only an idiot would let Eli slip away from him. Moreover, I know it very well - I was that idiot to begin with.

I did not want our evening to end that way, so at the risk of getting cussed at I said, "Look, El, I'm really sorry about the hickeys. I promise to respect your boundaries if there's a next time of course."

Eleonora sneaked a peak at me, gave me a mischievous smile and her eyes went back to the road ahead when she said, “I hope you do, but very ambitious of you to think there will be a next time.”

I grinned, “Oh, I am really hoping there will be. It will be a shame to leave it at that.”

“I will definitely have another one tonight, so I am covered, thanks!” Eli said, smirking.

This was her punishment for me, and she knew exactly what she was doing “You are enjoying this torment, aren`t you, Eli?”

“I don`t know what are you talking about. I am being honest here, isn`t that what friends do?” she said, fake innocence oozing from her voice.

“You know perfectly well what I am talking about – this is you, getting back at me and knowing damn well you`re torturing my mind.”

“It was not my intention; however, I love the added bonus.” Eleonora answered, suppressing laughter.

"We can both play this game, Miss Kimbel."

She tutted before replying, "You don't know what you're getting yourself into. But if you want, we'll play - I never back down from a challenge."

“Neither do I.” I answered. This new side of her was refreshing and invigorating – I was impatient to begin the teasing.

The rest of the way until we got to our building we immersed in a comfortable silence. The rekindling of our friendship/relationship had caught me off guard - I didn't have a present for her birthday. Looking through her playlist earlier had given me a good idea, but I did not have any time left and didn't know if I'd be able to make it happen. I pulled out my phone and found my chat with Martin Garrix - he was the person who could help me.

Lando Norris: Hey, mate! What`s up?

Not two minutes had passed, and Martin had answered me.

Martin Garrix: Lando, my man! I am at a gig rn, but we can catch up in Monaco, I`ll be at Jimmy`z on Tuesday.

Lando Norris: U sure? Jimmy`z is not open Sunday through Tuesday.

Martin Garrix: I`m sure, man! Some hotshot chick has a birthday on Tuesday and Jimmy`z will be open for the party. I received an offer from her and wasn`t able to say no.

Lando Norris: Is her name by any chance Eleonora Kimbel?

Martin Garrix: Yeah, do you know her?

Lando Norris: She is the girl I told you about. Actually, I texted you for a favor for her birthday gift.

Martin Garrix: Good for you, man, she is gorgeous! What do you need?

Lando Norris: Can you arrange in two days’ time a…

“We are here, Lan.” Eleonora said and putting her things in the pockets of her hoodie, she exited the car.

As I was closing the passenger door behind me, I finished my text to Martin and sent it. Eli and I got in the elevator. “I want to walk you to your door, El, and then I will go home.” I said because she pressed 24 first.

“Thank you, Lando.” She replied, and after pressing 47, entered the code. Then she added, “The code to my place is 807130, if you want to visit.”

I smiled and answered “Thanks, El. I`ll try to remember it – I don`t want to climb any more stairs than necessary.” Eleonora chuckled at my statement.

Once we reached the penthouse, Eli hurried ahead of me, digging the front door keys out of her pockets. I stood two steps behind her, waiting obediently for her to unlock the door.

After she was ready, Eleonora left the door slightly ajar and turned to me, "No hug goodnight, Lando?"

I grinned and started to approach her, but Eli had other plans - she lunged at me and shoved me into the wall I'd been leaning against the day before as I hoped she'd open up the door to talk.

“What on earth?” was the only thing that went through my head before she crashed her lips against mine, holding my face in her hands. Her lips were persistent and demanding, moving hungrily on mine and I did not intend to deny her anything. Eleonora`s tongue sought refuge in my mouth and began to caress mine. Her hand reached down and tugged sharply at the collar of my t-shirt. There, Eli`s lips found the exposed skin and they began to dance over it, like the touch of a feather. I closed my eyes and let the incredible feeling wash over me. Eleonora shifted to biting the places she had been kissing until seconds ago, each bite alternating with her tongue caressing the bitten area. I was craving her touch for so long, night after night for years, imagining what it would feel like. Now, when everything was real, it was million times better that any fantasy I ever had. I did not know where this was going, but I was not going to protest about it – I wanted Eleonora so bad. Her hand that was holding my face started to descend painfully slowly across my abdomen until it stopped on my hard on.

“We did not have the time to take care of you.” Eli said seductively and I had to use all my strength not to lose it right here, right now.

She began stroking me through the fabric, sending shivers all over my body. I thought she was going to stop and that we were going to get into her place, but Eli had other ideas - shifting the elastic of my shorts and boxers, her hand rested on my cock. I opened my eyes sharply to look at her, and she returned my gaze and asked softly, "Do you like it?"

Swallowing hard, I barely managed to answer “yes” before Eleonora started pumping my member with her hand. I began to pant, and she relentlessly continued to guide me towards the finish, never stopping to tease my neck and collarbone with her tongue. I was on the edge, and I wasn't going to be able to last any longer. "El, I'm going to cum, would it not be better if we went inside?"

Eli slowed down and began to run her finger over the moisture that was gathered on my glans all along my length "Are you close, Lan?" she asked as she kept touching me.

"I'm on the very edge." I replied, closing my eyes again in delight.

A second later, I heard her say, "Great!"

Eleonora pulled her hand from my boxers, spun on her heel and before I knew what was happening, I saw her close the door in my shocked face with "I win the first game! Good night, Lando!" The door slammed and I heard her laughing as she walked away from the entrance.

I stood in her hallway ready to burst and being the definition of seduced and abandoned. I was going to fix my situation in the shower, which wouldn't be anywhere near what I was getting just seconds ago. Stepping into the elevator, I pulled out my phone and texted her.

Lando Norris: Good game, El! You won the first round, but this is far from over.

Eleonora answered almost immediately.

Eleonora Kimbel: I look forward to the next one. For the record – I will use the images from just now as I get myself off.

Lando Norris: I hope they will do you justice, El. I had an amazing night. See you later :*

Eleonora Kimbel: I will tell you next time. Sleep tight, Lan! ;)

Chapter Text

Eleonora`s POV

August 13^th, 2023

I was in my old house - why am I here, I sold this place so long ago? It was late, I was so tired from another long day at the company - my dad was overwhelming me with all sorts of cases, as if we didn't have hundreds of workers, we were paying handsomely precisely because of the need to take the burden of the workload away from us. I'd already put on my nightgown and turned off the ground floor lights and headed for the front door to lock it and set the alarm. Turning the last key, something prompted me to look outside the window before I pulled its heavy curtain and completely darkened the room. I shouldn't have looked, I knew it perfectly well, but my body refused to listen to my reason and despite the warning signals my brain was giving me, I moved closer to the glass. The lamps in the well-kept garden of my property glowed, dimly illuminating the large space and casting shadows all around its length. The wind swayed the branches of the trees and created an even more eerie feeling in me, like the stillness before a storm. I foresaw that something was going to happen, even though everything before my eyes contradicted that. It was like this wasn`t the first time I'd been right here, at this moment in time - too many people swore they'd experienced déjà vu for it to just be idle talk. I stubbornly stood at the window and watched the shadows play - one minute, two more minutes, another deep breath, another twitch of the big oak branch to my right...

I sighed one last time and reached for the rope holding the curtain closed - I was acting silly; my mind was playing tricks on me for I was completely alone. Smiling indulgently at my ridiculous behavior, I pulled the rope and released the curtain. I grabbed the end of it and began to pull it towards the other side of the large window. My gaze lingered outside for a split second and then I saw it, the dark silhouette hiding in the shadows. The blood became icy in my veins; he wasn't supposed to be here. He didn't move, and if it hadn't been for the small flame from his lit cigarette, he might have gone unnoticed. He started to walk painfully slowly towards the house until he came into the light and stopped. His dark, cold, almost inhumane eyes were staring at me, knowing they will bring to the surface the horror he sowed in me. My body started to shake uncontrollably, he came to extract his revenge and deep down I knew that this time I might not leave unscathed. He could see my fear and a menacing smile appeared on his face. He resumed his walk to the door, and I stumbled back. I`ve changed the locks and the alarm code, but he was unstable enough to break his way in. I searched for my phone in the darkness, my mind blank to where I put it. His heavy footsteps echoed on the porch and my heart was about to burst with the effort to keep up with the adrenaline coursing through my body. Blindly, I continued looking for my phone and cussed at my stupidity – I should always have the phone on me, being an idiot is what gets you in this type of situations. He banged on the door “Lion cub, oh, lion cub – open up, baby! I just want to talk.” For the life of me, I`m not opening the damned door. Couple of more bangs on the door followed “Lion cub, c`mon – you`re going to let me stand outside and not let me in?” His voice was still sweet, sickling sweet and I knew my time was running out. A notification on my phone lighted up its screen – I left it on the coffee table. I hurried to the other side of the big room and his voice came one last time from behind the front door “Well now, you leave me no choice.” The clash of his body towards the wood was the first second of the final countdown that has ensued. With trembling hands, I grabbed my phone to unlock it and call the police. Another hard bang on the wooden surface…I pressed the green button to dial 999…a third try on his part…” London police department, what is your emergency?” Fourth time – the door fell on the ground; the alarm went off and I only managed to say “There is a…” He slapped me across the face, and I lost my balance and fell down, hitting my shoulder on the table. He took the phone from the ground “I am terribly sorry; my daughter was playing with my phone…. Yes, I know, we will have a serious talk with her right now…Yes, thank you, have a nice evening.” I managed to get up and headed to the hole he left in my house. However, he was faster and so much stronger. He grabbed me on the edge of the porch stairs and tossed me back in as if I weighted nothing. “Where do you think you`re going, huh?” I found myself on the ground, my body aching in pain. My phone started ringing and he took it and answered “Hello…Yes, I am her boyfriend…We were meaning to call you, it`s false alarm, we are the only two people here…You can stop it from afar? It will be very much appreciated…” I tried to scream; maybe they will be able to understand that something is wrong in order to get me some help. He anticipated my moves and kicked me in the ribs. “Thank you again, goodnight!” I was trying to get up and move away, but he grabbed my hair and dragged me back to him. “Look what you`re making me do? You broke up with me and I respected your decision. But then, you cancel my credit card?” He was insane “That`s my credit card and I had every right to cancel it. You haven`t earned any of the money you spend.” This infuriated him – the blow of his fist sent me flying against the wall and my ears started to ring. The pain was not like anything I experienced before, and I felt a metallic taste in my mouth. “You shouldn`t deny me anything – I had to put up with you and your way of life for far too long. Always flaunting your fortune, making me feel like a pauper.” He crouched beside me and a second blow hit my eye – I just whimpered, didn`t want to give him the satisfaction of hearing me scream. “First thing in the morning you`re activating the card and if not…well…you`ll see.” My hurt eye was closing so I managed to look at him with just the one – he was lighting a cigarette, pulled on it two times and exhaled the smoke on me. “To make sure you would do exactly what I told you, let me give you a preview of what will happen if you do not comply.” He grabbed me and turned me on my stomach. I tried to resist, but I was weak from the beating and not nearly strong to begin with. I didn`t know what he was doing until I felt the heat on my left shoulder “Matthew, please don`t!” My screams echoed through the whole house, while he was laughing…

My terrified scream resonated in the room I was in and snapped me out of the nightmare. I was breathing heavily, swimming in sweat, trembling with fear and looking around like a mad woman until I realized I was safe in my bedroom in Monaco. Instinctively, I touched my left shoulder and felt the scar, hidden from all to see beneath the tattoo of a lion’s head, but painfully visible to me. I laid back down to calm my heart and steady my breathing. Looked at the clock on my nightstand – it was half past six. Ungodly hour but I wouldn`t be able to go back to sleep. I was just lying between the sheets thinking, that this was my first nightmare about him for over a year. Maybe my anxiety attack has triggered it, but why now and not on the night of the episode? Didn't want to go any deeper, thinking more about the monster from before, so even though I had only slept a few hours I decided that my day had already started, and I wasn't going to hide in my bed. Went through the bathroom in a hurry to get myself back to a reasonable state, threw on a set of workout clothes, blasted the music on my headphones and stuffing the essentials into a small sports bag on my right hip, I exited the building and started running. I could have used the building's gym, but I wanted to be outside - a big open space, that is what I needed at the moment. In addition, coffee, preferably a lot - I was going to take a route that would take me to “Starbucks”. Pleased with my plan and keeping a good pace, in a relatively short time I was at the entrance and the smell of coffee filled my nostrils and made me smile. Entering the coffee shop I got in line – there were just a few people before me, because it was still very early. Moving in the queue, I saw that my favorite barista was on duty – a pretty girl, named Chiara, who knew the regular orders of the coffee shop patrons and always knew what to say to brighten your day. It was my turn and as I approached the counter, Chiara saw me and giddily exclaimed “Eleonora, tu m'as manqué! Tu es très sexy, comme toujours. Un café latte ventilé, une dose extras d'espresso, du lait entier, ça vient tout de suite!” (Eleonora, I missed you girl! Looking smoking hot, like always. One venti latte, extra shot of espresso, whole fat milk coming right up!). Giggling, I replied “Merci, donnez-moi aussi un de ces biscuits au double chocolat! Je dois avouer que tu es radieuse et cette nouvelle coupe de cheveux, je l'adore.” (Thank you; give me one of these double chocolate cookies, too! I must confess that you are looking radiant and this new haircut - I love it.). I paid and gave her a tip – girls not hating on other girls deserved praising. We were chatting, while she gave me the cookie and prepared my drink. Taking my order and with a promise to visit the establishment again soon, I exited and sat on one of the outside tables. The delicious treat was gone in an instant. While enjoying the sunshine and warmth, I sipped on my latte and pulled out my phone to kill time. There was a message in the group chat with the girls from Izzy, it was from last night – she wanted to meet up and give us all the tea that went down on her date with Charles. Wrote a quick reply that we can go on my father`s yacht for the day and that I will call them when they should be ready. Scrolling through my notifications, I saw another unexpected message.

Max Verstappen: Hey, Eli! What`s up?

Regardless of what people say about him, Max was a really nice guy – not at all what the media painted him to be.

Eleonora Kimbel: Hey! I`m just enjoying a cup of coffee in peace.

Max Verstappen: Sounds good – peace is a luxury we rarely are able to afford. I heard you`re in Monaco.

Eleonora Kimbel: You heard correct! :D

Max Verstappen: I am hosting a karaoke night at my place – it`s a regular thing when I`m home. Would you like to join us? You can take you friends with you and Kelly`s been bugging me that she wants to see you.

Eleonora Kimbel: Thank you for the invitation and I must add - just Kelly? I am deeply offended. ;)

Max Verstappen: You know that`s not what I meant. :D Are you in? Charles will be there, Carlos and his girlfriend Rebecca, a couple of my and Kelly`s friends with their spouses. Lando and Fewtrell are invited too, but both of them said they`ll think about it.

Eleonora Kimbel: Give me a minute Max, I`ll get back to you.

I opened up the group chat – the girls were not online given the hour; however, I was about to wake them up. I hit the call button and after five signals, Ana picked up “Morning, Eli. I just saw the messages – should I get ready?”

“Morning! Not just yet, I am calling to ask if you want to go to Max`s karaoke night, it`s tonight.”

“I don`t mind, but I have questions.”

I was about to ask what those questions are, but Izzy joined the group call “Eleonora, this better be good, given the hour.”

Ana and I laughed at the grumpy statement “Girl, it is. Max invited us to his place for karaoke and Charles is going – you in?”

There was some shuffling, then a thud and Izzy shrieked in the microphone, making my ears bleed “We are definitely going! What should we bring, but most importantly – what are we going to wear?”

“We will talk later, I`ll call you.” I said, hanging up.

Eleonora Kimbel: We will be delighted to attend. What time and what should we bring? Also, an address would be nice. ;)

Max Verstappen: Eight o`clock. No need to bring anything, unless you have something very specific you want to eat or drink. I`ll text you the link to the building in maps in a minute.

Eleonora Kimbel: Alright, looking forward to tonight! See you later, Max! :)

---------------------------

The girls and I were lounging on the deck chairs of “Angela”, my parents' yacht. Izzy and Ana were a little further back, hidden from the sun. I, however, loved feeling the heat of it on my skin and was stretched out like a cat, soaking up as much warmth as I possibly could. John was holed up inside, in the shade, and had a perfect view of us through one of the windows. I turned on my stomach, put my sunglasses on my head and looked straight at Isabella “Enough of this bestie – spill it.” Ana immediately changed position, lounging on her side towards Izzy. We were eager to hear what has happened and Isabella knew it perfectly well. She was moving intentionally slow – sitting up, flipping her blonde hair behind her shoulder, having a sip of her iced tea. “Oh, c`mon!” I groaned and Izzy started laughing. “You want to know how my date went?” she asked innocently. “YES!!!” Ana and I exclaimed in unison.

“It was amazing! Charles brought me this huge bouquet with roses and lilies and took me to “Salle Empire”. He was opening every door so I can enter before him, pulled my chair at the table for me to sit – I though this kind of behavior is dead and gone, only to be found in movies and books. Charles eyes never left mine when I talked; he was genuinely interested in everything I was willing to share. But get this…” While Isabella continued with her story, I was looking at her, smiling – she was happy and glowing. I couldn`t remember a time in the past when she was so hyped after a first date with a guy. Leclerc knew what he was doing, and I dearly hope, for his own sake, that he will not mess up.

After Izzy finished her story and we expressed our delight with the mandatory squealing, fanning on our faces with or hands and sighing longingly, I braced myself and opened my mouth “I have to confess something.” Both of them turned their heads my way, but only Isabella spoke “What do you mean, Eli?” Taking a deep breath, I started telling them what went down the night before. With every passing word, Ana`s face features displayed more and more concern. Izzy, however, was mad. After I stopped talking, there was silence for a few seconds – I knew they won`t judge, still, I didn`t want to disappoint them. Isabella broke the tension “Norris is really getting on my last nerve – first he is at your place, demanding of you to hear his moronic apology, then he is the trigger of an anxiety episode. Moreover, he refuses to leave. After that – possessive text messages, showing how stupid he actually is. And now this – not leaving you alone, showing up without being invited or wanted and being petty, when an opportunity presents itself. I salute you for taking what you could and for teaching him a lesson but mark my words – this little game you both started, he will do anything in his power to win. Eli, you mustn`t back down! Ana and I will help you any way we can, just say the word. Lando wants you back, would not stop at anything to have you. You are the strongest person I know, make sure you show him he can`t fuck around with Eleonora Kimbel – she is not the naïve little girl he remembers. Put him on his knees, make him squirm!” After this, I was on my feet, smiling from ear to ear and embracing Izzy in a hug. She was holding me tight, as always, not letting go until I was ready and whispered in my ear “Don`t make it easy on him, bestie.” I giggled, a few moments have passed before I pulled away and said, "Time to head to the penthouse to get my things for tonight, and then we'll position ourselves in one of the two hotel rooms to get ready. I'll send John to get a bottle of “Château Haut-Brion Pessac-Léognan - Premier Grand Cru Classé” and have one of the drivers ready to take us to Max`s place." The girls went to get dressed and to take their things while I got inside to talk to John.

Lando`s POV

August 13^th, 2023

The more time went by, the more I wound myself up given what had happened the night before with Eli - she was definitely in the lead in the results, and during the day, I thought about how I could return the favor. I was lounging on the bed in my bedroom, twirling the fabric that had been Eleonora's pants until last night in my hands, and smiled involuntarily - her demeanor was refreshing and brought a thrill to my monotonous personal routine that I had never experienced before. The whole cat and mouse game, the supremacy struggle and flirting made me want to obsess over all her free time, but of course, I shouldn't. That is why I hadn't texted her today - I wanted her to contact me first. Martin had done a brilliant job with the gift for Eli, and I couldn't wait to give it to her. That and a hard workout were my only tasks for the day, and finishing them, I decided I would stream with Max. Verstappen had invited us to karaoke, but I did not have much motivation to go, and it was already past eight in the evening, so I would visit him another time. I got out of bed and headed for the kitchen - I wanted to have dinner before Max and I started the stream. I was just finishing my salad and the most tasteless chicken I`ve ever eaten when my phone buzzed. Took it from the table and had a look – Verstappen has posted a picture on Instagram. I opened the photo - the smiling faces of Max, Kelly, Penelope and Eleonora were looking back at me. Eli was holding Penelope in her arms, and the little miss had her arms stretched behind Eleonora's head, hugging her. The caption read: Karaoke night with the most special ladies; @maxverstappen1 with @kellypiquet and @eleonorakimbel.

My plans for the evening took a turn in a completely different direction. I rushed into the bathroom to take a quick shower and brush my teeth. While the water was running, I thought I heard Max shouting something outside the door, but I didn't have time to talk to him now. Stepping out of the shower, I hurriedly squeezed the water out of my hair and dried it with the hair dryer to bring the frizzy mess into some sort of order. After I finished in the bathroom, I went into the walk – in closet to pull out a pair of pants and a shirt, both black. I put on my watch, bracelets, sprayed on deodorant and perfume and was ready to go out. Walking past Max's room I called out, "I'm going out Muppet." As I was filling my pockets with my phone, keys and wallet, Max appeared and tartly asked, "Where are you going?" I walked past him down the hall to the door "I told you; I'm heading out." As I was putting on my shoes, he walked towards me and stopped in front of the door, turning his back on it. I got up and stared at him and he was looking at me, visibly mad “This is a third night in a row you`re out and about.” I rolled my eyes “What is your problem, Max? Are you holding me accountable for something? You`re not my mother, I don`t owe you any kind of reporting of my doings!” His hands clenched in a fist, and I cocked my eyebrow – what has gotten into him? Max took a step sideways, leaving the door free for me to exit “You`re right, no explanation needed.” He went in, turning in the corridor, probably heading for his room. Well, that was weird I thought to myself when I left my apartment and went to take my car to Verstappen`s.

----------------------------

Despite the traffic, I managed to get to Max's house a little after 9 o'clock. The valet nodded as soon as he saw me get out of the car. I tossed him the keys and headed for the entrance of the building. As I entered the lobby, the concierge on duty stepped towards me "Good evening Mr. Norris. Are any of the residents expecting you?" I smiled at the question - most of us Formula 1 drivers insisted on maintaining discretion and wanted our private lives to remain that way. Which was why no one could freely go in and out of the buildings where we lived. We had a list of regular visitors and ones that we drew up when events were organized by us. I hoped Max hadn't updated the attendee list after I declined his invitation. "Mr. Max Verstappen is expecting me." The concierge stood behind the computer at the front desk, tapped the keys on the keyboard a few times and looked at me, "You're free to come in. Have a nice evening, Mr. Norris!" I thanked him and headed for the elevator. Reaching Max`s door, I pressed the bell, hoping I would be heard despite the noise coming from inside the apartment. After a few seconds, the front door opened, and a giggling Max appeared. Seeing me, his face took on a serious expression, "What are you doing here, Lando?" What a warm welcome this is "Did you forget you invited me?" I asked, a slight smile on my face. He chuckled "I didn't, but you said you weren't coming. Not to mention what time it is. Come in mate." I went inside, the door closing behind me. Walking towards the noise, Verstappen said, “I reckon a certain picture changed your mind.” My lips curved into a smile as I halt to a stop while inside the huge room when everyone was gathered – my eyes immediately found her. Eleonora was on the sofa, surrounded by toys, engrossed in the game she was playing with Penelope. I was just admiring the beautiful sight when I heard Max near me “Yeah, that`s what I thought. Try not to be a douchebag, for once.” I punched his shoulder and went further in to greet Kelly and everyone else after that. After exchanging a few words with Kelly and Max's friends, I headed over to Carlos and Charles. Approaching them, my joy evaporated - besides Rebecca, Ana and Izzy were there. They did not look happy to see me, especially Isabella. While the two Ferrari drivers engaged me in conversation, Izzy and Ana were whispering something to each other. Isabella nodded and Anastasia headed across the room, towards Eleonora. Carlos was still yapping something to me, but I didn't register his words anymore, all my attention was fixed on Eli who was now watching and listening to Ana's words. She tore her gaze from Anastasia and her eyes found me instantaneously. I couldn't judge her expression well from a distance, but she didn't look angry. A small smile touched her lips, and she winked at me. Her attention returned to Penelope, and I decided it was time to head over to them. Isabella had other ideas though, "Well, well, well, Norris. To what do we owe the displeasure of your visit?" I wasn't going to remain indebted to her "To the same thing I owe my own at the sight of you - an invitation from Max." Izzy gritted her teeth and Charles moved his eyes from her to me and back "Do you know each other?" he asked, turning to Isabella. She looked at me viciously "My acquaintance with Lando goes way back. We used to hang out in the same crowd until he decided it wasn't worth the effort anymore. Now he's trying to move in again, but if I were him, I wouldn't have high hopes." I guess we won`t patch things up anytime soon “This is none of your business, Isabella.” I gritted through my teeth. She snorted at my answer “You are way out of line Norris, I suggest you back off.” The tension between us was about to break into a fight and I was contemplating if she hits me can I hit her back. Miraculously, Eleonora and Anastasia showed up, making the tension dissipate. Eli was holding two glasses, handing me the one “You look like someone that needs a drink. Yours has no alcohol, however. I suspect you will be driving later.” We smiled at each other, and I took the glass from her hands. “Thanks, El.” Eleonora then proceeded “The nanny took Penelope, it`s her bedtime. I guess Max will crank up the music soon. So, what were you guys talking about?” Nobody said a thing, but Carlos, the insufferable Muppet, started to chuckle “Isabella was just telling us, in her own way, how Lando is an idiot.” Everyone started laughing, while Eli sipped from her cup, eyeing me over the edge of the glass. Other conversations sprouted after that, and everyone joined in on our little circle. Charles and Izzy were looking like they were hitting off pretty well – I guess she was his date yesterday. I didn`t understand what he sees in her, but to each their own, even though I thought she was the devil with a blonde wig.

“Alright people, karaoke time!” Kelly shouted and we moved to the center of the room. I sat on the sofa, but Eli went for a chair at the table. Max was setting up the machine, turning on the huge flat screen and connecting a laptop with a playlist, plus four microphones. When he was ready, he addressed us all with "Who will be first?" Carlos jumped up from his seat "Me, of course!" We all groaned in unison, and the three girlfriends looked at us strangely. I sighed, looking at Eli "Every karaoke night Carlito here sings first, always Macarena and we're a bit fed up." The girls laughed and as Max started the machine, Carlos said into the microphone "You don't understand anything, this is the coolest song to start the night, and they haven't been before, so it'll be a new experience for them. Prepare to be blown away." The song started and everyone began to clap to the sound. After the devastatingly poorly sung song, most of the guests decided to join in, going through a wide variety of songs. Including Isabella and Anastasia - Ana, like me, couldn't sing a note properly. Izzy did more than well though, which annoyed me - I wouldn't be able to tease her for sounding like a dying seal. My eyes often moved to Eleonora - she seemed to be enjoying herself, opening her mouth in time to the words of most songs, but showing no desire to get up and sing. Which gave me a brilliant idea - I got up from my seat and walked over to her, crouched down and quietly said "Rematch in our little game?" Eli smirked "Okay, I'll bite - what's your idea?" It would be an easy win - I couldn't sing, but I was used to singing at these gatherings. Unlike Eleonora - she was clearly out of place, I'd never heard her really sing, which led me to believe she wasn't good at it at all. It was time to even the score "Karaoke - you pick a song for me and vice versa. The better of the two of us gets a point." Her expression turned serious as she considered my offer "I'm not enthralled by what you offered, but I'll take the challenge. You got a deal!" Eli said, holding out her hand for us to shake. I took her small hand in mine and after the handshake, I stroked it lightly with my thumb. Eleonora pulled hers away from mine "You're getting carried away, Lan. By the way, since we didn't specify it - you get to sing first." I snickered, "Okay, come pick a song." We both headed over to Max who was by the laptop. Eli leaned over and started looking through the playlist, simultaneously discussing something with Verstappen. As I waited my eyes landed on Isabella - she watched me intently, then shook her head, disappointed. As if I cared in the least what she thought. "I'm ready, Lando." Eli said and pulled to the side to make room for me to pick a song. I leaned in, wanting to see what she picked for me: Fergie – “Clumsy”. Wow, she definitely wants to bury me "Two of us can play this game, El." I said as I picked what she was going to sing. Eleonora looked at the screen, nodded, and pulled away from the makeshift stage. I took the microphone and turned with my back to everyone. The song required a certain coquettishness that I was going to try to recreate. I pulled my shirt out of my pants, undid the bottom three buttons, and tied the two ends of the shirt in a knot above my belly button. I turned abruptly and began to pace to the first tones of the song. Everyone started to whoop, and looking out at the audience, Eleonora stuck two fingers in her mouth and whistled, cat calling me like a trucker.

First time that I saw your eyes
Boy, you looked right through me, mmm, mmm
Played it cool, but I knew you knew
That cupid hit me, mmm, mmm

Continuing with my singing, which was closer to howling, everyone was on their feet - some dancing, others just laughing at my public embarrassment.

You know, this ain't the first time this has happened to me
This "love sick" thing
I like serious relationships and, uh
A girl like me don't stay single for long

“LIES!!!”  Max shouted, bursting into a new round of laughter. I was trying to contain mine, looking for the only person that can ground me at any given moment. El was staring, eyes shining and then she blows me a kiss. The win of this particular challenge – I was already tasting it.

You got me trippin' (Oh), stumblin' (Oh), flippin' (Oh), fumblin'
Clumsy 'cause I'm fallin' in love (In - in, love - love)
You got me slippin' (Oh), tumblin' (Oh), sinkin' (Oh), crumblin'
Clumsy 'cause I'm fallin' in love (In - in, love - love)
So in love with you

The song came to an end and after a bow on my part, I was sent off by the applause and laughter of Max's guests. I walked the short distance to Eleonora and stood in front of her "It's not too late to quit." She grunted "How am I going to top you, your highness?" Laughing evilly, she headed for the machine. What was that? While I waited for El to start singing, Izzy came by and stood beside me. “You know Lando you manage to astonish me with your retardation every time.” Why is she always here? “What do you want Isabella?” She eyed me “To tell you that you have no idea what you are doing. You are not winning this game, let`s face it – you`re not even winning races, even though you should be fairly good at it. And now this – you think you can shame Eleonora?” Is she for real? “It`s all good fun, Isabella. I will never do anything intentionally to hurt Eli.” A smile appeared on her face “For your sake, I hope this is true.” The song that I chose Pink – “Hustle” started, and we turned towards the sound.

I gave you soft, I gave you sweet
Just like a lion you came for sheep
Oh no, don't try to hustle me
You took my love, mistook it for weakness
I guarantee I won't repeat this
No, don't try to hustle me

What the fuck??? Eleonora can sing – how did I not knew this? Izzy giggled “Oh yeah, one more thing – Eli can sing. I hope you are not a sore loser.” Isabella moved towards Charles, hyping up Eleonora. I returned my attention to this incredible creature – what more is there to know about her, what is she still hiding?

So don't hustle me (whoop whoop)
Don't hustle me (whoop whoop)
Don't fuck with me (whoop whoop)
Don't hustle me (whoop whoop)

El was moving perfectly to the music, not sneaking a peak at the screen – she knew the lyrics. There was no shyness to her demeanor, just enjoying the song – her love for music hadn`t changed, at least this I knew. Her eyes found mine and I felt she was singing each word directly at me:

'Cause it won't do no good at all to say you're sorry now
Your words, they are falling on deaf ears
It won't do no good at all to try to work it out
How can you replace all these years?
So now you've gone and thrown away
The very thing you need
Bitch please, don't try to hustle me

I felt called out, in addition to losing the game, yet again. Once the noise finally died down, Eli approached me with a smug smile, "I don't think it's necessary, but I'll ask anyway - which one of us wins, Norris?" I sighed heavily "I can't blame anyone but myself, so you win Miss Kimbel." Her joyful laughter was infectious and despite losing, I joined in. "You deserve a point for your artistic performance. I should add it was hot too." Did Eleonora just call me hot? I was about to ask her, but the phone in her hand started ringing. She looked to see who was calling, smiled and said, "Will you excuse me for a moment, Lando?" Eli went to the sofa to pull out the vape from her purse and headed for the balcony. The door did not close fully – my curiosity got the best of me, so I followed her. Stepping quietly outside, I saw her grab the railing, her back rigid. Whatever the conversation was, El was not thrilled. I remained quiet, listening “What the fuck you`re trying to say, Jake? .... No, you don`t get to do this again! .... You`ve known for months, said you took few personal days for my birthday in Monaco…. I don`t care even if the whole fucking company is falling apart! .... I`m not being selfish – I ask this one thing of you and again, you choose something else instead of me…. Don`t try to manipulate me – I specifically asked you yesterday and you said that there is no way you will miss it…. Shut up! I don`t have time or desire to listen to your pathetic excuses anymore – the arrangement we had, terminated! …. Enough, Jacob! I am so done with you!” Eleonora turned rapidly and our eyes locked. I took a step towards her, but she remained at her spot. “Don`t make me laugh – there is no future for us. However, I may be looking at mine now. Goodbye, Jacob!” Eli hung up, her eyes never leaving mine. “Are you alright, El?” A sob escaped her lips, but there were no tears in her sad eyes. “Just perfect.” she said, her voice almost a whisper when she continued, “Can I have a hug?” I was at her side in an instant, embracing her “I know that you probably wouldn`t want to talk right now, or at all, but he is an imbecile…” she chuckled “…and I will beat him up, with or without your approval.” Another chuckle escaped her lips. Eleonora pulled away, staring in the dark distance. I wanted to ask so much what she meant with her last sentence – alas, I did not dare to disturb the comfortable silence. Eli returned her gaze to mine “You know El, I`ve always adored the color of your eyes. The emerald green is exceptional in this dim light.” Eleonora smirked “You`re a scoundrel and a thief, Norris.” I snickered, my hand caressing her delicate face “Is it working, though?” Eli rolled her eyes “Shut up and kiss me already!” I obliged immediately.

Chapter Text

Eleonora`s POV

August 14^th, 2023

I was writhing in bed and couldn't find a place in the large space. I lay on my back again and stared at the shadows on my bedroom ceiling. The nothingness I was sinking into as I fell asleep escaped me - the icing on the cake of a disgusting end to an otherwise beautiful evening. Huffing, I pushed the sheet off me and stomped my feet, heading for the medicine cabinet in my bathroom. Flicking on the lights, I opened the door abruptly and began rummaging around inside, knocking over any packaging in the process. I was too frantic to care. I finally found what I was looking for - sleeping pills. I hardly used them anymore, but my therapist kept writing me a prescription for them in case I needed them. Smart woman! I popped the cap, grabbed two of them, and tossed the bottle on the counter by the sink. Holding them like a treasure in my grasp, I exited the bathroom and headed for the water bottle on my nightstand. I put them in my mouth and quickly washed them down with three big gulps of water. It would be a little while before I felt sleepy and grabbing my robe from the armchair I had thrown it on, I put it on, grabbed the water bottle, my vape and my phone and stepped out onto my balcony. The cool air immediately enveloped my face, and I left my things on the coffee table and sat down on one of the chairs surrounding it. I pulled out of the vape and sighed softly - I just wanted to be happy. I kept giving, and all I got in return was bitter disappointment. I grabbed the phone off the coffee table - I had 18 missed calls, 6 voicemails and 31 text messages from Jacob. I had no intention of dealing with Jake anymore - this was the final straw in our precarious relationship. An urgent problem had arisen that only he could solve - what proverbial nonsense! As if an IT specialist could not work remotely. He just wouldn't bother when it came to me - it was only the latest occurrence in a year and half of him making conscious choices not involving me. He had weighed his chances and concluded he could keep trampling on top of me. And had the insolence to talk about our future - what a tasteless joke. I didn't want a future where I couldn't rely on the person next to me - I was no longer the fool, eager to experience love at any cost. It was a shame that we probably ruined our friendship too, but it was a risk we both took with clear knowledge of the possible consequences. It was good while it lasted. Deleting the voicemails without listening to them and the text messages without reading them, I unconsciously opened my chat with Lando. I didn't like how I treated him because of my anger towards Jacob – for once, he did not deserve it.

Eleonora Kimbel: I`m terribly sorry for what I said earlier – I was way out of line.

I didn't expect an answer given the hour. I behaved like a complete bitch and idiot: I was furious, and this kiss gave me a glimpse into a future long lost and buried. A future where Lando hadn't left and all the shit that happened afterwards had not occurred. He was to blame - for everything. He was here now, but it was too late. Pulling away from him sharply, I hissed through my teeth, "You must be enjoying what just transpired." Lando looked up at me, his eyes showing complete confusion, "What are you talking about, Eli?" I scoffed "Do not pretend that you don't understand. You immediately took advantage of the fact that I'm vulnerable right now. Not to mention that you came out to eavesdrop on my private conversations - you completely outdid yourself!" Lando took a step back, but even though I could see the pain in his eyes, I wasn't about to stop "You win, Norris! You've been stalking me for days; you've made it clear what you want. Moreover, things have lined up in your favor - what are you waiting for? You can keep taking advantage of me, now is the time - I've been drinking and I'm hurting." Lando swallowed hard and quietly said, "You're angry right now, and rightly so, I'm convinced. We'll talk when you've calmed down." What a pompous prig, "Did you just bloody mansplained to me mine own emotions?" He stuttered “What??? No! What I meant was…” I did not let him finish his sentence “Geez thanks Norris. Would`ve been lost without you and your guidance.” I turned around and headed inside, starting to call John, when Lando grabbed my hand and pulled it. I spun, looking menacing at him “Let go of me, Norris!” He didn`t move “No, Eleonora. You are not leaving in this state – please, talk to me.” I did not want this sympathy and genuine concern – it will bring me new, fresh pain in the future and I couldn`t risk it. Because of that, I found his eyes before saying “You can let go now, Lando – shouldn`t be too hard given you have previous experience.” He dropped my hand instantaneously, as if it burned his own. “Yeah, that`s what I thought.” With this final sentence, I left the balcony.

Entering the room, phone to my ear, Isabella and Anastasia immediately appeared on either side of me, sensing that something was wrong. "John, we're ready to go." After confirming that the car would be at the address in 10 minutes, I disconnected the call and headed over to the racers and their spouses. "Max, Kelly, we had a great time, thanks again for the invite. The girls and I will be leaving - I have to meet my guests tomorrow and I want to be able to get out of bed." No one sensed my anger bubbling under the mask I was so used to putting on that it could have passed for my real face - they all laughed at my joke, drowning in ignorance. Then I continued, "I'd love to see all of you at Jimmy'z on the 15th to celebrate my growing up together." After a few minutes of chatting, John rang to say he was waiting for us in the lobby. Saying goodbye to everyone, my eyes swept the large space - Lando hadn't entered the room since our altercation earlier. Entering the elevator with the girls, I turned to them, anticipating their questions "Girls, I don't feel like talking right now. I'll tell you tomorrow." None of them pressed me for information, for which I was eternally grateful - I needed to collect my thoughts before discussing anything.

Hours after all that went down at the gathering, I was still thinking how bad I handled the situation. Unfortunately, there was nothing more to be done. Sighing and taking one last drag from the vape, I gathered my things and went back into my bedroom. Soon enough, I was going to be sleepy, but to kill time, I made the decision to do some reading. Some of my books were on the first floor, so I stepped into the half-lit hallway and headed for the stairs. I moved quietly and slowly, as if I had anyone to bother in the empty penthouse. Taking the last steps, I headed first to the kettle to heat water for the herbal tea that was part of my nightly reading ritual. With the kettle on the stove, I took the short distance to my improvised library and eyed the titles available to me. I also had my Kindle at my disposal, which I didn't go anywhere without, but as long as I had a choice, I always chose a paperback book because of the feeling of turning the pages, the smell of paper and ink - it couldn't be compared to anything else. My eyes landed on Glenn Cooper's Library of the Dead - I had been procrastinating starting the trilogy, but my mood was set for a thriller, so before I could change my mind, I pulled the book from its place and picked up one of my bookmarks, which I kept handy in a vase on one of the shelves. The kettle whistled, informing me that the water was ready. Once my tea was prepared, I positioned myself on one of my couches, leaving my mug and phone on the coffee table. The steam from the teacup rose slowly, causing me to sigh with contentment as I took my eyes off it and opened the book.

I started yawning after the end of chapter four. I slid the bookmark into the book and reached toward my cup for the last sip of tea. My phone lit up on the table and my hand remained frozen halfway to my face. I glanced at the screen - it was a motion notification outside my front door. By the time I reached for the phone, I had already mentally told Lando to go fuck himself ten times. I opened the program, and my irritation evaporated, making room for the fear and the feeling of being unsafe – Max Fewtrell was on my floor.

I held my breath, watching his movements as if he could hear my breathing through the door. He was wearing jeans and a T-shirt – both black, looking around the floor, specifically the corners where one would put cameras. He is not here to exchange pleasantries I thought to myself as I watched him smile wickedly, in his blissful ignorance that if the cameras weren't visible then they weren't there. He approached my door and pushed the handle, checking to see if it was locked. Grumbling, I heard him say, "I hoped she was stupid enough to leave it unlocked, she doesn't have cameras installed after all." I didn't know what to think - what was he doing at my door at this time? I stared at him, bringing the frame closer to his face. I knew that look; I'd encountered it before - pure and unadulterated hatred. I pulled the frame back, as if the full picture would give me some answers. Max had one last look around, took two steps back, and squatted beside one of my tables with flowers in the hallway, fumbled in his pocket, then slipped the same hand under the table. He rose and headed for the emergency exit.

I stood still as my brain registered the footage I'd seen seconds before. I'd always known he didn't like me, but the hatred written on his face... I couldn't think of anything I'd done to provoke it. My drowsiness was already dead and buried, it was like I hadn't taken any pills. I got up and headed to the dining table to get my laptop. Logging in, I immediately downloaded and backed up the footage. Whatever Fewtrell had come up with, it wasn't good, and it was important evidence of his presence tonight. Because of where he chose to stick his hand, I suspect it was a listening device - the corner is not suitable for a camera. But what was he trying to find? It can't be at all that Lando sent him - he'd come to pester me to death while I listened to whatever he had to say. The only two logical options are that either someone is paying him for his services, or Max has an ulterior motive of his own. Unfortunately, I only had the puzzle piece from this evening. Even more so I hadn't seen the picture on the lid of the box and had no idea what it was supposed to look like in the end. The first thing I'm going to do in the morning is call John to come over and discuss how we're going to proceed - I didn't want to bother him now. And second... I looked at the table - my phone vibrated. My hand trembled when I reached for it. Unlocking it, I exhaled relieved. It was a reply to my previous message to Lando.

Eleonora Kimbel: I`m terribly sorry for what I said earlier – I was way out of line.

Lando Norris:  Accepted 😊 And there was some truth in ur words.

Eleonora Kimbel: What do you mean?

Lando Norris: Well, I was eavesdropping. Only because I was concerned, cuz the conversation seemed to stress u out.

Eleonora Kimbel: Yeah, you are not wrong there. Thank you for looking out for me. Also – why are you not sleeping???

Lando Norris: I was asleep!

Eleonora Kimbel: You are not making any sense, Lan. Are you sleepwalking? Or in this case – sleeptexting me? :D

Lando Norris: Haha, very funny El. Something startled me, and I woke up.

Did he hear Fewtrell? Should I say something? Let`s see…

Eleonora Kimbel: Something?

Lando Norris: Yes. It sounded like the front door. However, as I went to investigate, I saw Max eating in the kitchen.

How convenient – going straight to a place where you can make a lot of noise and no one will question it.

Lando Norris: It`s not uncommon for him to eat at any hour of the day and night. But still, it was weird.

Eleonora Kimbel: How so?

Lando Norris: He was dressed like… cuz of lack of a better comparison, like he was just outside.

Eleonora Kimbel: Maybe he was outside? I mean, he is a grown man, he doesn`t have a curfew.

Lando Norris: That`s just it – why would he be outside? Pietra is staying over.

Eleonora Kimbel: Pietra is his girlfriend?

Lando Norris: Yes.

This is good news – Lando noticed something is off. I will screenshot the chat when we are done talking. Maybe I will need it in the future.

Eleonora Kimbel: Maybe he was fetching something for her. Or…and hear me out – they are into kinky stuff, and he just sucks at being stealthy? :D

Lando Norris: OMG, no! Please, I don’t want to imagine it!

Eleonora Kimbel: You are so vanilla :D

Lando Norris: Hey, I am not!!! I just don’t want to know what they are into.

Eleonora Kimbel: Hate to break it to you, but given the location you found him and the hour… he was looking for ice cream or squirty cream :D

Lando Norris: Eleonora, stop! This is not helping! :D

Eleonora Kimbel: But it’s funny. I can practically see your flustered cheeks at this moment :D

Lando Norris: Shut up… Btw, why are you not sleeping?

He deserves the whole truth…However, it is too soon to tell him everything – me and John need to discuss the course of actions regarding Fewtrell. Half of it will do for now. When the time comes, I dearly hope Lando will understand. I started typing…

Eleonora Kimbel: I felt really bad about what I told you earlier.

Lando Norris: El, it’s fine, really. You should be able to rest now.

I sighed and typed what I felt. But then I changed my mind and erased it. I guess Lando saw, because then he texted:

Lando Norris: There is more than that, isn’t there? What were you gonna text?

Eleonora Kimbel: Well... I decided to read hoping to get sleepy in the process. But suddenly I felt scared and unsafe.

Lando Norris: What???

Eleonora Kimbel: I shouldn’t bother you with this, it’s silly. Sorry.

Lando Norris: Eli, you are not bothering me. Do you know why you felt that way?

Yes, I wanted to say but then I will have to explain more, and I wasn’t ready. We were silent for a few minutes when Lando finally wrote:

Lando Norris: I`m coming up.

Eleonora Kimbel: I am fine, Lan. There is no need for that.

Lando Norris: There is every need for that. I am already dressed – meet you in five!

Eleonora Kimbel: Lando, why are you so stubborn??? Get back to bed, we will talk in the morning.

An unread message - of course he's going to rush over without a second thought. I sighed and got up from the couch, shortening the distance to the large window in the room. My gaze swept over the nighttime Monte Carlo, searching for something that would tell me what to say or not say to the Formula One racer who was currently trotting over with all the concern that was a given in our past. I couldn't tell him about Max. Despite our differing perceptions of him, he is still Lando's closest friend, and a hasty decision would not lead to positive results. I couldn't lie to his face either, he'd know right away. Still wandering in my confused thoughts, the phone vibrated in my hand. A motion notification and a message:

Lando Norris: I`m outside.

I felt a mix of emotions: relief, anxiety, and a hint of hope. I took a deep breath and opened the door to find Lando standing in the hallway, his eyes locked on mine with a gentle concern. "Hey," he said softly, his voice a balm to my frazzled nerves. I felt a lump form in my throat as I stepped aside, allowing him to enter. The room seemed smaller with him in it; the air charged with a different kind of tension. "Thanks for coming," I managed to say, my voice barely above a whisper. Lando's eyes never left mine as he walked closer, his movements deliberate and calm. "I'm here," he said, his words a simple promise. In that moment, all I felt was a sense of safety that washed over me, a feeling I hadn't experienced in a long time. I let out a shaky breath, my eyes never leaving Lando's, as he reached out to gently brush a strand of hair behind my ear. The touch sent shivers down my spine, but it was a good kind of shiver, a kind that made me feel alive. For the first time in hours, I felt like I wasn't alone.

As Lando entered the penthouse, the soft glow of the lamps highlighted the sleek, modern décor around us. I closed the door behind him, and he turned to me, opening his arms. As I did many, many times in the past, I stepped into the hug, feeling a sense of bliss and security. Lando held me close, his warmth and scent bringing me comfort. "El, I'm here," he whispered, his voice gentle. Pulling back, a small smile appeared on my face. "Thanks for coming, Lan. Can I get you something to drink?" Lando nodded. "Yeah, sure. Whatever you're having is fine." Walking over to the bar, I chimed "I'll get you some whiskey, then. I had enough alcohol already." As I poured the drinks, Lando took a seat on the couch, his eyes scanning the room. He accepted the glass I handed to him, our fingers touching briefly. "So, what's going on, El?" he asked, his voice low and concerned. "You sounded really scared; I felt it through the text." Having a sip of my iced tea, my eyes clouded over. "I just had a bad conversation with Jacob earlier, you were there" I said, my voice barely above a whisper. Lando's expression turned serious. "Can you tell me what happened? What did he say to you?" Hesitating, I was unsure of how much to reveal. But something about Lando's calm, non-judgmental gaze put me at ease. "He...he bailed on me. Another broken promise, another disappointment," I began, my voice faltering. "And then he tried to make excuses, manipulate me into forgiving him. I just feel like I'm always walking on eggshells around him, never knowing what's going to set him off. I`ve had enough, this was the final straw, and I don’t want to see him again." Lando's eyes narrowed, his jaw clenched in anger. "That sounds really tough, El," he said, his voice soft. "But I'm here for you, okay? You're not alone in this. And just to be clear – he is not off the hook getting his ass kicked." A giggle escaped my mouth as I looked at Lando, my heart aching with gratitude. I knew I could trust him, that he would listen without judgment and offer support without condition.

My eyes gazed into the distance, to the view that made way through the window. "You don't know this, Lan...but sometimes, the memories just feel so real." Lando took my hand in his, gripping tight and his expression was gentle and encouraging. "I was trapped," I continued, the words spilling out like a dam breaking. "I felt helpless, like I was at the mercy of someone else's whims. The fear, the anxiety...it's still with me, even all these years later. But you`ve seen it already." Lando's face was a mask of compassion, his eyes filled with understanding. "I try to keep it locked away, to pretend it's not still affecting me," my voice cracking when I continued "But sometimes, it feels like it's suffocating me. The nightmares, the anxiety attacks...they're all connected to a dark time in my life. I am sorry that you`re dragged into this – it was not my intention". Lando pulled me into another hug, holding me close. "You're safe now, El," he whispered. "You're safe with me." For a moment, I allowed myself to get lost in the comfort of his arms. As I pulled back, Lando's eyes searched mine, filled with a deep understanding. "I'm here for you, El. When you`re ready to talk – just say the word," he said. "I'll do whatever it takes to help you feel safe again." My gaze dropped when I said "Just being here for me...that's enough, Lan. More than enough."

As my words hung in the air, Lando's eyes locked onto mine, filled with deep affection. He reached out, his hand gently cupping my cheek, his thumb tracing the curve of my jawline. As my eyes fluttered close, I tilted my head into his touch. Lando`s lips brushed against mine in a soft, gentle kiss. It was a kiss that spoke of comfort, of solace, of a deep and abiding connection. As we kissed, the world around us melted away, leaving only us two, lost in the intimacy of the moment. As we pulled back, Lando's eyes searched mine. "I'm here for you, El," he whispered, his voice husky with emotion. "Always."

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Lando snuggled into the pillows, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "You know, I'm really glad we're doing this," he said, his voice low, oozing with suggestions. Not on my watch buddy I thought, raising an eyebrow, a smile playing on my lips. "Doing what, exactly?"

"Just...hanging out, I guess," Lando said, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "It's nice to just be with you, without all the drama and stress." My smile softened when I said, "I know what you mean, it's nice to just be us, sometimes." Lando's face lit up with a grin. "Remember that sleepover we had at your place, a few years ago?" he asked, his voice filled with nostalgia. My laughter filled the space around us. "Oh, yeah! We stayed up all night watching movies and eating ice cream. And we wore those ridiculous matching PJs with cartoon characters on them." Lando chuckled, his eyes shining with amusement. "Yeah, and we looked totally awesome in them too. And remember, we took a selfie in those PJs, with me making a Batman pose and you making a Superman pose?" I giggled, remembering, "Yeah, and we were still arguing over who's the better superhero! You were all about Batman, and I was Team Superman all the way." Lando's grin widened. "Hey, Batman is a way better hero. He's got skills, you know?" I rolled my eyes. "Whatever, Lan. Superman can fly." Lando's eyes sparkled with mischief. "Yeah, but Batman has the Batmobile. That's way cooler than flying." As we reminisced, Lando reached out and gently brushed a strand of hair behind my ear. "You know, I love looking back on memories like that," he said, his voice low and gentle. My cheeks flushed, heart skipping a beat. "Me too, Lan," I said, voice barely above a whisper. Lando's eyes locked onto mine. "I'm really happy when I'm with you, El," he said, his voice sincere. Smiling mischievously, I gazed at Lando. "You know, Lan, if you won’t let us sleep, I'll have to take drastic measures," I said playfully. Lando raised an eyebrow, a grin spreading across his face. "Oh yeah? What kind of measures?" My smile grew wider. "I'll share those embarrassing selfies we took in our matching PJs with the Paddock." Lando's eyes widened in horror. "No, no, no! Anything but that! Don't unleash that kind of torture on my friends and colleagues." Laughing, I continued "You'd better behave, then. I'm not afraid to use those photos for blackmail." Lando held up his hands in surrender, a laugh escaping his lips. "Okay, okay. I'll be good, I promise."

As we lay on the couches, facing each other, Lando's face lit up with a mischievous grin. "You know, El, just to make sure I don't get any more blackmail material, maybe we should make a pact to always wear matching PJs on our sleepovers." I bursted out, laughing. "Oh, Lan, you're pushing your luck. Especially since I'm a nightgown kind of girl." Lando's eyes widened in mock horror. "Nightgowns? You're trying to traumatize me, aren't you?" Giggling and amused by our little banter, I continued, "Maybe a little. But hey, at least I'm not wearing a flannel with cartoon characters on it." Lando chuckled, his eyes shining with playfulness. "Hey, those PJs were comfy! And cute." Rolling my eyes, I chimed, "Cute? You were cute in them. There's a difference." Lando grinned, satisfied. "So, you think I am cute?” An irritated “Lando, shut up already!” made him chuckle. “Okay, okay. And no matching PJs. But can I at least get a sneak peek at your nightgown?" My face turned mock indignant. "No way, Lan. You'll just have to imagine the frilly, flowy horror that is my sleepwear." Lando laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "I'll take that as a challenge. Goodnight, El." Still smiling I replied, "Goodnight, Lan. Sweet dreams."

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The darkness was a velvety blanket, warm and inviting, unlike the cold dread that usually clung to her in the pre-dawn hours. She was in bed, but not on her own. The sheets were silk, cool against her heated skin, and the air smelled faintly of cologne and something else, something uniquely Lando. A soft groan escaped her lips, not with distress, but with deep, uncoiling pleasure.

He was there, beside her, a heavy warmth pressing against her back. His arm was a comforting weight across her waist, his hand splayed possessively over her stomach. She could feel the soft rasp of his breath against her hair, the rhythmic beat of his heart thrumming against her spine. It was a closeness she craved, a safety she rarely allowed herself to feel.

She shifted, turning into his embrace, and his hold tightened, pulling her flush against his solid frame. Her bare leg tangled with his, the skin-on-skin contact sending a delicious shiver through her. He murmured something against her neck, a low, guttural sound that vibrated through her entire body, igniting a hunger she hadn't realized was simmering just beneath the surface.

His lips found the sensitive skin behind her ear, tracing a path down her jawline, each gentle kiss sending a fresh wave of desire through her. Her breath hitched, a soft gasp escaping her as his hand moved, sliding from her stomach to cup her breast. His thumb brushed over her nipple, sending a jolt of pure sensation straight to her core.

She pressed herself closer, desperate for more, her fingers digging into the firm muscle of his arm. His kisses became more urgent, his tongue tracing the delicate curve of her ear before moving to her neck, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. He nibbled gently, and she arched into him, a soft moan escaping her throat.

"El," he whispered, his voice hoarse, laced with a raw longing that mirrored her own. "You're so beautiful."

She couldn't speak, lost in the swirling vortex of sensation. His other hand found her thigh, slowly, deliberately, moving higher, inching closer to her warmth. Her breath hitched as his fingers brushed the sensitive skin of her inner thigh, sending a powerful tremor through her. He moved over her then, his weight a welcome pressure, his hard desire pressing against her.

She whimpered, her hips instinctively rising to meet him. Their mouths found each other, a desperate, hungry kiss that consumed everything. His tongue plundered hers, a wild dance of passion that left her breathless. She felt the brush of silk against her skin as his hand finally reached its destination, his fingers exploring, teasing, igniting every nerve ending.

"Lando," she gasped, her voice barely a whisper, as a wave of intense pleasure washed over her, pulling her deeper into the delicious torment of the dream. She was on the precipice, teetering on the edge, ready to fall. His touch was exquisite, precise, leading her closer and closer...

My eyes snapped open, a jolt of startled awareness ripping me from the fading tendrils of my dream. My heart hammered against my ribs, not from fear this time, but from a lingering, delicious heat that still hummed through my veins. The sensation was so vivid, so real, I could still feel the phantom pressure of his body against mine, the ghost of his lips on my skin.

I shifted, restless, the silk sheets tangling around my legs. A soft sigh escaped me, and I suddenly realized that I wasn't alone. A low rumble vibrated through the couch beneath me, and the warmth beside me solidified into Lando, still soundly asleep, his breathing deep and even. His arm was casually slung over my hip, pulling me subtly closer.

A flush crept up my neck as I mentally replayed the dream, the intimate details still searingly fresh. Damn it, Eli. Get a grip.

Just as I was about to discreetly disentangle myself, Lando stirred. His eyes fluttered open, blinking slowly before focusing on me. A lazy smile spread across his face, and his gaze dropped, lingering for a fraction of a second before meeting my eyes again, now twinkling with amusement.

"Rough night, El?" he murmured, his voice thick with sleep, a clear tease in his tone.

My cheeks warmed further. He knew. Or at least, he suspected. I narrowed my eyes playfully. "You could say that. Someone was apparently making themselves very comfortable. Why are you on my couch – I gave you your own!"

Lando chuckled, the sound deep and resonant. He stretched slightly, not moving his arm from my hip. "Can you blame me? This couch is surprisingly comfy. And you," he added, his thumb lightly stroking my hip through the fabric of the shorts I had on, "are an excellent snuggler."

I swatted his arm away, though without much force. "Don't flatter yourself, Norris. You just happened to be convenient."

He grinned, his eyes still crinkling at the corners. "Oh, I think it was more than just convenience. You were practically radiating... excitement." He paused, his gaze dropping to my still-flushed cheeks, and a mischievous glint entered his eyes. "Dare I ask if my presence had anything to do with that?"

I rolled my eyes, but a smile tugged at my lips. "In your dreams, Lan. Literally."

His laugh filled the quiet room. "Ah, so I was featured in your nocturnal adventures. I knew it." He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Care to share the highlights? I'm always open to constructive criticism, you know. Especially if it involves... more hands-on feedback."

Shoving him lightly, I said "You're incorrigible! And no, the details are classified. My dreams are my own private playground."

"A playground I'm clearly welcome in," he countered, his smile widening. "Though I must say, for someone who claims to be so put out, you look remarkably well-rested. And rather... glowing." His gaze lingered on my lips.

I felt another blush creeping up – this time on my chest. I pushed myself up, a playful glint in my own eyes now. "That's just the early morning glow of a successful night's sleep. Something you clearly deprived yourself of, by the looks of those sleepy eyes."

He finally sat up, leaning back against the couch cushions, still watching me with that infuriatingly knowing look. "Some things are worth losing a little sleep over, El. And I have a feeling last night was definitely one of them." He winked.

Shaking my head, a soft laugh escaped me. The dream was gone, replaced by the very real, very present, and very charming Lando. And for now, that was more than enough.

Pushing myself up, I stretched my arms above my head. The early morning light, still soft and golden, streamed through the penthouse windows, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. I glanced at Lando, who was now fully awake, watching me with that infuriatingly keen gaze. His dark hair was a charming mess, and the faint stubble on his jaw only added to his boyish appeal.

"Well, since you're up and ruining my plans for a quiet morning coffee," I began, a playful glint surely visible in my eyes, "you might as well make yourself useful. Do you drink coffee?"

Lando's grin widened. "Do I drink coffee? Eli, I am coffee. And I can make a mean cup, too. Though I prefer to have it brought to me in bed." He sent me a pointed look.

Chuckling, I walked towards the kitchen. "Don't push your luck, Norris. This isn't a five-star hotel." I pulled out two mugs, my mind still replaying his words from the dream, the lingering warmth of his touch. It was unsettling how real it had felt.

"So," Lando said, following me and leaning against the sleek kitchen island, "what's the plan for today, besides making me work for my caffeine fix?"

I poured water into the coffee machine and pressed “on” to heat the water. "Well, first, I have a very important phone call to make. Then, I have a birthday to prepare for, and my yacht to get ready for some VIP guests." I glanced at him. "Speaking of which, you're still invited to Jimmy'z tomorrow night, even after your atrocious karaoke performance last night."

He pressed his hand to his chest dramatically. "Atrocious? Eleonora, that was art! A raw, passionate outpouring of emotion. You just don't appreciate true talent."

"I appreciate talent," I countered, turning towards Lando. "Which is why I'm still trying to figure out what happened with Izzy last night. Her singing was surprisingly good, and that's not something I'm used to saying about her."

Lando scoffed. "Please. She's the devil in a blonde wig. And speaking of which," he paused, his voice dropping slightly, "she clearly doesn't approve of us."

Leaning back against the counter I crossed my arms. "Izzy's fiercely loyal, and she's seen me through a lot. She's just protective. Also, I suggest you keep your opinion regarding her to yourself. I won’t be able to save you if she heard what you just said." I hesitated, then decided to address the elephant in the room. "Look, Lan. About last night on the balcony... and the things I said. I was out of line. I was upset, and I took it out on you. You didn't deserve that."

Lando pushed off the island and walked towards me, stopping just inches away. His eyes, no longer twinkling with mischief, held a serious, empathetic gaze. "Hey. It's okay, El. I meant what I said in the texts. There was truth to your words, and I was being an idiot. I shouldn't have eavesdropped, even if I was worried." He reached out, his hand hovering near my arm before he seemed to think better of it and dropped it. "And you have every right to be upset with Jacob. He sounds like a complete jerk. Is he... really out of the picture now?"

I met his gaze, a profound sense of relief washing over me. He understood. He wasn't pushing, he wasn't demanding. "Yes," I confirmed with a soft but firm voice. "He's out. Permanently. The arrangement is terminated. I'm done giving people chances they don't deserve."

A small, genuine smile touched Lando's lips. "Good. He didn't deserve you." The coffee machine was ready, which broke the intimate moment. I turned, grateful for the distraction.

"Coffee time," I announced, trying to inject some normalcy back into the atmosphere. "And then, I need to call John about some... security upgrades." I tried to avoid his gaze, knowing I couldn't tell him about Fewtrell just yet. Lando caught my eye and nodded, the playfulness momentarily gone, replaced by a subtle understanding. "Right. Security. Very important." He didn't press, didn't ask for details, simply acknowledged my unspoken concern.

As I prepared the coffee, the morning light streamed through the window, painting the kitchen in warm hues. The lingering traces of my dream still danced at the edges of my mind; a secret shared only with the subconscious. But for now, with Lando standing beside me, the scent of coffee filling the air, and a new sense of agency bubbling within me, I felt a quiet, unfamiliar sense of hope.

I placed two steaming mugs on the marble island, the rich aroma of coffee filling the kitchen. "Alright, Mr. 'I am coffee,' let's see if my latte lives up to your incredibly high standards."

Lando pushed himself off the island, a theatrical sigh escaping him. "The pressure! My reputation as a connoisseur rests on this single sip." He took a mug, cradling it in his hands, and inhaled deeply before taking a tentative sip. His eyes widened slightly. "Okay, Kimbel. I'll admit, this is… surprisingly good. You hide your talents well."

Grinning, I took a sip of my own latte. "What, you thought I was all about ripping shorts and psychological warfare?"

He chuckled, a warm sound that resonated through the quiet apartment. "That, apparently. But seriously, this is really nice. Perfect start to the day."

"Glad to hear it. So, what's the plan for today?"

"Well," Lando began, "I've got a couple of calls, some simulator work, and then maybe hit the gym. But honestly, I'm already looking forward to tomorrow night." He leaned in slightly, his eyes sparkling. "Are you going to surprise us with another amazing karaoke performance?"

I snorted into my mug. "No chance, Norris. That was a one-time thing."

Lando nodded, his playfulness returning. He took another happy sip of his latte. "So, about your dreams, then. Did you have any interesting 'nocturnal adventures' after your stint as my personal heater?"

My eyes crinkled at the corners as I laughed, pushing him lightly with my shoulder. "Oh, you know, just typical Eli dreams. Conquering the business world, signing multi-million-dollar deals... maybe a brief, very blurry cameo from a certain race car driver who gives excellent hugs." He raised an eyebrow. "Anything... explicitly involving matching PJs, by any chance?" "Keep dreaming, Norris," I countered playfully. "And speaking of which, I'm still trying to figure out how to top your 'Clumsy' performance for my birthday bash tomorrow. Maybe I'll do a dramatic reading of your embarrassing tweets."

"No!" Lando gasped dramatically. "That's low, even for you! Besides," he leaned conspiratorially, "you already showed your true colors with 'Hustle.' That was practically a declaration of war. You're going to have to outdo yourself."

"Oh, I plan to. The gloves are off, Lando. You haven't seen anything yet." He just grinned, taking another happy sip of his latte. "I can’t wait, El."

We finished our lattes, the giddiness of the banter settling into a comfortable, easy silence. I leaned against the counter, watching Lando as he rinsed his mug and placed it in the dishwasher. It was a domestic gesture, surprisingly endearing. The last remnants of the dream were fading, replaced by the reassuring reality of him being there.

Just as Lando was drying his hands, my phone chimed from the living room. "That'll be John," I announced, a slight shift in my demeanor as the more serious aspects of my day began to encroach. "Duty calls."

Lando turned, a hint of disappointment shadowing his easy smile. "Already? Guess I can't linger forever, tempting you with my dazzling connoisseur skills."

"You did remarkably well for a beginner," I teased, walking towards the living room to retrieve my phone. "Don't get too cocky." Picking up the phone I saw John's name on the screen. "Look, I'll be tied up for a while. We should probably say goodbye now."

He walked towards me, stopping a respectful distance away. "Right. Well, I've got my sim work anyway. Won't you miss my captivating presence?" His eyes twinkled, but there was a genuine softness beneath the playful bravado.

I met his gaze and my own softened. "Maybe a little. But I'll survive. Just try not to break any lap records without me cheering you on."

Lando chuckled. "No promises there. But I'll definitely be looking forward to the 15th. Don't worry about tonight, I'll be in touch." He paused, then added, his voice a low, warm murmur, "And El? If you need anything, at all, don't hesitate. You know where to find me."

I nodded, a wave of warmth washing over me. "I know. You too, Lan."

With a final, lingering look, Lando turned and headed for the door. As he opened it, he glanced back. "See you, El."

"See you, Lan," I replied, and watched as he stepped out, the door closing softly behind him, leaving me in the suddenly quiet penthouse. The comfortable warmth he brought still lingered in the air, a pleasant counterpoint to the more serious tasks awaiting me.

Chapter Text

Lando`s POV

August 14^th, 2023

The door clicked shut behind me, the soft sound echoing in the opulent silence of Eleonora's penthouse. Instead of stepping into a public hallway, I was in the private corridor leading to the elevators within the building itself. I took a deep breath, the lingering scent of her unique perfume still clinging to me. Just outside, the Monte Carlo morning air, crisp and carrying the faintest hint of the sea, usually made me feel alive, ready to attack the day. Today, though, it felt different. Charged.

I ran a hand over my jaw, a ghost of a smile playing on my lips. “In your dreams, Lan. Literally.” Her words, laced with playful sarcasm, still bounced around my head. The dream, for her, had been explicit. For me, the reality of her being there, wrapped around me on the sofa, radiating a warmth that had nothing to do with body heat, was enough. More than enough. The comfort, the easy banter, the way she had leaned into my touch... it felt like stepping back in time, but better. Deeper.

And then there was the other part. The way her voice had cracked when she talked about Jacob, about feeling "trapped." The way she'd finally, hesitantly, confided that vague, old pain. It hit me harder than I expected. My gut clenched just thinking about anyone making her feel that way, making her want to hide and escape. He was out now, she’d said. Permanently. Good. He didn't deserve her. No one did, if they made her voice crack like that. My arm still tingled from where she'd leaned on me, and I felt this fierce, almost unfamiliar urge to protect her. To make sure no one, ever again, made her voice crack like that.

I pulled out my phone as I waited for the elevator, scrolling through my own calendar. Simulator session at ten, calls scattered throughout the afternoon. Standard stuff. But all I could really focus on was tomorrow. The 15th. Her birthday party. At Jimmy'z. The image of her laughing, pushing me, her eyes sparkling, was already playing on a loop in my mind.

The elevator arrived, and I stepped inside, pressing the button for the 24th floor. My thoughts drifted to Max. It was weird seeing him in the kitchen, dressed like he'd just been outside, at that hour. He's always been a bit of an oddball, the type to raid the fridge at 3 AM. But Eleonora saying something had "scared" her, and then her vague mention of "security upgrades" for the party... it made a faint, barely perceptible alarm bell ring in the back of my mind. It was probably nothing. Max was just Max. He certainly wouldn't be lurking around her floor. She knew about the building's cameras, right? Those ubiquitous things in every high-end residence. If anything, truly suspicious had happened, she would have seen it through those, or management would have been notified. She would have mentioned if anything was genuinely off. Still, it was a curious detail.

As the elevator descended, the fleeting thought crossed my mind: she was just a few floors above. Not miles away. The possibility of seeing her again, even just for a quick check-in later, felt less like a grand gesture and more like a simple possibility. A comforting one.

I reached my floor, the familiar hum of the elevator disappearing as the doors opened. I stepped out, heading towards my own apartment, the excitement for tomorrow bubbling up again, pushing the other thoughts aside. Tonight, I’d just focus on my own work, my own training. But tomorrow… tomorrow was about Eleonora. I grinned. She had no idea what kind of performance I was planning to unleash on her at Jimmy'z.

My own apartment felt quiet, almost too quiet, after the vibrant energy of Eleonora’s place. I tossed my keys onto the marble console in the entryway and headed straight for the kitchen, grabbing a protein bar. No fancy lattes from a certain someone in here. My mind, though, was still running through the morning’s conversation, replaying her expressions, the way she leaned into my arm.

The simulator session that morning was a blur. My focus was usually absolute, every data point, every millisecond scrutinized. Today, though, my thoughts kept drifting to Eleonora. The anger in her eyes when she'd first seen me on the balcony, then the heartbreaking crack in her voice when she admitted her fear. It was a side of her I hadn't seen in a long time, not since... well, not since the last time things went sideways for her. It just reinforced that gut feeling I'd had for days – that she wasn't as unshakeable as she tried to appear.

After the sim, I forced myself through a brutal gym session, trying to sweat out the restless energy. It helped, a little. But even pushing iron, my mind kept circling back to her. And to Max. Seeing him in the kitchen, dressed like he’d been outside, lingered. It was odd. Not enough to jump to conclusions, but enough to make me frown. Max was a buddy, one of the guys. But sometimes... sometimes he could be a bit much. A bit intense. I shrugged the thought away. Probably just me overthinking because of everything with Eleonora.

Later, as I scrolled through my phone, checking messages and social media, a notification popped up from Charles. A selfie from last night's gathering. Charles, Arthur, Pierre, and... Izzy. And sure enough, Isabella was smirking directly into the camera, looking entirely too pleased with herself. I remembered my own words from that morning, calling her "the devil in a blonde wig." And it still held true; she clearly didn't approve of us. That last bit stuck with me. Us. A warm feeling spread through my chest, chasing away the lingering unease. Izzy could disapprove all she wanted.

My phone buzzed again, this time a text from Daniel.

Danny Ric: Hey mate, heard from Cee that the Kimbel party is tomorrow night. You heading?

I typed back instantly, a grin on my face.

Lando Norris: Wouldn't miss it for the world. You coming?

Danny Ric: Of course. Heard Charles already ruined his vocal cords. 😉

I scoffed good-naturedly. Daniel knew me too well. This was it. Tomorrow. Her birthday. A chance to properly celebrate, to make her smile, to maybe even… I cut that thought short. One step at a time, Norris. First, make her laugh. And maybe sing something that wasn’t so off-key this time. Though, secretly, I kind of loved knowing I had gotten under her skin with my off-key performance. It meant she was paying attention.

I tossed my phone onto the bed and walked over to my wardrobe. Tomorrow night is going to be big. I needed something sharp. Something that would make her look twice. She said the gloves were off. I was ready.

The rest of the afternoon was a blur of interviews, team briefings, and endless calls that always seemed to stretch longer than they should. My head was buzzing with data, strategies, and logistics, but even amidst the professional demands, Eleonora was a constant, shimmering presence at the back of my mind. The thought of seeing her tomorrow night, of celebrating her, was a tangible anchor.

As evening approached, I cooked a quick, lonely meal, something healthy and efficient. No distractions. But as I ate, I found myself scrolling through old photos on my phone. Pictures from the early days of our friendship, from when she was fourteen and I was fifteen, and life felt simpler, faster, all about the next race and the next laugh.

There was one of us, a year or so after we met, at some go-kart track, her in a ridiculously oversized helmet, giving a defiant thumbs-up, grease smudged on her cheek. Another from a rainy afternoon stuck indoors, where we'd built a ridiculously elaborate fort out of cushions and blankets, peering out with serious faces, pretending to be spies. And of course, the infamous matching PJs selfie, from that first sleepover, her with her determined Superman pose, me trying to channel Batman. I laughed out loud, remembering her exasperated sigh when I insisted Batman was cooler, and the way she’d always argue with a fire in her eyes that made me secretly admire her even more. I scrolled further. A blurry shot from a shared vacation where we’d attempted to build a sandcastle that looked more like a lopsided blob, both of us covered in sand, laughing until our stomachs hurt. Another from a charity event, both of us awkward in formal wear, trying to look grown-up. And then, a more recent one, from just before everything went south, where we were both smiling, genuinely happy, oblivious to the storm gathering.

It struck me then, watching her face in those old pictures, how much she’d changed, and yet how much she hadn’t. The core of her, that fiery, intelligent, fiercely loyal girl, was still there. Just buried under layers of caution and pain. I remember when we first met. She was fourteen, all sharp wit and barely contained energy, and I was just a year older, completely unprepared for the force of nature that was Eleonora Kimbel. She'd been a challenge, a confidante, and a constant in my life ever since. I wondered how much of the original Eli was still intact, waiting for the right moment to re-emerge. The idea that I might be part of that re-emergence, even a small part, sent a jolt of something warm and electric through me.

I decided against going out. My head needed to be clear for the sim tomorrow, and honestly, the thought of small talk felt exhausting. Instead, I settled down with my gaming setup, diving into a few hours of a familiar online world. It was a good way to switch off, to let my brain coast on instinct rather than analysis. But even there, my mind occasionally drifted. Would she wear a dress? Would it be one of those glamorous, 'don't-even-think-about-touching-me' kind of dresses? Or something a little softer, a little more... her?

Beyond the outfit, there was the gift. I wanted something… memorable. Something personal. Eleonora wasn't easy to buy for; she had everything. But she also loved music, proper music, not just the stuff topping the charts. I remembered her saying, years ago, how much she admired Ed Sheeran. His lyrics, his storytelling. After seeing her current playlist an idea sparked, and I used my connections to make it happen. I'd arranged for her to receive all of Ed Sheeran's albums on signed vinyl, up to 2023. But the real kicker was the video: Ed Sheeran himself, wishing her a happy birthday, inviting her to his next concert, and singing a snippet of his song, 'Curtains.' It had been a massive ask, but it was worth it.

Before bed, I spent a solid fifteen minutes agonizing over my wardrobe choices for tomorrow. A navy suit? Too formal? Black? Maybe a little too serious for a birthday. I pulled out a sharp charcoal grey, then a lighter blue, rejecting both. Finally, I settled on a dark, well-fitted shirt and some tailored trousers. It was smart but still had a casual edge. Something that said, "I put in effort, but I'm also here to have fun." Something that might make her look twice.

I climbed into bed, the soft glow of the city lights filtering through my windows. Sleep didn't come easily. My thoughts were a jumbled mix of Eleonora's smile, the subtle unease about Max, the thrill of the Ed Sheeran surprise, and the anticipation of tomorrow night. I knew one thing for sure: the 15th of August was going to be a night to remember.

August 15^th, 2023

The next morning, the 15th, dawned bright and clear, but my internal clock felt a bit off. The pre-race jitters were a familiar beast, but these felt… different. More personal. It was Eleonora’s birthday, after all.

My phone vibrated with a message from the drivers' group chat. It was usually a chaotic mess of memes, trash talk, and race updates, but today, it seemed to be a pre-party roll call for Eleonora’s party. She'd reached out to most of us personally, a flurry of texts and calls over the last few days to make sure we were free. It was just how she was – direct and no-nonsense, especially with her inner circle.

Percival: So, who's actually making it to Jimmy'z tonight for Eleonora's bash? Need to coordinate gifts, boys. My singing traumatized her enough last night.

Tripod: I'm in! Already picked out a ridiculous hat. This is a party, after all. And Kika says her gift is better than all of yours combined.

Agent George: Confirmed. Carmen is already picking out her outfit. And Charles, I think your singing was a strategic move to clear the dance floor. Max's competitive yelling was worse, though.

SuperMax: Only if she promises no more competitive karaoke. My ears are still bleeding. And no, George, I was just stating facts.

Chili: I think your competitive spirit broke the sound barrier, Max. See you all there.

Albono: I'll be there, rocking my best dad-dancing moves. Get ready, Eleonora. Lily is already looking forward to it.

Lando Norizz: Hey! Don't be jealous of my vocal range, lads. And yes, I'm obviously going. Wouldn't miss it. I'm bringing my A-game.

The familiar banter made me smile. It was good to know the usual suspects, and their better halves, would be there.

Later that afternoon, after my final sim session, my phone rang. It was Eleonora. My heart did a quick flutter-kick against my ribs.

"Norris," her voice was crisp, but I could hear the faint smile in it. "Just checking in. Don't tell me you've forgotten about my birthday already."

"Never, Kimbel," I countered, leaning back in my chair, a grin spreading across my face. "Just fine-tuning my grand entrance. And polishing my vocal cords for a repeat performance, of course."

"Oh, please," she scoffed lightly. "You're going to clear the room faster than a fire alarm with that 'singing.' Stick to driving, Lando. It's safer for everyone."

"Harsh," I feigned offense. "You wound me. But I'm taking that as a challenge. And since the gloves are off, I've decided to debut my new signature look just for you."

"Your 'signature look' is usually a grimace and sweat," she retorted, making me chuckle. "But seriously, don't overthink it. Just show up and try not to cause too much trouble. My yacht is going to be packed."

"Your yacht?" I asked, a fresh wave of curiosity hitting me. "So, we're moving the party? What kind of VIP guests are we talking about here?"

"A few close friends," she said, her voice turning a touch vague. "And yes, the main event is on the yacht, setting sail from Port Hercule at eight. But I'll have pre-drinks at the penthouse from seven if you want to swing by early. Just... try not to bring any more bad luck or bad singing with you."

"No promises on either front," I joked, already making a mental note of the yacht. That was new. "I'll be there, Kimbel. Looking sharp. Don't say I didn't warn you."

"Wouldn't dream of it, Norris," she said, a final, soft laugh in her voice. "See you tonight."

The call ended, leaving me with a heightened buzz of anticipation. A yacht party. VIP guests. And a challenge thrown. This was going to be interesting. I suddenly felt less tired, more energized. Time to pick out that 'look.'

--------------------------------------------------------------------

By seven o'clock, I was heading up to Eleonora's penthouse, feeling the usual pre-party mix of excitement and mild social anxiety. My dark shirt was tailored, the trousers sharp, a subtle nod to the 'effort' I'd promised. As I stepped out of the elevator into her private foyer, the sounds of conversation and music, already lively, washed over me. I'd made sure to ask John to take the box with the signed vinyl's and a flash drive containing the video, along with a card, to be placed somewhere in the penthouse for Eleonora to find later.

The large living area was transformed, far more people than I’d expected for a "pre-drinks" gathering. Familiar faces mingled with new ones. My gaze immediately swept the room, searching for Eleonora.

Near the floor-to-ceiling windows, I spotted Charles, laughing, with Isabella clinging to his arm, her blonde hair gleaming under the soft lights. Isabella caught my eye and offered a tight, almost imperceptible smirk. Yep, still the devil. Charles, oblivious, just gave me a wave.

Over by the makeshift bar, I recognized Nick, Eleonora's older brother, looking relaxed and considerably less stressed than the last time I'd seen him. He was surrounded by a small posse of guys – his five mates, I figured, all big and boisterous. And standing with them was Anastasia, Nick's girlfriend, and Zara, Eleonora's friend, whom I hadn't seen in ages. Anastasia and Zara both smiled at me, genuine, easy smiles that promised no drama.

My eyes finally landed on Eleonora herself. She was near the balcony, talking animatedly with someone I didn't recognize, her back to me. And then she turned, and any thought I had about playing it cool vanished.

She was wearing a red dress, but not one I'd seen before. And it was... it was like nothing I'd ever seen her wear.

The dress was a crimson tide of silk, a masterpiece of fabric and design. It cascaded down her figure, accentuating her waist and flowing with an almost liquid grace to the floor. The sweetheart neckline dipped just low enough to be daring without being overtly revealing, and the delicate straps seemed to disappear against her skin, leaving her shoulders bare and luminous. Her dark hair was styled simply, pulled back to reveal the elegant line of her neck, and she wore no jewelry, letting the dress speak for itself.

It was, without a doubt, the most breathtaking thing I had ever seen. And she was wearing it. For her birthday.

I felt my throat tighten, my carefully constructed composure threatening to crumble. I had to get to her. I wanted to see her reaction when she saw the gift.

But before I could even take a step, a familiar voice cut through the party buzz.

"Lando! Mate, good to see you!"

It was Nick. Eleonora's golden-boy brother. He clapped me on the shoulder with a force that was a little too enthusiastic, a wide grin plastered on his face.

"Looking sharp, man. Ready to celebrate my little sister's big night?"

I managed a tight smile back. "Yeah, wouldn't miss it."

Inside, I was gritting my teeth. It wasn't that I didn't like Nick, exactly. He was affable enough, easygoing, the kind of guy everyone got along with. The problem was... well, the problem was him. Or rather, the way he was with Eleonora. Or more accurately, the way their father was with him, with them. The blatant, unwavering favoritism that had been a constant undercurrent in their lives.

It wasn't Nick's fault, I knew that. He hadn't asked for it. But that didn't make it any easier to swallow. Every achievement of Eleonora's, every sacrifice she'd made, every hurdle she'd overcome, had always seemed to be met with a casual nod, a distracted "That's nice, Eli." While Nick... Nick could breathe, and it was cause for celebration.

I knew it ate at her, even if she never said it outright. I'd seen the flicker of hurt in her eyes, the way she'd brush it off with a forced laugh. And it pissed me off, on her behalf. It's not fair. She deserved so much more.

"She seems to be having a good time," Nick continued, gesturing vaguely towards Eleonora with his beer bottle. "Though, knowing Eli, she's probably already planning world domination."

I chuckled, the sound a bit strained even to my own ears. "Something like that."

"Well, enjoy the party, mate," Nick said, finally stepping back. "And try not to steal the birthday girl away from her adoring public, yeah?" He gave me a wink that I was pretty sure was supposed to be friendly, but all I felt was a surge of irritation.

"Right," I said, the word clipped.

As he turned to rejoin his group, I let out a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding. Okay, Norris. Deep breaths. The less time I spend talking to him, the better.

I refocused my gaze on Eleonora, who was thankfully no longer occupied. Time to make my move.

Except, it seemed the universe had other plans.

"Lando!" A booming voice echoed across the room, and I turned to see Daniel weaving his way through the crowd, a wide grin splitting his face. His girlfriend, Heidi, was trailing slightly behind him, offering a bright smile of her own. "Mate! You made it! Looking sharp!"

"Danny Ric," I replied, forcing a smile. Don't get me wrong, I love Daniel. He was one of the best blokes I knew, always up for a laugh, the kind of guy who could lift your spirits just by being around. But now? Right when I was about to make my move? Timing, Daniel, timing.

Behind him, I spotted George and his girlfriend, Carmen, both looking equally ready to celebrate. George, ever the professional, was already working the room, shaking hands and exchanging pleasantries with various people I vaguely recognized as being "important." Carmen gave me a polite nod. Alex, on the other hand, was beelining for the bar, a mischievous glint in his eyes that usually meant trouble, and he was already holding a drink... or two.

"Boys... and ladies," I greeted them, as they joined Daniel.

"Happy Birthday, Lando!" Alex slurred, raising his glass, sloshing some of the contents onto the floor.

"Easy there, Albono," I said with a laugh. "Pace yourself. We've got a whole night ahead of us."

"Says you!" Alex shot back, taking a swig of his drink. "I'm just getting into the spirit of things!"

George clapped me on the shoulder. "Good to see you, mate. You scrub up well when you're not in overalls."

"Cheers, George," I said, suppressing a sigh. "You don't look too bad yourself." Carmen smiled in agreement.

"Where's the birthday girl?" Daniel asked, his eyes scanning the room. "I need to give her a hug."

"She's over there," I said, nodding towards the balcony, trying to subtly steer them away from the direction I actually wanted to go. "Talking to someone."

Daniel, however, seemed to have locked on. "Well, what are we waiting for? Let's go say hello!"

And with that, the three of them started heading straight for Eleonora, effectively cutting off my path. I was left standing there, a mixture of amusement and frustration swirling inside me. Of course.

Just when I thought the parade of interruptions was over, the music suddenly cut out. A hush fell over the room, an almost palpable sense of confusion replacing the earlier buzz. People started murmuring, exchanging puzzled glances.

Then, a spotlight illuminated the small stage area that I hadn't even noticed before. And a figure stepped into the light.

It was Martin Garrix. He strode confidently onto the small stage, a wide grin on his face, and raised his hands to quiet the room.

"Alright, everyone!" Martin's voice boomed, amplified by the sound system. "Welcome to the pre-party! And a massive Happy Birthday to the one and only Eleonora Kimbel!"

A roar of applause and cheers erupted, and Eleonora, who had turned from the balcony, was now beaming, looking genuinely surprised and delighted.

"Now," Martin continued, a mischievous glint in his eye, "I hear there was a certain... karaoke incident last night. And while I won't name names," he glanced pointedly in my direction, making me roll my eyes good-naturedly, "I'm here to ensure we get the party started right. And for our amazing birthday girl, I've got a special request to kick things off. This one's for you, Eli!"

The opening chords began to fill the room, familiar and melodic, building slowly. It was "Curtains." The song from the Ed Sheeran video. The one I'd saw on her playlist. Martin had chosen it.

The fact that he was playing that song at this moment was what shocked me. The Ed Sheeran video, and now this... it had to mean something. My eyes darted to Eleonora, watching her reaction.

Eleonora’s smile faltered, just for a second. Her eyes widened, a flicker of genuine astonishment crossing her face as the familiar melody swelled. She looked from Martin to the stage, then her gaze swept the room, as if searching for an explanation. When the lyrics began, her lips parted slightly, and I could see the moment of recognition, then a slow, beautiful smile spread across her face, softening her features, making her eyes shine. She wasn't just hearing a song; she was feeling it. She closed her eyes for a brief moment, a private, almost vulnerable expression of pure joy.

I knew this was it. This was the moment. My gift. Even before she saw the vinyl's or the video, the song itself, played by Martin, was the first piece of the puzzle. It was subtle, personal, and it was for her.

I felt a quiet satisfaction bloom in my chest, a stark contrast to the earlier frustration. This was better than any grand entrance. This was for her.

As the song continued, a few people started swaying, caught in the unexpected intimacy of the moment. Eleonora opened her eyes, and they found mine across the crowded room. For a beat, it felt like the music faded, the chatter died, and it was just us. Her smile deepened, a silent question in her gaze, and I gave her a small, almost imperceptible nod, a secret acknowledgment that she understood. Then, the song ended, and the room erupted into thunderous applause for Martin. The spell was broken, but the connection remained. Eleonora blew a kiss towards the stage, then started navigating her way through the throng, heading directly towards me.

My pulse quickened. This was it. No more interruptions.

"Norris," she said, her voice a little breathless as she reached me, her eyes sparkling with a mixture of amusement and something deeper. "You outdid yourself. How... how did you manage that?" Her gaze held mine, a knowing glint in her eyes. "That song... and Martin playing it. Only you would know."

"A magician never reveals his secrets, Kimbel," I replied, a smirk playing on my lips, but my gaze was fixed on her, taking in every detail of the red dress, the way it moved with her, the glow on her skin. "Though I suppose a certain DJ might have spilled a few beans about my questionable karaoke skills."

She laughed, a genuine, joyful sound that made my chest ache in the best way. "Questionable is an understatement. But 'Curtains'? That was... unexpected. And perfect." She leaned in slightly, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Did you... did you have something to do with it?"

I just winked, letting the mystery hang in the air. "Maybe. You'll have to wait and see if there are any more surprises tonight, birthday girl."

Her eyes narrowed playfully, but the smile never left her face. "Oh, I like the sound of that, Norris. But don't think you're getting off easy. It’s my turn to surprise you."

My eyes, however, were still lingering on the dress. The way the light caught the silk, the way it hugged her figure. I couldn't hold it in any longer.

"You know," I said, my voice a little softer than I intended, my gaze sweeping over her from head to toe, "you look absolutely beautiful tonight, El. That dress... wow."

A faint blush rose on her cheeks, and her smile softened even further. "Thank you, Lando," she murmured, her eyes meeting mine, and for a moment, the world outside us faded.

Just then, Daniel, George, and Alex, having finally reached Eleonora and given her their boisterous greetings, joined our small circle.

"Eli! Happy Birthday!" Daniel boomed, pulling her into a bear hug that lifted her off her feet.

"Danny! You made it!" she laughed, hugging him back warmly. George and Alex offered their well wishes, and the conversation immediately shifted to the upcoming yacht journey.

"Right," Eleonora said, pulling away from Daniel, though still holding his arm. "Martin, you're a legend! Everyone, the yacht is almost ready to set sail! Let's head down to Port Hercule!"

A collective cheer went up, and the crowd began to flow towards the exit, a wave of excited energy. Eleonora, still radiant, turned back at me, her hand briefly touching my arm.

"Come on, Norris," she said, her eyes holding mine for a beat longer than necessary. "Let's get this party started, properly."

The journey from the penthouse to Port Hercule was a vibrant, chaotic stream of excited chatter and laughter. The Monaco evening air was warm, carrying the faint scent of the sea and expensive perfume. Limousines and luxury cars lined the streets, ferrying guests from Eleonora’s lavish apartment down to the glittering harbor. I found myself walking alongside Daniel and Heidi, with George and Carmen a few paces ahead, and Alex, still animated, somewhere in the lively throng with Lily. Charles and Isabella were a little further back, Isabella’s bright laugh occasionally cutting through the general din.

The port itself was a spectacle. Superyachts, illuminated like floating palaces, lined the docks, their lights reflecting off the calm water. The air thrummed with a different kind of energy now – the anticipation of a party truly beginning. Security was tight, but Eleonora’s team handled it seamlessly, guiding guests towards a specific section of the quay.

And then I saw it.

Eleonora’s yacht. It wasn't just a yacht; it was a behemoth, sleek and impossibly elegant, dwarfing many of the others around it. Its name, "Angela," was subtly lit on the stern, a tribute Eleonora's father had made to her mother. The deck was already softly lit, a bar visible, and the faint thrum of a high-end sound system suggested Martin Garrix was already setting up.

A gangway, wide and carpeted, led up to the main deck. At the top, a few of Eleonora’s staff were greeting guests, checking names off a list. Eleonora herself was already there, a beacon in her red dress, laughing with Nick and Anastasia as people began to board. Zara was nearby, chatting with some of Nick's mates.

As I stepped onto the gangway, the subtle rocking of the yacht beneath my feet was a reminder that this was a truly unique venue. The scent of the sea was stronger now, mixed with the aroma of gourmet food being prepared below deck. The sheer scale of it was impressive, even for Monaco.

Daniel and Heidi were just ahead of me, exchanging pleasantries with Eleonora as they boarded. George and Carmen followed, then Alex and Lily. I watched Eleonora, how she greeted each person, her smile genuine, her eyes bright. She was in her element, the queen of her domain – a big change from her shy demeanor towards parties in the past.

My turn came. As I reached the top of the gangway, Eleonora turned, her eyes finding mine, and the radiant smile she'd given everyone else seemed to soften, become more personal.

"Norris," she said, her voice carrying easily over the low hum of the party. "Welcome aboard. I hope you're ready for a proper birthday celebration." She extended her hand, and I took it, her skin warm against mine. "Wouldn't miss it, Kimbel," I replied, my thumb tracing a light circle on the back of her hand. "Though I have a feeling this is going to be a night of many surprises." I let my gaze linger on her, the red dress, the way her eyes sparkled under the yacht's lights. She truly was stunning.

She squeezed my hand gently. "You might be right. Just try to keep up." Her smile was a challenge, an invitation.

I felt a surge of excitement, a thrill that had nothing to do with racing. "Always do."

As I stepped onto the main deck of the “Angela”, the party truly began to unfold. Martin, now fully in his element, had shifted from the intimate "Curtains" to a more upbeat, yet still sophisticated, mix of electronic music that perfectly suited the luxurious setting. The yacht was vast, with multiple levels and expansive open-air spaces. Guests were already fanning out, some heading to the main bar, others gravitating towards the comfortable lounge areas, and a few venturing to the bow for a panoramic view of the harbor.

I found myself drawn to the railing, taking in the glittering cityscape of Monaco, the lights of the buildings climbing up the hillsides. The cool sea breeze was a welcome contrast to the warmth of the crowd. Daniel and Heidi joined me, soon followed by George and Carmen. Alex and Lily were already deep in conversation with a group near the bar, Alex's laughter echoing a little too loudly.

"Unbelievable, isn't it?" Daniel said, gesturing to the scene around us. "Eli really knows how to throw a party."

"She certainly does," I agreed, my eyes still scanning for Eleonora, who was currently being pulled into a conversation by a couple I didn't recognize. She looked effortlessly elegant, even amidst the flurry of activity.

"So, what's this 'surprises' talk, Norris?" George asked, a knowing smirk on his face. "You got something up your sleeve for the birthday girl?"

I shrugged, trying to play it cool. "Maybe. Just trying to keep things interesting."

"Oh, I'm sure you are," Carmen chimed in, a twinkle in her eye. "Eleonora told me about your singing last night. Brave, Lando. Very brave."

I groaned good-naturedly. "Don't remind me. I think I traumatized Charles for life."

"He deserved it," Daniel said, taking a sip of his drink. "Anyway, I heard there's a proper feast happening below deck. Anyone for some actual food?"

"Lead the way, Danny," George said, and the group started to move towards the stairs. I hesitated for a moment, my gaze still fixed on Eleonora. She caught my eye again, and this time, she offered a small, private smile, a silent invitation. My heart gave another hopeful flutter.

"You guys go ahead," I said to Daniel and the others. "I'll catch up in a bit."

They nodded, understanding. I knew they were probably already speculating, but right now, I didn't care. Eleonora was free. This was my chance.

I started to make my way towards her, weaving through the mingling guests. The music was vibrant, the atmosphere electric. As I got closer, I could hear her voice, clear and confident. She was talking about her new role as Max Verstappen's PR, her passion evident in every word. She truly was incredible.

When I finally reached her, she turned, her smile widening. "Lando! Took you long enough. Getting cold feet?"

"Never," I said, a genuine smile spreading across my face. "Just admiring the view. And trying to figure out how you managed to pull this off." I gestured around the magnificent yacht.

"A few strings pulled, a lot of planning," she said, shrugging modestly. "It's nice, isn't it? A bit different."

"Different is an understatement," I agreed. "It's incredible, Eli. Truly."

For a moment, we just stood there, the sounds of the party swirling around us, but a quiet bubble forming around our conversation. Her eyes, luminous in the soft light, held mine. The red dress shimmered with her slightest movement.

"So," she said, a playful challenge entering her voice. "About those surprises, Lando. Are you going to keep me guessing all night?"

Before I could reply, a voice cut in, friendly and familiar. "Eleonora, darling, you're absolutely radiant tonight."

I turned to see Max Verstappen approaching, a glass in his hand, a warm smile on his face. And Kelly was right beside him, looking equally pleased to be there.

Eleonora's smile brightened further. "Max! Kelly! So glad you both could make it!" She gave Max a quick, friendly hug, then turned to Kelly, embracing her warmly. "Kelly, you look stunning as always!"

"You too, Eli!" Kelly replied, her eyes twinkling. "That dress is incredible!"

Max turned to me; his smile genuine. "Lando! Good to see you, mate. Enjoying the party?" "Hey, Max. Kelly," I replied, smiling. "Yeah, it's brilliant. Eli really outdid herself. And congrats again on the new gig, Eli," I added, glancing at Eleonora. "Max is lucky to have you."

Eleonora beamed at my words. "Thanks, Lando. I'm really excited about it."

Max nodded, his expression one of real appreciation. "She's already bringing a fresh perspective. It's going to be a good partnership." He then turned to Kelly, a soft smile on his face. "We were just about to grab a drink. You two enjoying the music?"

"Martin's doing a great job," Kelly said. "That first song was beautiful, Eli."

"He certainly knows how to set a mood," Eleonora agreed, glancing at me with a knowing look.

"Well, we'll catch up with you both later," Max said, giving us a friendly nod. "Enjoy the party."

Max and Kelly offered their goodbyes and moved off towards the bar, their conversation light and easy. The air around me felt clear again, free of any lingering tension. It was good. Max was a friend, and that's all there to it.

Eleonora turned back to me, her playful expression returning. "So, Lan, about those surprises..."

Chapter Text

Eleonora`s POV

August 15^th, 2023

The pre-party at the penthouse had been a whirlwind, a blur of familiar faces and new introductions. I loved hosting, loved seeing my friends and colleagues enjoying themselves, but there was always a part of me, the organizer, that was constantly scanning, assessing, ensuring everything ran smoothly. Tonight, however, a different kind of buzz had settled over me, one that had nothing to do with logistics.

When Martin Garrix had unexpectedly cut the music and announced a special request, my heart had done a strange little flip. And then, the opening chords of "Curtains" filled the room. My breath hitched. It was my song, the one I'd been listening to on repeat, the one that resonated with something deep inside me. I looked around, searching for an explanation, and then my eyes found Lando's. The subtle nod he gave me, the secret acknowledgment in his gaze, sent a warmth spreading through my chest. He knew. He knew that song. And he'd arranged this. It was such a Lando thing to do – grand, yet personal, with a touch of playful mischief.

The moment he told me I looked beautiful, my cheeks had flushed. Lando wasn't one for idle compliments, especially not about appearance. His words were always direct, honest, and when he said something like that, it meant he truly meant it. It was a rare, precious thing, and it made me feel... seen. Truly seen, beyond the businesswoman, beyond the host, just as Eli.

The transition from the penthouse to the yacht was a smooth operation, thanks to my team. I stood at the top of the gangway of “Angela”, greeting each guest, feeling a surge of pride. My father had named the yacht after my mother, a constant, beautiful tribute that always brought a soft ache to my heart. It made this party, on this vessel, feel even more special, a celebration of life and new beginnings.

The “Angela” was a floating paradise. The yacht was vast, with multiple levels and expansive open-air spaces. Guests were already fanning out, some heading to the main bar, others gravitating towards the comfortable lounge areas, and a few venturing to the bow for a panoramic view of the glittering Monaco skyline.

I watched Lando board, his dark shirt and tailored trousers looking effortlessly sharp. He was a striking figure, even among the well-dressed crowd. When his eyes met mine, that familiar, almost electric connection sparked between us. His thumb tracing circles on my hand as he greeted me sent a shiver down my arm, a subtle touch that spoke volumes.

As the party truly began to unfold, I found myself circulating, chatting with various guests, making sure everyone was comfortable. I saw Lando by the railing, then with Daniel, Heidi, George, and Carmen. It was good to see them all together, enjoying themselves. I caught his eye again, and gave him a small, private smile, a silent invitation to join me when he was ready.

He did. We talked for a moment, the party a vibrant hum around us, but our conversation felt like a quiet bubble. His playful teasing about surprises, and my own retort, felt like a dance, a familiar rhythm between us.

Then Max and Kelly arrived, and the dynamic shifted, but in a good way. It was a relief to see them; Max was a key part of my new professional chapter, and Kelly was always a delight. Their warmth and genuine congratulations on my PR role for Max felt reassuring. There was no awkwardness, no lingering tension, just the easy camaraderie of friends. Working with Max was going to be challenging, but with genuine support from him and Kelly, it felt right.

As they moved off to get drinks, I turned back to Lando, a fresh wave of excitement bubbling up. "So, Norris, about those surprises..." I repeated, a mischievous glint in my eye. "You're not going to leave me hanging, are you?"

He grinned, that familiar, boyish grin that always disarmed me. "Never, Eli. But I think this one you'll have to find yourself." He gestured vaguely towards the interior of the yacht. "John has it tucked away somewhere. A little something to remember the night by, and maybe a reminder of my spectacular singing."

My eyebrows rose. "Oh? A treasure hunt? I like it." The idea of him orchestrating something more beyond the song was exciting. "And a reminder of your singing? You're lucky I'm feeling generous tonight, Norris."

I laughed, a light, carefree sound. The thought of a treasure hunt, even a small one, was delightful. It was so him. He always put thought into things, always found a way to make them personal.

"Well, I'd better get searching then," I said, a playful glint in my eye. "Unless you want to give me a hint?"

He just shook his head, still grinning. "Where's the fun in that? But I promise, it's worth the effort." I gave him a mock salute. "Challenge accepted, Norris."

I started my "treasure hunt," moving through the main salon. The yacht was filling up, and the atmosphere was buzzing. As I passed by a quiet alcove near the library, my thoughts drifted back to yesterday morning, to a routine conversation with John that highlighted the meticulous planning behind an event of this scale.

"Good morning, Miss Kimbel," John had said, his usual calm demeanor. "A few updates regarding the party. All security protocols are confirmed for the yacht. We've coordinated with Port Hercule authorities, and all guest lists have been cross-referenced, including the high-profile arrivals. Everything is running smoothly. We will have to discuss further the situation that occurred due to Mr. Fewtrell night visit. After your party, of course."

"Excellent, John. Thank you," I'd replied, taking a sip of my coffee, relieved by his efficiency. Managing an event like this, especially on a yacht, required constant vigilance, but John always handled it with such quiet competence.

"And regarding Mr. Norris's gift," John continued, a subtle hint of a smile in his voice. "He entrusted me with a package upon his arrival. I've placed it on the yacht, in your private study, on the desk. It seemed the most secure and private location for you to discover it at your leisure."

A small, unexpected warmth had bloomed in my chest at the mention of Lando's gift. "Thank you, John. That's perfect."

Now, on the “Angela”, the memory of that efficient briefing, the sheer scale of the arrangements, and the seamless execution of the party, was simply a testament to my team's hard work. There was no underlying unease about any specific guest, just the usual hum of a large, successful event. I pushed the thought of logistics aside, focusing on the thrill of Lando's game.

I moved towards the yacht's library, a quiet, wood-paneled room filled with books and comfortable seating. John's idea of "tucked away" often involved a touch of irony, but a private study on a yacht felt like the obvious first place for a "secure and private" gift. As I stepped inside, the hushed atmosphere was a stark contrast to the lively deck. My eyes immediately went to the large mahogany desk in the center of the room.

And there it was. A large, beautifully wrapped box, sitting prominently on the desk. Next to it, a sleek silver flash drive and a small, elegant card. A genuine smile, one that reached my eyes, spread across my face. Lando. He always knew how to make me feel special in the past. I was happy this part of him was still intact.

Unbeknownst to me, Lando, who had been lingering near the edge of the crowd, had seen me head towards the library. He knew John would have placed the gift there. He watched me from a distance, a slight frown creasing his brow. He'd noticed a subtle, almost imperceptible tension in my shoulders earlier, a fleeting moment where my usual effortless grace seemed to waver, as if a brief, private thought had momentarily distracted me. It wasn't anything specific, just a flicker of something he couldn't quite place.

He couldn't pinpoint what it was, but something, however small, had seemed to bother me. And now, seeing me disappear into the library, away from the main party, his concern grew. He started to follow, slowly, casually, giving me space but wanting to be near, just in case. He knew I was strong, fiercely independent, but he also knew my vulnerabilities. And he was determined to be there for me, no matter what.

I picked up the small card first. My name, "Eli," was written in Lando's familiar, slightly messy scrawl. Inside, the message was short and sweet, just a few lines that managed to convey so much:

Happy Birthday, Eli.

Hope you have the best night. This is just the beginning.

L.N.

A soft laugh escaped my lips. "Just the beginning," I murmured, a warmth spreading through me. It was so Lando – understated, yet full of promise.

I carefully set the card aside and reached for the large, wrapped box. The paper was baby blue, my favorite color, with a subtle silver ribbon. I untied the ribbon, my fingers tracing the smooth surface of the paper, building the anticipation. When the wrapping came off, I gasped softly.

Inside, nestled perfectly, were vinyl records. Not just one, but a collection. I carefully lifted the first one, my eyes widening as I saw the familiar album art, and then the unmistakable signature across the bottom. Ed Sheeran. All his albums, up until now. I ran my fingers over the grooves, a wave of nostalgia washing over me. I'd loved his music for years, but owning the signed vinyl’s was a dream I hadn't even realized I had. This was beyond thoughtful.

"Oh, Lando," I whispered, a genuine, heartfelt smile gracing my lips.

My gaze then fell on the sleek silver flash drive. This had to be the "kicker" he'd mentioned. With trembling fingers, I picked it up and looked around for a compatible device. My gaze landed on a discreet media console built into the wall, with a small, accessible USB port. I quickly inserted the flash drive.

The yacht's internal screen, usually displaying a serene ocean view, flickered to life. The familiar red hair and guitar of Ed Sheeran filled the screen.

"Hey Eleonora," Ed Sheeran's voice, warm and genuine, filled the quiet room. "Happy Birthday! Lando told me you're a big fan, and I hear you've been having some... interesting karaoke nights." He chuckled, and I blushed, a delighted laugh escaping me. "He also told me 'Curtains' is a special one for you. So, here's a little something."

And then, Ed Sheeran began to sing a stripped-down, acoustic snippet of "Curtains." His voice, raw and emotive, filled the space, making the lyrics even more poignant. I felt tears pricking in the corners of my eyes – something that hadn`t happened in years. It wasn't just the celebrity; it was the thought. The sheer effort Lando must have gone to, the connections he must have pulled, all for me. It was overwhelmingly sweet, a gesture that spoke volumes about how much he cared.

I watched the video, mesmerized, a lump forming in my throat. When he finished, Ed Sheeran smiled. "Hope you have a fantastic birthday, Eleonora. And maybe I'll see you at a show soon."

The video ended, and the screen returned to the ocean view. I stood there for a moment, the weight of the gift, the song, the video, settling over me. It was more than just a present; it was a testament to Lando's understanding of me, his desire to make me happy, and the subtle, persistent way he was trying to show me how much I meant to him.

A soft knock at the open doorway broke my reverie. I turned, wiping a stray tear from my cheek, to see Lando standing there, a tentative smile on his face, his eyes searching mine.

"Surprise?" he asked, his voice gentle.

I didn't reply with words. Instead, I walked over to him, the red silk dress flowing around me, and without thinking, I threw my arms around his neck, pulling him into a tight, heartfelt hug.

"Lando," I whispered into his shoulder, my voice thick with emotion. "You... you didn't have to."

He hugged me back, his arms strong and comforting around me. "Of course I did, Eli. Happy Birthday." He pulled back slightly, just enough to look into my eyes, his thumb gently wiping away a tear. "Everything okay? You seemed a bit... distracted earlier." He was sensitive enough to notice the subtle shift in my mood, even amidst the party chaos.

I shook my head, a soft, happy sigh escaping me. "Just... the usual party nerves, I suppose. And now this. It's perfect, Lando. Truly. Thank you." I gestured back to the desk, to the vinyl’s and the flash drive. "How did you even...?"

He just grinned. "Like I said, a magician never reveals his secrets. But I had a little help." His eyes twinkled. "So, was it worth the treasure hunt?"

"More than worth it," I said, squeezing his hand. The subtle unease I'd felt earlier, a fleeting thought about the sheer magnitude of my responsibilities and the public eye, completely vanished in the warmth of his presence and the overwhelming thoughtfulness of his gift. This was what mattered. This connection.

"Come on," Lando said, his hand still holding mine, a gentle pull. "The yacht's about to set sail. Let's go properly celebrate."

We emerged from the library, hand in hand for a brief moment before I subtly released his grip, a silent acknowledgment of the public gaze. The yacht was now gliding smoothly out of Port Hercule, the lights of Monaco receding into a dazzling panorama against the darkening sky. Martin Garrix had the main deck pulsating with a sophisticated beat, and the atmosphere was electric. Guests were dancing, laughing, drinks flowing freely from the multiple bars. The scent of salt air mingled with expensive champagne and the tantalizing aroma of the gourmet food being served from the lower deck.

I moved through the crowd, a radiant host, occasionally stopping to chat, to ensure everyone was having a good time. I saw Daniel and Heidi on the dance floor, attempting some surprisingly coordinated moves. George and Carmen were by the railing, deep in conversation, occasionally pointing out landmarks on the shore. Alex and Lily were at the main bar, engaged in what looked like a very spirited debate with the bartender.

Lando stayed close, a comfortable presence at my side, occasionally making a witty remark or offering a quiet observation that made me smile. He was my anchor in the joyful chaos.

As the yacht continued its gentle cruise along the coast, I found myself near a quieter lounge area on the upper deck, a perfect spot for more intimate conversations. I was chatting with Nick, who was leaning against a plush sofa, a drink in his hand. Anastasia was seated beside him, listening intently.

"Honestly, Eli," Nick was saying, his voice a little too earnest, a little too loud over the background music. "You really should consider Gavin. He's got real talent, just needs the right push. And with your new PR gig for Max, you've got the momentum now. It's perfect synergy."

I felt a familiar tightening in my chest. Gavin, a singer-songwriter Nick had been championing for months, was… fine. But his music wasn't quite my style, and I already had a full plate with Max's PR. More importantly, Nick's "suggestions" often felt like demands, thinly veiled attempts to leverage my success for his own ventures. I valued our family bond, but this constant pushing was exhausting.

"Nick, we've talked about this," I said, my voice carefully neutral, a practiced smile on my face. I glanced around, hoping no one was paying too much attention. "My focus right now is entirely on Max's campaign. It's a huge undertaking, and I need to dedicate all my resources to it."

"But think of the exposure, Eli!" Anastasia chimed in, her voice bright and a little too eager. "Gavin's sound is so fresh, and with your touch, he could really break through. It's a win-win for everyone."

I forced a tighter smile. "I appreciate the enthusiasm, Ana, but it's just not feasible right now." I could feel Lando hovering subtly nearby, a silent, comforting presence. He was probably picking up on my discomfort.

Just then, a familiar, confident voice cut through the air.

"Oh, Nick, still trying to turn every family gathering into a business pitch?"

I turned to see Charles and Isabella approaching, Isabella's dress was shimmering under the yacht lights, her eyes sparkling with mischief. Charles, ever the charming diplomat, offered a polite smile, but Isabella's gaze was fixed on Nick, a knowing smirk playing on her lips.

"Isabella," Nick said, his easy grin faltering slightly. "Just discussing Eleonora's incredible new opportunities."

"Opportunities, or obligations?" Isabella countered smoothly, raising a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. "Because last I checked, Eleonora's talent doesn't come with a 'family discount' clause. Or a 'charity case' one, for that matter." Her words, delivered with a sweet, almost innocent tone, landed like tiny, perfectly aimed darts.

Anastasia bristled, her smile vanishing. "That's a bit harsh, Izzy. Nick is just looking out for his sister."

Isabella's gaze flicked to Anastasia, a slow, appraising look that was pure ice. "Oh, darling. 'Looking out' for someone usually involves their best interests, not just conveniently aligning with yours. Unless, of course, your definition of 'looking out' involves a rather transparent attempt to ride coattails. Which, let's be honest, wouldn't be the first time you've tried to accessorize with someone else's success, would it?"

A gasp escaped Anastasia's lips, her face paling. Charles, beside Isabella subtly shifted his weight, a faint, almost imperceptible wince on his face, but he remained a silent spectator to Isabella's verbal artistry. Nick, for once, seemed utterly speechless, his mouth opening and closing like a fish.

The silence that followed Isabella's verbal evisceration was thick, punctuated only by the distant thrum of the yacht's engines and the muffled party music. Nick and Anastasia stood frozen, their faces a mixture of shock and indignation. Isabella, on the other hand, looked perfectly serene, as if she'd just commented on the weather. Charles offered me a sympathetic, slightly exasperated glance, a silent apology for his date's bluntness.

I felt a strange mix of relief and mild horror. Relief, because Isabella had articulated exactly what I was feeling, but horror, because she had done so with the subtlety of a sledgehammer. Still, a small, rebellious part of me couldn't help but admire her audacity.

Lando, who had been standing a step behind me, now moved closer, his presence a solid comfort. He cleared his throat, drawing everyone's attention.

"You know," Lando began, his voice surprisingly calm, a hint of dry amusement in his tone as he looked from Isabella to me, "as much as Izzy and I usually find ourselves on opposite sides of... well, most things, I have to admit, it's rather refreshing to see someone else articulate the obvious with such... precision." He paused, a small, wry smile playing on his lips. "Even if it does come wrapped in a rather prickly package."

Isabella's eyes narrowed at him, a flicker of annoyance, but then a grudging acknowledgement. "Hard to argue with the truth, Norris. Even when it comes from you."

"Indeed," Lando countered, a slight tilt of his head. "And for that, Izzy, despite our usual... differences," he emphasized the word with a subtle air quotes gesture, "I'm genuinely grateful. It's good to know Eleonora has someone willing to cut through the noise and watch her back, even if it means a few ruffled feathers." He gave me a quick, reassuring glance, then turned back to Isabella, a hint of challenge in his eyes. "Though, I suspect Eli is perfectly capable of handling her own battles."

I felt a warmth spread through me at Lando's words. He was defending me, subtly, clearly. He understood the dynamic with Nick, and he was acknowledging Isabella's sharp wit without fully endorsing her bluntness. It was a perfectly Lando-esque move – smart, loyal, and just a little bit cheeky. Nick, finally finding his voice, spluttered, "Lando! What are you talking about? And Isabella, that was completely uncalled for!"

"Oh, was it, Nick?" Isabella retorted; her composure unwavering. "Perhaps you should consult your 'client' Gavin on the art of reading a room. Or, in this case, a yacht."

Charles, sensing the conversation was about to spiral further, stepped forward. "Alright, alright, everyone. Let's not turn Eleonora's birthday into a debate club. The champagne is flowing, the music is excellent, and the view is spectacular. Let's focus on celebrating, shall we?" He put a hand on Isabella's arm, a gentle nudge.

Anastasia, still red-faced, mumbled something about needing another drink and practically fled the scene, pulling a bewildered Nick along with her.

Isabella gave a triumphant, almost imperceptible smirk as they retreated. "Some people just can't handle a little constructive criticism," she sniffed, then turned to me, her expression softening slightly. "Happy Birthday, Eli. You deserve a night free of... unsolicited career advice."

"Thank you, Izzy," I said, a genuine smile finally breaking through. "And thank you, Lando," I added, turning to him, my hand briefly touching his arm. His loyalty, even to a rival, was truly something.

"Anytime, Eli," He winked, clearly ready to shift the mood back to something lighter.

The tension, though briefly sharp, dissipated like smoke on the wind, leaving behind a faint, lingering scent of ozone. Charles, ever the peacemaker, successfully steered Isabella away, ostensibly towards the main dance floor, though I suspected he was more interested in preventing further verbal skirmishes.

Lando and I were left in the relative quiet of the lounge area, the background music and distant chatter once again filling the space. I let out a slow breath, a genuine smile replacing the polite one I'd been wearing.

"Well," I said, looking at Lando, "that was... certainly a moment."

He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound. "Never a dull moment when Izzy's around, is there? Though, I must admit, she has a way with words. A rather aggressive way, but effective."

"Effective, indeed," I agreed, a wry twist to my lips. "I think Nick and Anastasia will be steering clear of me – and any business proposals – for the rest of the night."

"Good," Lando said simply, his gaze unwavering. "You don't need that. You've got enough on your plate." His concern was genuine, and it touched me.

"True," I admitted, feeling a wave of gratitude for his presence. He always seemed to know when I needed support, even unspoken.

Just as I was about to suggest we head back to the main deck, Lando's expression shifted. His eyes, which had been warm and reassuring, now held a faint, almost imperceptible furrow. He was looking at me, really looking, and I felt a familiar sense of being seen, even when I didn't want to be.

"Eli," he said, his voice softer, more serious. "Earlier, when I first arrived at the penthouse... I noticed something. Just a flicker. Like something was bothering you. Even now, sometimes, it's like there's a shadow, just for a second." He paused, his gaze gentle but persistent. "Is everything truly okay? You don't have to tell me, but... I'm here if you need to talk. About anything."

My heart gave a small pang. He'd seen it. The fleeting moments of unease, the quiet anxieties that sometimes surfaced despite my best efforts to project an image of effortless control. It wasn't about Nick or Ana, or even the party. It was the weight of everything – the new responsibilities, the constant public scrutiny, the lingering echoes of past hurts that sometimes crept in when I least expected them.

I met his gaze, and for a moment, I considered brushing it off, putting on my usual brave face. But looking at Lando, at the concern in his eyes, I knew I didn't have to. Not with him.

"It's... it's nothing specific, Lando," I admitted, my voice a little quieter than usual. "Just... the usual pressures, I suppose. And sometimes, even on a night like this, it can feel a bit... overwhelming. The expectations. The constant need to be 'on.'" I gave a small, self-deprecating shrug. "But I'm fine. Really. Especially now." I offered him a small, grateful smile, letting him know his presence truly made a difference.

He nodded slowly, his gaze still thoughtful, but the furrow in his brow eased slightly. "I get that," he said, his voice understanding. "It's a lot. But you handle it all with more grace than anyone I know." He reached out, his hand briefly covering mine, a silent reassurance. "Just remember, you don't have to carry it all by yourself, Eli. Not with me around."

The warmth of his touch, the sincerity in his words, was a balm to my soul. It was moments like these, quiet and profound, that reminded me why Lando Norris was so important to me. He didn't just see the public persona; he saw me.

"Thank you, Lando," I whispered, my voice thick with emotion. "That... that means a lot."

He squeezed my hand gently. "Come on," he said, a lighter tone returning to his voice. "Let's go enjoy your party. And maybe, just maybe, I'll even attempt a dance move that doesn't involve tripping over my own feet." He winked, and I laughed, the earlier anxieties completely forgotten.

"Now that I'd like to see, Norris," I teased, pulling my hand from his, but letting my fingers linger for a moment. "Lead the way."

We moved from the quieter lounge area back towards the main deck, where the music was a vibrant, irresistible pulse. Martin Garrix had transitioned into a deeper, more rhythmic house set, the bass thrumming through the deck beneath our feet. The lights, a sophisticated array of blues and purples, pulsed with the beat, casting dynamic shadows that made the dancing figures seem to melt and reform. The air was alive with energy, the scent of the sea mingling with the sweet notes of cocktails and the subtle musk of bodies moving.

Daniel and Heidi were still on the dance floor, now joined by Carlos and Rebecca, their movements fluid and uninhibited. George and Carmen were swaying gently near the edge, a relaxed smile on George's face as he watched the crowd. Even Charles and Isabella were there, Izzy moving with a sharp, almost predatory grace, Charles, a more reserved but equally rhythmic presence beside her.

Lando grinned at me, his eyes sparkling with an infectious energy. "Ready to show me how it's done, Kimbel?"

"Only if you promise not to embarrass me with your 'moves'," I retorted, a playful challenge in my voice. But already, the music was seeping into my bones, making my hips sway almost imperceptibly.

He laughed, a joyful sound that cut through the music. "No promises. But I'll try to keep the collateral damage to a minimum." He extended his hand, and I took it, his fingers warm and strong around mine.

We stepped onto the edge of the dance floor, the beat immediately enveloping us. I started with a simple sway, feeling the rhythm, letting the music move through me. Lando mirrored my movements, a natural grace in his lean frame that belied his self-deprecating comments about his dancing.

Slowly, almost imperceptibly, we moved closer. His hand, which had been holding mine, now slid to my waist, a light, almost hesitant touch that sent a jolt through me. My own hand found his shoulder, my fingers resting lightly on the fabric of his dark shirt. The silk of my dress brushed against his trousers with every movement, creating a subtle friction that heightened my awareness of him.

The music swelled, the beat becoming more insistent, more seductive. We moved in sync, a silent conversation unfolding between our bodies. His eyes were fixed on mine, a deep, intense gaze that held a question, a longing. I felt my breath catch in my throat. The space between us was shrinking, the air thick with unspoken desires.

He leaned in, his lips close to my ear, his breath warm against my skin. "You know," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down my spine, "you make even my terrible dancing look good, El."

I laughed, a little breathless, my body pressing closer against his. "Don't flatter yourself, Norris. It's the dress. It has magical powers."

His hand tightened almost imperceptibly on my waist, pulling me even nearer, until our bodies were barely a whisper apart. I could feel the heat radiating from him and the subtle scent of his cologne. It made my head spin. My fingers tightened on his shoulder; my gaze locked with his.

The music seemed to fade into the background, the world narrowing to just us. His eyes dropped to my lips, then back to my eyes, a silent question hanging in the charged air. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the rhythm of the music. The sexual tension was a tangible thing, a shimmering current between us, pulling us closer, demanding to be acknowledged.

He moved his other hand to my back, guiding me, his touch firm and confident. My body responded without conscious thought, molding against his. I felt the strong line of his jaw, the subtle curve of his smile, the intensity of his gaze. Every nerve ending was alive, tingling with anticipation. This was more than just dancing; it was a conversation, a challenge, a silent promise. And I wanted to see where it led.

As the hours drifted by, the vibrant energy of the party began its slow, graceful descent. Martin Garrix softened his set, transitioning from pulsating beats to more ambient, chill-out tunes that encouraged conversation and lingering rather than frenetic dancing. The main deck, once a kaleidoscope of moving bodies, thinned out, revealing more of the polished teak and the scattered, comfortable seating areas. The aroma of gourmet food had given way to the lingering scent of coffee and the crisp, clean tang of the open sea.

The “Angela” had long since left the glittering coast of Monaco behind, now anchored in a quiet cove, the only lights for miles around being the stars above and the gentle glow emanating from the yacht itself. The moon, a sliver of silver, cast a shimmering path across the calm, dark water. It was a breathtaking scene, a perfect end to a perfect birthday.

One by one, the guests who were not staying overnight began to depart. John and his team were discreetly assisting them, arranging tenders to take them back to the shore. I stood by the gangway, offering warm hugs and sincere thanks to everyone who had come.

"Bestie, a truly spectacular evening," Isabella said, pulling me into a familiar, tight hug. There was no surprise in her embrace; it was the comfortable, firm hug of a best friend. Charles, beside her, nodded in agreement. "You outdid yourself. And don't worry about Nick, he'll get the hint eventually. Or I'll just have to be more direct." She winked, and Charles rolled his eyes, smiling.

"Happy Birthday, Eli," Charles said, giving me a warm embrace. "It was wonderful."

"Thank you both for coming," I replied, squeezing Isabella's hand.

Daniel and Heidi approached next; their faces flushed with happiness from the dancing. "Best party of the year, Eli!" Daniel declared, pulling me into a bear hug.

"Happy Birthday, Eli," Heidi added, her smile sweet. "We had an amazing time."

George and Carmen approached, looking relaxed and content. "A fantastic night, Eleonora," George said, shaking my hand. "Truly memorable."

"Thank you for having us," Carmen added, giving me a hug. "That dress is absolutely stunning, by the way."

"Thank you," I smiled. "I'm glad you both enjoyed it."

Soon, only the overnight guests remained, scattered across the deck in various states of blissful exhaustion. Charles and Isabella were already heading below, Isabella's arm linked through Charles's, their laughter echoing faintly as they made their way to their shared cabin. Nick and Anastasia, looking a little more subdued after Izzy's earlier verbal assault, were also making their way to their cabin on the lower deck. George and Carmen were still by the railing, their voices low and intimate. John, ever present but unobtrusive, was making a final sweep of the main deck, ensuring everything was in order before retiring to his own cabin.

I stood by the railing, gazing out at the dark, expansive sea. The stars, unobscured by city lights, were a glittering tapestry above, a stark contrast to the vibrant, controlled chaos of the party. A deep sense of contentment washed over me. It had been a truly special night.

I reached into my small purse and pulled out my vape pen. The cool metal felt familiar in my hand. I brought it to my lips, inhaling slowly, the faint berry-mint flavor a comforting sensation. A thin plume of vapor curled into the night air, quickly dissipating.

A shadow fell beside me. I didn't need to look to know it was Lando. He leaned against the railing, his gaze following mine out to the horizon. The soft yacht lights cast a warm glow on his face, highlighting the strong lines of his jaw, the thoughtful expression in his eyes. He noticed the vape in my hand.

"Still at it with that, Eli?" he asked, his voice low, a hint of concern in his tone.

I sighed softly, taking another slow drag, the small light at the tip glowing briefly. "It's not exactly a habit, Lando. More like... a coping mechanism." I exhaled, watching the vapor disappear. "It helps with the anxiety. Keeps me from completely losing my mind sometimes, especially with everything going on." I gave a small, self-deprecating shrug. "It's better than the alternatives, I suppose."

He nodded slowly, his gaze understanding. "I get that. The pressure you're under... it's immense. But you don't have to carry it all by yourself, you know." He paused, his eyes lingering on mine, a flicker of something deeper in their depths. "There are other ways to unwind. And other people who care."

The sexual tension, which had been simmering on the dance floor, was now a quiet, potent hum in the stillness of the night. It wasn't loud or demanding, but a deep, undeniable current. His hand, which had been resting on the railing, moved slightly, his fingers brushing mine.

"Speaking of unwinding," he murmured, his voice dropping to a low, playful tone, "my cabin is just a few steps away. And it's awfully quiet in there. Plenty of space for... conversation. Or perhaps, a more hands-on demonstration of how to truly relax after a night like this." He winked, a cheeky grin spreading across his face, his eyes sparkling with invitation. "No vapes required, I promise. Just good company. And maybe a few more of those magical powers from your dress."

I felt a blush creep up my neck, a warm flush that had nothing to do with the vape. My heart hammered against my ribs. He was being so direct, so... unlike Lando. The boldness of his flirtation, combined with the concern he'd shown moments before, was a potent combination.

I met his gaze, a playful challenge in my own eyes, and a slow smile spread across my face. The night was ending, but something else felt like it was just beginning.

Chapter Text

Lando`s POV

August 16^th, 2023

The night air was cool on my skin, a welcome contrast to the heat that had been building between Eleonora and me. Her laughter, a soft, breathless sound, still echoed in my ears. I watched her, the way the yacht's subtle lighting caught the crimson silk of her dress, making it sparkle with every slight movement. She was breathtaking. And the way she'd looked at me, her eyes dark and full of unspoken questions, had set my blood on fire.

My cheeky invitation to my cabin had been a gamble, a spur-of-the-moment decision fueled by the potent mix of champagne, adrenaline, and the undeniable pull I felt towards her. When she'd met my gaze, a slow smile spreading across her face, I knew I'd hit the jackpot.

"Now that I'd like to see, Norris," she'd teased, pulling her hand from mine, but her fingers had lingered, a silent promise. "Lead the way."

And lead the way I did. My heart was pounding, a frantic rhythm against my ribs, echoing the bass that still thrummed faintly from the main deck. We walked in comfortable silence, the gentle sway of the yacht beneath our feet the only sound besides the distant lapping of waves. The main deck was almost deserted now, just the crew making their final rounds.

We reached the door to her suite, a discreet, polished wood panel. I glanced at her, a silent question in my eyes. She met my gaze, a hint of nervousness, but also a fierce determination, in hers. She reached for the handle, her fingers brushing mine as she did, sending another jolt through me.

The door swung open silently, revealing a sanctuary of calm and understated luxury. Eleonora's cabin was a suite, clearly designed with her comfort and taste in mind. Soft, indirect lighting cast a warm glow over the space. A king-sized bed dominated the center, covered in crisp white linens and an array of soft, inviting pillows. On one side, floor-to-ceiling windows offered a panoramic view of the dark, moonlit sea, currently reflecting the scattered stars. On the other, a sleek, minimalist desk and a comfortable reading nook. The air was subtly scented with something light and floral, distinctly her.

"Welcome to my humble abode," she murmured, a soft smile playing on her lips as she stepped inside, turning to face me. The red dress seemed to glow in the dim light, a beacon in the quiet room.

I stepped in after her, the door clicking softly shut behind me, sealing us in. The silence was immediate, profound, broken only by the gentle creak of the yacht and the rapid beat of my own heart.

"Humble?" I scoffed playfully, my voice a little rougher than I intended. "Eli, this is less 'humble abode' and more 'five-star floating palace.' Very you." My eyes swept over the room, taking in the elegant details, the personal touches that spoke of her refined taste.

She chuckled, a low sound that sent another shiver down my spine. "Well, I do like my comforts. And my privacy." Her gaze met mine, a silent challenge in her eyes. "So, Norris, what exactly did you have in mind for this 'unwinding' session?"

I took a step closer, then another, until I was standing directly in front of her, the space between us charged with an almost unbearable tension. I could see the rapid rise and fall of her chest, the slight trembling of her lips. The scent of her perfume, mixed with the lingering sweetness of the vape, filled my senses.

"Well," I began, my voice dropping to a low murmur, my gaze fixed on her lips, "I thought we could start with a proper conversation. Without the distraction of Nick's business pitches or Izzy's verbal fireworks." My thumb gently traced the delicate strap of her dress, just above her collarbone. The silk felt impossibly soft against my skin.

She shivered slightly under my touch, her eyes fluttering closed for a brief second. "A conversation," she repeated, her voice a whisper. "That sounds... innocent enough."

"Does it?" I challenged softly; my gaze still locked on her lips. "Because I'm not feeling particularly innocent right now, Eli. Are you?"

Her eyes snapped open, meeting mine, and the intense desire in their depths mirrored my own. Her emerald green eyes, usually so sharp and analytical, were now dark pools of unbridled longing, a sight that made my gut clench with admiration and pure hunger. "No," she breathed, the single word a confession, a surrender.

And then I kissed her. Properly. My lips devoured hers, a hungry, desperate kiss that was years in the making. Her mouth was soft, yielding, and she responded with an intensity that matched my own, her arms wrapping around my neck, pulling me even tighter against her. The red silk of her dress was a barrier, but barely. I could feel the warmth of her skin, the soft curves of her body pressing against mine.

The kiss deepened, becoming more urgent, more demanding. My hands slid down her back, pulling her hips flush against mine, eliminating any remaining space between us. I felt the soft gasp escape her lips as our bodies met, a silent acknowledgment of the undeniable chemistry that had been between us for so long. This was it. The beginning. And I knew, with a certainty that settled deep in my bones, that this was exactly where I was meant to be.

Her fingers tangled in my hair, pulling me closer, deepening the kiss until I felt lightheaded. The world outside the cabin ceased to exist, replaced by the symphony of our breaths, the soft sounds of our lips, and the frantic beat of two hearts finally aligning. My hands moved from her waist, tracing the elegant curve of her spine, then slowly, deliberately, upwards, until my thumbs brushed against the delicate straps of her dress.

She broke the kiss, her eyes heavy-lidded, her lips swollen and glistening. Her breath came in short, quick gasps, mirroring mine. Her hair, which had been perfectly styled moments ago, was now a beautiful, wild cascade around her shoulders, framing her flushed face. I wanted to bury my hands in it, to feel its softness against my skin. "Lando," she whispered, her voice had a fierce edge to it that sent a fresh wave of desire through me.

"Eli," I breathed back, my voice equally strained. My gaze dropped to the sweetheart neckline of her dress, the soft swell of her chest rising and falling with each breath. The silk, which had seemed so impenetrable moments ago, now felt like a tantalizing whisper against her skin.

Without a word, my fingers found the delicate zipper at the back of her dress. She shivered as my touch grazed her bare skin, a soft sigh escaping her lips. Slowly, carefully, I lowered the zipper, the crimson fabric parting to reveal the smooth, luminous skin of her back. The dress began to slide, a cascade of red silk pooling around her feet, leaving her standing before me in nothing but delicate lace.

My breath hitched. The sight of her, bathed in the soft, ambient light of the cabin, was breathtaking. Her body was a masterpiece – the elegant curve of her waist, the gentle swell of her hips, the full, firm rise of her breasts, tipped with pink, inviting nipples that seemed to harden under my gaze. Her skin was flawless, luminous, a canvas of soft shadows and glowing highlights. A profound sense of awe, mixed with intense hunger, washed over me. This was real. This was Eleonora, completely vulnerable, completely mine.

I reached out, my hands gently cupping her face, my thumbs tracing the line of her cheekbones. Her skin was warm, impossibly soft. I leaned in, kissing her again, this time a softer, more tender kiss, a promise of the intimacy to come. She responded instantly, her lips parting, inviting me deeper.

We moved towards the bed, a silent, shared understanding guiding us. The crisp white linens beckoned, a soft haven in the quiet room. Her body, warm and yielding, pressed against mine as we sank onto the mattress. The gentle sway of the yacht was a rhythmic lullaby, a subtle backdrop to the escalating passion.

My hands explored the soft curves of her body, tracing the delicate lace of her lingerie, feeling the warmth radiating from her skin. My fingers brushed over her flat stomach, the skin smooth and taut, then moved upwards, finding the gentle swell of her breasts. They were full, firm, perfectly cupped in my hands. I leaned down, my lips grazing the sensitive skin of her décolletage, then suckling gently at the peak of one pink nipple, feeling it harden and tighten against my tongue. A soft moan escaped her lips, and her fingers tangled in my hair, pressing me closer. Her back arched, pushing her chest further into my mouth, a clear sign of how much she was enjoying the sensation. Her soft bites on my shoulder, the way her nails lightly raked my skin, sent delicious shivers through me.

Her fingers, in turn, found the buttons of my shirt, working them open with a surprising urgency. The fabric parted, revealing my chest, and her hands immediately found purchase on my skin, her touch both tentative and eager.

The scent of her filled my senses – the light floral perfume, the lingering sweetness of the vape, and now, the intoxicating musk of her own skin, warm and inviting. I buried my face in her neck, inhaling deeply, my lips brushing against her pulse point, feeling the rapid beat of her heart against mine.

"You're so beautiful, El," I murmured against her skin, the words a heartfelt confession.

She gasped softly, her fingers tangling in my hair, pulling my head back so she could look into my eyes. Her eyes, now blazing with a fierce, uninhibited desire, held mine. Her gaze was intense, vulnerable, and full of a desire that mirrored my own. "Lando," she breathed, her voice a plea, a silent urging.

The last barrier was the delicate lace. Her underwear, a wisp of black lace, clung to her hips. My hands moved to it, my fingers tracing the delicate fabric. The thought of peeling it off felt too slow, too gentle for the intense hunger consuming me. A primal urge surged through me. Without a second thought, I gripped the lace at her hips, and with a decisive tug, I ripped it. The soft tearing sound was barely audible over the rush of blood in my ears, a satisfying snap that signaled complete surrender.

She gasped, her eyes widening, a flicker of surprise and then a wicked delight dancing in their depths. "Well, Norris," she chuckled, a breathless sound. "Someone's feeling a bit... destructive tonight."

I grinned, a predatory glint in my eyes. "Can't help it, Eli. You just make me want to tear off every single thing that separates me from you. It's becoming my new favorite hobby, actually. Getting you naked."

Her lips curved into a slow, sensual smile. "Oh, is it? And here I thought you were just clumsy. You know, some of us actually like our lingerie intact for more than one wear." Her voice was a playful challenge, but her hips arched, pressing against my hand, a clear invitation. "But I suppose for a first time, I can make an exception. Just this once."

My breath hitched. "Just this once?" I whispered, my voice rough with desire. "We'll see about that, Kimbel."

Skin met skin, a thrilling, electric contact that sent a jolt through every nerve ending. Her body was soft, yielding, perfectly molded against mine. The cool air of the cabin was a fleeting sensation against our heated skin, quickly forgotten in the rising tide of passion.

I moved lower, my lips trailing a path down her stomach, across her hip, until I reached the soft skin of her inner thigh. Her breath hitched, and her fingers gripped my hair as I parted her legs gently. The sight of her opening, glistening and inviting in the soft light, sent a jolt of pure, unadulterated desire through me. It was perfect, delicate, and utterly captivating. The sweet, musky scent of her arousal filled my nostrils, intoxicating and irresistible. I leaned down, my tongue tasting her, a soft, tentative flick that sent a shudder through her. She gasped, her hips arching, urging me closer. I deepened the kiss, exploring her with my tongue, finding her clitoris, teasing it with soft, deliberate strokes. Her moans grew louder, more insistent, a symphony of pure pleasure. Her body trembled beneath me, a clear sign that she was on the brink. I felt the wetness, the heat, the undeniable readiness of her body for mine. I lingered, savoring the taste, the feel, the way her entire being vibrated under my touch, until her hips were bucking, a silent demand for more.

She shifted, her hand reaching down, her fingers finding my erection, hot and throbbing against her palm. Her touch was hesitant at first, then bolder, her thumb tracing the sensitive tip. A groan ripped from my throat, involuntary. She leaned up, her eyes sparkling with a wicked triumph, and slowly, deliberately, she lowered her head.

The first touch of her warm, wet mouth on my member sent a shockwave through my entire body. I gasped, my back arching off the bed, my fingers tangling in her soft, curly hair. Her tongue was a torment and a delight, teasing, circling, suckling with an expertise that made my vision swim. I was on cloud nine, completely lost in the exquisite sensation, every nerve ending screaming with pleasure. Her lips, soft and full, worked their magic, drawing me deeper, her throat a warm, wet sheath. I could feel the gentle suction, the subtle pressure, the way she savored every inch of me. My hips began to buck instinctively, urging her on, a desperate, primal need to feel more of her mouth.

"Eli," I choked out, my voice strained, my hips twitching. "If you don't stop... I'm not going to last long."

I pulled back, my eyes locking with hers, a flicker of genuine concern cutting through the haze of desire. "Eli," I whispered, my voice a little hoarse. "Are you... are you on anything? Contraception?"

Her eyes, heavy-lidded with passion, met mine. She nodded, a quick, almost imperceptible movement. "Yes," she breathed, her voice barely audible. "I'm on the pill."

A wave of relief washed over me, allowing the last vestiges of restraint to dissolve. I leaned down, kissing her deeply, my tongue tangling with hers, tasting the sweetness of her mouth, the intense desire that pulsed between us.

With a shared breath, a silent understanding, we moved together. My body aligned with hers, the hard press of my erection against her soft, wet entrance. The moment of penetration was a slow, exquisite slide, a feeling of absolute completeness that stole my breath. I felt her muscles clench around me, a warm, tight embrace that sent a jolt of pure ecstasy through my core. It was more than just physical; it was a profound connection, a merging of two souls that had circled each other for so long. The feeling of being inside her, of finally being one with her, was overwhelming, a rush of emotion that made my vision blur. Her gasp was sharp, a mixture of surprise and profound pleasure, as she instinctively wrapped her legs around my waist, pulling me even deeper.

"God, Eli," I groaned, my voice thick with emotion, "you feel incredible. So tight... so hot. Is this real?"

Her nails dug into my shoulders, her head thrown back, eyes squeezed shut. Her chestnut curls fanned out against the pillow, damp with a fine sheen of sweat. "More than real, Lando. It's... everything. You feel... perfect inside me." Her voice was a ragged whisper, laced with pure sensation.

I began to move, a slow, deliberate thrust, feeling every inch of her tight, slick warmth surrounding me. My eyes were fixed on hers, watching the pleasure bloom across her face. Her head tilted back, her lips parted in a silent cry, and her fingers dug into my shoulders, pulling me closer still. Each withdrawal was a sweet torment, each re-entry a deeper, more intense plunge. I felt the friction, the heat, the incredible sensation of our bodies moving as one, a primal rhythm taking hold. Her hips rose to meet mine, her body arching with every stroke, a silent plea for more. Her hands roamed over my back, my shoulders, her touch both tender and demanding. She nipped at my shoulder, a playful bite that sent a jolt of pleasure through me.

"You're amazing, Eli," I whispered against her mouth, my voice hoarse with unleashed desire. "So responsive. I can't get enough of you."

"And I can't get enough of this, Lando," she gasped. "It's... it's like nothing else. Don't stop. Please, don't stop." Her hips bucked against mine, a frantic, animalistic rhythm that matched the escalating desire in my own body. She was wild, uninhibited, and it only fueled my hunger. Her emerald eyes, now wide and glazed with passion, locked onto mine, a challenge, an intense invitation.

I pushed deeper, harder, driven by the need to completely consume her, to lose myself in the profound act. Her moans became guttural, rising in pitch, a testament to the pleasure I was eliciting. Her body was a hot, wet vice around me, pulling me in, demanding every ounce of my strength. I felt the tremors beginning in her, a subtle vibration that quickly intensified, signaling her imminent release.

"You're almost there, El," I whispered against her ear, my voice rough with my own building climax. "Let go. Scream my name."

Her entire body stiffened, her back arching violently off the bed. Her head thrashed from side to side, her chestnut hair fanning out against the white pillows. A long, drawn-out, guttural scream tore from her throat, as she shattered around me. "Lando! Oh, Lando, yes! My God, yes!" Her body convulsed around me, a series of exquisite contractions that sent shivers of pleasure through my entire being. I felt the waves of her orgasm ripple through her, clenching and releasing, pulling me deeper into the vortex of her pleasure. It was breathtaking, a powerful display that consumed me entirely, stripping away everything but instinct. Her nails raked down my back, leaving trails of fire, her legs wrapped around me like a vise, holding me captive in her exquisite release.

Her climax was a tidal wave, pulling me under, stripping away all thought, all control. My own body seized, a deep, shuddering groan tearing from my chest as a powerful, explosive wave of sensation consumed me, emptying myself into her warmth. The feeling of her body, the intense pleasure of our combined climax, left me utterly breathless and completely satisfied.

We lay tangled, breathless and spent, the silence of the cabin now filled with the ragged sounds of our breathing. My face was buried in her damp hair, her body pressed against mine, every inch of us connected, imprinted with the intense experience we had just shared. We lay there, the gentle sway of the yacht a comforting rhythm, our bodies still humming with the aftershocks of our combined release.

After a long, blissful moment, she stirred, her fingers gently tracing the line of my spine. I lifted my head, looking into her eyes. They were still heavy-lidded, but now filled with a soft, tender glow, a profound sense of peace. Her lips were swollen, her cheeks flushed, and a faint, satisfied smile played on her face. Her hair, now a beautiful, wild tangle, framed her face perfectly.

I smiled, gently nudging her chin to meet my gaze. "What I have noticed is that you're still incredibly warm. And that this bed is far too big for just one person."

Her eyes slowly softened, a faint smile returning to her lips.

The fire hadn't completely died. Even in the aftermath, a new kind of hunger, a deeper, more possessive need, began to stir within me. Her body was still warm, still receptive, and the scent of our shared passion filled the air. I felt myself stirring again, a slow, insistent throb.

Her eyes, as if sensing my renewed desire, fluttered open, meeting mine. A spark ignited in their depths, reflecting the renewed heat in my own. She shifted beneath me, her hips subtly rising, a silent invitation.

"Again?" I whispered, my voice a question, a challenge.

Her smile widened, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Only if you can keep up, Norris."

A low growl rumbled in my chest, a primal sound I barely recognized as my own. I lowered my head, kissing her deeply, hungrily, tasting her lingering sweetness. My hands found her hips again, pulling her closer, aligning our bodies once more.

The second time was even more animalistic, more intense. There was no hesitation, no gentle exploration. It was pure instinct, a desperate, driving need to bury myself in her, to feel her clench around me, to hear her cries. The rhythm was faster from the start, a relentless, pounding beat that matched the frantic pulse in my veins. Her legs wrapped around me, pulling me in, her heels digging into my lower back as she urged me on.

"Lando! Faster! Please!" she shrieked, her voice tearing, her hips slamming against mine, a desperate, guttural sound that thrilled me to my core. "I'm... I'm going to... Oh, God! Don't stop, don't you dare stop!"

I drove into her, each thrust a deeper plunge, feeling the exquisite friction, the wet heat, the way her inner muscles gripped me, every sensation. Her body was a hot, slick sheath around me, contracting with every movement. Her moans became a continuous, breathless chant. Her fingers raked through my hair, pulling, demanding, as her body arched violently, her back lifting off the bed.

"Yes, El! Yes!" I roared; my own voice barely recognizable. I felt the tremors beginning, a deep, internal vibration that quickly escalated into a full-body seizure of pleasure. Her entire being stiffened, her head thrown back, her chestnut curls a wild halo around her face, a long, drawn-out, guttural scream tearing from her throat, echoing off the cabin walls. "Lando! Lando! Oh, my God!" She shattered around me, wave after wave of intense contractions clenching and releasing, pulling me deeper into the vortex of her pleasure. It was breathtaking, a display that consumed me entirely, stripping away everything but instinct. A second, even more profound wave of ecstasy consumed me, flooding her with my release.

"Well, Norris," she purred, her voice a little rough, but laced with a new kind of intimacy, a deep, satisfied hum. "That was... quite the birthday present. You really do know how to make an entrance. And a couple of very memorable exits."

I chuckled, a tired but utterly content sound, leaning down to nuzzle her neck. "Only the best for you, Kimbel. And I'd say I made a rather good exit and re-entry, wouldn't you agree? Efficient, even."

She laughed, a soft, husky sound. "Oh, you were certainly... efficient. And thorough. Though I do believe you owe me a new wardrobe now. My closet is going to look rather sparse after your 'new hobby' of textile destruction."

I grinned, pulling her tighter against me. "A small price to pay for such a spectacular view, wouldn't you say? Besides, I'm quite enjoying the process. And something tells me, Eli, that this thing we have? It's just getting started. This isn't a one-off performance, is it? Because I'm already thinking about the encore. And the after-party. And the after-after-party." I raised an eyebrow, a playful, challenging glint in my eyes, my hand tracing the curve of her hip.

She met my gaze, her eyes sparkling with a wicked glint. "Norris," she drawled, her finger tracing the line of my jaw, "you're lucky I'm feeling particularly generous tonight. And even luckier that I find your destructive tendencies rather... compelling. Consider this a preview. The main event, however, will require a much longer commitment. And perhaps a slightly more durable fabric next time. Or maybe no fabric at all. We wouldn't want to run out of material for your 'hobby,' would we?" She punctuated the last thought with a soft, teasing kiss that promised an eternity of pleasure.

I laughed, a deep, satisfied sound. "Challenge accepted, Kimbel. Absolutely. This is just the beginning. And I'm ready for every single, glorious moment of it." I kissed the top of her head, feeling her soft sigh against my chest, knowing that our night, and our story, was far from over.

My gaze drifted to the back of her left shoulder, and I noticed the faint outline of a tattoo I hadn't seen before, partially obscured by the dim light and her chestnut hair. It was a finely detailed lion's head, its gaze fierce and regal. "Hey," I murmured, my voice soft, tracing the outline with my finger. "I haven't seen this before. A lion? It's... striking."

Eleonora's body stiffened almost imperceptibly under my touch. Her emerald eyes, which had been soft and languid, flickered, and a shadow seemed to pass over them. Her smile faltered, replaced by a subtle tension around her mouth. She pulled her shoulder back slightly, a small, involuntary movement of withdrawal. Her eyes met mine, and for a fleeting second, I saw a flicker of something that looked like fear, or deep unease, before she quickly masked it.

"It's... it's an old story," she said, her voice a little too quick, a little too light, avoiding my gaze as she looked out towards the dark window. "Nothing important. Just... something from a long time ago." She shifted, a clear signal to change the subject.

I watched her, a knot forming in my stomach. That brief glimpse of vulnerability, the sudden shift in her demeanor, told me it was far from "nothing." But I also knew better than to push. Not now. Not when she was clearly uncomfortable. My hand gently squeezed her shoulder, a silent acknowledgment that I saw her, and that I wouldn't pry.

"Okay," I said softly, my voice reassuring, letting the subject drop. "Understood. No need to go into it. Just... something I noticed." I paused, then smiled, gently nudging her chin to meet my gaze.

Her emerald eyes, still holding a hint of that earlier unease, slowly softened, a faint smile returning to her lips. She understood. I wasn't going to push. Not yet.

"You know," I murmured, my voice still a little hoarse, my eyes lingering on her, "I've seen you in a lot of expensive clothes, Eli. But I think this... this is my favorite outfit on you." My fingers continued their lazy exploration, tracing the line of her ribs, then her flat stomach, feeling the subtle flutter of her breath beneath my touch.

She chuckled, a low, husky sound that vibrated against my chest. Her beautiful eyes, now soft and dreamy, met mine. "Oh, is that so, Norris? And here I thought I put a lot of effort into selecting that crimson silk. Clearly, my fashion sense is wasted on you." She reached out, her fingers lightly raking through my hair, a playful tug. "Though I must admit, your appreciation for... simplicity... is rather endearing."

I grinned. "It's not simplicity, Eli. It's... clarity. And this view? It's definitely a five-star rating." My gaze drifted lower, over the gentle curve of her hip, down her leg. Every inch of her was captivating.

She let out a soft sigh, her body relaxing further against the crisp sheets. "Such a connoisseur, aren't you? And what about the performance, Mr. Norris? Any notes for improvement, or did I meet your... exacting standards?" Her tone was teasing, but there's a hint of genuine curiosity in her eyes.

I pulled back slightly, my gaze locking with hers, a playful smirk on my face. "Exacting standards? Eli, you didn't just meet them, you shattered them. Repeatedly. And quite loudly, I might add." I winked, remembering her screams, the sounds that had driven me wild. "I believe the entire yacht might have gotten a rather intimate concert."

Her cheeks flushed a deeper shade of pink, but she didn't look away. Instead, she swatted my arm playfully. "Oh, shut up, Norris. As if you were a picture of quiet restraint yourself. I'm fairly certain I heard a few... enthusiastic... groans from your end. We were a symphony, baby. A very loud, very passionate symphony."

I laughed, a rich, contented sound. "A symphony, indeed. And one I'd happily conduct again. And again." My hand settled on her hip, pulling her closer until her body was flush against mine once more. The warmth, the softness, the undeniable connection. It was pure bliss.

Her eyes softened, losing their playful edge, and a genuine tenderness entered her gaze. "I think I'd like that, Lando," she whispered, her fingers intertwining with mine. "Very much."

"Good," I murmured, tightening my hold. "Because I'm not sure I could stop even if I wanted to. You're... addictive, El." My fingers traced the line of her inner thigh, a light, teasing touch that made her shiver.

She tilted her head back, her soft hair brushing my chin. "And you, Norris, are surprisingly potent. Who knew all that racing adrenaline translated so well?" She poked my bicep playfully. "Perhaps you should consider a career change. Less risk of crashing, more... personal satisfaction."

I snorted, a laugh rumbling in my chest. "And leave the thrill of the track behind? Never. Though I'll admit, this kind of 'track time' has its undeniable perks. Especially with you as my co-driver." I leaned in, kissing the corner of her swollen lips. "Speaking of which, I think we just set a new personal best for... lap times."

She giggled, a breathless sound. "Oh, definitely. And I'm quite certain we broke a few sound barriers along the way. My ears are still ringing." She stretched languidly, her body arching against mine, a movement that sent a fresh jolt of desire through me. "But I suppose a little noise is acceptable when the results are so... satisfying."

"More than satisfying, Kimbel," I corrected, my voice dropping to a deeper register. "Utterly, completely, mind-blowingly incredible. And I have a feeling we've only just scratched the surface of what we're capable of." My fingers traced the curve of her hip, then slowly, deliberately, down her side, feeling the soft skin, the subtle indentations of her waist.

She sighed contentedly, leaning her head back against my shoulder. "Scratching surfaces, are we, Norris? Sounds like you're already planning your next archaeological dig. Just try not to break too many artifacts this time." Her voice was laced with amusement, and I could feel the smile against my skin.

"No promises," I whispered back, my lips brushing her ear. "Some artifacts are just begging to be... uncovered. And I'm a very thorough explorer." My hand drifted lower, cupping the soft curve of her bottom.

She shifted, pressing back into my touch, a soft purr escaping her. "Oh, I've noticed your thoroughness. It's quite... impressive. Though I do wonder, is this 'exploration' covered by your standard racing insurance, or will I need to take out a separate policy for 'acts of Lando'?"

I chuckled, tightening my hold. "Don't worry, Kimbel. My personal liability coverage is extensive. Especially when it comes to ensuring your utmost... enjoyment." I kissed the sensitive skin behind her ear, feeling her shiver. "And speaking of policies, I think we just established a new one tonight: 'More of this, always.' Agreed?"

Her eyes met mine, a spark of understanding passing between us, deep and full of a shared future. "Oh, I'm counting on it, Norris."

I ran my fingers through her soft curls, lifting a strand to admire its sheen in the moonlight. "You know, Eli, you're even more stunning when you're all... disheveled. It's a good look for you. Very 'just been thoroughly fucked.'"

She scoffed, a playful roll of her eyes. "Oh, please. As if you're not equally rumpled. You look like you just wrestled a particularly enthusiastic badger. A very satisfied badger, I might add." She reached up to playfully mess with my hair, which was probably already a disaster.

"Satisfied is an understatement," I corrected, leaning into her touch. "Blissfully so. And you, my dear, look like you just won the lottery. Twice." I traced the line of her jaw, feeling the lingering warmth of her skin. "Though I suspect the prize was far more... tangible than numbers on a ticket."

She laughed, a genuine sound that filled the quiet cabin. "Well, you're not wrong there. Definitely a more... hands-on prize. And speaking of prizes, I believe I deserve a trophy for enduring your relentless pursuit. Perhaps a lifetime supply of ripped lingerie?"

"A trophy and a lifetime supply of new lingerie, perhaps," I countered, pulling her closer, my lips brushing her shoulder. "So I can continue my 'hobby' without interruption. It's an investment, really. For our future happiness."

She hummed, a low, pleased sound. "Such a thoughtful businessman. Always thinking ahead. I knew there was a reason I kept you around, Lando. Besides your undeniable charm, of course."

"Oh, just my charm?" I teased, feigning offense. "After all that, that's all I get? No mention of my... stamina? My dedication? My unparalleled ability to make you scream my name?"

She giggled, burying her face in my neck. "Alright, alright, you big ego. You were... quite dedicated. And your stamina is certainly commendable. For a human, anyway. But let's not get too carried away. There's always room for improvement. Always." She nipped gently at my earlobe, sending a fresh wave of warmth through me.

"Is that a challenge, Kimbel?" I whispered back, my voice deepening, my hand tightening on her waist. "Because you know how much I love a good challenge."

She pulled back slightly, her eyes glinting with amusement. "Oh, I know, Lan. I know you thrive on them. But let's not get ahead of ourselves. We've just completed a rather intense 'race,' wouldn't you say? Perhaps a cool-down lap is in order before we start eyeing the next pole position." Her fingers lightly traced the faint stubble on my jaw.

"A cool-down lap, huh?" I mused, my thumb gently stroking her hip. "I suppose even a champion needs a moment to savor the victory. But don't think for a second I'm not already strategizing for the next heat. I've got a few new moves I'm eager to try out on this particular circuit." My gaze lingered on her lips, a silent promise.

She smiled, a slow, sensual curve. "Oh, I'm sure you do. And I, for one, am very much looking forward to seeing your... innovations. Just make sure they're up to FIA standards, Norris. Wouldn't want any penalties for unsportsmanlike conduct." She winked, then snuggled closer, her head resting comfortably on my shoulder. "For now, though, I think I'll just enjoy the view from the winner's circle. It's quite lovely up here."

I wrapped my arm tighter around her, pulling her completely against me. "And you, Eli, are the most beautiful trophy I've ever won. Definitely worth all the effort." I kissed the top of her head, inhaling the sweet scent of her hair. "Though I'm starting to think you're going to cost me a fortune in dry cleaning bills. All that... enthusiasm."

She laughed, a full, throaty sound. "Oh, is that my fault now? I seem to recall a certain driver who was rather insistent on pushing the limits. And besides, I'm pretty sure you're the one who tore my lingerie. And my... well, we won't get into the rest of the casualties." She patted my chest playfully. "You're lucky I'm a forgiving woman."

"Lucky is an understatement, El," I countered, my lips curving into a satisfied smile. "I'm practically blessed. And as for casualties, I consider them battle scars. Proof of a truly epic encounter." I tightened my embrace, feeling her soft body conform perfectly to mine. "So, what's the next event on our agenda, champion? Another victory lap, or are we moving onto the podium celebrations?"

She hummed, a thoughtful sound. "Podium celebrations sound rather nice. Perhaps involving champagne? Though I suspect we've already had enough of that for one night." She shifted, turning her head to look at me, her eyes twinkling mischievously. "Unless, of course, you have another kind of 'celebration' in mind that doesn't involve breaking any more of my expensive things."

I chuckled, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. "I might just have a few ideas. Ones that involve significantly less property damage, I promise. But just as much fireworks." My gaze dropped meaningfully to her lips.

She grinned, her eyes sparkling. "Well, Norris, you've certainly proven you know how to ignite a few sparks. I'm intrigued. Lead the way, then. But this time, try not to get us lost."

"Never," I whispered, pulling her even closer, my heart overflowing with a quiet contentment. "With you, Eli, I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be."

The yacht continued its gentle sway, the moonlight painting silver streaks on the dark sea outside. Inside the cabin, a new kind of quiet settled between us, one filled with the echoes of shared passion and the promise of a future.

--------------------------------------------------

The gentle rocking of the yacht was the first thing I registered. A faint, golden light began to filter through the cabin's large windows, painting soft, shifting patterns on the ceiling. I stirred, blinking slowly, my eyes adjusting to the dawn.

Eleonora was still asleep beside me, her head nestled against my shoulder. One of her arms was thrown across my chest, her fingers loosely curled against my skin. Her breathing was soft and even, a peaceful contrast to the passionate gasps and moans of hours before.

I lay still, not wanting to disturb her. This was a moment I wanted to savor, to commit to memory. The early morning light softened the sharp angles of her face, highlighting the delicate curve of her cheekbone, the long sweep of her lashes. Her lips, still slightly swollen from our kisses, were parted just a fraction, a soft, inviting pout. I found myself smiling, a quiet, profound sense of contentment settling deep in my chest.

My gaze drifted over her, taking in the soft rise and fall of her bare chest, the gentle slope of her stomach. My fingers, almost on their own accord, began to lightly trace the line of her arm, feeling the smooth warmth of her skin. I moved slowly, deliberately, my touch feather-light, not wanting to break the spell of her sleep. I followed the curve of her waist, the soft swell of her hip, my hand resting there for a moment, feeling the warmth of her body against mine.

She stirred slightly, a soft murmur escaping her lips, but didn't wake. Her fingers tightened almost imperceptibly on my chest. I leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to her temple, inhaling the scent of her hair, a mix of her perfume and the lingering musk of our night. It was intoxicating.

I watched her for a long time, just breathing her in, taking in every detail of her peaceful slumber. This woman, with her sharp wit, her fierce intelligence, and her surprising vulnerability, had completely captivated me. The intensity of what we'd shared last night had forged a new kind of connection between us, something deeper and more profound than I'd anticipated. It wasn't just about the physical; it was about the passion that had flowed between us, the way she had met my desire with her own, fearlessly.

A soft sigh escaped her, and her eyes fluttered open slowly, blinking against the soft light. They were still hazy with sleep, but as they focused on me, a slow, beautiful smile spread across her face.

"Morning, sleepyhead," I whispered, my voice rough with tenderness, my thumb gently stroking her cheek.

She stretched languidly, her body arching slightly, a soft groan of pleasure escaping her. "Mmm, morning, Norris," she mumbled, her voice thick with sleep. "You're... awake already? What time is it?" She burrowed deeper into my side, her nose nuzzling my neck.

"Early," I chuckled, tightening my arm around her. "The sun's just decided to make an appearance. And I didn't want to miss a single second of this view." My gaze swept over her face, then down her body again, a silent, loving appreciation.

She hummed, a contented sound. "Such a poet, aren't you? Or perhaps just a very visual person." She lifted her head, eyes, now clearer and sparkling, meeting mine. "And speaking of views, you're not so bad yourself, Lando. Though I'm fairly certain I've seen most of it already." A playful smirk touched her lips.

I laughed softly, pulling her closer. "Oh, you think so, do you? I assure you, Eleonora, there are still plenty of hidden depths to explore. And I'm a very patient explorer. Especially when the landscape is this inviting." My fingers traced the curve of her hip, a light, teasing touch.

She shivered, a small gasp escaping her. "You are unbelievable, Norris. But I suppose that's part of your charm, isn't it? Always pushing the boundaries." She leaned up, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to my lips. Her mouth was still warm, tasting of sleep and something sweet. "And I have to admit, your 'exploration' techniques are quite thorough."

"Only for the most valuable discoveries," I murmured against her lips, deepening the kiss. This morning, everything felt different. Lighter, yet more profound. The playful banter was still there, but beneath it, a new layer of tenderness and affection had settled. This was more than just passion; it was a connection that felt right, felt real.

She pulled back, her eyes twinkling. "Well, I suppose I can allow you to continue your research, then. For science, of course. And for the sake of further discoveries." She pressed another soft kiss to my jaw, then snuggled back into my side, her hand finding mine and intertwining our fingers.

I smiled, my gaze drifting out to the sparkling sea. The world outside was waking up, but here, in the quiet intimacy of the cabin, it felt like our own private universe. A perfect start to a new day.

"You know," I added, my voice a low rumble against her ear, my fingers tracing the delicate curve of her hip, "I'm starting to think this whole 'unwinding' thing was a brilliant idea. Far more effective than any spa day or meditation retreat I've ever tried."

She snickered, her body shaking slightly with suppressed laughter. "Oh, really, Norris? You mean my unique brand of 'therapy' is more beneficial than a hot stone massage? I'm flattered. Though I do wonder about the long-term side effects. I might need a new therapist, and a new wardrobe, after this."

"Consider me your personal, highly effective, and slightly destructive therapist," I countered, kissing the soft skin of her shoulder. "And as for the wardrobe, as I said, it's an investment. Think of it as a recurring subscription service. You get new lingerie, I get to... appreciate it. Win-win."

"A recurring subscription, you say?" She lifted her head, her eyes narrowed playfully. "And what exactly is the cancellation policy on this 'service,' Mr. Norris? Because I have a feeling once I'm subscribed, you're not going to let me go easily."

I tightened my arm around her, pulling her even closer. "Cancellation policy? Eleonora, there is no cancellation policy. Once you're in, you're in for the long haul. Besides," I whispered, my lips brushing her ear, "why would you ever want to cancel? You're having too much fun."

She sighed, a soft, contented sound, and snuggled deeper into my embrace. "You're infuriating, Lando Norris. Absolutely infuriating. And you're right. I am."

"Infuriating, huh?" I chuckled, kissing the top of her head. "I'll take that as a compliment. Means I'm keeping you on your toes. Wouldn't want you getting bored, would we?" My fingers idly played with a loose strand of her hair, tucking it behind her ear.

"Bored?" She scoffed, her voice muffled against my chest. "With you? Never. Exhausted, perhaps. Utterly, deliciously exhausted. But never bored." She shifted, turning slightly to press a kiss to my chest. "Though I do think you owe me a proper breakfast after all that cardio."

"Breakfast it is," I agreed instantly, my stomach rumbling at the thought. "Anything your heart desires, my champion. Room service, or perhaps a daring raid on the galley? I'm feeling rather adventurous this morning." I traced the curve of her hip with my thumb.

"A daring raid?" Her eyes sparkled as she looked up at me. "Now that sounds like a challenge worthy of a true explorer. Just make sure you bring back something substantial. My energy reserves are depleted." She winked, then playfully pinched my side.

"Consider it done," I declared, my smile widening. "Operation: Fuel the Champion is a go. And don't worry, I'll make sure there's plenty to replenish those reserves. You'll need them for the next round of 'research'." I waggled my eyebrows suggestively.

She laughed, a bright, clear sound that filled the cabin with warmth. "Oh, Norris. You're impossible. But in the best possible way." She snuggled closer, her body a perfect fit against mine.

"Speaking of impossible," I murmured, my gaze drifting over her bare shoulder, then down her arm. "How is it that you manage to look even more captivating in the morning, all soft and sleepy, than you did in that killer red dress last night?" My fingers brushed lightly over her breast, feeling the subtle rise and fall.

She hummed, a pleased sound. "Practice, Lan. Years of perfecting the art of the 'effortlessly alluring' morning-after look. It's all about the strategic hair placement and the 'I just woke up like this' glow." She batted her eyelashes dramatically. "Though I suspect your presence might have something to do with it. You're rather energizing."

"Energizing, am I?" I teased, leaning down to nuzzle her neck, my lips grazing her pulse point. "I aim to please. And speaking of energy, I'm feeling rather recharged myself. Ready for whatever the day throws at us. Or, more accurately, whatever we decide to throw at the day."

"Bold words, Norris," she purred, her fingers tracing the muscles in my arm. "But I like a man with a plan. Just make sure your plan involves coffee. Lots and lots of coffee. And maybe a croissant. Or three. I'm a growing girl, you know."

"Coffee, croissants, and anything else you desire," I promised, pressing a soft kiss to her lips. "Your wish is my command, Eli. For today, at least. Tomorrow, we might have to negotiate terms."

She laughed, a soft, happy sound. "Oh, I'm sure we will. But for now, I'm content to let you be my personal genie. Just try not to grant any wishes that involve more ripped clothing. My budget can only stretch so far."

I grinned. "No promises on that front, Eleonora. Some habits are hard to break. Especially when they're this much fun." I pulled her even tighter, savoring the warmth of her body against mine.

"On that note, Mr. Norris," Eleonora said, a sudden shift in her tone, a hint of playful authority creeping in, "as much as I'm enjoying this private breakfast planning session, I believe we have an appearance to make. On the main deck. For actual breakfast. With actual people." She nudged me gently, pulling back just enough to meet my gaze. "This delightful 'breakfast in bed' service you're offering? It's noted. And it will be held accountable for future demands." Her eyes twinkled with a promise of more intimate mornings to come, but also a clear signal that it was time to face the day.

I groaned dramatically. "Actual people? On the deck? You mean I have to put on clothes? And interact?" I feigned deep disappointment, but a smile was already tugging at the corners of my lips. "Fine, fine. But you're right, this is going into the ledger. Future demands, indeed. I'll expect a detailed itinerary of all forthcoming 'breakfast in bed' requests."

She laughed, a bright, clear sound. "Oh, you'll get it, Lando. Complete with a menu and perhaps a dress code. Now, come on, you big baby. Unless you plan on greeting the crew in your natural state." She playfully slapped my bare chest.

I chuckled, reluctantly beginning to stir. "Tempting, very tempting. But I suppose even champions have to adhere to certain societal norms. For now. Don't think this means I'm not already plotting our next escape." I leaned in for one last, lingering kiss.

The yacht continued its gentle sway, the sunlight now stronger, painting the cabin in a brighter, more vibrant gold. Our private universe was slowly expanding to meet the day, but the warmth and connection between us remained, a quiet promise of many more mornings to come.

Chapter Text

Eleonora`s POV

August 16^th, 2023

The soft click of the cabin door closing echoed in the quiet room, a gentle punctuation mark to the most exhilarating night of my life. Lando was gone, off to face the day, leaving me cocooned in the warmth of the bed, the lingering scent of him on the sheets and my skin. A slow, contented smile spread across my face as I stretched, feeling every muscle in my body hum with a delicious ache. He was right; his "therapy" was incredibly effective. And certainly more memorable than any spa treatment.

The morning sun, now a little brighter, streamed through the windows. I closed my eyes again, replaying moments from the night: his hungry kisses, the way his hands had explored every curve of my body, the raw intensity in his eyes, his deep groans, and the exquisite shudders of his release. And my own. Oh, my own. He had pushed me to limits I hadn't known existed, and I had met him there, willingly, eagerly.

A wave of pure happiness washed over me. It felt good. More than good. It felt... right. Lando Norris. Who would have thought? After everything? The cheeky, competitive, sometimes awkward, but undeniably charming Formula 1 driver had somehow managed to breach the carefully constructed walls around my heart.

But as quickly as the happiness surged, a familiar, cold tendril of apprehension began to creep in. Happy. The word felt dangerous, fragile. My past, a series of sharp, painful lessons, whispered warnings in the back of my mind. Every time I had allowed myself to feel this open, this vulnerable, it had ended in a spectacular, devastating crash. The lion on my shoulder, usually a symbol of strength, felt heavy, a reminder of battles fought, and scars acquired. Could I really trust this? Could I trust him? Could I trust myself not to fall too hard, too fast, only to break again?

I pushed the thoughts away with a shake of my head. Not now. Not when the morning felt so golden, so full of promise. One step at a time. For now, I would simply bask in the afterglow.

Reluctantly, I swung my legs over the side of the bed, feeling the cool air on my skin. My crimson dress lay in a silken puddle on the floor, a casualty of Lando. I chuckled, picking it up and draping it over a chair before heading to the en-suite bathroom. A quick, invigorating shower washed away the last traces of sleep and sweat, leaving me feeling refreshed and ready to face the day.

I chose a simple, elegant white linen dress, light and airy for the warm Mediterranean morning. A touch of mascara, a swipe of lip balm, and I was ready. My curls, still damp, framed my face in a soft, natural wave.

Stepping out onto the main deck, the vibrant morning light hit me, a refreshing contrast to the dim intimacy of the cabin. The sea was a dazzling expanse of sapphire, sparkling under the rising sun. The air was fresh, carrying the faint scent of salt and freshly brewed coffee.

And there it was. The breakfast table. It was a grand affair, a long, polished wooden table laden with an array of pastries, fresh fruit, cheeses, and steaming coffee pots. It was positioned perfectly to capture the morning sun and the breathtaking view.

My eyes immediately found him. Lando. He was already seated, looking impossibly handsome in a crisp, light blue shirt that made his eyes sparkle even more. He was laughing at something Charles had said, his head thrown back, completely at ease. As if sensing my presence, his gaze snapped to mine, and his smile widened, a genuinely happy, boyish grin that sent a flutter through my chest. He quickly patted the empty seat beside him, a silent invitation.

Nick was at the head of the table, already engrossed in a conversation with Ana, who looked chic even at this hour. Izzy was across from Lando, a mischievous glint in her eyes as she chatted with Charles. John, ever diligent, was standing a discreet distance away, overseeing the breakfast service. George and Carmen were conspicuously absent, clearly still enjoying their beauty sleep.

I walked towards the table, feeling a lightness in my step, a new confidence that hadn't been there yesterday. Lando's eyes followed me, a warmth in their depths that made my cheeks flush. I reached the table, and he pulled out the chair for me, his hand brushing mine as I sat down.

"Morning, Eli," he whispered, his voice low, just for me, a private warmth in the public setting. "Slept well?" His eyes held a knowing glint.

I met his gaze, a playful challenge in my own. "Like a baby, Norris. Though I do seem to recall some rather enthusiastic snoring at one point." I leaned in conspiratorially. "You might want to get that checked out."

He chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound. "Me? Snoring? Impossible. That must have been the yacht's engine. Or perhaps your own subconscious expressing its profound satisfaction." He winked, reaching for a croissant. "Though I'll admit, I did sleep rather profoundly myself. Best night's sleep I've had in years, actually." His gaze held mine, a silent confirmation of the truth behind his words.

The sun warmed my skin, the scent of coffee filled the air, and the playful banter with Lando felt like a natural extension of our night. The table was a lively hum of conversation, the clinking of porcelain, and the aroma of fresh pastries. Nick was holding court, as usual, regaling Ana with some anecdote about a recent business deal, while Izzy and Charles were deep in a discussion about racing strategies, their voices animated.

"Honestly, I don't know why some people even bother with early morning flights," Nick declared loudly, cutting across the general chatter, his voice carrying a distinct edge. He took a sip of his coffee, his gaze sweeping over the table, landing pointedly on Lando and then, subtly, on Charles. "Especially when they've clearly been 'up all night' for other, less productive activities. Seems like even the drivers are getting lucky in bed these days, even if they can't manage to win a race."

A sudden, uncomfortable silence descended upon the table, thick and heavy. The clinking of cutlery stopped. Ana, who had been listening intently to Nick, froze, her eyes wide as she glanced from him to me, then to Lando. Charles's jaw tightened, his cheerful expression replaced by a stony one. My own cheeks burned, and I felt Lando stiffen beside me. The air crackled with unspoken tension. John, usually so composed, even looked momentarily flustered, his hand hovering near a coffee pot.

The silence stretched, awkward and excruciating, for what felt like an eternity. My heart pounded against my ribs, a frantic drum against the sudden quiet. I could feel everyone's eyes on us, even if they pretended to be fascinated by their croissants.

Then, Isabella's voice, sharp and clear, cut through the tension like a finely honed blade. "Oh, Nick, darling, always so insightful, aren't we?" Her tone was dripping with saccharine sweetness, a dangerous sign. She set down her coffee cup with a delicate clink. "It is truly fascinating how you manage to connect 'being well-rested' with 'winning races.' Perhaps you should try applying that same logic to your own endeavors. You might find it quite enlightening."

She paused, her gaze flicking pointedly from Nick's flushed face to Ana, then back to Nick, a subtle, knowing smirk playing on her lips. "And as for who is getting 'lucky in bed,' well, some of us prefer our nocturnal activities to be mutually enjoyable, rather than just a one-sided, self-congratulatory affair. Wouldn't you agree, Ana? After all, some people find their satisfaction in unexpected places, wouldn't you say? Especially when the usual arrangements prove a bit... dull."

Ana's eyes widened, a faint blush spreading across her cheeks, but a small, almost imperceptible smile touched her lips as she met Isabella's gaze. Nick, meanwhile, looked like he'd swallowed a lemon, his face a mixture of shock and indignation. The awkward silence was replaced by a different kind of tension, one laced with Isabella's undeniable triumph. I suppressed a giggle, a warmth spreading through me at Izzy's quick defense.

My gaze met Izzy's across the table, and a silent conversation passed between us. Thank you, my eyes conveyed. Always in my corner. Her slight nod, barely perceptible to anyone else, confirmed our unbreakable bond. She was more than a best friend; she was family, my fierce protector, especially against boors like Nick.

Lando, sensing the shift in my mood, leaned closer, his voice a low murmur against my ear. "Isabella is brilliant, Eli. Absolutely brilliant. I think I'm in awe."

I turned to him, a genuine smile replacing my earlier blush. "She is, isn't she? You should be grateful she's on our side, Norris. Izzy's a force of nature."

He chuckled, his hand finding mine under the table, his thumb gently stroking my knuckles. "Oh, I am. Believe me. I'm already strategizing how to keep her happy." He then looked up, catching Isabella's eye. "That was quite the masterclass, Izzy," he said, his voice carrying just enough for her to hear, a genuine note of appreciation in his tone. "Truly impressive."

Isabella, who had been calmly buttering a piece of toast, looked up, a faint, knowing smile playing on her lips. She raised an eyebrow, her gaze sweeping over Lando, then briefly to my hand intertwined with his under the table. "Just doing my civic duty, Norris," she drawled, her voice still sweet but with that underlying steel. "Someone has to keep the peace, and frankly, some men just need a little guidance when it comes to social decorum." Her eyes twinkled with amusement, and then, to my surprise, she gave Lando a quick, genuine smile, a silent acknowledgment of his appreciation. "Though I suppose you're not entirely beyond redemption. Yet."

Lando grinned back, a genuine, boyish charm radiating from him. "I'll take that as a challenge, Izzy. And you know how much I love a challenge."

A comfortable hum of conversation slowly resumed around the table, though Nick remained notably quieter, picking at his croissant with a sour expression. The sun continued to warm my skin, and the warmth in my chest, fueled by Lando's presence and Izzy's unwavering loyalty, felt like a shield against any lingering apprehension.

The rest of the morning on the yacht passed in a pleasant haze of sunshine, light conversation, and lingering smiles with Lando. After breakfast, we'd spent a few hours lounging on the upper deck, soaking in the sun, the easy camaraderie with Izzy and Charles, and the subtle, thrilling awareness of Lando beside me. Eventually, as the afternoon sun began to climb higher, the yacht made its way back to the Monaco harbor. Disembarking was a quieter affair than boarding, everyone feeling the gentle exhaustion of a night well spent. Lando had walked me to my waiting car, his hand lingering on my arm, his eyes holding a promise of future encounters that made my heart flutter.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Now, back in the cool, spacious sanctuary of my penthouse, the vibrant blue of the Mediterranean still stretched endlessly outside my panoramic windows. The subtle scent of fresh flowers from a vase on the coffee table filled the air, a stark contrast to the salty breeze of the yacht. I had changed into a comfortable silk robe, the soft fabric a welcome caress against my skin, still humming with the memory of Lando's touch. The blissful contentment from the morning lingered, a warm, fuzzy feeling that made the usual anxieties of my life seem distant, almost irrelevant. Almost.

A soft knock at the door pulled me from my reverie. "Come in, John," I called, knowing it could only be him.

John entered, impeccably dressed as always, carrying a sleek tablet in his hand. His expression was calm, professional, but I could sense the underlying gravity of the situation. He was more than just my head of security; he was my confidant, my shadow, the one person I trusted implicitly with my safety and, often, with my secrets.

"Miss Kimbel," he began, his voice low and measured, "I have the latest report on Mr. Fewtrell." He tapped the tablet screen, and a video clip began to play. This wasn't the footage of him planting the device, but a clearer, more recent surveillance feed from the last twenty-four hours, showing Max's movements around the city.

I watched for a moment, a familiar knot tightening in my stomach. The image of Max, Lando's best friend, was still jarring, especially after the discovery two days ago.

A sharp, chilling memory from the small hours of August 14th flashed vividly in my mind. I had been alone in my penthouse, reading, when my phone buzzed with a motion detection notification from the hallway camera. I'd checked the live feed, and there he was: Max Fewtrell, lingering suspiciously outside my door in the dead of night. He hadn't just been loitering; he had knelt, seemingly adjusting his shoe, but my eyes, trained by years of constant threat assessment, caught the subtle, furtive movement as he slipped something small and dark under the ornate console table near my entrance.

My blood had run cold. A listening device. Not a paparazzi, not a random fan, but Lando's best friend. The betrayal had been a bitter taste in my mouth. I had backed up the footage immediately, the undeniable proof of Max's calculated act. Later that morning, after Lando had left my penthouse, I had talked with John, my voice tight with a mixture of shock and cold fury. He had arrived within minutes, confirming my fears after a quick sweep and analysis of the device. I had shown him the security footage then.

"This changes everything, John," I had said, my voice barely a whisper. "He's not just a nuisance. This is deliberate espionage."*

John's face had been grim. "Indeed, Miss Kimbel. A sophisticated device. Placed with intent. Given this development, I strongly advise moving your birthday celebration from Jimmy'z to the yacht. It offers a far more controlled environment, easier to monitor and secure against this level of intrusion."

I had agreed without hesitation. The thought of Fewtrell, or whoever he was working for, listening in on my private conversations, especially after my vulnerable moments with Lando, was sickening. "And Lando?" I had asked, my heart aching at the thought of the fallout. "Does Lando know about this? About Max?"

"Not from us," John had replied, his gaze firm. "My recommendation is to keep Mr. Norris out of this for now. Until we have a clearer picture of Mr. Fewtrell's intentions, and whether he is acting alone or on behalf of someone else, involving Mr. Norris could complicate matters unnecessarily. It could also put him in a difficult position with his friend."

I had agreed. The thought of exposing Lando to such a betrayal, especially from his closest friend, was unbearable. Not yet. Not until I understood the full extent of the threat and the why behind it.

Now, back in the present, John's tablet showed Max making a call from a café, his expression unreadable. "He's been making several calls to an untraceable number," John reported, pulling me back to the current moment. "And his financial activity has shown some unusual, albeit small, transfers. He also spent a significant amount of time yesterday near the harbor, observing the yacht's movements."

"So, what's our next step?" I asked, my voice firm, pushing down the lingering unease about Lando. My priority was to understand, to protect myself, and by extension, Lando, from whatever this was. "Do we confront him now? About the device?"

John shook his head. "Direct confrontation is still premature, Miss Kimbel. It would alert him to our knowledge and potentially drive him further underground. My recommendation remains the same: we continue to monitor him. Discreetly. We need to understand the why. What is he doing, where is he going, who is he speaking to? And we continue to dig into his past. Find out if there's any history, any reason for any animosity towards you, or your family. Anything that might explain this behavior, or if he's being coerced, or if there's a deeper, more malicious motive. This is about a breach of your privacy, a direct threat."

His expression remained impassive, but a flicker of understanding passed through his eyes. He knew my history, the constant threat of those who sought to undermine me. "We will continue the comprehensive background assessment and ongoing surveillance. Discretion will be paramount. We are also analyzing the device for any further clues as to its origin or intended recipient."

"Good," I said, a sigh escaping me. The blissful afterglow of the night faded a little more, replaced by the familiar weight of the constant vigilance my life required. But then, a flicker of Lando's easy smile, his genuine happiness, flashed in my mind. Perhaps, this time, I wouldn't have to face it all alone. And perhaps, with Lando, even the challenges of my public life could be navigated with a little more ease, once I understood the full scope of the threats.

August 17^th, 2023

The morning dawned bright and clear; the sun already warm on my skin as I stepped onto the private beach. The gentle lapping of waves against the shore was a soothing balm, a stark contrast to the undercurrent of tension that still hummed beneath the surface of my life. John, as always, was a discreet presence nearby, his gaze sweeping the horizon, ever vigilant.

I found Izzy already settled on a plush sun lounger, a wide-brimmed hat shielding her face, a book open on her lap. She looked up as I approached, her blue eyes sparkling with amusement.

"Well, well, look who finally decided to grace us with her presence," Izzy drawled, pushing her sunglasses up her nose. "I was beginning to think you'd permanently fused with the sheets in your bed. Or perhaps with a certain McLaren driver." A knowing smirk played on her lips.

I rolled my eyes, a blush creeping up my neck. "Oh, shut up, Izzy. It was a long night. And you know how much I appreciate my beauty sleep." I settled into the lounger beside her, pulling my own sunglasses down. The soft sand was warm beneath my toes.

"Beauty sleep, huh?" she scoffed good-naturedly. "More like a full-body workout, if the rumors from the breakfast table are anything to go by. Nick was practically foaming at the mouth yesterday morning, wasn't he? Something about drivers being 'lucky in bed' but not on the track." She mimicked his pompous tone perfectly.

I sighed; the pleasant morning haze momentarily disrupted. "Don't even get me started on Nick. He's insufferable. Though I have to admit, your takedown of him at breakfast was a masterpiece. Absolutely glorious."

Izzy chuckled, taking a sip of her iced tea. "Someone had to put him in his place. Honestly, your brother's ego is bigger than the yacht itself. And his comments about 'lucky in bed' were just pathetic. Especially when he clearly has no idea what's going on in his own bed." Her voice dropped conspiratorially. "Ana looked like she wanted to crawl under the table. Though, I have to say, she looked rather intrigued when I mentioned 'unexpected places' for satisfaction. You don't think she's been finding it elsewhere?"

I raised an eyebrow, a small smile playing on my lips. "I think Ana has a lot more going on than Nick gives her credit for. And frankly, she deserves better than his self-absorbed ramblings."

"Exactly!" Izzy exclaimed, snapping her fingers. "My point exactly. Some people just have a knack for missing the obvious. Like Nick missing the fact that his girlfriend might actually prefer the company of someone who doesn't constantly talk about himself and his 'trophies'." She winked, a clear nod to my earlier conversation with Lando.

We fell into a comfortable silence for a moment, listening to the waves. Then, Izzy turned to me, her playful expression softening into something more serious. "But seriously, Eli. The night before. With Lando." Her voice was gentle, probing. "You looked... different. Happy. Really happy."

I felt my cheeks warm again, a genuine, unbidden flush. "It was... it was good, Izzy. Really good." I hesitated, picking at a loose thread on my towel. "More than good. He's... he's different. Not like anyone else."

Izzy reached over, taking my hand and squeezing it. "I get it. Believe me, I do. But Lando... he seems genuinely good, Eli. He's got that cheeky, innocent charm, but there's a real kindness there. And he's clearly smitten. You saw how he was in your corner yesterday morning, even if he didn't say anything directly."

"He did," I admitted, remembering Lando's quiet appreciation for Izzy's defense. "He even told me he was 'in awe' of you."

Izzy let out a delighted snort. "Did he now? Oh, that boy's got good taste. I might just approve of him after all." She grinned, then her expression softened again. "But seriously, Eli. Don't let the past dictate your future. You're stronger now. You're not that girl anymore. And if anyone tries to hurt you, they'll have to go through me. And John. And probably Lando, too, by the looks of it."

I smiled, a genuine, heartfelt smile. "I know, Izzy. I know. It's just... hard. To let go."

"It is," she agreed, her thumb stroking the back of my hand. "But you're not alone in this. You never are." She paused, then a fresh, giddy smile spread across her face. "Speaking of not alone... Charles and I are officially together. Like, officially official. He asked me after the karaoke. Said he couldn't imagine another moment without me." Her blue eyes were shining with evident joy.

My jaw dropped. "Izzy! That's incredible! Oh my God, I'm so happy for you!" I squeezed her hand, a burst of warmth spreading through me. "So quickly? That's amazing! I mean, you two just met a few days ago?"

"I know, right?" she giggled, a rare, unreserved sound from her. "It feels... right. Like a puzzle piece finally clicking into place. And guess what else? I'm joining you at the paddock next week! Charles wants me there, and honestly, I could use a break from Monaco's particular brand of drama, especially with Nick around." She winked.

"That's excellent!" I exclaimed, genuinely thrilled. Having her there, especially with everything going on with Max, would be a huge comfort. "It'll be so good to have you there. We can cause all sorts of trouble."

Just then, Lando walked over from where he'd been chatting with Charles near the water's edge, a bottle of sunscreen in his hand. He looked effortlessly charming, his hair still slightly damp from a swim, a few droplets clinging to his eyelashes. He was smiling, a relaxed, easy smile that made my stomach do a little flip.

"Everything alright over here, ladies?" he asked, his voice light, a playful glint in his eyes. "Looks like a very serious discussion. Did I miss anything important?" He glanced at Izzy, then at me, his smile warm.

Izzy raised an eyebrow, a mischievous glint in her blue eyes. "Oh, just discussing the finer points of loyalty, Norris. And how some people are surprisingly quick to appreciate it, while others... well, others are just hopeless." She gave him a pointed look, but then her lips curved into a genuine, albeit snarky, smile. "But yes, Eleonora was just expressing her profound appreciation for having me in her corner. It's a tough job, but someone has to do it."

Lando chuckled, his gaze softening as he looked at me. "I can certainly appreciate that, Izzy. Having someone like you in Eli's corner... it's a huge relief, actually. Means I don't have to worry about her getting into too much trouble." He winked at me, then back at Izzy. "Though I suspect she's quite capable of holding her own."

Izzy scoffed, but the smile remained. "Oh, she's more than capable, Norris. She's a force. Just needs the right support team, you know? And speaking of support, I'm going to need a refill on this iced tea. And perhaps a fresh croissant. All this emotional labor is draining." She stood up, stretching. "Don't think for a second I'm not keeping an eye on you Norris. My best friend's happiness is a full-time job." She gave us both a pointed look, then sauntered off towards the beach bar.

As Izzy walked away, Lando settled onto the edge of my sun lounger, not quite sitting, but close enough that I could feel the warmth radiating from him. He looked at me, his eyes soft, a question in their depths.

"So," he began, his voice low, "Izzy and Charles, huh? That's... great. Really great." He paused for a brief moment and then continued "About us... you know, to everyone else, we're still just friends. Good friends. Is that still the plan?" His voice was casual, but I heard the slight hesitation, the underlying hope.

I met his gaze, a mix of warmth and the familiar pang of apprehension. "For now, Lando. Yes. It has to be." My voice was softer than I intended. "Things are complicated. And I don't want to complicate them further, not publicly. Not yet." The thought of Fewtrell, and the device, tightened my chest. I couldn't risk exposing Lando to that kind of scrutiny, not when I didn't even know the full extent of it.

He nodded slowly, a faint shadow passing over his face, but he didn't push. "Understood. Complicated. Right." He sighed, then forced a small smile. "So, just friends, then. Publicly. Got it." He looked out at the sea, a distant look in his eyes.

"Don't sound so heartbroken, Lan," I teased gently, reaching out to touch his arm. "It doesn't mean anything's changed between us. Just... for the cameras. And for certain individuals who like to pry." I gave him a meaningful look, hoping he understood the unspoken context.

He turned back to me, and the shadow lifted, replaced by a familiar mischievous glint. "Pry, huh? Well, if they're going to pry, they might as well get a good show, right? So, what's the protocol for 'just friends' who've had an incredibly memorable night? Are we allowed to share sunscreen? Or is that too scandalous?" He held up the bottle of sunscreen, wiggling his eyebrows.

I laughed. "Oh, Norris, you're impossible. Yes, you're allowed to share sunscreen. Just try not to get any on my hat. It's designer."

"No promises on that front, Eleonora," he retorted, uncapping the bottle. "Some things are just too tempting to resist. Like protecting your delicate skin from the harsh Mediterranean sun. And perhaps, just perhaps, a little accidental lingering." He squeezed a generous dollop onto his palm, his eyes meeting mine with a playful challenge.

My smile softened, and I reached out, gently taking his hand, my fingers intertwining with his. "You know," I began, my voice a little softer, "I remember a time when you absolutely detested the beach. All that sand, the heat, the general exposure." I raised an eyebrow playfully. "What changed, Norris? Did you suddenly develop a fondness for granular landscapes, or is there another, more compelling reason for your sudden conversion to beach bum status?"

He chuckled, a deep, warm sound that vibrated through my hand. "Oh, the beach itself is still a bit of a chaotic mess, I'll admit. Sand in places you didn't even know existed. But," he leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, his eyes sparkling with mischief, "the company has significantly improved the overall vista. And the opportunity for accidental skin-to-skin contact is far more prevalent here than, say, a sterile racing paddock. So, yes, I've found a new appreciation for the 'granular landscape,' as you so eloquently put it. It's all about perspective, Eli." He squeezed my hand, his gaze lingering on my lips.

"Such a diplomat," I scoffed, but I couldn't hide my smile. "Always finding the silver lining, even in a pile of sand. I suppose I should be flattered that I'm considered a 'compelling reason' for your newfound beach enthusiasm."

"Beyond compelling, Kimbel," he corrected, his thumb stroking my knuckles. "You're the entire reason.”

“And speaking of reasons," I said, my voice dropping, a little more serious now, "can we... can we talk properly about us? Not here. Not now. But soon. When we have some real privacy?" The apprehension was still there, but the desire to define what we were, to acknowledge the weight of what had happened between us, was stronger.

He squeezed my hand, his gaze was intense, understanding. "Absolutely, Eli. Whenever you're ready. Just say the word. I'm here."

The comfortable warmth settled between us once more, a private bubble on a busy beach. The public might see friends, but we knew the truth.

Just as the thought settled, a sudden, playful shout erupted from the water's edge. I looked up to see Charles, dripping wet and grinning like a Cheshire cat, gesturing wildly towards us. "Hey, Lando! Eli! The water's perfect! Come on in!"

Before I could even register what was happening, Lando's eyes met mine, a mischievous glint mirroring Charles's. A second later, he was on his feet, a predatory gleam in his eyes. "You heard the man, El!"

"Lando, no!" I shrieked, instantly realizing his intention. I scrambled to get off the lounger, but it was too late. He moved with the speed of a seasoned racer, scooping me up effortlessly, one arm under my knees, the other supporting my back. I let out a surprised gasp, my arms instinctively wrapping around his neck.

Across from us, Charles had done the same to Izzy, who let out a startled squawk, her book flying into the sand. "Charles Leclerc, if you drop me, I swear to God!" she yelled, half-laughing, half-threatening.

Lando grinned down at me, his eyes alight with boyish glee. "Hold tight, Kimbel! Full speed ahead!"

And with that, he charged towards the shimmering blue, Charles right beside him, Izzy still protesting loudly. The cool spray of the Mediterranean hit me first, followed by the exhilarating plunge as Lando tossed me into the water with a triumphant splash. I surfaced, sputtering and laughing, pushing my wet hair out of my eyes. Lando was right there, his face close to mine, dripping wet and beaming.

"You absolute menace!" I gasped, splashing him playfully.

He just laughed, a deep, happy sound, pulling me closer in the water. "You loved it! Admit it!"

I looked back towards the shore and caught sight of John. He was standing by my abandoned lounger, his arms crossed, a faint, almost imperceptible smile playing on his lips. He quickly looked away when he realized I'd seen him, but I knew. Even John, my stoic shadow, found a moment of amusement in our chaos.

"You're going to regret that, Norris!" I declared and launched a full-scale water assault. Cupping my hands, I sent a torrent of salty water directly into his face, then followed up with another, and another.

He spluttered, wiping his eyes, but his grin only widened. "Oh, it's on, Kimbel! You asked for it!" And with that, he started splashing me back with equal vigor, turning our playful dunking into a full-blown water fight. Laughter bubbled up from deep within me, light and free, as we chased each other through the waves, the cool water a welcome relief from the sun.

Beside us, Izzy was already retaliating, splashing Charles with a vengeance. “You think you`re so clever, Leclerc? This means war!” she yelled, her blue eyes blazing with mock fury as she unleashed a barrage of splashes on her now-official boyfriend.

My happiness was overwhelming and at this moment I dearly hoped it would last.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

After the playful chaos of the beach, the afternoon had drifted into a quiet calm. Lando had eventually left with Charles, promising to call, and Isabella had gone back to her room, leaving me with the lingering warmth of friendship and a hint of something more. I had showered again, the salt and sand washed away, but the feeling of Lando's hands on me remained.

Now, as dusk painted the sky outside my penthouse windows in hues of orange and purple, I curled up on the sofa, a cup of herbal tea in hand. The day's events, from the intimate morning with Lando to the public splash fight, replayed in my mind, a montage of unexpected joy. Deciding to indulge in a moment of detached curiosity, I picked up my tablet and navigated to one of the prominent online gossip and society columns. I knew a piece about my birthday party was inevitable.

And there it was, splashed across the homepage:

Monaco's Golden Girl Eleonora Kimbel Dazzles with Star-Studded Yacht Soiree!

Monaco, August 16th – The glittering waters of the Mediterranean played host to one of the most exclusive and talked-about events of the summer as Eleonora Kimbel, the enigmatic heiress and business magnate, celebrated her birthday with an extravagant yacht party that left no doubt about her status as Monaco's reigning queen of style and influence.

The meticulously planned celebration, held aboard a luxurious superyacht, saw an impressive array of A-list guests, from the elite of European aristocracy to the brightest stars of the sporting world. The guest list read like a who's who of the global jet set, all gathered to toast the birthday girl.

Among the most notable attendees was none other than McLaren's charming Formula 1 driver, Lando Norris. The dashing Brit was seen throughout the evening in animated conversation with Miss Kimbel, their long-standing friendship clearly on display. Sources close to the party noted their easy camaraderie and shared laughter, sparking whispers about a potentially deepening bond between the two. While both remain publicly "just friends," their undeniable chemistry was a highlight of the night, adding an extra layer of intrigue to the already sparkling affair.

Also spotted enjoying the festivities were Ferrari's golden boy, Charles Leclerc, accompanied by the stunning Isabella Richi, Eleonora's closest confidante. The pair, who have been the subject of recent speculation, seemed inseparable, confirming what many have suspected – a blossoming romance between the Monegasque driver and the sharp-witted socialite. Even Eleonora's brother, the ever-charming Nick Kimbel, was in attendance, seen mingling with guests alongside his girlfriend, Anastasia.

The yacht was transformed into a dazzling spectacle, with bespoke cocktails, gourmet cuisine, and a lively atmosphere that reportedly continued well into the early hours. Despite the late night, guests were seen enjoying a relaxed breakfast on deck this morning, a testament to the enduring energy of Monaco's elite.

Eleonora Kimbel, ever the picture of grace and effortless elegance, once again proved her mastery of the grand event, solidifying her position not just as a formidable force in business, but as a captivating figure in the international social scene. With friends like these, and a birthday party of this magnitude, it's clear that Eleonora Kimbel's star continues to rise.

I finished reading, a wry smile playing on my lips. "Enigmatic heiress," "reigning queen of style," "undeniable chemistry." They certainly knew how to spin a narrative. It was all so carefully curated, so perfectly public. The article painted a picture of effortless glamour, hinting at romances without confirming anything, exactly as I usually preferred it.

But then my gaze drifted to the part about Lando. "Long-standing friendship," "easy camaraderie," "sparking whispers about a potential deepening bond." It was true, in a way. But it was also a carefully constructed half-truth. To the world, we were just friends. Good friends. But last night... the night before had been anything but "just friends." The memory of his touch, his kisses, the raw intimacy we'd shared, burned beneath the surface of the polite words.

And then there was Max. No mention of him being at the party, which was exactly as it should be. The contrast between the public facade and the private reality, especially concerning Max and the device, was stark. It reminded me again of the constant vigilance required, the careful dance between what was seen and what was hidden.

I sighed, setting the tablet down. The article was exactly what I expected, a testament to John's meticulous planning and my own carefully cultivated image. But it also served as a reminder of the walls I still kept up, the secrets I still held, and the delicate balance I had to maintain. Especially now, with Lando. He was a complication I hadn't anticipated, a beautiful, exhilarating, and potentially dangerous one. The thought of him, and the conversation we needed to have, settled in my mind, a quiet, insistent hum beneath the surface of the glamorous headlines.

Just as I was about to reach for my tea, my phone buzzed with an incoming message. It was from Lando.

Lando Norris: Still thinking about that 'therapy session' from the morning. And the 'accidental lingering' with the sunscreen. 😉 Hope you're having a good evening, Eli. Let me know when 'soon' for that chat is. No pressure, just eager to hear your thoughts. xx

A soft smile bloomed on my face, chasing away the lingering shadow of my anxieties. He understood. He always seemed to understand. I quickly typed a reply.

Eleonora Kimbel: Oh, Norris. The 'therapy session' was certainly... enlightening. As for the sunscreen, I'm fairly certain your 'accidental lingering' was quite deliberate. And rather effective, I might add. My skin is perfectly bronzed. 😉

My phone buzzed almost instantly.

Lando Norris: Aha! Knew you'd admit it. 😉 And I'm glad to hear my efforts were appreciated. Always aiming for peak performance, you know. Even off the track. So, if my 'therapy' and 'sunscreen application' skills are so highly rated, what's my score for 'making you laugh uncontrollably while being tossed into the sea'? Just for my records, of course.

I giggled, shaking my head. He was impossible.

Eleonora Kimbel: Hmm, for that, Norris, you get a solid 9.5. Points deducted for the unexpected splash, but bonus points for the sheer audacity and the fact that I genuinely did laugh. You're lucky I didn't drag you down with me. Though I was tempted.

Lando Norris: Only 9.5?! Harsh, Kimbel, very harsh. I thought my form was impeccable! But noted. Always room for improvement. Next time, I'll aim for a perfect 10. And I'm quite sure you were tempted. Good thing I'm a fast swimmer. 😉 Seriously though, looking forward to that chat. Whenever you're ready. Sleep well. xx

I smiled, a warmth spreading through my chest that had nothing to do with the setting sun. He was patient, understanding, and effortlessly charming. And for the first time in a long time, the thought of what lay ahead, despite the complications, felt less daunting and more exciting.

My fingers hovered over the keyboard, a mischievous thought sparking.

Eleonora Kimbel: Oh, it will be a good night, Norris. I'm having a date with my vibrator. He never disappoints. 😉

I hit send, a wicked grin on my face, imagining his reaction. It buzzed back almost immediately.

Lando Norris: A vibrator, huh? Well, that's certainly... efficient. But does he have a charming British accent? Can he make you laugh until your sides ache? Can he challenge you to a spontaneous water fight and then pull you close when you're sputtering? Just asking for a friend. Because I'm pretty sure my 'performance' review would outrank any battery-operated competition. Just sayin'. 😉 Let me know if he needs a night off. I'm available for 'overtime'.

I laughed out loud, a sound that echoed in the quiet penthouse. He was so quick, so perfectly Lando. I typed my reply, a playful challenge in every word.

Eleonora Kimbel: Hmm, a night off? Perhaps he does. But I'm not sure I'm looking for 'overtime', Norris. I might just go out and find someone a little more... warm to replace him. You know, for the winter months. He gets rather cold when unplugged. 😉

The reply came almost instantly, a single word, then a flurry of emojis, and then a longer message that perfectly blended his annoyance with his undeniable desire.

Lando Norris: Warm? Kimbel, are you seriously threatening me with a heater? 😂 You wound me! And here I thought I was quite adept at generating internal warmth. Especially when I'm not 'unplugged'. Just for the record, I'm a far more versatile and responsive model. And I come with built-in cuddles. Your vibrator can't do that, can he? Don't make me come over there and prove it. Because I absolutely will. You know I will. 😉

I smirked, a thrill running through me. He was annoyed, but in the best possible way. He wanted to prove me wrong.

Eleonora Kimbel: You wouldn't dare, Norris. You're all talk and no show when it comes to breaking the rules. Especially the ones about 'just friends'. 😉 Prove me wrong, then.

His response was immediate, a single word that hung in the air, loaded with intent, followed by a clever, almost challenging retort.

Lando Norris: Dare? Kimbel, you clearly haven't been paying attention. I thrive on 'all talk and no show' turning into 'unexpectedly spectacular performance'. And as for 'just friends' rules, some rules are simply begging to be bent, if not outright shattered. Consider this as your official warning. Or an invitation. Depends on how brave you're feeling. 😉

I typed my reply, a playful defiance in my fingers.

Eleonora Kimbel: Oh, it's definitely not an invitation, Norris. More like a challenge you're destined to fail. I can achieve an amazing orgasm without all the fuss, you know. No dramatic entries, no witty banter required. Just pure, unadulterated satisfaction. It's quite liberating, actually. 😉

The phone vibrated violently in my hand, and Lando's reply flashed on the screen, the playful emojis gone, replaced by a intensity that made my breath catch.

Lando Norris: Fuss? You think what we had was 'fuss'? You think I'm 'fuss'? Don't you dare, Eleonora. Don't you dare pretend that was anything less than real, less than explosive. You felt it. I felt it. And if you think a battery-operated toy can give you what I can, then you're even more delusional than I thought. I'm not 'all talk and no show'. I'm a force, and you know it. And I'm not letting you dismiss what happened between us with some flippant comment. Don't push me, Kimbel. You might just find out what happens when I stop playing by your rules. And trust me, you'll feel it. Every single inch of it. I want you. And you want me. Don't lie to yourself.

My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic drum against his sudden, furious honesty. My fingers trembled slightly as I typed, the playful facade cracking.

Eleonora Kimbel: Who's lying, Norris? I'm just stating facts.

His reply came swiftly, still edged with that frustrated heat.

Lando Norris: Facts? You call that a fact? That's denial, Eleonora. A very pretty, very stubborn denial. And it's a hell of a lot more 'fuss' than just admitting what we both know. You're not just stating facts, you're trying to put a neat little label on something that refuses to be contained. And frankly, it's getting a bit tiresome. Just admit it, Kimbel. You'd rather have me.

A surge of anger, hot and sharp, flared through me. His audacity was astounding. He thought he knew me, knew what I wanted, better than I did?

Eleonora Kimbel: How DARE you, Norris. I am not your possession, nor am I your property. I can do whatever I want, with whomever I want, and I don't need your permission or your arrogant assumptions about what I 'want'. Get that through your thick head. You are NOT the center of my universe. So, what are you going to do about it, Norris? All insulted talk, it's just that.

I hit send, my thumb pressing hard against the screen. The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by the frantic thrum of my own pulse. I waited, half-expecting him to back down, half-hoping he wouldn't.

Then, the phone vibrated again, a single, furious message.

Lando Norris: You want to know what I'm going to do about it, Eleonora? I'm going to show you. I'm going to show you exactly what happens when you push me, when you deny what's between us. You're not my property, no. But you're mine in a way that burns through every single one of your defenses. And I'm going to make you feel it. I'm coming over. Don't bother saying no. Because I'm not asking. I'm telling you. And you'll see exactly what I'm going to do about it.

I stared at the screen, my mouth slightly agape. He was actually serious. He was coming over.

Eleonora Kimbel: Like I'm going to just wait for you and open the door? You are delusional.

I waited. No reply.

Good. Let him stew. Let him think I was just going to sit here, waiting like some damsel in distress. The very thought ignited a spark of defiant exhilaration. I wasn't waiting for anyone. This wasn't about him, not entirely. This was about me. About reclaiming a piece of myself that felt suffocated by expectations, by secrets, by the constant, heavy weight of my carefully constructed life.

I grabbed my small, sleek handbag from the coffee table, the leather cool against my fingers. My mind was already racing, planning my escape. The elevator was too risky; he'd likely be taking it. The stairs it was. Every calculated move, every rapid breath, felt intensely real, a stark contrast to the often-stifling perfection of my daily existence.

I flung open the penthouse door, the sudden rush of cool air a welcome shock. My heels clicked sharply on the marble floor as I practically flew towards the emergency exit. I pushed the heavy door open and started descending, two steps at a time, the adrenaline pumping through my veins. Each step down was a step away from the gilded cage of my life, from the prying eyes and the constant need to be 'on'.

As I rounded the landing of the floor below, a faint ding echoed from above. The elevator. He was here. Or rather, he was at my door. A triumphant, almost giddy laugh escaped me. He'd find an empty penthouse. A small, rebellious victory. He thought he could command me? He thought he could simply arrive, and I'd be there, waiting? Not Eleonora Kimbel.

I kept running, the descent a blur of polished concrete and metal railings. My lungs burned, but the feeling of freedom, of being one step ahead, was intoxicating. This wasn't just about escaping Lando; it was about escaping the pressure, the unspoken demands, the lingering threat of Max and the device that still loomed over my life. This was about being untethered, even for a fleeting moment. I burst onto the 40th floor, my breath coming in ragged gasps, but a wide, wild grin stretched across my face. I jabbed the elevator call button, not caring who saw me, or what they thought. The doors slid open almost instantly, as if fate itself was on my side. I stepped inside, pressing the button for the underground garage, the doors closing silently behind me, sealing me away from his imminent arrival.

The descent felt agonizingly slow, but the exhilaration was still buzzing in my veins. I was doing this. I was escaping. Not from him, not really, but from the intensity, from the confrontation I wasn't ready for. Not yet. The thought of his furious face, the raw desire in his words, sent a shiver through me that was both fear and a dangerous thrill. I wasn't running from him because I didn't want him, but because I wanted him too much, and that terrified me. Control was my shield, and he was threatening to shatter it. He was trying to strip me of my will, to change me into something I wasn't, or something I used to be, but buried deep.

I remembered the girl I once was: innocent, fierce, always lost in a book, with a good heart that saw the best in everyone. There were no complications then, no crushing duties, no layers of secrets. Just simple joys and an uncomplicated sense of self. That girl was free. And now, Lando, with his intense gaze and his relentless pursuit, felt like a threat to the fragile freedom I was desperately trying to cling to. He was trying to pull me back into a whirlwind I wasn't sure I could survive, a whirlwind that felt too much like the past I'd fought so hard to escape.

When the elevator doors finally opened onto the cool, cavernous space of the underground garage, I sprinted towards my Lamborghini, its sleek, black form a beacon of power and escape. It was more than just a car; it was a symbol of my independence, my ability to move freely, to outrun anything and anyone. I fumbled with the keys, my hands shaking slightly with a mix of adrenaline and anticipation, the engine roaring to life with a satisfying growl. I backed out of the space, tires squealing softly, and sped towards the exit ramp.

Just as I merged onto the main road, the city lights blurring past, my phone vibrated, lighting up the dashboard. It was Lando.

I glanced at the screen, the caller ID flashing his name. A fierce, almost reckless sense of freedom surged through me. I wasn't answering. Not now. Not when I felt this alive, this unbound. I was fleeing from everything and everyone, from expectations, from demands, from the complicated mess my life had become. The open road, the roar of the engine, the night air rushing through the open window – this was pure liberation. I pressed the accelerator, leaving the buzzing phone and his furious words in my wake. The city became a blur, a canvas for my escape, and for a glorious few moments, I was just Eleonora, free and unburdened.

I drove aimlessly for a while, letting the winding roads of Monaco carry me further and further from the penthouse, from Lando, from the article, from everything. Eventually, I found myself pulling into a small, secluded overlook high above the city. The lights of Monaco glittered below, a sprawling tapestry of diamonds against the dark velvet of the sea. It was a place I often came to when I needed to think, a quiet sanctuary away from the relentless pace of my life.

I cut the engine, plunging the car into a sudden, profound silence, broken only by the distant hum of the city and the gentle lapping of waves against the distant shore. I leaned back in the seat, staring out at the view, but my mind was a chaotic whirlwind.

What am I doing? Running. Always running. From Max, from the past. And now from Lando.

His words echoed in my head, sharp and insistent: "You want me. Don't lie to yourself."

Did I? The thought was terrifying. Wanting him meant vulnerability. Wanting him meant letting someone in, truly in, after years of building walls so high that no one could scale them. It meant risking everything, risking the pain, the betrayal, the loss I'd experienced before. It meant giving up the carefully curated control I clung to like a lifeline.

My phone vibrated again, startling me. Lando. Still him. I stared at the screen for a long moment, the glowing name, a stark contrast to the dark, quiet solitude of the overlook. This time, I answered. I needed to hear his voice, needed to face this, even if only through a phone call.

"Eleonora! Where the hell are you?!" His voice was a mix of fury and genuine, undeniable concern. It cracked on my name, and for a split second, I heard the fear beneath his anger. "Are you okay? What were you thinking, just driving off like that? I went to your penthouse, you weren't there! I almost called John, but then I thought... I just need to know you're safe. Talk to me, damn it!"

My breath hitched, a sudden, unexpected wave of exhaustion washing over me. The adrenaline that had fueled my escape now drained away, leaving me feeling hollow and exposed. His concern, raw and unfiltered, pierced through my defenses.

"What more do you want from me, Lando?" I whispered, my voice hoarse, the words heavy with a pain I hadn't realized I was carrying. "I gave you my friendship. I gave you my tears. I gave you my forgiveness. What more is there? I will not let you dictate my life! I will not let you strip me of my will!"

A strained silence hung on the line, punctuated only by the distant hum of the city. Then, Lando's voice came through, no longer furious, but laced with a profound, almost shattering concern. The anger was still there, a low thrum beneath his words, but it was overshadowed by something deeper, something vulnerable.

"Eleonora," he said, his voice softer now, yet still urgent, "I don't want to dictate your life. I don't want to strip you of anything. God, listen to yourself, Eli. You sound shattered. That's not what I want for you. That's not what we are. I want you. All of you. The fierce girl, the one with the good heart. And yes, the one who's built walls around herself because she's been hurt. I want to build something with you, Eleonora. Not control you. Not own you. Never that. I want to stand beside you, through the complications, through the duties, through whatever secrets you're carrying. I want to be the one you don't have to run from. Don't give up on me. Don't give up on us. Not when we've just found our way back to each other. Please, just tell me where you are. Let me come to you."

My grip tightened on the steering wheel; my knuckles white. His words were a siren song, tempting me to drop my guard, to lean into the comfort he offered. But the fear was too strong.

"I want to be alone," I stated, my voice firmer now, though still trembling slightly. "I don't want anyone. I won't have you controlling me."

A ragged breath escaped his lips, a sound of pure distress. "Control? Eleonora, please. You're not making sense. I'm not trying to control you. I'm trying to help you. I'm trying to understand why you're pushing me away like this. I heard it in your voice, just now. You're in pain, Eli. And I hate that I can't be there. I hate that you're out there, alone. Don't you understand? I'm not the enemy here. I'm the one who wants to fight for you. Just tell me where you are. Tell me you're safe. I'll leave you alone if that's what you truly want, but I need to know you're okay. Please, Eli. Don't slip away from me again. Not now. Not after everything." His voice was laced with a desperation that twisted my gut. "Just... tell me where you are. Let me find you."

I closed my eyes, a tear escaping and tracing a hot path down my temple. The weight of his desperation, the anguish in his voice, was almost unbearable.

"You can't find something that isn't there anymore," I choked out, the words a desperate whisper, barely audible over the hum of the car's cooling engine. The girl he was looking for, the one who could simply embrace this, she was gone. Or at least, she was so deeply buried, I wasn't sure I could ever find her again.

A strangled sound came from his end of the line, a gasp that was half-sob, half-growl. "No. No, Eleonora, don't you dare say that. Don't you dare. That's not true. You're there. I know you're there. You're just... you're hurting. And I'm here. I'm right here. I'm not giving up on you. I won't. Please, Eli, just... tell me what I can do. Anything. Just don't hang up. Don't disappear. I can't... I can't lose you. Not like this. Just tell me where you are. I'll be there in five minutes. Just tell me you're safe. Please. I'm begging you." His voice was cracking with a pain that mirrored my own, a desperate plea that tore at my heart. He sounded on the brink of a complete meltdown, his usual composure shattered into a million pieces.

"That's the thing," I said, my voice barely a thread, "you never had me. Please, I want to be alone tonight."

A guttural cry ripped through the phone, a sound of pure, unadulterated anguish and rage. "NEVER HAD YOU?! Are you actually saying that to me right now?! After everything?! After what we shared?! You think I'm going to just let you say that and walk away?! You think I'm going to let you disappear into the night and pretend none of this happened?! You're going to break my heart, Eleonora! You're going to absolutely shatter me! And for what?! Because you're scared?! Because you're a coward?! I'm not letting you do this! I'm not letting you destroy yourself, or us! I'm coming for you! I swear to God, I'm coming for you! You can't hide from me! You can't hide from this! Tell me where you are, Eleonora! Don't you dare hang up!"

"Goodnight, Lando," I whispered, my voice barely audible, the tears finally, irrevocably, silently streaming down my face.

And I hung up.

The sudden silence in the car was deafening, heavier than any of his screams. I dropped the phone onto the passenger seat, my hands gripping the steering wheel, my head bowed. The dam broke. A sob tore through me, then another, and another, until my body was wracked with a silent, shaking cry. It was a cry that had been building for years, a release of all the pain, the fear, the loneliness, the suffocating weight of my life. It was the first time I had truly cried in so many years, not just a few stray tears, but a deep, soul-wrenching agony that shook me to my core. I was free, yes, but at what cost? And was this freedom, or just a new kind of brokenness?

Chapter Text

Lando`s POV

August 17^th, 2023

"Goodnight, Lando."

The words, soft and final, echoed in my ear just before the click. The line went dead.

"ELEONORA!" I roared into the phone, my voice tearing, desperate, as if screaming her name could somehow force the connection back, force her to reappear. "ELI! DON'T YOU DARE!"

Silence. Just the hollow, mocking silence of a disconnected call.

My hand was shaking so violently I almost dropped the phone. My vision blurred with a hot, blinding rage that warred with an icy, paralyzing fear. She hung up. She actually hung up.

I slammed the phone against the sofa cushion, the impact jarring my hand, but I barely felt it. I immediately redialed, my fingers fumbling, my heart a frantic drum against my ribs. It rang once, twice, then a cold, automated voice cut through my panic.

"The person you are trying to reach is unavailable. Please leave a message after the tone."

"No! No, no, no!" I yelled, pressing the phone harder against my ear, as if I could physically force it to connect. "Eleonora, you listen to me! You listen to me right now! Don't you dare do this! Don't you dare disappear! I swear to God, Eleonora, if you think you can just run from this, you're wrong! You're so wrong! I'm not letting you! You hear me?! I'm not letting you go! Pick up the damn phone, Eli! PICK IT UP!"

My voice cracked, raw and hoarse, trailing off into a desperate, choked sound. I wanted to smash the phone, to throw it across the room, to break something, anything, to release this suffocating pressure in my chest. She was slipping away. She was actually doing it. And I was powerless.

How could she do this? After everything? After last night? After she felt it, I know she felt it! She can't just shut it off. She can't just shut me off.

My mind was a chaotic mess of fury and agonizing worry. Where was she? Why was she doing this? Was she really okay? Or was this some twisted game she was playing, a test of how far I'd go? The thought infuriated me, but the terror that something might genuinely be wrong, that she was truly breaking, was a cold, sharp blade.

I scrolled frantically through my contacts, my thumb shaking. John. He was the only one who could help. He had to know where she was. He had to.

I hit the call button, the ringing tone a grating assault on my frayed nerves. It felt like an eternity before he answered, his voice calm, collected, a stark contrast to my unraveling.

"Mr. Norris. What's wrong?"

"John! It's Eleonora! She... she just hung up on me! She's out there somewhere, she drove off! I don't know where she is! She sounds... she sounds broken, John! She said I'm doing too much, that she wants to be alone! What the hell is going on?!" My words tumbled out, a frantic, incoherent stream of panic.

There was a pause on John's end, a heavy silence that stretched, making my anxiety spike even higher. "She's... she's out for a drive, Mr. Norris. She does that sometimes." His tone was flat, almost dismissive, and it only fueled my rage.

"She does that sometimes?!" I exploded, pacing my living room like a caged animal. "She just told me I never had her, John! She sounded like she was falling apart! She's not just out for a drive! She's running! From me! From everything! You have to know where she is! You're her security! You're supposed to know!"

"Mr. Norris, calm down," John said, his voice firm, but still with that infuriating calm. "Miss Kimbel is a very capable woman. She knows how to handle herself. And yes, I know where she is. She's in a safe place. She just... she needs space. She needs to be alone right now."

"Alone?!" I practically screamed, running a hand through my hair, tugging at the roots. "She sounded like she was on the verge of a breakdown, John! And you're telling me she needs to be alone?! Are you insane?! I need to go to her! I need to see her! I need to know she's okay! Tell me where she is, John! Now!"

"I can't do that, Mr. Norris," John replied, his voice hardening, a hint of steel entering his tone. "That's her wish. And my priority is miss Kimbel's well-being, and her wishes. She asked for space. I will ensure she has it. I will take care of miss Kimbel. You don't need to worry."

"Don't need to worry?!" I scoffed, a bitter, desperate laugh escaping me. "She's my worry, John! She's my everything! And you're telling me to just sit here?! While she's out there, hurting?! No! I won't! I can't! You don't understand what this is! You don't understand what she means to me! She's pushing me away, and I don't know why! I don't know what I did! I just... I just want to be there for her! I want to fix this! I want to hold her! I want to make her see that she's not alone! That she doesn't have to run from me! From us!"

My voice broke again, and I leaned against the wall, sliding down until I was crouched on the floor, my head in my hands. The anger was still there, a burning ember, but it was being rapidly consumed by a cold, hollow ache. The thought of her out there, alone, shattered, and pushing me away, was an unbearable torment.

She said I never had her. Is that true? Was it all just a lie? A game? No. It couldn't be. I felt it. The way she responded to me, the way her body trembled, the way her eyes looked at me... that wasn't a lie. That was real. So why is she doing this? Why is she denying it? Why is she denying us?

The sexual tension, the undeniable pull between us, was still a phantom ache in my body, a cruel reminder of what she was so readily dismissing. It was infuriating. It was agonizing.

"I will take care of miss Kimbel, Mr. Norris," John repeated, his voice firm, leaving no room for argument. "She will be safe. And when she's ready, she'll reach out. Give her time."

"Time?" I rasped, lifting my head, my eyes burning. "Time is the one thing I don't have when she's like this, John! She's going to disappear again! She's going to build those walls even higher! And I can't let that happen! I won't! Just... just tell me you'll stay with her. That you won't leave her alone. Promise me, John."

"I promise, Mr. Norris," he said, and for the first time, there was a hint of genuine reassurance in his voice. "I will stay with her. She won't be alone. Now, you need to calm down. There's nothing more you can do tonight. She needs space. Respect that."

I wanted to argue, to scream, to demand more. But the finality in his tone, combined with the sheer exhaustion that was now setting in, silenced me. I could hear the faint hum of the city through my window, a stark reminder of how far away she was, how truly alone I felt in this moment.

"Fine," I choked out, the word tasting like ash. "Just... just tell her... tell her I'm not giving up. Tell her I'll be here. Waiting."

I hung up, the phone feeling heavy and useless in my hand. The silence in the room was absolute, broken only by the frantic thrum of my own heart. I was a madman, frantic, and completely lost. She was gone. And I had no idea how to get her back.

August 18th, 2023

The first slivers of dawn crept through the gaps in my blinds, painting the room in a sickly, grey light. I hadn't slept. Not a wink. Every attempt to close my eyes was met with the echo of Eleonora's voice, "You can't find something that isn't there anymore," or the primal scream of my own desperation. My penthouse, usually a sanctuary, felt like a cage, every wall closing in on me.

I was a mess. My hair was disheveled, my eyes were bloodshot and gritty, and a dull ache throbbed behind them. My jaw was clenched so tight it ached, a constant tension in my body that mirrored the turmoil in my mind. The rage from last night had curdled into a bitter, suffocating mix of hurt, confusion, and an overwhelming sense of helplessness. She was out there, somewhere, shattered, and I couldn't reach her. John's infuriatingly calm "I will take care of miss Kimbel" offered no comfort, only a deeper sense of exclusion.

I dragged myself off the sofa, where I'd spent the night staring at the ceiling, and stumbled into the kitchen. Coffee. I needed coffee. Strong, black, enough to burn away the exhaustion and the gnawing anxiety. As the machine hissed to life, my hand instinctively went for my phone. I had to try again. But not Eleonora. Not yet. She needed space, John said. As much as it killed me, I had to respect that. For now.

Isabella Richi. She was Eleonora's best friend. She'd know something. She'd understand. Or at least, she'd tell me off, which felt like a more productive outcome than staring at a blank screen.

I found her number, my thumb hovering over the call button. A knot of dread tightened in my stomach. Isabella would pull punches.

I pressed call. It rang twice, then her voice, sharp and laced with fury, cut through the morning silence.

"What do you want, Norris?" Her tone was colder than any winter in Monaco, devoid of her usual playful sarcasm. This was pure, unadulterated anger.

"Izzy," I started, my voice hoarse, "it's Eleonora. I... I need to know if she's okay. She hung up on me last night. She sounded... she sounded terrible. John said she's safe, but he wouldn't tell me where she was. Please, just tell me she's alright."

A harsh, disbelieving laugh, devoid of any humor, grated in my ear. "Oh, now you're concerned, are you? Now you're worried? After you've gone and done exactly what I knew you would, you bloody idiot!"

My jaw tightened. "What are you talking about? What have I done?"

"What have you done?!" she shrieked, her voice rising, the fury palpable. "You've gone and hurt her again, Lando! That's what you've done! You've pushed her, you've demanded, you've tried to claim her, and now she's shattered! Again! Did you honestly think you could just waltz back into her life, charm her with your stupid dimples and your 'therapy sessions,' and everything would just be fine?! Did you forget everything she went through?! Everything she told you?!"

"I didn't try to hurt her, Izzy!" I protested, my own anger flaring, but it was quickly doused by the sheer force of her rage. "I just... I just wanted her to be honest with me! About what she feels! About us!"

"Honest?!" she scoffed, the sound dripping with contempt. "You call that honesty? You call cornering her, demanding she admit things she's not ready for, 'honesty'? You think you're so special, Norris? You think you're the one who's going to break through her walls? You're just like all the others, just with a prettier face and a faster car! You haven't changed! Not one bit! I knew it! I told her! I told her you'd hurt her again, that you'd try to control her, that you'd try to strip her of her will! And look! Look what you've done! She's out there, alone, because of you!"

Her words were a barrage of accusations, each one a direct hit to my already raw nerves. The sting of them was immense, but the truth was, a part of me knew she wasn't entirely wrong. I had pushed. I had demanded. But it was out of fear, out of a desperate need to hold onto her.

"I haven't changed?" I repeated, my voice hollow. "Isabella, I'm going out of my mind here! I just want to know she's safe! I want to help her! I want to fix this!"

"Fix this?" she snarled. "You can't fix this, Lando! You just broke her! Again! And you know what? Maybe she's right. Maybe you never really had her. Because the Eleonora I know, the one who's been through hell and back, she doesn't let herself be 'had' by anyone who tries to cage her. You're trying to cage her, Norris. And she's fighting back. Just like she always does. Now leave her alone. Let her breathe. And for God's sake, try to actually listen to her for once, instead of just hearing what you want to hear."

She hung up, the sharp click echoing in the silent apartment. I stood there, the phone still pressed to my ear, listening to the dial tone. Her words, harsh and unforgiving, hammered into my skull.

You haven't changed. You're just like all the others. You're trying to cage her.

Was she right? Was I? The thought was a sickening blow. All I wanted was to be there for her, to protect her, to love her. But had I just been another force trying to control her, to dictate her feelings, to strip her of the very independence she cherished? The image of her, shattered and alone in her car, flashed in my mind, and a fresh wave of agony washed over me. I had to find her. I had to make her understand. But how, when I seemed to be doing everything wrong? My head throbbed. This was a nightmare. A living, breathing nightmare. I needed to do something. Anything. I couldn't just sit here. I couldn't.

Just then, the door to the living room creaked open, and Max Fewtrell sauntered in, rubbing sleep from his eyes, a casual yawn stretching his jaw. He stopped, taking in my disheveled appearance and the phone still clutched in my hand.

"Rough night, mate?" he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep, then he noticed the anger radiating off me. "Oh, still stewing over the Kimbel girl, are we? Honestly, Lando, you're making a mountain out of a molehill. Good riddance, I say. She's not good enough for you anyway. Too much baggage, too many secrets. You need someone uncomplicated, someone who appreciates what they've got right in front of them." He shrugged, heading towards the kitchen.

My head snapped up, my eyes narrowing, the last vestiges of my self-pity replaced by a cold, burning fury. "What did you just say?" My voice was low, dangerous, a stark contrast to my earlier desperation.

Max paused, a mug in his hand, looking back at me with a dismissive smirk. "You heard me. She's trouble. Always has been. You're better off without her. Trust me on this one."

"Better off without her?" I roared, launching myself off the floor, my fists clenched. "What the hell is wrong with you, Max?! How can you say that?! You know nothing about her! Nothing about what she's been through! Nothing about what she means to me!"

"Oh, I know enough," Max retorted, his smirk unwavering, a casual cruelty in his eyes. "I know she's a drama queen who can't make up her mind. One minute she's all over you, the next she's running away like a scared rabbit. Honestly, Lando, you deserve someone who actually wants to be with you, not someone who plays these childish games."

"Games?!" I was practically vibrating with rage, my voice shaking with the effort to control it. "You think this is a game?! She's hurting, Max! She's terrified! And you're sitting here, casually dismissing her, like she's some disposable toy! You're a cold, heartless bastard!"

"And you're a lovesick fool," Max shot back, his eyes flashing with irritation. "Get over it, mate. There are plenty of other girls in Monaco who would kill to be with you, girls who aren't constantly running from their past or their feelings. She's not worth this meltdown."

"She's worth everything!" I screamed, my voice cracking. "And you know what? I'm tired of your toxic bullshit, Max. I'm tired of your negativity, your cynicism, and your complete lack of empathy. You don't get to talk about her like that. You don't get to be in my life if you can't respect the people I care about." I took a step towards him, my chest heaving. "It's time for you to look for another accommodation, Max. And soon. Get out of my apartment. Get out of my life."

Max's smirk finally faltered, replaced by a flicker of surprise, then a cold, hard glare. "You're serious?"

"Dead serious," I bit out, my voice trembling with a mixture of fury and a strange, newfound clarity. "Pack your bags. You're no longer welcome here."

Max stared at me for a long moment; his jaw tight. "You'll regret this, Lando. Mark my words. And don't come running back to me when she inevitably breaks your heart again. I won't be here."

"I won't," I snarled, my voice raw. "Now get out."

I didn't wait for his response. I spun on my heel and stormed out of the kitchen, out of the living room, and out of the penthouse, slamming the door behind me with a force that rattled the entire floor. I didn't care where I was going, just that it was away from him, away from his poisonous words, away from the suffocating feeling of being trapped.

My chest burned, my head pounded, and my hands were still shaking. The anger at Max was a fierce, cleansing fire, but beneath it, the cold dread for Eleonora gnawed at me. She's out there. Alone. And she said I never had her. Did I push too hard? Was Richi right? Am I just another one trying to control her? The thought was a torment. My intent had been pure, driven by a desperate need to break through her walls, to show her what we could be. But had I just reinforced her deepest fears? Had I just proven to her that everyone, even me, would eventually try to strip her of her independence?

The helplessness was a suffocating blanket. I couldn't find her. John wouldn't tell me where she was. Richi was furious. I had alienated the two people closest to her, all because I couldn't control my own fear, my own desperate need. And now, I had nowhere to go, no one to talk to. My best friend, or what I thought was my best friend, was gone, banished by my rage. But even that didn't matter right now. Nothing mattered but Eleonora. Her voice, shattered and pleading, echoed in my mind. "Please, let me go."

But I can't. God, Eleonora, I can't. I'm so sorry. I'm so incredibly sorry. Just... please be safe. Please don't disappear.

The hurt was a physical ache, a dull, constant throb in my chest. To hear her say "you never had me" felt like a knife twisting in an open wound. Was everything we'd shared, every intimate moment, every laugh, every confession, just a fleeting illusion to her? Was I just another complication she needed to escape? The thought was unbearable. I needed to find her. I needed to fix this. But how? How do you fix something when the other person believes they're already broken beyond repair, and that you're the one doing the breaking?

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I spent the early hours of the day in the lobby of our building, trying to look casual, hoping to catch a glimpse of her, to somehow intercept her before John could whisk her away. Every person who entered or exited the private elevators sent a jolt of desperate hope through me, only to be crushed moments later. The sun climbed higher, beating down on the glass, but I didn't move. I couldn't. I just stared at the elevator doors, willing her to appear.

Around lunchtime, the elevator dinged in the lobby. My heart leaped. And then, there she was. Eleonora. She emerged, dressed simply, her hair pulled back, but even from this distance, I could see the subtle shift in her posture, the way she held herself. There was a fragile stillness about her, a quiet defiance that was both familiar and utterly heartbreaking. She wasn't shattered in the way I'd imagined, screaming and crying. She was… empty.

Before I could even think, I was moving towards her, my voice already forming her name. But then, John stepped out from behind her, his imposing figure a solid wall between us. He saw me instantly, his eyes narrowing, a silent warning in their depths.

"Mr. Norris," he said, his voice flat, as I approached, my steps faltering. Eleonora glanced up, her eyes meeting mine across John's shoulder. For a fleeting second, I saw something flicker there – recognition? Pain? – but then it was gone, replaced by an unsettling blankness, an emptiness that chilled me to the bone. She didn't react further, simply turned her head slightly, as if I were a distant, irrelevant shadow.

"John, please," I pleaded, my voice hoarse, ignoring Eleonora's chilling indifference. "Just let me talk to her. Five minutes. Please. I need to explain. I need to know she's okay."

John's expression remained impassive. "She's fine, Mr. Norris. She's having lunch with miss Richi. She needs space. I told you this."

"Space?" I scoffed, the word tasting bitter. "She looks like a ghost, John! That's not 'fine'! What did I do? What did I say? I don't understand why she's doing this!" My voice was rising, desperate.

"You pushed too hard, Mr. Norris," John said, his gaze unwavering, his voice a low, steady rumble that somehow cut through my frantic energy. "She told you she wanted to be alone. She told you she wouldn't be controlled. You didn't listen."

"I was trying to help her!" I insisted, running a hand through my already disheveled hair. "I was trying to make her see that she doesn't have to run from me! From us! I don't want to control her, John! I want to be with her!"

"Your intentions might be good, Mr. Norris," John replied, his voice devoid of judgment, but also of sympathy. "But your actions were not what she needed. She needs to process things on her own terms. Not yours. Not anyone's. Now, please, leave. She's already stressed enough."

He ushered Eleonora into the waiting car, his hand a firm, protective presence on her back. She didn't look back. The car pulled away, leaving me standing alone in the lobby, feeling utterly helpless, utterly defeated.

She looked through me. Like I wasn't even there. Like I was nothing. Is that what she meant? That I never had her? That there's nothing left to find?

I spent the rest of the day in a similar pattern. I followed them, keeping my distance, a shadow in my own car. When they went to a small, chic restaurant for dinner, I parked across the street, watching through the window as Eleonora sat with Richi and Charles, a polite, almost brittle smile on her face. She laughed once, a light, tinkling sound that didn't reach her eyes. It was a performance. And I was watching her perform.

I tried again to approach when they left. John emerged, like a silent guardian, before I was even halfway across the street.

"Mr. Norris. I warned you," he said, his voice colder this time, a definite threat in his tone. "Do not make me take further action."

"Just let me talk to her, John!" I pleaded; my voice raw with desperation. "Please! Just one minute!"

Eleonora was already in the car, her back to me. She didn't turn. She didn't acknowledge my presence. It was worse than anger. It was indifference.

I retreated, my shoulders slumping, the weight of her apathy heavier than any fury. I drove back to my empty penthouse, the city lights mocking my solitude.

What do I do? She's gone. She's still there, but she's gone. She's built those walls back up, higher and thicker than ever. And I'm the one who helped her do it. I pushed her away. I pushed her so far she just... shut down.

The pain in my chest was a dull, constant ache, intertwined with a burning frustration. I wanted to scream, to punch something, to just feel something other than this suffocating blend of helplessness and hurt. I saw the girl she was, the one she buried, and I saw the woman she was becoming, cold and distant, and it terrified me. I wanted to fight for her, to break through, but how do you fight a ghost? How do you reach someone who has deliberately made themselves unreachable?

August 21^st, 2023

Days blurred into a suffocating cycle of restless nights and empty hours. August 19th and 20th passed with no word from Eleonora. I tried calling her, texting her, but my messages went unanswered, my calls straight to voicemail. John remained an impenetrable wall, polite but unyielding. He confirmed she was safe, but offered no further details, no hint of her location or her state of mind. Each passing hour felt like another nail in the coffin of whatever we had, whatever I desperately hoped we could be. The emptiness in her eyes when she looked at me, that chilling indifference, replayed in my mind like a broken record.

Today was August 21st. Race week. The Netherlands. Zandvoort.

I stood on the tarmac, the roar of a private jet's engines filling the air, a contrast to the hollow silence that had become my constant companion. A flicker of hope, fragile but persistent, ignited within me. Eleonora would be there. She had to be. I knew she hadn't attended races before, not as a regular fixture in the paddock like some of the other WAGs or socialites. But now... she was Max Verstappen's PR. That meant she had to be there. Maybe, just maybe, seeing her in that familiar environment, away from the suffocating pressure of Monaco, would break through whatever barrier she'd erected. Maybe then, I could talk to her, truly talk to her.

The jet's door hissed open, and Max Verstappen emerged, a casual smile on his face, sunglasses perched on his nose. He was already settled into his routine, the calm before the storm of a race weekend. He nodded a greeting, oblivious to the turmoil churning inside me.

"Norris," he said, his voice easy, "ready for the flight? Charles is already on board, probably halfway through his pre-race strategy notes."

I forced a weak smile. "Yeah, ready as I'll ever be, Max."

As we walked towards the plane, the familiar scent of jet fuel and distant sea air filling my lungs, a desperate thought struck me. Max. He was part of that inner circle, however peripherally. And he was… direct. Maybe he could offer some perspective, however blunt. It was a risk, a huge one, but I was out of options.

We settled into the leather seats inside the plane. Charles was indeed hunched over a tablet, already immersed in data. I took the seat opposite Max, who was scrolling through his phone.

"Max," I began, my voice lower than I intended, the words feeling heavy on my tongue. He looked up, a slight frown creasing his brow at my tone. "I... I need some advice. About Eleonora."

His expression softened slightly, a hint of concern replacing his usual intensity. "Eleonora? What about her? I thought things were... complicated between you two." He leaned back, crossing his arms, a sigh escaping him. "She's a good person, Lando. But she's got a lot going on. And she guards herself fiercely."

"It's more than complicated," I admitted, my voice tight with frustration. "She's... she's upset. With me. She won't talk to me. She hung up on me the other night, and then yesterday, John wouldn't let me near her. She looked... empty, Max. Like she was just a shell." The words tumbled out, raw and exposed. "She said I was trying to control her, to strip her of her will. I don't understand it. I just... I just want to be there for her. To help her."

Max listened, his gaze thoughtful, a flicker of genuine sympathy in his eyes. When I finished, he nodded slowly. "Yeah, she can get like that. When she feels cornered, or when things get too intense. She pulls back. Hard. It's her defense mechanism. She values her freedom above all else, and she's very protective of her own space. She trusts very few people, and when she feels that trust is threatened, or her independence is, she retreats."

"But I didn't mean to threaten her independence!" I protested, running a hand through my already disheveled hair. "I just... I just wanted her to be honest with me! About what she feels! About us!"

"I get it," Max said, his voice surprisingly gentle. "You care about her. That's obvious. But Eleonora doesn't do things by halves, and she expects the same. And when she feels like someone is trying to force her hand, even if it's for her own good, she'll fight back. It's how she operates. She values her freedom above all else." He paused, looking at me directly. "You need to understand that. And respect it. She's not some project to be fixed, Lando. She's a person who needs to be understood, on her own terms."

"I know she's not a project!" I snapped, my frustration bubbling over. "And I do respect her! I respect her more than anyone! But what am I supposed to do, Max? Just let her disappear? Let her build those walls even higher until there's nothing left?"

Max sighed, running a hand over his face. "No. Not that. But you can't force it. You can't demand it. She needs to come to you. She needs to feel safe enough to let those walls down, not pressured into it. And right now, it sounds like she feels pressured." He leaned forward, his voice dropping slightly. "She will be here for the race, you know. She's working for me now. She'll be in the paddock."

A fresh surge of hope, mingled with dread, went through me. "I know. That's... that's why I'm hoping. Maybe seeing her here, in a different context..."

"Maybe," Max conceded, a faint, almost imperceptible smile touching his lips. "Just... be patient, Lando. Give her space. Show her you're not trying to take anything from her, but that you're there if she needs you. That's all you can do. And focus on the track, mate. She'll appreciate that you're professional, even when your head's clearly somewhere else." He gave me a small, encouraging nod. "She's worth the effort, Lando. Just approach it carefully."

I stared at him, the unexpected empathy from Max a surprising balm to my nerves. He understood. He truly understood Eleonora, in a way that Max Fewtrell never could. And his words, though still a warning, carried a weight of truth that resonated deeply.

"Thanks, Max," I said, my voice quiet, a genuine gratitude in my tone. "I... I appreciate it."

He just nodded, returning to his phone, but the air between us felt different, less tense. Charles, who had been quietly observing, gave me a subtle, knowing look, a silent acknowledgment of the conversation.

I leaned back in my seat, staring out at the clouds as the plane climbed higher. She's worth the effort. Max was right. And I wasn't giving up. The paddock. That was my chance. I just had to figure out how to approach her without pushing her further away. How to show her that I wasn't a threat, but a sanctuary. It was going to be the hardest race of my life, and it had nothing to do with the track.

August 25^th, 2023

The days leading up to the Dutch Grand Prix had been a blur of media obligations, simulator sessions, and a relentless, gnawing anxiety. Max's advice about patience echoed in my head, but it was a bitter pill to swallow. Every fiber of my being screamed to go to her, to demand answers, to pull her close and refuse to let go until she finally broke down those walls. But I couldn't. Not after Isabella's fury, not after Eleonora's desperate plea to be left alone. I had to respect her space, even if it felt like a betrayal of my own heart.

Today was Friday. First Free Practice. The Zandvoort paddock was a hive of activity, a familiar chaos that usually grounded me. But today, it felt distant, a backdrop to the turmoil within. I went through the motions of media duties, answering questions about the track, the car, my expectations for the weekend, all while my eyes scanned the crowd, searching, always searching for a flash of dark hair, a familiar silhouette.

After my first practice session, the adrenaline still thrumming in my veins but quickly fading into a familiar ache of disappointment (the car felt off, my head wasn't in it), I headed back towards the McLaren garage. My path, however, took me past the Red Bull hospitality. My heart gave a painful lurch.

There she was. Eleonora.

She was seated at a table just inside the open-fronted hospitality unit, bathed in the cool, filtered light of the interior. She was dressed in the crisp, dark blue and red of Red Bull Racing team attire, a stark contrast to the flowing fabrics she usually favored. Her hair was pulled back neatly, revealing the sharp, elegant lines of her face. On the table before her lay two cell phones, one personal, one clearly for work, both buzzing intermittently. A half-empty coffee cup sat beside an open laptop, its screen displaying a flurry of emails and schedules. She was utterly immersed, her brow furrowed in concentration, her fingers flying across the keyboard with a focused intensity that was both captivating and intimidating. She looked professional, composed, and utterly unapproachable.

This is it. My chance.

My breath caught in my throat. Every instinct screamed at me to turn away, to give her the space she demanded. But the sight of her, so close yet so distant, ignited a desperate resolve. I couldn't just walk by. Not again.

I took a deep breath, trying to calm the frantic beating of my heart, and walked slowly into the hospitality area. The low hum of conversations and the clinking of cutlery seemed to fade as I approached her table. She didn't look up immediately, still engrossed in her work.

"Eleonora," I said, my voice softer than I intended, trying to keep it neutral, devoid of the desperation that was tearing me apart.

Her fingers paused mid-keystroke. She slowly raised her head, her eyes, those beautiful, green eyes, meeting mine. For a fraction of a second, I saw a flicker of surprise, perhaps even a shadow of the pain from our last conversation. Then, it was gone, replaced by the same unsettling emptiness, the professional blankness that had chilled me in Monaco. It was as if she had erected an invisible shield, deflecting everything.

"Lando," she replied, a polite, almost brittle smile touching her lips, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. Her voice was cool, composed, utterly devoid of warmth. "To what do I owe the pleasure? Oh my goodness, it's like staring directly into the sun with all that papaya around you." She gestured vaguely at my McLaren team kit. She didn't acknowledge the elephant in the room. Just a polite, distant query, wrapped in a thin veneer of friendly banter.

My carefully constructed composure threatened to crack. God, she's good at this.

A small, genuine laugh escaped me at her snarky comment, a desperate attempt to bridge the chasm between us. "Alright, alright, point taken about the papaya. It's certainly vibrant. Hard to miss, anyway." I tried to inject some of my usual playful ease into my tone, hoping it would disarm her, even just a little. "So, first race in the Red Bull colours. How are you finding it? Different pace than the usual Monaco social calendar, I imagine." I tried to keep my gaze light, friendly, avoiding the intensity that I knew would send her retreating further.

She picked up her coffee cup, taking a slow sip, her movements precise and unhurried. "It's... certainly a change of scenery. And pace, as you say." Her smile remained polite, unwavering. "The team here is incredibly efficient. A lot of moving parts, as you can imagine, but everyone's focused. It's a challenging role, but I thrive on challenges." She met my gaze, her eyes still holding that unsettling blankness, a professional politeness that felt like a brick wall. "And you? How was FP1 for you? Heard it was a bit tricky out there."

"Yeah, FP1 was a bit of a mixed bag, to be honest," I admitted, running a hand through my hair. "Car felt a bit off in some corners, struggling with balance. But we've got some good data, and the engineers are already on it. Hopefully, we can iron out the kinks for FP2. I'm feeling hopeful for this afternoon, actually. Just need to find that sweet spot." I tried to sound confident, professional, as if my entire world hadn't been crumbling for the past few days.

She nodded, her polite smile widening almost imperceptibly. "I'm sure you will, Lando. You're one of the best. I believe in you."

Her words hung in the air. I believe in you. The phrase, so simple, so direct, felt like a foreign language coming from her, especially after she'd told me I never had her, after she'd shattered my heart. My brow furrowed slightly, a flicker of confusion crossing my face. It was a supportive comment, the kind a friend would offer, but it felt disorienting. Was she truly being supportive, or was this just part of the impenetrable professional facade she'd built? The puzzle of her, the constant push and pull, was driving me mad.

"Do you really believe in me?" I asked, the question escaping before I could filter it, a hint of my underlying turmoil seeping into my voice. "Where is that coming from, Eleonora? After... everything?"

She held my gaze, her polite smile still there, a subtle tilt of her head. "Yes, Lando, I do. I always have. You're a phenomenal driver. And I believe in talent. You have it in spades." Her tone was even, calm, as if discussing the weather. It was a belief in my professional capabilities, nothing more. And that, in itself, was a new kind of torture.

"Well, thank you, I guess," I mumbled, the gratitude feeling hollow. The "I guess" was probably lost in the paddock noise, but it was all I could manage. Her composure, her polite detachment, was a masterclass in emotional deflection.

She offered another small, almost imperceptible smile. "That's what friends are for, Lando." She glanced down at her laptop, then at one of the buzzing phones. "I have to get back to work. Max has a full schedule today, and I need to be on top of it." She met my eyes again, a clear dismissal in her gaze. "See you around."

And just like that, she turned back to her laptop, her fingers resuming their rapid dance across the keyboard, effectively ending our conversation. I stood there for a moment, feeling utterly superfluous, a ghost in her professional world.

I turned and walked out of the Red Bull hospitality, the noise of the paddock rushing back in, louder than before. Confusion swirled in my head. Friends? That's what friends are for? After everything? After she cried, after I nearly lost my mind? She's just... friends? The polite smile, the distant eyes, the cool, professional tone – it was a performance, a shield. She was putting on a brave face, a perfect facade, and it was crushing.

But then, a new thought, a different kind of hope, began to form. She was here. In the paddock. And she was staying at the same hotel as the rest of the teams. She couldn't run. Not like last time. She couldn't disappear into the Monaco night. She was here, within reach. This wasn't the conversation I wanted, not even close. But it was a start. She acknowledged me. She spoke to me. And she was here.

Okay, Eleonora. You want to play the professional friend? Fine. We'll play. For now. But you're not going to hide behind that facade forever. You have nowhere to run now. And I'm not giving up. My jaw tightened with renewed determination. I would talk to her later. At the hotel. When the paddock lights were out, and the professional masks came down. Then, we would have the conversation she was so desperately avoiding.

Chapter Text

Eleonora`s POV

August 25^th, 2023

The encounter with Lando in the Red Bull hospitality had left a faint, unsettling tremor beneath the carefully constructed facade of my composure. "That's what friends are for." The words had felt like a shield, a necessary barrier against the intensity that still radiated from him. It had taken every ounce of my self-control not to flinch, not to let the mask slip. He looked so tired, so hurt, and a part of me, the buried, good-hearted girl, wanted to reach out. But the fear was too strong. The fear of losing control, of being consumed, of being stripped of my will. He was a force, just as he'd said, and I was terrified of what that force could do to the fragile peace I'd found.

Now, the paddock was a whirlwind, a familiar chaos that offered a strange comfort in its demands. I was behind Max, a constant, watchful presence, my mind sharply focused on my duties as his new PR. He was fielding a barrage of questions about his car's performance in FP1, his usual blunt honesty softened by a practiced media-savvy tone. My job was to ensure his message was clear, concise, and controversy-free.

"Max, a question about the car's balance," a journalist began, his voice polite, but his eyes held a glint of something more. "Given the recent rumors regarding certain... technical directives affecting rival teams, do you feel Red Bull's current performance advantage is entirely, shall we say, organic?"

My internal alarm bells screamed. Dodgy question. It was a thinly veiled attempt to imply Red Bull's dominance might be due to questionable interpretations of regulations, a classic media trap. Max, bless his direct heart, was already opening his mouth.

"Thank you for that insightful question," I interjected smoothly, stepping forward just slightly, my smile bright as I met the journalist's gaze. "Max has already thoroughly addressed the team's commitment to fair play and innovation in his previous statements. Our focus remains entirely on optimizing the car's performance within the regulations, as always. We appreciate your interest, but I think Max needs to get back to the engineers now to prepare for FP2."

I placed a gentle, guiding hand on Max's back, steering him subtly but firmly away from the journalist, towards the sanctuary of his drivers' room. Max, surprisingly, didn't resist. He simply nodded curtly to the journalist and allowed me to navigate him through the throng of people.

Once we were inside the quiet, climate-controlled sanctuary of his room, the door closing softly behind us, Max turned to me, a faint smile playing on his lips.

"Thanks for that, Eleonora," he said, his voice genuinely warm, a contrast to his usual terse demeanor. "That was... well, that was quick thinking. I almost bit on that one." He ran a hand through his hair, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "Didn't even see it coming. You're good at this, you know."

A genuine smile, one that reached my eyes, finally broke through my professional mask. "It's my job, Max. And it's always easier to spot a trap when you're not the one walking into it." I felt a comfortable ease settle between us, a shared understanding that transcended the usual PR-driver dynamic. He was direct, sometimes brutally so, but he was also appreciative, and there was a quiet respect in his gaze that I valued.

"Still," he said, shaking his head slightly, "you handled that perfectly. Smooth. Most people would have stumbled over that. You just... redirected it. Like it was nothing." He leaned against a table, crossing his arms, his gaze still on me. "You're a valuable asset to the team, Eleonora. Seriously. I'm glad you're here."

His words, simple and sincere, warmed me more than any compliment on my appearance or my social standing ever could. It was a validation of my capabilities, my intellect, my worth beyond the superficial. And in this chaotic, high-stakes environment, it felt like a grounding anchor.

"Thank you, Max," I said, my voice softer than before, a sincere appreciation in my tone. "I'm glad to be here too. It's challenging, but in a good way. It keeps me on my toes."

He nodded, a knowing look in his eyes. "Good. We need that. Keeps everyone sharp." He paused, then added, almost as an afterthought, "And it's good to see you focused. You seem calmer here. More in your element."

His comment, though seemingly innocuous, sent a tiny jolt through me. He noticed. He noticed the difference between the Eleonora he saw in Monaco and the one here. He didn't know the full extent of the storm I'd been weathering, but he saw the outward effect. I simply offered him another polite, professional smile, a subtle reminder of the boundaries.

"The paddock has a way of doing that," I replied, deflecting gently. "Now, about that FP2 debrief... are you ready to face the engineers?" I gestured towards the inner door of his room, effectively shifting the conversation back to business.

He chuckled, pushing off the table. "As ready as I'll ever be. Thanks again, Eleonora."

As he disappeared into the debrief room, I allowed myself a small, private sigh. The conversation with Max had been a welcome distraction, a reminder of the professional strength I possessed. It was a world where my intellect and composure were my greatest assets, a world where I could control the narrative, deflect the difficult questions, and maintain a safe, professional distance. A world where I didn't have to face the unsettling emotions that Lando Norris seemed to effortlessly provoke.

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Now, I stood in the Red Bull garage, the roar of the engines from the track still a low thrum through the concrete floor as FP2 wound down. My eyes were fixed on the monitors displaying live telemetry, but my mind was already shifting gears, preparing for the next round of media duties. As soon as the checkered flag waved, signaling the end of the session, I moved swiftly, ready to meet Max and navigate him through the inevitable throng of journalists.

The media pen was already buzzing, a chaotic scrum of microphones and cameras. Max finally arrived, his face still flushed from the heat of the cockpit, but we had to wait. The journalists, like a pack of hungry wolves, were currently swarming around other drivers who had finished their interviews first. My gaze drifted, scanning the familiar faces, the team colors, the organized chaos.

And then I saw him.

He was a few meters away, surrounded by a cluster of reporters, his McLaren papaya orange a beacon in the crowd. He was leaning in, his head tilted, a charming smile playing on his lips as he answered a question from a female journalist. His eyes crinkled at the corners, that boyish grin flashing, and he gestured animatedly as he spoke about his car, his performance. He was in his element, effortlessly charming, witty, and engaging. He was the Lando Norris the world knew, the one who could disarm anyone with a laugh and a perfectly timed quip.

A strange sensation twisted in my stomach. It wasn't anger, not exactly. More like a dull ache, a recognition of something familiar and yet utterly out of reach. He was so good at this, at being Lando. The public Lando. The charming, approachable, universally liked Lando. And watching him, so at ease, so perfectly in control of his public persona, felt like a reminder of the chasm between that Lando and the furious, desperate man who had called me just nights ago. The man who had shattered my carefully constructed walls. He was a master of his craft, both on and off the track. And in this moment, watching him charm a journalist, I felt a familiar pang of something akin to admiration, but also a deep, unsettling detachment. He was a star, shining brightly, and I was just the PR, observing from the sidelines, ensuring the light hit him just right.

Lando finished his interview, offering a final, dazzling smile to the journalist before turning. His eyes swept the media pen, and then they landed on me. The charming, public smile softened, becoming something else entirely, a soft, almost vulnerable curve of his lips that was meant only for me. He nodded, a silent acknowledgment, a silent plea.

I returned his nod, a brief, almost imperceptible movement, and then turned my attention back to Max, who was now finally being approached by the first journalist. I waited patiently, my gaze fixed on Max, my mind a blank slate of professionalism. Once Max's interview concluded, I stepped forward, offering a polite, practiced smile to the journalists.

"Thank you all for your time," I announced, my voice clear and concise. "Max will be heading straight to debrief now. We'll see you all tomorrow for qualifying."

Max gave a quick wave, and I guided him away. As we walked, he glanced at me. "Everything okay, Eleonora?"

"Perfectly, Max," I replied, my voice light. "Just a long day. See you tomorrow."

He nodded, heading off towards his team. I watched him disappear, then turned, making my way out of the garage, through the thinning crowds of the paddock, and towards the parking lot. The evening air was cooler now, a welcome relief after the intensity of the day.

As I approached the new model Honda that Red Bull had provided for my use this race weekend, its sleek lines a familiar comfort, my eyes drifted. And there he was again.

He was near a McLaren team car, surrounded by a throng of fans, their faces illuminated by phone screens. He was smiling, that bright, infectious smile, signing autographs, posing for selfies, utterly in his element. He was the golden boy, adored by millions. And in that moment, watching him, a cold, hard truth settled in my chest.

He sold our relationship for this. He sold my vulnerability, my pain, my trust, for the adoration of the crowd, for the image he needed to maintain. He always has. And this time shouldn't be different.

The thought solidified into a cold, hard conviction, a protective layer over the raw ache in my chest.

I navigated the winding roads back to the hotel, the twilight painting the sky in soft hues of orange and purple. The drive was a blur, my mind replaying the day's events, the polite exchanges, the carefully maintained distance. I parked the car in the hotel garage; the familiar scent of concrete and exhaust fumes a grounding presence.

Instead of heading straight to my room, I decided a walk would do me good. My head felt heavy, a dull throb behind my eyes. The adrenaline of the paddock was slowly draining, leaving behind a familiar weariness. I strolled aimlessly, letting my feet carry me through the quiet, well-manicured streets surrounding the hotel. The evening air was cool and crisp, a welcome relief after the humid intensity of the day.

My steps eventually led me past a quaint coffee shop, its windows glowing with warm, inviting light. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafted out, pulling me in. A hot drink, something to anchor me, sounded perfect. Maybe a light dinner too, if my appetite decided to make an appearance.

I ordered a latte and a small pastry, finding a quiet corner table by the window. The gentle murmur of conversations, the clinking of cups, the soft jazz playing in the background – it was a soothing balm to my frayed nerves. I took a slow sip of my coffee, letting the warmth spread through me, trying to quiet the chaotic thoughts swirling in my mind.

Just breathe, Eleonora. One step at a time. You handled today. You can handle tomorrow. You can handle anything.

Just as I reached for my pastry, my phone, which I had placed on the table, buzzed. I glanced at the screen. Patrick Kimbel. My father. A knot tightened in my stomach. He rarely called unless it was important, or unless he wanted something.

I took a steadying breath and answered. "Father. To what do I owe the pleasure?" I tried to keep my voice light, professional, the mask firmly in place.

"Eleonora, my dear! Just checking in," his smooth, cultured voice flowed through the line. "Heard you're doing splendidly with Max. Very impressive. Always knew you'd excel in this field."

"Thank you, Father," I replied, a polite smile fixed on my face, even though he couldn't see it. "It's certainly been a challenging, but rewarding, transition."

"Excellent, excellent. Always good to hear. And speaking of challenging, but rewarding..." He paused, and I knew what was coming. My brother, Nick, had been pestering me for weeks about a new singer-songwriter he'd discovered, a "raw talent" named Gavin who needed "the Eleonora touch." I had dismissed it, my plate already overflowing.

"Gavin," he finally continued, his tone shifting, becoming subtly more insistent. "Nick tells me you've been a bit... hesitant. But I've had a look at his portfolio. Raw, yes, but with immense potential. Exactly the kind of project you excel at, Eleonora."

My jaw tightened imperceptibly. "Father, with all due respect, my plate is full. My responsibilities with Verstappen are demanding, and I'm still settling into this new role. I simply cannot take on any more clients at this time. It wouldn't be fair to them, or to Max."

A soft, knowing chuckle came from his end. "Nonsense, my dear. You're a shark. Always have been. You thrive under pressure. And a 'small client' like Gavin? That's barely a ripple in your ocean, Eleonora. You're more than capable. You always have been. Remember how you handled that impossible merger last year? Or the crisis with the Dubai investment? This is child's play for you."

His words, meant as praise, felt like chains. "Shark." "Capable." They were the labels he'd always used, the expectations he'd always placed on me. The very qualities that had built my empire also felt like a gilded cage.

"Father, please understand," I tried again, my voice betraying a hint of desperation. "It's not about capability. It's about bandwidth. I need to focus."

"I understand perfectly, Eleonora," he cut in, his voice firm, leaving no room for argument. "And I expect you to have a meeting with Gavin when you are back in London. A preliminary one, at least. Just to assess the landscape. Nick will arrange it. I believe in your capabilities, Eleonora. You won't disappoint me."

The line went dead. He had hung up. Just like that.

I stared at my phone, the screen still lit, a cold fury rising within me. He believes in my capabilities. It wasn't a compliment; it was a command. A dismissal of my limits, my feelings, my own judgment. He didn't care that I was overwhelmed, that I was exhausted, that I was trying to hold myself together. He just saw another task, another opportunity for me to prove my worth, to live up to his impossible standards.

"Damn you, Nick," I muttered under my breath, my hands clenching into fists on the table. My brother, always eager to please our father, always pushing me into more. This wasn't about Gavin's talent; it was about control. Their control.

The coffee, which had moments ago been a comfort, now tasted bitter. My appetite, which had been tentative, vanished completely. The thought of dinner, of anything, was repugnant. I just wanted to disappear. To be truly alone.

I pushed the half-eaten pastry away, grabbed my phone, and stood up abruptly, ignoring the curious glances from other patrons. The warmth of the coffee shop now felt stifling. I needed the cold, impersonal solitude of my hotel room. I needed to be alone, to process this fresh wave of frustration and despair. Another expectation. Another burden. Another piece of my will being chipped away.

Back in the sterile, impersonal comfort of my hotel room, I kicked off my shoes and walked straight to the window, staring out at the distant, twinkling lights of the city. The silence was heavy, broken only by the frantic beat of my own thoughts. The exhaustion that had been a dull ache now settled deep in my bones, a profound weariness that went beyond physical fatigue.

Another client. Another demand. Another expectation. When will it ever be enough? When will I ever be enough?

My father's words, "You're a shark," echoed in my mind, followed by Matthew's cruel voice, "You're getting chubby, Eleonora." The memories, sharp and unwelcome, flooded back. The casual, cutting remark from Matthew, my first serious boyfriend, had been the spark. A seemingly innocent comment that had ignited a firestorm of insecurity within me. I remembered the shame, the desperate need to be perfect, to be thin, to be enough for him.

That's when it had started. Skipping meals. The obsessive counting of calories. The dizzy spells. And then, the bulimia. The secret binges, followed by the desperate, humiliating purges. It had been a dark, isolating period of my life, a silent battle fought behind closed doors, fueled by a relentless need for control in a life that felt increasingly out of my hands. The fear of not being good enough, not being thin enough, not being perfect enough, had consumed me. It was a vicious cycle, a desperate attempt to control the one thing I felt I could: my body.

I hugged myself, a shiver running through me despite the comfortable warmth of the room. The memory was an open wound, still tender, still capable of bringing me to my knees. I had fought so hard to bury it, to build a new, stronger Eleonora, one who was in control, who didn't let anyone dictate her worth. But tonight, the past felt too close, too real.

I felt lost. Utterly, profoundly lost. The weight of my duties, my father's expectations, the lingering shadows of my past, and now Lando, with his intense demands and his unsettling ability to see through my carefully constructed walls – it was all too much. I wanted to talk to someone, truly talk, to shed the layers of composure and just be vulnerable. To confess the fears, the exhaustion, the deep-seated insecurities that still plagued me.

And the only someone who seemed capable of seeing beyond the facade, the only one who had glimpsed the shattered girl beneath, was Lando. But he was also the one who, in his desperate attempt to connect, felt like he was trying to suffocate me, to strip me of the very independence I was clinging to for dear life. He wanted to break down my walls, but those walls were all I had left to protect myself. The irony was a bitter taste in my mouth. The one person who might understand was also the one person I felt I had to run from. And in that moment, alone in my hotel room, the tears I had cried two nights ago felt like a distant memory, replaced by a dull, aching emptiness that was far more terrifying.

But then, a flicker of defiance sparked within me. No. I wouldn't go down that path again. I wouldn't let their demands, their expectations, push me back into that dark spiral. I had fought too hard to get out. Skipping dinner was a surrender, a step back into the shadows I'd escaped. This was one thing I could control, truly control, without anyone else's input or judgment.

With a renewed sense of quiet resolve, I straightened my shoulders. I wasn't going to skip dinner. I was going to eat. Properly.

I exited my room, the soft carpet muffling my footsteps as I headed for the hotel restaurant. The aroma of various cuisines greeted me as I entered the elegant, softly lit dining area. It was bustling with a mix of hotel guests and team personnel, a low hum of conversation filling the air.

A hostess led me to a small, discreet table by the window. I took a seat, picking up the menu, my eyes scanning the offerings. My gaze drifted across the room, observing the other patrons. Families laughing, couples engaged in quiet conversation, small groups of colleagues unwinding after a long day. They seemed so... normal. So uncomplicated.

A pang of longing, sharp and unexpected, pierced through me. A life without constant pressure, without the secrets, without the heavy weight of a family legacy and a past that refused to stay buried. A life where I could simply be, without constantly fighting to maintain control, without constantly building walls. A life where "I believe in you" didn't come with the unspoken demand for more.

I took a deep breath, pushing the wistful thoughts aside. Focus. One step at a time. I looked back at the menu, making a conscious effort to choose something nourishing, something I would enjoy.

"I'll have the Caprese salad to start, please," I told the waiter, my voice clear and steady. "And for the main course, the rotisserie chicken with rice. And a glass of rosé, please."

I quickly finished my dinner, savoring each bite, feeling a small, quiet sense of accomplishment. The food was delicious, and the simple act of nourishing myself, of choosing my own path, filled me with quiet satisfaction. I felt full, and a little happier with myself than I had been in days.

As I headed towards the elevator, my steps lighter, a low murmur of voices reached me from the lobby. My heart gave a sudden, unwelcome lurch. A heap of Formula 1 drivers were spilling into the lobby, fresh from their own team dinners or debriefs. Max, George, Carlos, Pierre, Alex, Daniel, Charles... and just my fucking luck, Lando. He was in the middle of the group, laughing at something George had said, his head thrown back, that easy, infectious laughter echoing through the grand space.

My instincts screamed. Avoid. At all costs. I quickly veered off, pivoting sharply towards the discreet staircase tucked away in a corner, not wanting to interact with anyone, especially not him, not now, not when I felt this fragile sense of well-being.

I climbed the stairs quickly, my breath coming in short, sharp gasps, but the exertion was welcome, a physical distraction from the chaotic swirl of thoughts. As I ascended, a small, genuine smile touched my lips. Isabella. She was coming tomorrow. My best friend. The thought was a lifeline, a warm, comforting presence in the turbulent sea of my emotions. I wouldn't feel so alone. She understood me, truly understood me, without judgment, without demands.

I reached my floor, my legs aching slightly, and quickly made my way to my room. I unlocked the door, slipped inside, and closed it softly behind me, the click of the lock a comforting finality. I shed my clothes, pulling on a soft, silk nightgown, the cool fabric a gentle caress against my skin.

I grabbed my phone, a glass of water, and my vape, then walked out onto the small balcony. The night air was cool and still, carrying the faint, distant hum of the city. I positioned myself in one of the comfortable chairs, placing my things on the small table beside me. I took a long, slow drag from my vape, the familiar taste a small comfort. I listened to the sounds of the city, the distant traffic, the faint strains of music from a bar somewhere below. The darkness felt like a true friend in this moment, a vast, enveloping blanket that offered anonymity and solace. In the dark, I didn't have to be Eleonora Kimbel, the heiress, the PR shark, the woman with a complicated past. I could just be. Alone.

August 26^th , 2023

The darkness of the night before had been a balm, a temporary reprieve from the relentless pressures. I had slept, a deep, dreamless sleep that left me feeling marginally more refreshed, though the underlying weariness still lingered. The tears had been a release, a necessary purge of emotions I'd suppressed for too long. But with the morning light came the familiar need to rebuild, to reinforce the walls.

I started the day with a quiet breakfast in the hotel restaurant. The Caprese salad and rotisserie chicken from last night had been a small act of defiance, a quiet victory against the shadows of my past. This morning, it was just coffee – black, strong – and a bowl of fresh berries and yogurt. Fuel for the day, nothing more, nothing less. I ate quickly, efficiently, avoiding eye contact with other guests, my mind already shifting to the next item on my meticulously planned schedule.

The hotel gym. A place where I could channel the restless energy, the lingering frustration, into something productive, something I could control.

I headed back to my room, changed quickly, and then made my way down to the gym. My attire was sleek and functional: a form-fitting, high-waisted pair of black Lululemon leggings that sculpted my legs, paired with a seamless, long-sleeved athletic top in a deep emerald green. The fabric was breathable, designed for movement, hugging my figure without restricting it. My hair was pulled back into a tight, high ponytail, secured with a simple black elastic, keeping it off my neck and face. On my feet were my lightweight, shock-absorbing running shoes, their pristine white soles a stark contrast to the dark fabric of my clothes. I looked ready for battle, even if the battle was only with myself.

Stepping into the gym, the air was cool and faintly scented with disinfectant. A few other early risers were scattered around, quietly going about their routines. I walked straight to a treadmill, set my water bottle on the console, and pulled out my phone. I scrolled through my playlist, my gaze landing on a familiar track. Perfect.

I put on my noise-canceling headphones, the world outside instantly muted, and blasted "I Ran" by A Flock of Seagulls. The pulsing synth intro filled my ears, a driving beat that matched the frantic energy still simmering beneath my calm exterior.

I started with a brisk walk, then gradually increased the speed, transitioning into a steady run. The rhythm of my feet hitting the belt, the thumping bass in my ears – it was a hypnotic, almost meditative experience.

I ran, I ran so far away...

The lyrics echoed in my head, strangely fitting. I had run. From Lando, from the confrontation, from the vulnerability he demanded. From the past. Always running. But this time, it felt different. This wasn't a panicked flight; it was a deliberate escape, a desperate attempt to protect the fragile core of myself.

I just ran, I ran all night and day...

And I would keep running, if I had to. From the expectations, from the demands, from the suffocating weight of my family's legacy. From the shadows of Matthew's cruel words and the dark spiral of bulimia. This run was a physical manifestation of my refusal to be defined by anyone else's terms.

Couldn't get away...

A sharp pang of reality. Could I ever truly get away? From the past? From Lando? He was a persistent force, a constant presence in my thoughts, even when I tried to push him out. His desperation, his raw concern, had pierced through my defenses in a way no one else's ever had. And that was the most terrifying thing of all. He saw too much. He felt too much. And he wanted too much.

I pushed the speed up higher, forcing my legs to move faster, my lungs burning. The music swelled, the synth melody a soaring, melancholic cry. I focused on the burn in my muscles, the sweat beading on my skin, anything to drown out the chaotic thoughts, the lingering hurt, the unsettling feeling that, no matter how far I ran, some things would always follow.

Finally, my legs felt like lead, my lungs burned, and my muscles screamed in protest. I slowed the treadmill to a stop, spent, sweaty, and breathless. I peeled off my headphones, the sudden silence of the gym a stark contrast to the pounding music that had filled my head. I grabbed my water bottle, draining half of it in a few gulps, then reached for my phone. Time for a shower and then the paddock.

As I turned from the treadmill, ready to head for the exit, my gaze snagged.

Lando was standing a few meters away, near the free weights, his own workout seemingly concluded. He wasn't looking at his phone, or at anyone else. His eyes were fixed on me, an intense, unwavering gaze that seemed to strip away every layer of my carefully constructed composure. There was an undeniable hunger in his eyes, an almost desperate intensity that made my breath catch in my throat. It wasn't just desire; it was a profound, unyielding need, a silent demand that vibrated in the air between us.

I cannot catch a fucking break. The thought screamed through my mind, a frustrated, weary curse. Just when I felt a sliver of peace, a moment of control, he was there, a disruptive force, threatening to unravel everything.

He started to move, slowly, deliberately, closing the distance between us. My heart hammered, a frantic drum against my ribs. I wanted to turn, to run, to disappear, but my feet felt rooted to the spot.

"Eleonora," he said, his voice low, a husky rumble that cut through the remaining silence of the gym. He stopped just a few feet from me, his eyes still locked on mine, the hunger burning bright. "We need to talk. Properly."

My irritation flared, hot and immediate. "Are you following me now, Lando?" I asked, my voice sharp, a protective edge to it. My body was still thrumming from the run, my guard already lowered by exhaustion, and his sudden presence felt like an invasion.

He remained stoic, his gaze unwavering, betraying no hint of apology or retreat. "I'm not following you. I'm staying at this hotel too. And yes, we need to talk. Now." His voice was firm, an undeniable command that grated on my nerves.

"I'm sweaty," I retorted, gesturing vaguely at my damp clothes, my breath still coming in slightly ragged gasps. "And I desperately need a shower. Can it wait?" I tried to brush past him, to make my escape, but he didn't move, his presence a solid, unyielding wall.

His eyes, those intense, hungry eyes, devoured me, sweeping over my flushed face, my damp hair, the sheen of sweat on my skin. A slow, predatory smile, utterly devoid of his usual boyish charm, spread across his lips.

"You're hot when you're sweaty, Eleonora," he murmured, his voice dropping to a low, seductive growl that sent a shiver, both of revulsion and a dangerous thrill, down my spine. "Actually, you're incredibly hot. And sexy. I don't mind at all. In fact," he added, his gaze dropping to my eyes, a wicked glint in their depths, "I don't mind if we hit the showers together."

My jaw dropped, my eyes widening in pure shock and fury. The audacity! The sheer, unmitigated gall! He was unbelievable. My face flushed, not from exertion, but from a sudden, scorching anger.

"You are unbelievable, Lando Norris!" I hissed, my voice laced with venom. I shoved past him, my shoulder brushing hard against his, and stalked towards the gym exit, my running shoes squeaking softly on the tiled floor. My mind was screaming. How dare he?! How dare he speak to me like that?!

I jabbed the elevator call button, my finger pressing hard enough to bruise. The doors opened almost instantly, and I practically lunged inside, desperate to escape his infuriating presence. I hit the button for my floor, willing the doors to close, to seal me away from him.

But before they could, Lando's hand shot out, catching the edge of the door, forcing it to slide open again. He stepped inside, his eyes still fixed on me, that infuriating, hungry gaze. He was following me. Of course he was. I was trapped.

I glared at him, throwing daggers with my eyes, my chest heaving with a mixture of exertion and simmering rage. The elevator doors began to close again, slowly, silently, sealing us into the confined space.

"What do you want from me, Lando?" I demanded, my voice low and sharp, each word clipped. "A signed autograph? A selfie for your fans? Or perhaps you're just here to confirm that my 'performance' in the gym was up to your exacting standards?"

He leaned back against the elevator wall, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk playing on his lips, though the intensity in his eyes never wavered. "Oh, Eleonora. You always jump straight to the most dramatic conclusion, don't you? And for the record, your 'performance' was indeed quite captivating. But no, I'm not here for a photo op. I'm here because you hung up on me, you disappeared, and you've been avoiding me like I'm a particularly stubborn bug."

"Maybe you are," I shot back, crossing my arms. "A particularly persistent one, at that. And I'm not avoiding you, Lando. I'm simply prioritizing my time. Unlike some people, I actually have a job to do."

"And I don't?" he countered, a slight arch of his eyebrow. "I'm sure your new PR role is fascinating, but it doesn't change the fact that we have unfinished business. And running on a treadmill, no matter how vigorously, won't make it disappear." He took a step closer, his voice dropping, his eyes burning into mine. "I want answers, Eleonora. And I'm not leaving this elevator until I get them."

"You're a prick, Lando," I spat, the words laced with pure contempt, my voice barely a whisper but sharp as a knife.

His smirk vanished, replaced by a cold, hard glint in his eyes. He took another step, closing the distance between us until he was entirely too close, his presence suffocating in the small space.

"Oh, I'm a prick, am I?" he murmured, his voice dangerously low, almost a hiss. "You didn't seem to have any objections when I was above you, Eleonora. You didn't seem to mind when I was fucking you, making you cum and scream my name until your throat was raw. You didn't call me a prick then, did you?"

The words hit me like a physical blow, a vile, disgusting assault that stripped away every last shred of my composure. My vision blurred red with a sudden, all-consuming fury. This was the final straw. The ultimate disrespect.

Without thinking, without a single moment of hesitation, my hand shot out. All the rage, the hurt, the frustration, the years of suppressed pain, channeled into that single, explosive movement. My palm connected with his cheek with a sickening crack, the sound echoing loudly in the confined space of the elevator. My hand stung, but the satisfaction was immense.

Lando's head snapped to the side, his eyes widening in pure, unadulterated shock. A bright red mark bloomed instantly on his cheek where my hand had landed. He stared at me, his mouth slightly agape, the hunger in his eyes replaced by stunned disbelief.

At that precise moment, with a soft ding, the elevator doors slid open onto my floor.

I looked at him, my chest heaving, my eyes burning with a furious, defiant fire. "Don't you dare disrespect me like that, Lando Norris," I snarled, my voice trembling with controlled rage. "I am not one of your whores."

And then, I walked out, leaving him standing there, stunned and silent, the red imprint of my hand vivid on his face. The doors began to close behind me, slowly, deliberately, sealing him away in the silence of the elevator.

I fumbled with the key card, my hands still shaking slightly, and burst into the sanctuary of my hotel room. The need for a shower was immediate, a desperate urge to wash away the lingering feeling of his words, of his audacity. I stripped off my sweaty gym clothes, tossing them carelessly onto the floor, and stepped into the steaming spray of the shower. The hot water cascaded over me, washing away the sweat, the tension, and slowly, the raw edge of my fury. I scrubbed my skin, as if trying to erase his touch, his words, from my very being.

As the steam filled the bathroom, my thoughts slowly shifted from the immediate confrontation to the day ahead. The paddock. Max's schedule. My responsibilities. I couldn't afford to let this incident derail me. I had a job to do, a reputation to uphold.

After a quick, invigorating shower, I wrapped myself in a plush towel and walked into the bedroom. My Red Bull team attire lay neatly folded on the chair – the crisp, dark blue and red polo shirt, the matching trousers, and a lightweight team jacket. I dressed efficiently, the familiar fabric a comforting uniform. It was a shield, a professional facade that allowed me to compartmentalize, to bury the personal beneath the public. I pulled my still-damp hair into a sleek, high ponytail, applied minimal makeup, and checked my reflection. Composed. Professional. Unbreakable. That was the image I needed to project. That was the Eleonora I needed to be.

I grabbed my work phones and my small crossbody bag, then headed out of the room, my focus now entirely on the day's duties. As I approached the hotel entrance, my eyes scanned for the shuttle pick-up – I was in no state to drive the Honda.

As I stepped out of the shuttle and into the bustling energy of the paddock, a familiar blonde figure suddenly materialized before me, almost causing me to collide with her.

"Izzy!" I exclaimed, a genuine, unbidden smile blooming on my face, chasing away the last vestiges of my anger and the lingering tension from the elevator.

Her face lit up, and she practically launched herself at me, enveloping me in a tight, loving hug. "Eleonora! Oh my God, I missed you! You look... well, you look like you just came from a very intense workout, but still fabulous, girl!" Her embrace was warm, familiar, a solid anchor in my turbulent world.

"I literally just did," I chuckled, hugging her back tightly, inhaling the familiar scent of her expensive perfume. "And you look like you just stepped off a runway, as always."

We pulled back, Izzy holding me at arm's length, her eyes sparkling. "Well, someone has to maintain standards, Eli. This paddock can get dreadfully... utilitarian." She linked her arm through mine, and we began to walk, weaving through the growing crowd of team personnel and early-arriving media.

"So, tell me everything!" Izzy chirped, her voice a conspiratorial whisper. "How's the new gig? Is Max as moody as they say? And more importantly," she lowered her voice further, her eyes sparkling with mischief, "why does Lando Norris just passed me, hiding his face?"

My breath hitched. I glanced around, ensuring no one was listening too closely, before leaning in.

"You have no idea," I muttered, shaking my head. "He cornered me in the gym, then followed me into the elevator, demanding to talk."

Izzy's eyes widened. "No! The audacity! And then what happened? Don't leave me hanging, Eleonora!"

"He... he said some utterly disgusting things," I confessed, my voice low, a tremor of lingering fury in it. "He brought up... our night in Monaco. He used it against me. He said I didn't object when he was 'fucking me, making me cum and scream his name'." The words felt dirty on my tongue, even repeating them.

Izzy stopped dead in her tracks, her jaw dropping. Her eyes, usually so full of playful mischief, now blazed with a furious, protective fire. "He said WHAT?! That arrogant, insufferable, little moron! Oh, Eleonora! How dare he! How absolutely DARE he speak to you like that!" She took a deep breath, her chest heaving with indignation. "And what did you do, darling? Please tell me you put him in his place!"

A small, grim smile touched my lips. "I slapped him, Izzy. Hard. Across the face. With everything I had."

Izzy's eyes lit up, a triumphant, almost maniacal grin spreading across her face. She let out a delighted squeal, hugging me tightly again, bouncing on the balls of her feet. "OH MY GOD, ELEONORA! YOU ARE MY HERO! My absolute queen! That's the best news I've heard all week! He deserved it! He deserved every single bit of it! That little, entitled, smug, overpaid, papaya-wearing imbecile! I knew he hadn't changed! I knew he would try to disrespect you! Good for you, darling! Good for you for showing him exactly who he's dealing with! He probably thought you'd just melt into a puddle of tears, didn't he? Oh, this is glorious! I wish I'd been there to see it! Did it leave a mark? A nice, red, humiliating handprint?"

"Yes," I confirmed, a faint, almost embarrassed blush rising on my cheeks, but also a surge of fierce pride at her unwavering support. "It did. Right across his cheek."

"Magnificent!" Izzy clapped her hands together, practically vibrating with glee. "That's exactly what that arrogant little boy needed! A taste of Eleonora Kimbel's real power! And then you just left him there, I assume? Standing like a stunned idiot?"

"I told him not to disrespect me like that, that I wasn't one of his whores, and then I left him in the elevator," I confirmed, the words feeling stronger, more resolute, now that I had shared them.

Izzy let out another triumphant laugh. "Perfect! Absolutely perfect! Oh, I love you, Eleonora! You are a force of nature! And that, darling, is a lesson he won't soon forget. He probably thought he could just waltz back in and claim you. The nerve! He's just a glorified toddler in a racing suit, isn't he? Always throwing tantrums when he doesn't get his way. Honestly, you're too good for him, Eleonora. Far, far too good." She squeezed my arm again, her smile still wide, her eyes blazing with pride. "Now, let's get you to the Red Bull hospitality. You've earned a celebratory coffee, and I, darling, have a million more questions about that slap."

We navigated the bustling paddock, Izzy practically skipping beside me, her enthusiasm infectious. The Red Bull hospitality was a welcome oasis of calm amidst the organized chaos. We found a quiet table in a corner, and a few moments later, two steaming lattes were placed before us.

"So," Izzy began, leaning forward, her eyes sparkling with an almost predatory glee, "details, darling. Every single glorious, humiliating detail. Did he actually look shocked? Did his little dimples disappear? I need to visualize this masterpiece of a moment."

I took a slow sip of my coffee, a small, genuine smile playing on my lips. "He was absolutely stunned. His jaw dropped. And yes," I confirmed, a flicker of satisfaction in my eyes, "the dimples were nowhere to be seen. He looked like a deer caught in headlights."

Izzy let out a delighted gasp. "Oh, the sheer poetry of it! A deer in papaya headlights! That's going straight into my mental hall of fame. Honestly, Eleonora, he had it coming. The nerve of that boy! Bringing up... that... in an elevator? What is he, a caveman who just discovered fire and thinks he owns the entire forest because he struck a match? He's a professional athlete, not a Neanderthal with a penchant for public declarations of conquest." She shuddered dramatically. "The sheer lack of decorum! It's utterly barbaric!"

"It was," I agreed, the anger returning, though softened by Izzy's outrage. "It was disgusting. He just... he thinks he can say anything, do anything. He thinks he can just demand that I open up, that I respond to him, that I conform to whatever he expects. He doesn't see that he's trying to suffocate me, Izzy. He's trying to strip me of my will. He's trying to change me into something I'm not, or something I used to be but buried deep." My voice dropped, my vulnerability seeping through. "He wants to break down my walls, but those walls are all I have left to protect myself."

Izzy reached across the table, covering my hand with hers, her touch warm and reassuring. "And that, Eli, is precisely why you are a goddess among mere mortals. Your walls are your fortress. They protect the exquisite, brilliant, and fiercely independent woman that you are. And anyone who tries to dismantle them without your explicit, enthusiastic consent is not worthy of even a single brick. Lando Norris, for all his boyish charm and McLaren millions, clearly has a severe case of entitlement. He thinks because he can drive a car fast, he can also drive your emotions into a ditch. Pathetic."

She squeezed my hand. "You are not his property, Eleonora. You are not a conquest. You are a force. And if he can't see that, if he can't respect your boundaries, then he can go back to charming journalists with his dimples and leave you to conquer the world on your own terms. Which, by the way, you are doing spectacularly. Look at you! Red Bull PR! You're thriving, darling. Absolutely thriving."

A wave of profound relief washed over me. Izzy understood. She didn't try to fix me, or tell me what I should feel. She just validated my anger, my fear, my need for control. Her endless support was a comfort beyond measure. The weight on my shoulders, the one I hadn't realized how heavy it was until now, lightened considerably.

"Thank you, Izzy," I whispered, my voice thick with emotion. "I needed that. More than you know."

She winked, a mischievous glint back in her eyes. "Always, Eli. That's what friends are for. Now, tell me, did he actually whimper when you slapped him? Because a good whimper would just be the cherry on top of this glorious sundae of justice."

I laughed, a sound that echoed softly in the hospitality unit. The tension in my shoulders eased, and for the first time since that phone call with Lando, I felt a flicker of true lightness. With Izzy by my side, I knew I could face anything. Even Lando Norris.

The paddock buzzed with the aftermath of qualifying. Max, as expected, had delivered a phenomenal lap, securing pole position with a time that left everyone else scrambling. The Red Bull garage was a scene of controlled jubilation, and I moved through it, a silent, efficient presence, managing the immediate media rush, ensuring Max's message was consistent and celebratory. It was a professional high, a testament to the team's relentless pursuit of perfection, and my own contribution to that success.

Later, as the crowds began to thin and the sun dipped lower, casting long shadows across the circuit, I finally allowed myself a moment to breathe. My day was officially over. I walked towards the shuttle pick-up, the noise of the paddock slowly fading behind me, replaced by the quiet hum of my own thoughts.

Max on pole. Of course. He's a machine. Unstoppable here. And on home soil. I felt a surge of professional pride. My first qualifying session as his PR, and he'd delivered. It was a good start.

My thoughts then drifted to Charles. P9. Not his best. Ferrari still struggling with consistency. A pang of concern, a familiar ache for my friend, but I quickly pushed it aside. My focus needed to be on Red Bull now.

And then, inevitably, my mind landed on Lando. P2.

The number flashed in my head, stark and undeniable. Second place. Right there, on the front row, beside Max. A phenomenal lap. He had been "tricky" in FP1, but he'd found his sweet spot, just as he'd hoped. A wave of pride, sharp and unexpected, washed over me. Despite everything, despite the anger, the hurt, the walls I'd built, I couldn't deny his talent. He was truly one of the best. He had delivered. He always did.

But the pride was quickly overshadowed by the bitter memory of our encounter in the gym. His words, vile and disrespectful, still echoed in my ears. "You didn't seem to have any objections when I was above you, fucking you, making you cum and scream my name." The slap had been a visceral, necessary response, a desperate act of self-preservation. But the sting of his audacity, the casual way he had weaponized our intimacy, still burned.

He's brilliant on track, brilliant with the media, and a complete jerk off it. The thought was a harsh, self-protective mantra. He could be charming, he could be funny, he could even be genuinely concerned, as he had been on the phone. But he could also be cruel, entitled, and utterly dismissive of my boundaries. He had seen the raw, vulnerable part of me, and then he had used it against me. That was unforgivable.

I reached the hotel, the familiar lobby a welcome sight. As I rode the elevator up to my floor, the silence of the ascent was filled with the chaotic swirl of my emotions. Professional satisfaction warring with personal pain. Pride in his talent battling fury at his words. The image of him, smiling and signing autographs for fans, then the memory of his face, stunned by my slap. He was a paradox, a walking contradiction, and he was driving me mad.

I unlocked my door, stepped inside, and closed it behind me. The day was over. Max was on pole. I had done my job. And Lando Norris was still a problem, a persistent, infuriating, heartbreaking problem. But tomorrow was race day. And for now, I needed to rest. I needed to build my defenses again. I needed to survive.

But of course, there was no rest for the wicked.

I slipped into a comfortable silk robe, grabbed my Kindle, phone, a glass of water, and my vape, and stepped out onto the balcony. The cool night air was a welcome caress against my skin. I settled into one of the chairs, placing my items on the small table beside me, and took a long, slow drag from my vape, watching the distant lights of the city blur against the darkening sky. Just as I was about to open my Kindle, a soft chime broke the silence.

My heart gave an unwelcome lurch. I knew that sound. I unlocked my phone, and there it was, glaring up at me from the screen.

Lando fucking Norris.

My eyes narrowed, a fresh wave of irritation washing over me. What could he possibly want now? Hadn't I made myself clear?

I opened the message.

Lando Norris: Just checking to see if your hand is intact. Or if you're still planning on breaking any more of my bones. Look, Eleonora. I was a complete ass. A colossal, idiotic ass. There's no excuse for what I said. I was out of line, out of my mind, and I'm genuinely sorry. It was a cheap shot, and you deserved better. I'm not asking for forgiveness, just... acknowledgment. I'm a mess. And I'm not sure how to fix this. But I want to. Properly. Without being a total prick. Again. Can we try?

I huffed, a short, sharp expulsion of air through my nose. The audacity of him, to frame his apology with a snarky comment about my hand. Typical Lando. Always trying to soften the blow with humor, even when he was genuinely trying to apologize.

My fingers flew across the keyboard, a smart, snarky, yet undeniably hurt reply forming in my mind.

Eleonora Kimbel: My hand is perfectly intact, Norris. Unlike your judgment, which seems to have taken a rather dramatic detour off the track. And as for 'acknowledgment,' consider it acknowledged: you're a mess. The rest of it? Perhaps you should ask your PR team for a script. They're usually quite good at crafting believable apologies. Because that one still sounds like it's trying to win a popularity contest, not actually mend anything you so carelessly broke.

The reply came almost instantly, a flurry of words that conveyed a genuine, if still Lando-esque, sense of devastation.

Lando Norris: Ouch. Right in the ego. And the heart, if I'm being honest. Which I'm trying to be. Look, I know I messed up. Royally. And I'm devastated that I managed to hurt you again, Eleonora. Truly. It's eating me alive. I'm not trying to win anything, except maybe a tiny sliver of your trust back, which I know I probably don't deserve right now. But please, don't write me off. I'm not asking for a grand gesture, just a chance to prove I'm not the complete idiot I was in that elevator. I'm a work in progress, a bit like my FP1 setup, but I promise I'm trying to find the right balance. Just... don't give up on me. Please? I'm practically begging here. And my knees are starting to ache.

I stared at the message, a fresh wave of annoyance washing over me. The pleading, the self-deprecating humor – it was all so him. And it was so hard to tell if it was real remorse or just another tactic. He had a way of twisting things, of making himself seem vulnerable while still subtly pushing his own agenda.

My fingers typed, a sharp, snarky retort, but beneath it, the hurt of his words still festered.

Eleonora Kimbel: Your knees aching? How tragic. Perhaps you should consult with your physiotherapist, not your PR team. And as for 'work in progress,' some projects are simply beyond repair. You didn't just 'mess up,' Lando. You took a moment when I was at my most vulnerable, when I was trying to be honest about my pain and my need for space, and you weaponized it. You used our intimacy, something sacred, as a cheap shot. That's not a 'mistake,' Norris. That's a fundamental lack of respect. And frankly, I'm not buying the earnest act. Not when the wound is still so fresh.

His reply came almost immediately, a single, desperate line.

Lando Norris: It's not an act, Eleonora. I swear. I'm just... I'm really bad at this. At apologies. At not being a complete moron when I'm scared. And I'm terrified right now. Terrified of losing you. Please. Just one chance. One proper conversation. No more pricks, no more cheap shots. Just... me. Trying to be better. For you. For us. Please don't give up on me. I really don't think I can handle it right now. My car's P2, but my life's in a complete spin.

I read his message, a small, involuntary sigh escaping me. The humor was still there, woven into the desperation, but the underlying sadness was undeniable. He was trying. He was truly trying. But the hurt was still too raw.

My fingers hovered over the keyboard, a new message forming.

Eleonora Kimbel: Oh, so now your personal life is mimicking your track performance? How very on-brand, Norris. And while I appreciate the dramatic flair, my emotional debrief isn't quite ready for a pit stop. As for "scared," you have no idea what that word truly means. You played a dangerous game, and you lost. Don't come crying to me because your ego took a hit. Focus on your race tomorrow. You'll need all your concentration to avoid another "spin." And don't worry, I'm not giving up on you. I'm giving up on the idea that you're capable of understanding what "respect" truly means. If you're truly trying, Lando, your words will not cut it. Your actions need to change.

His reply was swift, a single, pointed question.

Lando Norris: What do you mean by that? That I have no idea what "scared" truly means? Explain it to me, Eleonora. I'm listening. I promise.

I stiffened, my breath catching in my throat. He had latched onto that one phrase, the one that held the most truth, the deepest wound. My carefully constructed composure threatened to shatter. This was dangerous territory. Revealing too much, letting him in, was a risk I wasn't sure I was ready to take. But the challenge in his words, the sincere curiosity, was impossible to ignore.

I took a slow, deliberate drag from my vape, the cool vapor a temporary shield. Then, my fingers flew across the screen, a sharp, snarky response forming, laced with a fragile, almost imperceptible hint of the truth.

Eleonora Kimbel: Oh, Norris, you're finally curious about something beyond your lap times? How quaint. Let's just say, if you hadn't been so busy pushing me into a corner with your demands and your utterly charming disrespect, perhaps you would have been in on that little secret. But alas, some truths are earned, not demanded. And you have a rather significant balance outstanding on the 'earning' front. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a Kindle full of fictional drama that is far less exhausting than yours.

His final message came through, a sweet, funny, and deeply apologetic plea.

Lando Norris: Okay, okay, you win. My ego is officially bruised, my pride is in the gravel trap, and my 'earning' balance is definitely looking like a red flag. You're right. I was a complete idiot. A demanding, disrespectful, utterly clueless idiot. And I'm sorry. Genuinely. No PR script, no clever metaphors, just me, Lando, admitting I messed up in a way that truly hurt you. I don't deserve your secrets, or your trust, or even your sarcastic wit right now. But I'm still here. Still trying. And if you ever, ever decide that a real-life drama with a slightly less idiotic protagonist is preferable to your Kindle, I'll be waiting. Preferably not in an elevator. Goodnight, Eleonora. Sleep well. And please, don't dream of slapping me again. My cheek still stings.

I read the message, my eyes tracing each word. The humor was there, but it was subdued, almost self-deprecating. The apology felt more genuine this time, stripped of the bravado, revealing a vulnerability that twisted something deep inside me. He was truly sorry. And he was truly hurting.

A quiet whimper escaped my lips, a sound so small it was lost in the vastness of the night sky before me. It was a sound of exhaustion, of lingering pain, and of a fragile, unexpected hope. The walls I had so carefully built, the ones I relied on for protection, felt suddenly thin, permeable. He was still a disruptive force, but perhaps, just perhaps, he was also the only one who could truly see me, truly reach me, even through the pain. The thought was terrifying. And utterly, undeniably, heartbreaking.

Chapter Text

Lando`s POV

August 26^th, 2023

I stared at my phone screen, the last message I sent to Eleonora still glowing, a desperate plea hanging in the digital ether. My cheek still stings. It was true, physically and emotionally. The slap had been a shock, a jolt of cold reality that had cut through my anger and my own self-pity. But her words, "I am not one of your whores," had cut deeper, a brutal reminder of how truly I had messed up.

I tried to inject some of my usual self-deprecating humor into it, a desperate attempt to lighten the suffocating weight of my regret. Would it work? Would she even read it? Or had I finally pushed her too far, beyond the point of no return?

The silence from her end was deafening. No reply. I was here, alone, consumed by a cocktail of remorse, fear, and a persistent, foolish hope.

I threw my phone onto the bed, the soft mattress absorbing the impact. Sleep was a distant fantasy. My mind replayed every interaction, every word exchanged since Monaco. My desperate phone calls, her quiet pain, my furious demands, her chilling indifference in the paddock, and then, the explosive confrontation in the elevator. I had been a complete idiot. A desperate, controlling idiot. Isabella was right. I hadn't changed. Not enough. I had reverted to old patterns, trying to force a connection, trying to control a situation that was inherently beyond my control.

She said I don't know what "scared" truly means. What does she mean by that? What secrets is she holding onto that are so terrifying? And why did I push her away when she was almost ready to tell me? The thought twisted in my gut. I had seen the vulnerability in her eyes that night in Monaco, the emotion she rarely showed. And then I had shattered it. I had used her intimacy against her, a cheap, cruel shot born of my own fear of losing her. Fewtrell's cynical words about her "baggage" and "drama" echoed in my head, but I pushed them away. He didn't understand. He never would. Max Verstappen, surprisingly, had offered more insight, more empathy, however blunt. "She values her freedom above all else." "She's not some project to be fixed." His words resonated, a clear path I had utterly failed to follow.

I got out of bed, pacing the plush carpet of my hotel room. The adrenaline of qualifying had long since dissipated, leaving me restless and agitated. Tomorrow was race day. The biggest day of the weekend. My car was P2, a fantastic position, a real chance for a podium, maybe even a win. But all I could think about was Eleonora. How could I focus on a race when my entire world felt like it was spinning off track?

The image of her face in the elevator, furious, defiant, but also deeply, profoundly hurt, burned in my mind. And then, the way she had looked at me in the paddock, that empty, professional politeness. It was a mask, I knew it. A defense mechanism. And I was the one who had forced her to put it on.

I need to fix this. But how? She said my actions need to change. But what actions? What do I do when she won't even talk to me? When she's so determined to keep me at arm's length?

I walked to the window, pulling back the heavy curtains. The city lights glittered below, a sprawling tapestry against the dark. Somewhere out there, in this very hotel, was Eleonora. And I was desperate to reach her.

A fragile hope, a tiny ember in the vast darkness of my despair, flickered. She was here. In the paddock. She couldn't run. She would be at the track tomorrow. I would see her. I would have another chance. I just had to be patient. To be respectful. To show her, through my actions, that I wasn't the prick she thought I was. That I truly understood what "respect" meant. It was a long shot, a monumental task, but I was Lando Norris. I didn't give up. Not on a race. And certainly not on her.

I pushed away from the window, the restless energy still buzzing beneath my skin. The room felt too small, too quiet, too full of my own torment. I needed air.

I walked to the sliding glass door and pushed it open, stepping out onto the small balcony. The cool night air hit my face, a welcome shock. I leaned against the railing, staring out at the dimly lit hotel grounds, then up at the vast, starless sky. I closed my eyes, taking a deep, shuddering breath, and exhaled slowly, a long, exasperated sigh that felt like it carried all the weight of the past few days.

And then, I heard it.

A sound, barely audible at first, carried on the gentle breeze from a balcony just below mine. A soft, choked sound.

A whimper.

My eyes snapped open, my body stiffening, every nerve instantly on high alert. I leaned over the railing, peering down into the shadows. It was too dark to see clearly, but then I heard it again. A quiet sob. And then, unmistakable, the sound of muffled, heartbroken crying.

Eli.

It was her. The sound was vulnerable, utterly devoid of the composure she had so fiercely maintained. It was the sound of true pain, of a dam finally breaking. My heart twisted in my chest, a sharp, agonizing pang. She wasn't just angry. She wasn't just distant. She was shattered. And I was the one who had done it.

She's crying. God, she's actually crying. All that strength, all that defiance, all that polished steel... and she's broken. Right now. Below me. And I put her there.

A primal urge, fierce and overwhelming, screamed through me: Go to her. Now. Climb down. Kick in the door. Hold her. Tell her you're sorry. Tell her you'll fix it. Tell her you'll do anything. My hands clenched on the railing, knuckles white. Every fiber of my being yearned to bridge that small, agonizing distance. To wipe away those tears. To take away her pain.

But then, another thought, colder, sharper, cut through the desperate need. She told you to let her go. She told you she wanted to be alone. She said you don't understand what "scared" truly means. And you, in your infinite idiocy, just proved her right. You pushed. You demanded. You suffocated her.

If I went down there now, if I made myself known, would it be a comfort? Or would it be another invasion? Another proof that I couldn't respect her boundaries, even when she was at her most vulnerable? Would she retreat even further, build her walls even higher, until she was truly unreachable? The thought was a chilling, paralyzing terror. To be the cause of her pain was unbearable, but to be the cause of her permanent retreat, that was a fate worse than any slap.

I hovered there, suspended between the desperate urge to act and the terrifying fear of making it worse. My breath hitched, a silent battle raging within me. To stay, to listen, to witness her pain without intervening, felt like an act of profound cruelty. But to go, to risk shattering the fragile trust that might still exist, felt like an even greater betrayal.

The sobs continued, quiet but persistent, tearing at my soul. I could almost feel the tremors of her heartbreak, echoing through the concrete and steel of the building, vibrating in my own chest. This wasn't just anger. This was deep, agonizing sorrow. This was the "scared" she had hinted at, the vulnerability she fought so hard to conceal. And I was here, listening, a silent, helpless witness to the wreckage I had caused.

What do I do? What do I do? The question hammered in my brain, a frantic, desperate rhythm. My heart screamed to go. My mind, for once, urged caution. The silence stretched, broken only by her quiet cries, and the agonizing weight of my decision.

After what felt like an eternity, but was probably only a few minutes, the whimpers began to subside. The quiet sobs faded, replaced by a shuddering breath, then silence. I heard a faint scraping sound, then the soft click of a door. She had gone back inside. The balcony door below closed, cutting off the last vestiges of her pain.

I remained frozen, leaning against the railing, my body rigid. The silence that followed was even more profound, more crushing, than the sound of her crying. It was the silence of a wound closing, of a person retreating further into themselves, and I was left outside, helpless.

Those few minutes, listening to her break, unable to move, unable to speak, unable to offer even a whisper of comfort, were the most excruciating of my life. I had wanted to fix it, to make her see, to make her understand. Instead, I had driven her to this. And now, all I could do was stand here, alone in the dark, with the echoes of her quiet heartbreak ringing in my ears.

Eventually, the cold seeped into my bones, and I retreated back into my room. The bed felt vast and empty, a cruel reminder of my solitude. Exhaustion, physical and emotional, finally claimed me, dragging me into a fitful, restless sleep.

And then, the dream came.

I was in a space that was both familiar and ethereal, a blend of the Monaco penthouse and the hotel room, bathed in a soft, golden light. The air was warm, scented with something subtle and intoxicating, like jasmine and her skin. I turned, and there she was.

My little bird.

She was standing by the window, silhouetted against the soft glow, her hair loose around her shoulders, falling like a dark silk curtain. She wasn't wearing team gear, or a robe, but something impossibly soft, clinging to her curves, hinting at the skin beneath. Her eyes, usually so guarded, were open, soft, filled with a warmth and an invitation that made my breath catch. There was no anger, no hurt, no walls. Just pure longing.

She smiled, a slow, knowing smile that reached her eyes, and held out a hand to me. I moved towards her, drawn by an irresistible force, my own body aching with a need that felt both ancient and utterly new. As my fingers brushed hers, a jolt, electric and profound, shot through me. Her skin was warm, impossibly soft.

I pulled her gently into my arms, and she came willingly, melting against me. Her head rested against my chest, and I could feel the steady beat of her heart, mirroring my own frantic rhythm. Her fingers traced the line of my jaw, then tangled in my hair, pulling my head down. Her lips parted, a silent invitation, and I leaned in, capturing them in a kiss that was slow, deep, and utterly consuming. All the unspoken words, all the desperation, all the longing poured into that kiss. Her lips were soft, yielding, tasting of something sweet and familiar, like home.

She whimpered softly, a sound of pure pleasure, as my hands moved lower, tracing the curve of her hips, pulling her impossibly closer. Her body arched into mine, a perfect fit, a silent language of desire. Her breath hitched as I deepened the kiss, our bodies swaying together in a slow, sensual dance. I felt her nails gently rake down my back, a delicious shiver running through me.

Her soft murmurs, my name whispered against my lips, were a melody that resonated deep within my soul. Every touch, every kiss, every soft sound she made, was a confirmation, a promise that in this space, she was mine, and I was hers. There were no walls, no past, no demands, just the undeniable connection between us. The world outside faded, irrelevant. There was only her, only us, in this perfect, luminous space, consumed by a fire that burned bright and true.

And then, just as the dream reached its peak, it shattered.

The golden light fractured, replaced by a chilling darkness. The soft scent of jasmine turned metallic, acrid. Her face, so loving moments before, twisted, contorted by fear.

I was no longer holding her close. Instead, I was in a cold, sterile bathroom, the faint scent of chlorine in the air. She was in the bathtub, fully clothed, shivering, her eyes wide with panic, the water around her icy. "I thought you would hurt me," she whispered, her voice raw, echoing the words she'd spoken that first day in Monaco. The scene shifted, and we were walking on a winding path, the sea stretching endlessly beside us, the wind whipping at our hair. Her voice, distant and haunting, filled the air: "The scariest things are those right in front of our eyes, and we remain blind to them before it's too late."

The images flashed faster, more violently. A blinding white light, the screech of tires, the smell of burnt rubber. And then, a fragmented memory of a phone call. My mother's voice, hushed and concerned, telling me Eleonora was in the hospital. I hadn't been allowed to see her then. But I had reached Maria, Eleonora's friend, desperate for information. She gave me the name of the hospital. The sterile scent of antiseptic, not from being there, but from the vivid imagery my mind conjured. And police officers, their uniforms dark and imposing, standing by a door, their faces grim. They were talking in hushed tones, their eyes occasionally flicking towards her room, a room I was not allowed to enter. A cold dread seeped into me. What was she involved in? What had happened?

The scene spun, dissolving into a whirlwind of fragmented images. Her hand, trembling, reaching for her tattoo, a symbol of a past I didn't understand. Her face, tight with pain, when I'd asked about it. The chilling words from her text, sharp and accusatory: "You don't know what that word truly means."

Her touch, which had been so eager, became hesitant, her fingers pulling away from mine as if burned. I tried to reach for her, but she recoiled, her body stiff, unresponsive to my touch. Her face, usually so expressive, became a blank mask, her eyes distant, devoid of emotion. "I felt trapped," she whispered, her voice barely audible, a ghostly echo. "I'm scared."

The dream became a suffocating weight, a relentless barrage of my failures, her pain, the secrets she held so tightly. The intimacy of moments before was replaced by a crushing sense of distance, of misunderstanding, of my own blind arrogance. Her words, "You don't know what being really scared is," echoed, growing louder, colder, until they were a deafening roar in my ears. The golden light was gone, replaced by an oppressive, suffocating darkness. I was alone, adrift in a sea of her unspoken fears, my own heart pounding with a terror that was finally, truly, real.

August 27th, 2023

I woke with a gasp, my body rigid, a cold sweat clinging to my skin. The golden light of the dream, the intoxicating scent of her, vanished, replaced by the morning light filtering through the hotel room curtains. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic drum against the sudden, crushing reality.

The nightmare. It wasn't just a dream; it was a kaleidoscope of fragmented memories, a brutal montage of every hint, every veiled confession, every moment of her pain that I had been too blind, too selfish, too stupid to truly see.

The hospital. Police. What happened to her? The images flashed behind my eyes, sharp and terrifying. The grim faces of the police officers. It wasn't just a general fear she carried; it was something specific, something traumatic, something that had left a deep, indelible scar. And I knew nothing about it. Absolutely nothing.

My mind raced, desperately trying to piece together the puzzle. The cold bathtub, her shivering form, her whispered fear: "I thought you would hurt me." It wasn't just about my actions in that moment; it was about a deeper, ingrained fear of being hurt, of being controlled. A fear born from something real, something terrifying that had happened to her.

"The scariest things are those right in front of our eyes and we remain blind to them before it's too late." Her words from the Dog's Head walk echoed, chilling me to the bone. Was that what she meant? That I had been blind to this? To the profound trauma she carried, hidden beneath layers of composure and sarcasm?

Her reserved demeanor towards physical touch, her confession of feeling trapped, her admission of being scared, her dark past, the tattoo she wouldn't explain, her face when I pressed her about it, and then, her final, cutting text: "You have no idea what that word truly means." It all clicked into place, a horrifying, undeniable pattern. Every piece of the puzzle, every cryptic clue, pointed to something far more profound, far more terrifying, than I had ever imagined.

My head throbbed, a dull ache behind my eyes. The remorse that had gnawed at me since Monaco intensified, becoming a crushing weight. I hadn't just hurt her; I had stumbled blindly into a minefield of her past, detonating her defenses with my clumsy, demanding attempts at connection. I had been so focused on my pain, my need, my desire to fix us, that I had completely missed the depth of her suffering.

She's been through something. Something terrible. Something that involved a hospital, and police. And I, the man who claimed to love her, knew nothing. Absolutely nothing.

A wave of profound shame washed over me. How could I have been so oblivious? So self-absorbed? All my attempts to break down her walls, to force her to be vulnerable with me, had been a cruel irony. I hadn't been trying to understand her; I had been trying to conquer her, to make her fit into my narrative. And in doing so, I had only reinforced her deepest fears, proving to her that I, too, was a threat to her carefully guarded independence.

The memory of her quiet sobs from the balcony below, the sound that had torn through me last night, now felt like a physical wound. That wasn't just anger. That was the sound of a soul in agony, a pain I had contributed to, a pain I was still utterly clueless about.

I needed to know. I needed to understand. Not to fix her, as Max had warned, but to simply know. To bear witness to whatever horrors she had endured. To finally, truly, have the whole truth.

But how? How do you ask someone to reveal their deepest, most terrifying secrets when you've already proven yourself so unworthy of them?

The clock on the bedside table glared at me: 6:30 AM. Race day. The biggest day of the weekend. But the track, the car, the competition – it all felt distant, irrelevant. My world had narrowed to one agonizing question: What happened to Eleonora? And how could I possibly earn the right to know? The desperate need to understand her, to finally see beyond my own desires, burned with an intensity that eclipsed everything else. This wasn't just about us anymore. This was about her. And I was going to find out. No matter what.

I went through the motions of breakfast, the team briefings, the driver parade, my smile fixed, my answers rehearsed. Every interaction felt like a performance, a desperate attempt to project an image of focus and readiness when my mind was a chaotic storm. I scanned the paddock, searching for her, but I knew she'd be with Max, a professional, impenetrable facade in place.

The weather was indeed unpredictable. It was around 18°C, with clouds and occasional sunny spells, but a significant chance of rain loomed, accompanied by a blustery wind. Typical Dutch weather, I thought, a grim irony. Just like my life, unpredictable and prone to sudden downpours.

As I climbed into the McLaren, the familiar scent of fuel and carbon fiber filled my senses. I tried to clear my head, to focus on the track, on the strategy, on the sheer speed. This was my job. This was what I lived for. But even as the lights went out and the engines roared, a part of me was still back on that balcony, listening to her cry.

The start was chaotic. Almost immediately, as we rounded the first few corners, the heavens opened. Not a drizzle, but a proper downpour. The track instantly became a skating rink. Some cars pitted immediately for intermediates, others, like me, tried to brave it out on slicks. It was a gamble, a desperate roll of the dice in the sudden chaos. My car aquaplaned, fighting for grip, the spray from the cars ahead blinding. I lost positions, my carefully planned P2 start dissolving into a frantic struggle for survival.

The race was a blur of frantic steering corrections, near misses, and desperate attempts to find grip on a treacherous surface. We pitted, finally, for intermediates, then later for slicks as the track dried. It was a relentless dance with the elements, a test of nerve and adaptability.

Just as I thought the worst was over, just as the sun seemed to break through, the skies opened again. Harder this time. The track became undriveable. Zhou Guanyu crashed, a sickening impact that brought out the red flag. The race was suspended.

I sat in the cockpit, strapped in, the silence of the red flag period even more jarring than the earlier chaos. My mind, freed from the immediate demands of driving, immediately returned to her. The dream. The hospital. The police. It wasn't just a metaphor anymore. This race, this chaos, this feeling of being utterly at the mercy of forces beyond my control, felt like a pale imitation of whatever she had lived through.

After what felt like an eternity, the race restarted. A short sprint to the finish. I pushed, I fought, I clawed my way back through the field. Max, of course, was untouchable, securing his ninth consecutive win. Fernando Alonso, ever the veteran, took P2, after a brilliant drive. And then Pierre Gasly, after Sergio Perez received a five-second penalty for speeding in the pit lane, snatched P3, his first podium of the season. I finished P7, a decent recovery given the chaotic conditions, but a disappointment after starting on the front row.

As I climbed out of the car, tired and drenched, physically and emotionally drained, the weight of the race was nothing compared to the weight of my dream, and her unspoken pain. The chaotic start, the red flag, the constant changes in conditions – it had been a wild ride. But what she had gone through, what she was still carrying, was a far more terrifying race. And I was determined, more than ever, to understand it. To earn the right to know. To prove that I wasn't the blind, ignorant fool who had caused her so much pain. My actions, she had said. My actions needed to change. And they would.

The post-race routine was a familiar blur of adrenaline and exhaustion. I unstrapped myself from the car, the lingering scent of burnt fuel and sweat filling my nostrils. The pit lane was a chaotic symphony of mechanics, engineers, and media, but my focus was elsewhere. I moved through the motions, answering the initial questions from the TV pen, my voice hoarse, my answers concise. The P7 finish was a decent recovery from the early chaos, a testament to the team's quick thinking and my own perseverance, but it wasn't a podium. Not today.

My next stop was the mandatory weigh-in. I stepped onto the scales, the cool metal a stark contrast to my still-heated body. As I waited for the official nod, my eyes drifted towards the podium, a brightly lit stage of triumph and celebration.

There he was, Max, raising the winner's trophy, the crowd roaring, a sea of orange below him. And then I saw her.

She was in the thick of the Red Bull celebration, a vibrant splash of dark blue and red amidst her colleagues. Her head was tilted back, a wide, genuine smile on her face, her hands clapping above her head as she cheered for Max's win. She looked radiant, alive, completely in her element. The professional mask was still there, but it was softened by the shared joy of victory. She was thriving.

A strange mix of emotions churned within me. Pride for Max, of course. A flicker of professional admiration for her, seeing her so effortlessly integrated into the winning team. But beneath it all, a sharp, agonizing pang of longing, and a fresh wave of that crushing remorse.

She's happy. She's celebrating. And I'm here, on the sidelines, watching. Because I pushed her away.

She said my actions need to change. The words echoed in my head, a relentless mantra. What action could I take now? What could I possibly do to bridge this chasm I had created? I had seen her vulnerability, heard her pain, and then I had acted like a complete prick. My apology, however sincere, had been met with a justified wall of sarcasm and hurt. She was right. Words weren't enough.

I watched her, a silent, desperate plea in my gaze. She was so close, yet so impossibly far. She was a puzzle, a beautiful, complex, terrifying puzzle, and I had only just begun to understand the depth of its mystery. The "scared" she spoke of, the dark past, the trauma – it was all real. More real than any race, any championship.

The celebrations continued on the podium, a joyous roar that felt distant, muffled. My own P7 felt like a hollow victory. All I could think about was the woman below, cheering for another driver, a woman I had hurt, a woman I desperately wanted to understand, to protect, to earn back.

I need to show her. Not tell her. Show her that I'm different. That I can respect her. That I can be the sanctuary she needs, not another threat.

The thought was a quiet resolve, hardening within me. It wouldn't be easy. She was guarded, hurt, and fiercely independent. But I wouldn't give up. Not on this. This was the most important race of my life, and the finish line was her trust. And I was determined to cross it.

The Zandvoort circuit was slowly emptying, the roar of the engines replaced by the hum of generators and the clatter of packing. Teams were already dismantling their hospitality units, loading up equipment, and preparing for the quick turnaround to Monza. Another race, another country, another chance to reset. Or so I hoped.

I walked towards the private jet that would take Max and me directly to Italy. The exhaustion from the race was a heavy cloak, but the emotional turmoil was far more draining. The dream, the cries from the balcony, the slap, her cutting words – it all swirled in my head, a relentless torment.

Max was already on board, settled into his seat, scrolling through his phone. He looked relaxed, the glow of his ninth consecutive win still radiating from him. I slumped into the seat opposite, unbuckling my seatbelt as the ground crew began their final checks.

"Rough one out there, eh, Lando?" Max said, looking up, a faint smile on his face. "That rain came out of nowhere. Good recovery, though. P7 from where you were, that's solid."

"Yeah, could have been worse," I mumbled, running a hand through my damp hair. "Just... not ideal when you start P2. That first lap was a bit of a nightmare. Felt like driving on ice."

"Tell me about it," Max chuckled. "Nearly lost it myself a few times. But we managed. That red flag actually helped, gave us a chance to regroup. Good call from the race director, for once." He paused, then his expression shifted, a subtle, knowing look entering his eyes. "So, anything new on the Eleonora front? Saw her cheering pretty enthusiastically on the podium. She's good at her job, I'll give her that."

My heart gave a hopeful lurch. This was it. A chance to talk about her, to gauge his perspective, to maybe even ask if he'd heard anything. "Yeah, she's... she's incredible at her job," I agreed, my voice softer than before. "She's... well, we had a bit of a moment yesterday morning. An argument. My fault, mostly. But I think... I think she's starting to listen. A little." I leaned forward, a desperate hope in my eyes. "I'm going to try and talk to her properly. Tomorrow. When we're at the hotel in Monza. She'll have time then, away from the paddock chaos."

Max frowned, a genuine look of confusion spreading across his face. "Tomorrow? In Monza? What are you talking about, mate?"

My stomach dropped. "What? What do you mean?"

He raised an eyebrow, a slight tilt of his head. "Eleonora's not coming to Monza until Thursday, Lando. For media day. She's flying back to London tonight. Got some client meetings there, apparently. She'll join us for the official media duties on the 31st, then stay for the race weekend."

The words hit me like a physical blow, each one a hammer striking against my chest. London. Not Monza. Not tomorrow. My carefully constructed hope, the fragile plan I had clung to, shattered into a million pieces. The chance I had been so desperate for, the opportunity to talk to her, to finally understand, was gone. Just like that.

My jaw clenched, my hands clenching into fists on my lap. The air suddenly felt thin, suffocating. The hum of the jet engines, the comfortable silence of the cabin, became a mocking drone. She's going back to London. She's not here. She's not within reach.

"London?" I whispered, the word a raw, choked sound. My voice felt foreign, alien. The blood drained from my face, leaving me cold and hollow. "She's... she's going back to London?"

Max looked at me, his confusion turning to concern. "Yeah, mate. Didn't she tell you? It was all planned. She's got a busy week. You look... you look like you've seen a ghost."

I didn't respond. I couldn't. The reality of it, the crushing finality, was too much. She had nowhere to run, I had thought. She was trapped here, within my reach. But she wasn't. She was gone. Back to her world, away from mine, away from me. And I had wasted my chance. I had pushed her, demanded, insulted, when I should have been patient, understanding, gentle.

The flight to Monza had been a blur of silent torment. Max, sensing my sudden, dark mood, had mostly left me alone, occasionally offering a concerned glance that I couldn't bring myself to acknowledge. The revelation that Eleonora wasn't coming to Monza until Thursday, that she was flying back to London tonight, had hit me with the force of a physical blow. All my carefully constructed plans, my desperate hope for a "proper conversation," had dissolved into thin air. She wasn't just avoiding me; she was actively, deliberately, putting distance between us.

After landing, the transfer to the hotel was equally muted. The usual buzz of arriving in a new race city, the anticipation of the next Grand Prix, was completely absent. My mind was a relentless loop of regret and despair. I checked into my room, the impersonal decor of another hotel suite doing little to soothe my frayed nerves.

I went straight to the bathroom, desperate to wash away the lingering exhaustion of the race and the crushing weight of my thoughts. The shower was hot, the water pounding against my skin, but it did little to cleanse the turmoil within. My body felt heavy, my mind a chaotic mess.

Wrapped in a towel, I walked out into the bedroom. The room was quiet, too quiet. The silence pressed in on me, amplifying the emptiness I felt. My gaze fell on my phone, lying on the bedside table, a silent, accusing presence. I picked it up, my thumb instinctively navigating to her contact.

Our recent messages, the sharp, witty, yet undeniably painful exchange from last night, stared back at me. Her cutting remarks, my desperate pleas, her final, defeated words about my actions needing to change. And then, my last message, the one I had poured all my remorse into, the one that had been met with silence.

I scrolled further, past the recent arguments, past the tense conversations, past the desperate attempts to bridge the growing chasm. I scrolled back, further and further, through months, then years, until I found them. The old messages. The ones from when things had been... different. When we were just kids, before the relentless glare of Formula 1, before I signed with McLaren. The ones from before our real fallout, the one that had sent her away.

There were hundreds of them. Late-night banter, silly emojis, inside jokes that only we understood. Her dry wit, her unexpected bursts of humor, my clumsy attempts to make her laugh. Messages about mundane things, about our days, about shared experiences that now felt like a lifetime ago.

Eleonora Kimbel: Just saw a pigeon trying to steal a croissant. It was surprisingly aggressive. I think it's my spirit animal.

Lando Norris: Haha, definitely. You're both surprisingly aggressive when it comes to pastries. And equally charming.

A ghost of a smile touched my lips, quickly fading into a profound ache. We had been so easy then. So natural. So us.

I scrolled further back, a bittersweet ache in my chest.

Lando Norris: Stuck in traffic. Send help. Or snacks. Preferably both.

Eleonora Kimbel: My dear, you're a millionaire F1 driver in training. Buy a helicopter. And as for snacks, I'm currently hoarding a particularly delicious batch of stroopwafels. You'll have to earn them.

Lando Norris: Challenge accepted. What's the prize?

Eleonora Kimbel: My undying admiration. And maybe a stroopwafel. If you're lucky.

Another one, from a quiet evening after a long day at the track, back when that was our world:

Eleonora Kimbel: My brain feels like scrambled eggs after all the client calls today. How do you still function after all that data analysis?

Lando Norris: Pure talent. And maybe a secret stash of Red Bull. Don't tell anyone I said that. You should try it. Might make your brain less... eggy.

Eleonora Kimbel: Tempting, but I prefer my brain cells intact, thank you very much. Unlike some people.

Lando Norris: Hey! I'll have you know my brain cells are perfectly aligned. Mostly. Just like my car. Sometimes.

And then, a message from a night when I'd been feeling the pressure of the junior series, the weight of expectations:

Lando Norris: This is all a bit much. Sometimes I just wanna play Call of Duty and forget the world.

Eleonora Kimbel: Then play, you idiot. The world can wait. And if you need a distraction, I'm always available for a witty insult or two. Or a very bad impression of your team principal.

Lando Norris: You're the best. Seriously. Don't ever change.

Eleonora Kimbel: Wouldn't dream of it, Lan. Wouldn't dream of it.

My chest tightened. Wouldn't dream of it. And yet, she had changed. Or rather, she had been forced to. The Eleonora in these old messages was still there, beneath the layers, but she was guarded, hardened by something I still didn't fully grasp.

I found messages from after our first night in Monaco, the recent rekindling, filled with a tentative, hopeful tenderness. It was a fragile new beginning, built on the ashes of our past.

Eleonora Kimbel: Still can't believe that happened. In a good way. Mostly.

Lando Norris: Mostly? I'll work on the 'all the way good' part. But yeah. Me too. Definitely in a good way.

My chest tightened. Good way. God, what did I do?

And then, messages from the days leading up to the most recent argument, the subtle shifts, the growing tension that I, in my blindness, had failed to truly grasp. Her increasing distance, her subtle deflections, my growing frustration.

Eleonora Kimbel: Just a heads up, I'm going to be pretty swamped with work this week. Don't expect much from me.

Lando Norris: Swamped? Or avoiding me? Just tell me, Eleonora.

Eleonora Kimbel: Lando, please. I'm not avoiding you. I'm working. It's what I do.

And then the phone calls, the arguments, the desperate attempts to make her talk, to make her feel what I was feeling. My demands, my accusations, my utter failure to see the fear beneath her anger.

I scrolled back to the very beginning, to the awkward first few messages, the tentative steps towards something new. It was all there, laid bare before me. The entire trajectory of our brief, intense, and now seemingly shattered relationship. And I could pinpoint every moment where I had pushed, where I had failed to listen, where I had prioritized my own needs over her unspoken fears.

The dream, the hospital, the police, the "scared" she spoke of – it was all a dark, terrifying backdrop to these messages. I had been so focused on the superficial, on the immediate drama, that I had missed the profound trauma that shaped her.

A profound, suffocating sadness settled over me. I had lost her. Not just because of the argument, but because I hadn't understood. I hadn't seen her. And now, she was in London, miles away, building her walls even higher, convinced that I was just another person who would try to control her, to hurt her.

The phone felt heavy in my hand, a useless piece of technology that couldn't bridge the chasm I had created. I needed to know what had happened to her. Not just for us, but for her. To finally, truly, see the woman beneath the layers of defense. But how do you do that when she's miles away, and her last message was a final, chilling dismissal? The silence from her end felt like a definitive answer. And it was tearing me apart.

I was still lost in the labyrinth of old messages and crushing regret when my phone buzzed again, vibrating against my palm. Not a text message this time, but a notification. An Instagram post.

My heart gave a sharp, painful lurch. It was from Eleonora.

I tapped the notification, and the image filled my screen. It was a picture of a cozy corner of what looked like a living room. A plush armchair, a stack of books on a small side table, and a steaming mug. The lighting was soft, warm, inviting. It was clearly her London apartment, a place of comfort and sanctuary.

And the caption, stark and simple, hit me like a fresh wave of cold water:

@eleonorakimbel: Home. Finally. So happy to be here.

Happy.

The word twisted in my gut. She was happy. She was home. And I wasn't there. I wasn't part of that happiness, that comfort, that sense of belonging. The picture, so peaceful and serene, felt like a deliberate statement, a quiet declaration of independence. She was fine. She was more than fine. She was happy. Without me.

A bitter, agonizing pang of despair shot through me. All my desperate pleas, all my remorse, all my promises to change – they were meaningless. She was back in her world, surrounded by her comfort, and she was happy. The image of her crying on the balcony, the vulnerable sound that had torn through me last night, felt like a distant, almost imagined memory. Was it just a fleeting moment of weakness? Was she truly okay, truly happy, now that she was back in her fortress?

The thought was unbearable. She had built her walls, and now she was reinforcing them, brick by painful brick. And I, the fool who had helped her build them higher, was left outside, staring at a picture of her contentment, a happiness I was not a part of. The phone felt like a lead weight in my hand, a cruel window into a life that was moving on without me. And the terrifying realization hit me: she wasn't just avoiding me. She was erasing me.

I opened our text messages, my thumb hovering over the keyboard. What could I possibly say now? Another apology? Another plea? She wouldn't buy it. She'd just throw another witty, cutting remark back at me. But the image of her crying on the balcony, the fragments of the nightmare, the hospital, the police – it all screamed at me to try. To try differently.

My fingers began to type, slowly at first, then with a newfound clarity.

Lando Norris: That picture... it looks peaceful. Good. I hope you find some of that. And Eleonora, about what you said. About 'scared'. I think I'm starting to get it. And I'm sorry I was so blind. I'm not asking you to tell me. Just... know that I'm listening now. Really listening. Even from here.

A few moments later, my phone buzzed. Her reply.

Eleonora Kimbel: It's... a start, Norris. A very small one. And yes, it is peaceful here. A different kind of quiet. You're right, you don't know what 'scared' truly means. And honestly, I'm too tired to explain it right now. The fighting, the pushing... it just drains me. Keep listening, if you want. But my actions need to change too. I need to protect what little peace I have left.

I stared at her message, the exhaustion in her words almost palpable, even through the screen. She was tired. So tired of fighting, of the constant push and pull. And she was right. My words, however earnest, weren't enough.

My thumb moved, trying to craft a response that acknowledged her exhaustion, respected her need for peace, and still conveyed my desperate desire to be there for her, to learn, to act.

Lando Norris: Okay. No more fighting. I promise. You're right, it's draining. And I don't want to add to that. I just... I want to listen. To the small things. How was your flight back? Did you get any sleep? What's on your agenda for the week, before you're back for Monza media day? Just... the normal stuff. No pressure. Just... trying to be a better listener. And maybe, just maybe, I can even offer some useful advice.

Her reply came swiftly, tinged with a weariness that pierced through her usual sharp wit.

Eleonora Kimbel: The flight was fine. Quiet. And yes, I slept. Eventually. My agenda? More of the usual chaos, I suppose. Client calls, strategy meetings, trying to keep various egos from imploding. Oh, and I have to meet with Gavin. My brother Nick's latest 'raw talent.' The singer-songwriter. You remember. From my birthday party, when he tried to pawn him off on me.

A jolt of anger, sharp and immediate, shot through me. Gavin. The same Gavin that Nick had tried to set her up with, the one Eleonora had dismissed. And now, her father I assume, was making her take him on. It was another demand, another imposition, another piece of her life being dictated by others. It was exactly the kind of thing that chipped away at her, that made her feel trapped. And I, the idiot, had just added to that pressure.

My fingers hovered over the keyboard, a furious retort forming. No! You can't take on more! You're already swamped! Your father has no right! But then, her words from last night echoed: "If you're truly trying, Lando, your words will not cut it. Your actions need to change." And her current message: "I need to protect what little peace I have left."

I took a deep, shaky breath, forcing myself to calm down. Anger wouldn't help. Demands wouldn't help. This was about her peace, her boundaries. And if her father was forcing this on her, then maybe... maybe there was a way I could help, without being the suffocating presence she feared.

My fingers began to type, a new strategy forming, one that was less about me, and more about her.

Lando Norris: Gavin, huh? Right. The 'raw talent' who apparently needs the 'Eleonora touch.' Sounds... exhausting. And probably a bit like herding cats, if I know anything about musicians. Which, surprisingly, I do. Look, I'm not going to tell you what to do, or demand anything. You're tired, and you need your peace. But if this Gavin character turns out to be more of a headache than a 'raw talent,' and your father's 'expectations' become a bit too much... just know I'm here. Not to fix it, because you're right, I'm clearly terrible at that. But maybe to offer a distraction. Or a very bad impression of his latest single. Or just to listen. No judgments. Just... a safe space. Even if it's just a text message away. And if you need an escape route, I'm pretty good at those too. Just saying.

Her reply came quickly, a slight softening in her tone, a hint of genuine appreciation, but still guarded.

Eleonora Kimbel: That's... surprisingly decent of you, Norris. Thank you. I don't know what to expect from Gavin yet. Probably a lot of 'artistic temperament' and very little actual talent, knowing Nick. Anyway, what are you doing? Besides contemplating my highly entertaining career choices, that is.

I read her message, a small, sad smile touching my lips. "Surprisingly decent." It was a start. A very small one, but a start. She was still guarded, still deflecting, but she hadn't shut me down completely. And she had asked about me. A tiny crack in the wall.

My thumb moved across the screen, the words forming slowly, honestly.

Lando Norris: Right now? I'm sitting in a very quiet hotel room in Monza, trying to figure out how to sleep when my brain won't stop replaying fragments of a nightmare.

A few moments later, her reply came.

Eleonora Kimbel: What nightmare? Details, Lando. You can't just drop that and expect me not to be curious.

I stared at her message. My heart pounded. This was it. The moment of truth. She was asking. She was opening a tiny window. Could I be honest? Could I be vulnerable, without pushing her away again? This was the "action" she needed. To trust me with my own pain, to show her I was willing to be seen, even if it meant exposing my own fears.

I took a deep breath. This was a risk. A huge risk. But it was the only way.

Lando Norris: It was... a lot. Started out okay, actually. You were there, like in Monaco, and it was... good. Then it twisted. I saw you in a hospital, Eleonora. Pale, hooked up to things. And police. I don't know what happened. But I remember my mum telling me you were there, and John wouldn't let me see you. And Maria told me which hospital. It was all a blur, but the fear... the fear in that dream was real. And then I heard your voice, saying you felt trapped, that you were scared. And that I don't know what 'scared' truly means. It was all the pieces, Eleonora. Everything you've hinted at, everything I've been too blind to see. And then I woke up, and the silence from your balcony... it just confirmed it. I'm sorry. I'm so incredibly sorry I didn't see it sooner. I'm sorry I ever pushed you when you were carrying all that.

Her reply was almost immediate.

Eleonora Kimbel: The silence from my balcony? What do you mean by that, Norris?

My breath hitched. She had picked up on that. The one detail that exposed my silent vigil. My heart pounded, a frantic rhythm against my ribs. This was the moment. The absolute truth.

Lando Norris: I... I couldn't sleep last night. After our texts, after everything. I went out on my balcony. And I heard you. Below me. Crying. It wasn't just a whimper, Eleonora. It was... raw. And it tore me apart. I wanted to come down, to do something, anything. But I knew you needed space. You needed peace. And I was the last person who should have intruded. So I just... listened. And it was the most heartbreaking, terrifying thing I've ever experienced. To hear you in that much pain, and know I was part of the reason. And to be utterly helpless. That's what I meant by the silence from your balcony. It was the silence after your tears. And it was louder than any scream.

The ellipsis appeared, then disappeared, then reappeared. I held my breath, my thumb hovering over the screen, waiting. It felt like an eternity.

Eleonora Kimbel: How did you know it was me?

My heart gave a painful, hopeful squeeze. She was asking. Not about the pain, not about the past, but about me. About how I knew. It was a lifeline.

Lando Norris: How did I know it was you? Eleonora, how could it be anyone else? Your laugh is distinctive, yes, even when it's just a ripple. Your sarcasm is a finely tuned instrument. But your pain... that's etched into my soul. I've heard it before, in the quiet moments, in the way you hold yourself, in the shadows that flicker in your eyes when you think no one's watching. Last night, it wasn't just a sound from a balcony. It was a resonance, a frequency that only you possess, that only you could emit. It wasn't just a whimper, it was your whimper. It was the sound of my world breaking. And even if I couldn't see you, even if I was miles away, I would always know. Because you're not just some person to me, Eleonora. You're... you're everything. And every part of you, even the parts you try to hide, resonates with me in a way no one else ever has. It's why I'm still fighting, still trying, even when I'm clearly making a mess of it. Because I can't imagine a world where I don't hear your laughter, or your sarcasm, or even your quiet, heartbreaking pain. It's all part of you. And I... I just want to be here for all of it. If you'll let me.

The ellipsis appeared again. This time, it lingered longer. My breath hitched.

Eleonora Kimbel: I'm listening to music right now, Lando. A song that I adore just started. Do you want to listen to it?

My throat tightened. A song. She was offering me a piece of her peace. A shared moment. It wasn't an answer to my confession, not a direct invitation to talk about the nightmare, but it was a bridge. A fragile, beautiful bridge.

My fingers flew across the screen, a desperate, overwhelming surge of gratitude and hope flooding through me.

Lando Norris: More than anything, Eleonora. Send it. Please. I'll listen. And I'll be here. Listening. Always.

Her reply came.

Eleonora Kimbel: The Fray - You Found Me.

I immediately opened Spotify, my fingers fumbling slightly in my haste. I typed "The Fray - You Found Me" into the search bar, found the song, and pressed play. The opening piano chords, melancholic and haunting, filled the quiet hotel room. I leaned back against the headboard, closing my eyes, letting the music wash over me. The aching voice began, each word a direct stab into my gut, twisting the knife of my regret.

The singer's voice began:

"I found God"

God? The word was unexpected, almost jarring. What does 'God' mean here? A last resort? Something immense and undefinable when everything else fails?

"On the corner of First and Amistad"

A specific, desolate place. A place like that hospital in my nightmare? A corner where she felt utterly lost, where she found something profound in desolation?

"Where the west / Was all but won"

A sense of a long, grueling battle, almost over, but with a lingering hollowness. Her fight. The one she’s been fighting alone for years. Was she winning? Or had she just survived it, barely?

"But all alone / Smoking his last cigarette"

The image of a solitary, weary figure, even God, was devastating. Completely alone, at the very end of something momentous. That’s her, isn’t it? Carrying everything by herself, to the bitter end.

"I said, "Where you been?" / He said, "Ask anything""

A desperate question, met with a chillingly open invitation. I wanted to ask everything. I wanted to know where she'd been, what she'd endured, why I'd been so blind.

This first verse painted a lonely picture of a battle fought and won, yet leaving a profound emptiness and a desire for answers that felt achingly familiar to my own desperate search for understanding.

The chorus began, a direct, agonizing accusation that cut deep:

"Where were you / When everything was falling apart?"

The words ripped through me, a direct mirror to my nightmare, to my guilt. This is her asking me. Directly. Where was I? When she was in that hospital, when the police were there, when she was terrified? I was nowhere. Absent. Blind.

"Where all my days / Were spent by a telephone / That never rang / And all I needed was a call / That never came / To the corner of First and Amistad?"

The desolate image of waiting for a call that never comes, of being utterly alone in a moment of crisis, resonated with a terrible force. She needed help, a connection, and it never came. That was my phone that never rang, my call that never came. I felt the weight of every time I had failed to be there, every time I had prioritized myself.

This chorus was a brutal interrogation, not just of the unseen 'you' in the song, but of me. It was a lament for missed connections and profound abandonment, and I was the one responsible.

The post-chorus shifted, a glimmer of light through the pain:

"Lost and insecure / You found me, you found me"

I clung to those words. She was lost, insecure, but 'you found me'. Had I found her? Or was she referring to someone else, something else, after all this time?

"Lying on the floor / Surrounded, surrounded"

The imagery of being utterly broken, vulnerable, yet perhaps finally not alone. I imagined her crumpled on that balcony, lost and insecure, and I had been there, in my own way, listening. Had I 'found' her in that moment?

"Why'd you have to wait? / Where were you, where were you? / Just a little late / You found me, you found me"

The sting of regret in the question was sharp. Why did I have to wait? Why was I always a little late to understand her pain, to see her truth? The 'finding' felt bittersweet, almost too late.

This section conveyed a fragile hope, a tentative connection made, but underscored by the aching sorrow of a delay, of a finding that came only after a period of deep suffering and isolation. It was all directed at me.

The second verse began, deeply personal and chillingly resonant:

"In the end / Everyone ends up alone"

A bleak, universal truth, yet one I feared for myself and for Eleonora. Is that how she felt? Utterly alone despite everything? Is that where I'm headed?

"But losing her / The only one who's ever known / Who I am, who I'm not, and who I wanna be"

A physical pang shot through me. This was my fear. Losing Eleonora, the one person who saw me completely, stripped bare of the F1 persona. The one who understood my messy, authentic self, and who I aspired to be.

"No way to know / How long she will be next to me"

The agonizing uncertainty of our future, the precariousness of her presence in my life, hit me with brutal clarity. I wanted her next to me forever, but I'd been so careless with that possibility.

This verse articulated my deepest personal fear: the profound loneliness of losing the one person who truly understood me, and the terrifying uncertainty of how long she might stay.

The post-chorus returned, a familiar echo of longing and late realization:

"Lost and insecure / You found me, you found me / Lying on the floor / Surrounded, surrounded / Why'd you have to wait? / Where were you, where were you? / Just a little late / You found me, you found me"

The repetition hammered home the core themes – the lostness, the finding, and the enduring question of delay. It was a cycle of pain, relief, and persistent regret, a loop that resonated with my own journey of belated understanding, and it was all aimed at me.

The bridge began, a shift in tone, becoming more direct and accusatory:

"For early morning / The city breaks / But I've been calling / For years and years and years and years"

The image of a new day dawning, yet juxtaposed with a history of unanswered cries. She'd been calling. She had been calling for years. Not literally to me, but metaphorically, crying out for understanding, for help, for recognition of her pain, and I hadn't heard. I was deaf to it.

"And you never left me no messages / You never sent me no letters"

A stark, painful statement of neglect. This is me. I am the 'you' in this line. I never left her messages of support, never sent letters of understanding when she was in pain, never reached out when she needed me most.

"You got some kind of nerve / Taking all I want"

The raw anger and accusation in this line was a punch to the gut. Nerve? What had I taken? Her peace? Her trust? Her ability to feel safe? Her happiness? It was a cutting, undeniable indictment of my past blindness and selfishness. This was her truth, directed at me.

This bridge was a raw, unfiltered expression of years of neglect and anger, a powerful accusation that Eleonora had every right to levy against me for my past absence and the burden I had added to her already heavy load. It was a direct hit.

The final outro began, a fading echo of the entire song's themes:

"Lost and insecure / You found me, you found me / Lying on the floor / Where were you, where were you? / Lost and insecure / You found me, you found me / Lying on the floor / Surrounded, surrounded / Why'd you have to wait? / Where were you, where were you? / Just a little late / You found me, you found me / Why'd you have to wait / To find me, to find me?"

The looping refrain was a desperate, mournful plea, a question that lingered long after the final notes faded. It was her pain, her journey, her accusation, and my own aching acknowledgment. The "found me" was there, but it was inextricably linked to the "why'd you have to wait?" and the crushing "where were you?". The song ended not with resolution, but with the haunting echoes of Eleonora's past suffering, her desperate wait for connection, and my crushing realization that I had arrived, belatedly, to a life already defined by profound solitude and struggle. The silence that followed the last note felt heavier than anything I had ever experienced, filled with unspoken grief and a newfound, crushing empathy. The music had been a window into her soul, a painful, beautiful confession. And I, for the first time, felt like I was truly, finally, seeing her.

The last note died, leaving an unbearable silence in the room. My head was spinning, my heart a raw, exposed nerve. I felt utterly, completely disheveled, as if the song had physically torn through me. My hair was a mess from running my hands through it. I dragged myself off the bed, stumbling to the small desk, my phone still clutched in my hand.

I had to respond. Not with platitudes, not with apologies she'd already heard. With the truth. The truth the song had just laid bare for me.

My fingers, trembling slightly, began to type.

Lando Norris: Eleonora. That song... it broke me. It's everything I've been too blind to see. Every word. 'Where were you when everything was falling apart?' - that's me. And 'I've been calling for years and years and years and years, and you never left me no messages, you never sent me no letters, you got some kind of nerve taking all I want.' That's me too. That's all me. I hear it now. I see it. All of it. I'm so sorry. I'm so incredibly, profoundly sorry. I know words are cheap, but I just... I needed you to know I heard it. Every single word. And I understand now. I truly do. And I won't be that 'where were you' person anymore. I promise you that. I'm here. Truly here. If you'll let me.

I hit send, my thumb hovering over the screen, watching the message deliver. The silence that followed was excruciating. I paced the small hotel room, the carpet soft beneath my bare feet, but offering no comfort. Every second felt like an eternity. Had I pushed too hard? Was it too much? Would she shut down completely?

Then, my phone buzzed. A new message.

Eleonora Kimbel: Norris. That was a lot. And unexpected. I don't know what to say, honestly. You really heard it. Every single damn word. I'm just... I'm drained. Give me a minute. Or a day. I don't know what to do with that.

I stared at her reply. Drained. She was still so tired. But she heard me. She acknowledged it. It wasn't a rejection, not a slamming door. It was a plea for space, for time to process. And for the first time, I felt a flicker of something other than despair: a fragile understanding.

My fingers moved, slowly, carefully.

Lando Norris: Take all the time you need, Eleonora. A minute, a day, a week. Whatever you need. I'm not going anywhere. I'll just be here. Listening. And waiting. No pressure. Just... here.

Chapter Text

Eleonora`s POV

August 28^th, 2023

The morning light, filtered through the sheer curtains of my London apartment, felt too bright, too insistent. My head throbbed with a dull ache, a lingering souvenir of the tears I’d shed on the balcony last night. Every muscle in my body felt heavy, as if I’d run a marathon, not just spent hours wrestling with my own demons and the unexpected, relentless honesty of Lando Norris.

My phone lay on the bedside table, a silent, glowing rectangle of anxiety. I knew what was on it. His last message. I hadn't looked at it since I’d sent my own terse reply, the one about needing a minute or a day. The words still echoed in my mind, a strange, unsettling blend of raw vulnerability and profound apology.

"Eleonora. That song... it broke me. It's everything I've been too blind to see. Every word. 'All alone, and so much to carry' - that's you. 'Where were you when everything was falling apart?' - that's me. And 'I've been calling for years and years and years and years, and you never left me no messages, you never sent me no letters, you got some kind of nerve taking all I want.' That's me too. That's all me. I hear it now. I see it. All of it. I'm so sorry. I'm so incredibly, profoundly sorry. I know words are cheap, but I just... I needed you to know I heard it. Every single word. And I understand now. I truly do. And I won't be that 'where were you' person anymore. I promise you that. I'm here. Truly here. If you'll let me."

And my response: "Norris. That was... a lot. And... unexpected. I don't know what to say, honestly. You really heard it. Every single damn word. I'm just... I'm drained. Give me a minute. Or a day. I don't know what to do with that."

Then his final message, which I hadn't opened yet: “Take all the time you need, Eleonora. A minute, a day, a week. Whatever you need. I'm not going anywhere. I'll just be here. Listening. And waiting. No pressure. Just... here.”

I finally reached for the phone, my fingers brushing against the cool glass. His last message. It was so... Lando. Impatient, yes, but underneath, a quiet, almost desperate patience. "I'm not going anywhere. I'll just be here. Listening. And waiting. No pressure. Just... here."

A knot formed in my stomach. It was exactly what I needed to hear, and yet, it terrified me. His raw honesty about the song, about my song, had cracked something open inside me that I had spent years meticulously sealing shut. He hadn't just listened; he had understood. He had seen the pain I rarely let anyone glimpse, the isolation, the years of silent struggle. And he had taken the blame, not just for our recent arguments, but for a deeper, more profound absence.

It was disarming. Unsettling. I was so used to fighting, to defending, to pushing people away before they could get too close and inevitably hurt me. Lando, with his usual clumsy grace, had bypassed all my defenses, not by force, but by simply seeing.

My gaze drifted around my apartment. The sunlit corner I’d posted about, the books, the mug. My sanctuary. The place where I could finally breathe. But even here, the quiet was no longer entirely peaceful. It was filled with the echo of his words, the haunting melody of "You Found Me," and the terrifying possibility that someone, finally, might actually see me.

I swung my legs out of bed, the cool floor grounding me slightly. A shower. Coffee. I needed to clear my head. Today was going to be a long day. The meeting with Gavin loomed, another obligation dictated by my father, another reminder of the life I was constantly trying to navigate while protecting my increasingly fragile peace.

I picked up my phone again, not to reply, but to scroll through my calendar. Gavin at 11 AM. A full day of client calls after that. No time for emotional breakdowns. No time to process the seismic shift Lando Norris had just attempted in my carefully constructed world.

But as I walked towards the bathroom, the lyrics of the song, his words about them, played on a loop in my mind. "You got some kind of nerve / Taking all I want." He'd said that was him. He'd admitted it. And then, "I won't be that 'where were you' person anymore."

Could he? Could he really change? Could I afford to believe him? The thought was a dangerous, fragile thing, like a butterfly fluttering against a windowpane. It was beautiful, but it felt like it could shatter at any moment. And the cost of that shattering, I knew, would be unbearable. I needed my peace. More than anything, I needed my peace.

Just as I stepped into the bathroom, my phone vibrated again, a sharp, insistent buzz against the porcelain sink. I glanced at the caller ID. John.

I sighed, a weary sound. I had given him time off, told him to enjoy a few extra days with his family before resuming his duties on Thursday, when I'd fly to Monza. He knew my schedule. He knew I needed space.

"John," I answered, my voice a little more clipped than I intended.

"Good morning, Miss Kimbel." His voice was calm, professional, but with an underlying current of urgency that immediately put me on edge.

"Morning, John. Everything alright? I thought you were off until Thursday." I tried to keep my tone light, but the tension was already coiling in my stomach.

"I am, technically. But something's come up that I think requires immediate discussion. In person, if possible."

My jaw tightened. "In person? John, I have a packed schedule today. And I'm quite drained, as you know. Can't this wait until Thursday, or at least a video call?"

"I wouldn't insist if it wasn't important, Miss Kimbel. It concerns... a certain movement from Monaco. And the implications for your current arrangements."

My blood ran cold. A certain movement from Monaco. He meant Max Fewtrell. Of course he did. John was always discreet, but the meaning was clear. Max's unpredictable nature, his tendency to appear unannounced, the chilling revelation of the device he'd planted. John wouldn't be this insistent unless it was something that directly impacted my security, my carefully guarded privacy.

"John," I said, my voice dropping, a warning note in it. "I'm not in the mood for this. Not today. I'm trying to maintain some semblance of peace here."

"I understand, Miss Kimbel. Believe me. But this isn't something that can be handled remotely, or over an insecure line. I need to brief you fully. And it's better if we do it before any... further developments." He paused, letting the implication hang in the air. Further developments. Like Max showing up on my doorstep, or worse, making a scene with the information he might have gained.

I closed my eyes, pinching the bridge of my nose. This was exactly what I didn't need. Another intrusion, another layer of complication. But John rarely pushed like this. If he was this insistent, it meant something serious. Something that threatened the very peace I was trying so desperately to protect.

"Fine," I conceded, the word tasting like ash. "Give me an hour. I need coffee. And a shower. Then you can come over. But keep it brief, John. And no theatrics. Just the facts."

"Understood, Miss Kimbel. I'll be there in an hour and a half. Thank you." His tone remained calm, but I could hear the subtle relief in his voice.

I hung up, staring at my reflection in the bathroom mirror. My face was pale, my eyes still shadowed. No theatrics. I repeated the words to myself. But my life, it seemed, was becoming one big, sprawling drama. And the quiet peace I craved felt further away than ever.

Precisely an hour and a half later, the doorbell chimed. I took a deep breath, running a hand through my still-damp hair. The coffee was brewing, the apartment quiet, but my nerves were strung tight. John was a man of impeccable timing and even more impeccable discretion. His presence here, on a day he was supposed to be off, spoke volumes.

I opened the door to find John standing there, his usual crisp suit replaced by smart casual attire, but his expression was as unreadable as ever. He carried a slim, nondescript briefcase.

"Good morning, Miss Kimbel," he said, stepping inside as I moved aside. He scanned the living room with a quick, practiced glance before turning back to me. "Thank you for seeing me on such short notice."

"You said it was urgent, John. And it concerns 'a certain movement from Monaco,'" I replied, my voice flat. I led him to the small dining table, gesturing for him to sit. "Coffee?"

"Thank you, no. I prefer to remain alert." He set his briefcase on the table, but didn't open it immediately. His gaze was steady, serious. "It concerns Max Fewtrell, Miss Kimbel. My sources indicate he left Monaco yesterday evening. No clear destination was immediately apparent, but his recent activities have been... unusual."

My heart gave a cold, hard thump. Max. Always Max. "Unusual how?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper. The fragile peace I'd been trying to cultivate felt like shattered glass beneath my feet.

"He's been operating outside of his usual patterns," John continued, his voice low, almost a murmur. "Increased, unscheduled travel. Meetings with individuals not typically within his social or business circles. And, most significantly, he no longer resides at the Monaco apartment he shared with Mr. Norris."

My breath hitched. "He... what?" That was unexpected. Max and Lando had been inseparable, living together for years. A small, fleeting thought of concern for Lando, quickly pushed aside by the more immediate, chilling implication. "He's not with Lando?"

"No, Miss Kimbel. He moved out abruptly, approximately two weeks ago. No forwarding address, no official change of residency. He's been living... off the grid, so to speak. And his recent movements suggest a deliberate attempt to remain untraceable. This behavior began shortly after the incident at your apartment, when the listening device was discovered."

A wave of cold dread, mixed with a sliver of relief, washed over me. The device. That's why John was here. That's why Max was suddenly untraceable. He hadn't heard my deepest secrets, my most vulnerable moments, from inside my home. But he had still placed it there. The intrusion was still profound. He wasn't just being unpredictable; he was being calculated.

"Why is he doing this, John? What does he want?" My voice was tight, thin, laced with a fear that was rapidly escalating. This wasn't just about a device; it was about his intent, his audacity, and what he might have heard from the hallway, or what he was planning to do now.

John's expression remained impassive, but his eyes held a grim understanding. "That's what concerns me, Miss Kimbel. His behavior is... shady. Highly irregular. It suggests he's either involved in something he doesn't want traced, or he's planning something he doesn't want anticipated. Given his recent, direct intrusion into your privacy – regardless of what specific information he may or may not have acquired from the hallway – I felt it was imperative to inform you immediately. He has gone to great lengths to obscure his tracks since the device was found and removed. It indicates he knows we know, and he's preparing for something."

My hands clenched under the table, nails digging into my palms. Preparing for something. The words echoed with a sinister weight. Max wasn't just a nuisance; he was a threat. An untethered, unpredictable threat who had brazenly violated my privacy, and was now operating in the shadows. The fear wasn't just about him knowing my "secrets" anymore, but about his sheer audacity, his calculated malice, and the unknown extent of his intentions.

"Do you know where he is now?" I asked, my voice barely audible, a desperate plea for control.

John shook his head slowly. "Not precisely. His last confirmed location was a private airfield outside Nice, where he boarded a private jet. Destination unknown. But the pattern of his recent activities, combined with this sudden disappearance from Mr. Norris's residence and the timing with the device discovery, suggests a significant and potentially hostile shift in his intentions. I believe those intentions may directly involve you, Miss Kimbel, and whatever disruption he aims to cause."

The words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. My carefully constructed life, my fragile peace, felt like a house of cards caught in a sudden, violent gust of wind. Max. He was coming. And he wasn't just coming; he was coming with a hidden agenda, and with a terrifying new level of calculated malice. The headache intensified, a pounding drumbeat of fear. This was far worse than any argument with Lando. This was the present, not just rising up like a phantom, but actively, dangerously, threatening to drag me back into the darkness I had fought so hard to escape.

John stood, his briefcase still unopened. "I've relayed the critical information, Miss Kimbel. I will continue to monitor the situation and inform you of any developments. For now, I recommend extreme caution. And perhaps, consider postponing your travel to Monza."

"I can't postpone Monza, John. My work is there," I said, my voice firm despite the tremor in my hands. "Just... keep me informed. And thank you. For coming."

"Of course, Miss Kimbel. That's my duty." He gave a curt nod and let himself out, leaving the apartment feeling colder and more exposed than before.

I walked back into the living room, a sudden, overwhelming urge to curl into a ball and disappear. The meeting with Gavin, the client calls, the entire day ahead – it all felt impossible. My phone vibrated then, pulling me from the spiraling dread. It was my therapist's office.

I answered immediately. "Hi. Yes, it's Eleonora Kimbel. I know this is incredibly last minute, but do you happen to have any availability tomorrow? Even a short session. Anything." I listened, a desperate hope blooming as they checked. "Yes, that would be perfect. Thank you. Thank you so much." I hung up, a small, shaky breath escaping my lips. A session tomorrow. A chance to unpack some of this, to find a way to cope.

A few minutes later, another ping. A text from Izzy.

Isabella Richi: Hey! Long time no see. Dinner tonight? There's that new Italian place everyone's raving about near yours.

I stared at the message, a lifeline in the sudden storm. Dinner with Izzy. Normalcy. But the thought of leaving the apartment, of being out in the open, sent a fresh wave of anxiety through me. John wasn't with me. He was off, back with his family, and Max Fewtrell was a ghost, untraceable, unpredictable. Staying home was the only safe option.

My fingers typed quickly, a forced cheerfulness in my words.

Eleonora Kimbel: Sounds amazing, Izzy! But honestly, I'm absolutely shattered from travel and have a crazy day tomorrow. How about you come over here instead? I can whip up something simple, or we can order in. Total chill night. What do you say?

I hit send, knowing why I was doing it. It wasn't just about being tired. It was about the walls of my apartment, the security John had put in place, the feeling of being protected within my own space. With John off duty, and Max Fewtrell a phantom menace, my apartment felt like the only sanctuary left. And I needed it. I needed Izzy's presence, her grounding normalcy, within the safety of my fortress.

The morning progressed, a blur of emails and frantic preparations. By 10:55 AM, I was in my office at “Kimbel PR”, a sleek, minimalist space with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the bustling London streets. I wore a tailored charcoal pantsuit, the fabric sharp and unyielding, a stark contrast to the turbulent emotions churning within me. My hair was pulled back in a severe, elegant bun, and my makeup was precise, concealing the shadows beneath my eyes. I was the picture of composure, the boss, ready to tackle whatever fresh hell my brother Nick had sent my way.

My assistant, a bright-eyed young woman named Chloe, tapped lightly on the open door. "Miss Kimbel? Mr. Gavin Atterbury is here."

I straightened a file on my desk, my gaze unwavering from the document. "Send him in, Chloe." I took a slow, steadying breath. Time to face the music. Literally.

The door opened, and Gavin stepped in. He was exactly as Nick had described, and yet, somehow more striking in person. Early twenties, indeed, with a shock of artfully disheveled blonde hair that fell across a broad forehead. He was tall, lean, and undeniably handsome, with a pair of piercing gray eyes that seemed to take in everything at once. He wore a stylish, slightly oversized band t-shirt under an open denim jacket, ripped jeans, and worn-in combat boots – the quintessential 'raw talent' aesthetic, carefully curated or genuinely lived, I couldn't tell.

"Miss Kimbel?" he asked, his voice a low, slightly raspy tenor. He extended a hand, his grip firm and confident.

"Mr. Atterbury," I replied, my voice cool and professional, matching his handshake. I met his gaze directly, a silent challenge to his youthful confidence. "Please, have a seat." I gestured towards the low-slung sofas and glass coffee table in the sitting area of my office.

He moved towards it, his eyes, however, didn't leave my face. They lingered, a subtle, almost imperceptible widening as he took me in. I felt his gaze, a warm, assessing weight, clearly mesmerized. It was the look of someone who found me not just attractive, but interesting. And I knew, with a familiar weariness, that he fancied me. Just what I needed. Another complication.

Chloe entered silently then, a tray balanced expertly in her hands. On it sat a sleek black coffee pot, two delicate porcelain cups, and a carafe of water with two glasses. She placed it on the coffee table with practiced ease, gave a small, polite nod, and exited, closing the door softly behind her. The silence stretched, filled only by the soft hum of the city outside and the unspoken appraisal in Gavin's gray eyes.

I broke the silence, my voice crisp and business-like. "So, Mr. Atterbury. My brother speaks highly of your talent. What I need from you today are your ideas. For your persona. What do you want the world to see? Who is Gavin Atterbury, the artist, in your own words?" I leaned back slightly, my hands clasped loosely on my lap, my expression neutral, professional.

Gavin shifted, settling into the sofa. His gaze, however, remained fixed on me, a faint, almost imperceptible smile playing on his lips. "Well, Miss Kimbel," he began, his voice still that low, intriguing rasp, "I suppose... I want the world to see someone real. Someone who isn't afraid to be messy, to be honest. Someone who writes from the gut, you know? Not some manufactured pop star. I want them to see the raw edges, the vulnerability. The kind of person who... who probably shouldn't be wearing a suit, but cleans up well when he has to." He paused, his eyes still holding mine, a hint of amusement, and something else, in their depths. "And maybe... someone who appreciates beauty, even when it's trying to hide behind a very serious facade."

I allowed a beat of silence, my expression unwavering. His last comment was a clear attempt at flirtation, a thinly veiled compliment. I met his gaze, my own eyes cool and unblinking. "I appreciate your... artistic interpretation, Mr. Atterbury," I said, my voice smooth, devoid of any warmth beyond polite professionalism. "However, my interest lies in the public relations aspect of that persona. How do we translate 'raw edges' and 'vulnerability' into a marketable image? What are the key messages? What are the boundaries? Let's focus on the strategic elements. Do you have any specific artists or public figures whose careers you admire, and whose approach to their public identity you'd like to emulate or deviate from?" I picked up one of the water glasses, taking a small sip, giving him ample time to shift his focus.

Gavin's smile faltered slightly, a flicker of surprise in his gray eyes as he registered my complete lack of reciprocation. He cleared his throat, his gaze finally dropping from my face to the coffee table between us. He picked up his own glass of water, taking a longer drink.

"Right. Yes. Of course, Miss Kimbel. Strategic elements." He nodded, collecting himself. "Well, I've always admired artists who build a connection with their audience through authenticity. Someone like... early Ed Sheeran, perhaps. Or even a bit of a darker, more introspective vibe, like Hozier. Not necessarily the same musical style, but the way they present themselves. They feel... accessible, but also deeply personal. I want to avoid anything that feels fake, or too polished. I want to be relatable, but also leave enough mystery that people are intrigued. I don't want to be too open, you know? Just enough to draw them in." He looked up, his gaze now more focused on the ideas than on me, though a faint hint of that earlier admiration still lingered, now more subdued. "I think the key is to show the journey, not just the destination. The struggle, the creative process. That's what people connect with."

I nodded slowly, my expression still professional, but a genuine thought forming. "Those are good aspirations, Mr. Atterbury. Authenticity, relatability, a sense of journey. All valid and powerful in today's music landscape." I paused, taking another sip of water, my gaze sweeping over the city outside the window before returning to him. "However, having reviewed your existing music, particularly the demos Nicholas sent over... while the raw talent is undeniable, and your songwriting is certainly introspective, I find that the emotional core, the vulnerability you speak of, is often too abstract. It's deeply personal, yes, but it lacks a certain universality. People can't quite see themselves in the stories you're telling."

I set my glass down with a soft click. "For your next piece, your next single, I need something different. Something that resonates. Something that, despite its personal origins, allows the listener to project their own experiences onto it. It needs to be relatable. It needs to connect. It needs to be a song where people hear it and think, 'He's singing about my life,' even if the specifics are entirely yours. That's the kind of authenticity that truly breaks through. Can you give me an example of a concept, a theme, a story, that you feel could achieve that level of connection?"

Gavin's eyes, those striking gray eyes, widened almost imperceptibly as I delivered the feedback. He didn't look offended, or even defensive. Instead, a slow, almost dreamy smile spread across his face, a genuine, unselfconscious reaction that bypassed his 'raw talent' persona entirely. He seemed to absorb my words, not just the critique, but the intensity with which I delivered it. He was utterly, completely smitten.

"Relatable. Connectable. Something people can see themselves in," he murmured, almost to himself, his gaze fixed on my face as if I held the secrets of the universe. "That's... that's a brilliant way to put it, Miss Kimbel. Absolutely brilliant. I hadn't quite articulated it that way before. I've been so focused on my own truth, I suppose, that I haven't thought enough about how it translates to... everyone else's. You're right. You're absolutely right." He leaned forward slightly, his eyes still shining with that mesmerized admiration. "A concept, a theme... I think... I think I might have something. Something that's been brewing for a while, actually. About... about feeling like you're always searching for something, for someone, and then suddenly, unexpectedly, they just... appear. And everything shifts. It's about that moment of recognition. Of finding something you didn't even realize you were looking for." He paused, his smile widening, his gaze still locked on mine. "Does that... sound like something people could see themselves in, Miss Kimbel?"

I considered his words, my expression remaining neutral. "Maybe," I stated, my voice measured. "If it's delivered the right way. The concept has potential. But execution is everything. The lyrics, the melody, the emotional arc – it all has to align perfectly to create that universal resonance." I picked up a pen, tapping it lightly against a notepad, signaling a shift back to the tangible. "When do you anticipate having something concrete for me to review? A demo, lyrics, a rough outline?"

Gavin's smile broadened, a flash of genuine enthusiasm mixed with that persistent, admiring glint in his eyes. He seemed to take my "maybe" as an encouraging sign. "I could have something by Wednesday, Miss Kimbel. I've been working on it, and your feedback has really... crystallized some things for me. It's given me a new direction." He paused, then leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping just a touch, a hint of a coaxing tone entering his rasp. "Would you be willing to... meet me at the studio on Wednesday? To hear it? To look at the lyrics? I think hearing it in that environment, seeing the process, might really help you understand the vision."

My internal alarm bells chimed. A studio. Just him and me. On Wednesday, the day before I was supposed to fly to Monza, the day John would still be off duty. The thought of being in an enclosed space, away from the controlled environment of my office, with someone who was clearly attracted to me, while Max Fewtrell was a ghost in the wind... my stomach tightened. It was a risk. A distraction I couldn't afford.

But then, the professional part of my brain kicked in. This was a direct request related to his work, a chance to get a real feel for his potential. And if I was going to be forced to take him on, I needed to do it properly. My father would expect nothing less. And if this song could be the breakthrough, it was worth the calculated risk. Besides, I could always bring Chloe, or arrange for John to be nearby if I felt truly uneasy.

I hesitated for only a fraction of a second. "Wednesday," I repeated slowly, weighing the implications. "I have a very tight schedule, Mr. Atterbury. But... fine. Yes. Send me the studio details and a proposed time. I'll make it work. But I expect a full presentation. Lyrics, musical direction, and how you intend to market this 'moment of recognition' to a broad audience."

Gavin beamed, a boyish, triumphant smile that momentarily erased the 'raw talent' facade. "Absolutely, Miss Kimbel! You won't regret it. I'll send over the details right away." His gaze, as he looked at me, was still utterly, undeniably smitten, a clear attraction that I would have to manage with the utmost professionalism. Another layer of complexity to an already chaotic week. Just what I needed.

----------------------------------------------------------------

The day had been a relentless blur of meetings, calls, and the constant hum of the “Kimbel PR” office. Each interaction, each decision, felt like another brick I had to lay in the wall around myself, a desperate attempt to maintain control when my internal world felt like it was crumbling. The meeting with Gavin, despite my best efforts to keep it strictly professional, had been another layer of unwelcome complication. His blatant admiration, the way his gray eyes lingered, was a distraction I simply couldn't afford.

Now, the soft glow of my kitchen lights felt like a welcome reprieve. The rhythmic chop of vegetables on the cutting board, the gentle sizzle of olive oil in the pan – these mundane sounds were a balm to my frayed nerves. I was making a simple pasta dish, something comforting and familiar, as I waited for Izzy. Her text had been a small beacon of normalcy in a day that had been anything but.

My mind, however, refused to settle. It spun, a chaotic carousel of the day's events, but one thought, one person, dominated everything.

Lando. His messages from last night, still unread, still echoing in my mind. His raw, agonizing honesty about "You Found Me." He'd ‘heard’ it. He'd seen the depth of my isolation, the years of silent struggle. He'd even taken the blame for his own absence, for being the "where were you" person. It was a level of vulnerability from him that I hadn't anticipated, a direct hit to the carefully constructed armor I wore. It terrified me. It was a dangerous, fragile hope, the kind that could shatter and leave me even more broken. Could I believe him? Could I afford to? The thought was a relentless hum beneath the surface of my exhaustion.

His last message, the one I hadn't opened yet: “Take all the time you need, Eleonora. A minute, a day, a week. Whatever you need. I'm not going anywhere. I'll just be here. Listening. And waiting. No pressure. Just... here.”

"I'm not going anywhere." The words were a stark contrast to every other person who had ever promised to stay. They were a dangerous invitation to trust, to lean, to finally let someone else carry a fraction of the burden. But trusting Lando felt like stepping onto thin ice, especially after everything. He was so impulsive, so quick to react, and I was so tired of fighting.

My hand paused over the simmering pasta. The song, "You Found Me," played again in my head. "I've been calling / For years and years and years and years / And you never left me no messages / You never sent me no letters / You got some kind of nerve / Taking all I want." He'd said that was him. He'd ‘admitted’ it. And then, "I won't be that 'where were you' person anymore."

The sheer audacity of his confession, the way he'd laid himself bare, was both infuriating and... captivating. It was so ‘Lando’. Reckless, honest, and utterly disarming. It made my carefully built walls feel flimsy, transparent. He hadn't just acknowledged my pain; he'd owned his part in it. And that was a game-changer. A terrifying, exhilarating game-changer.

Could he really change? Could I afford to believe him? The thought was a dangerous, fragile thing, like a butterfly fluttering against a windowpane. It was beautiful, but it felt like it could shatter at any moment. And the cost of that shattering, I knew, would be unbearable. I needed my peace. More than anything, I needed my peace. And letting Lando back in, truly in, felt like the biggest threat to it, and simultaneously, the only path to it.

I stirred the pasta, the steam rising, blurring my vision slightly. The day had been a battle, and I was utterly drained. My body ached, my mind refused to quiet, constantly replaying his words, his vulnerability. I needed to be strong. I needed to be the boss. But sometimes, even the boss just wanted to curl up and disappear. The doorbell chimed, pulling me sharply back to the present. Izzy. Thank God.

-----------------------------------------------------

I opened the door to Izzy, her bright smile a welcome antidote to the day's gloom. She was dressed in comfortable jeans and a soft jumper, her long, straight blonde hair falling smoothly around her shoulders.

"Hey, you!" she said, pulling me into a warm hug. "Thanks for having me. That new Italian place can wait. Your apartment is infinitely more appealing after a Monday."

"Tell me about it," I sighed, stepping back and letting her in. "Wine is chilling. Pasta is almost ready. Just what the doctor ordered."

We settled into the kitchen, the familiar clinking of plates and glasses a comforting rhythm. Izzy poured us both a generous glass of crisp white wine, and I dished out the pasta. The first few bites were eaten in companionable silence, a shared exhaustion hanging in the air.

"So," Izzy began, swirling her wine, her eyes twinkling. "Spill. You said 'shattered.' Was it Gavin? Is he as insufferable as Nick implied?"

I took a long sip of wine, letting the cool liquid soothe my throat. "Gavin is... a type. He's got talent, I'll give him that. And he's certainly... ‘charming’." I rolled my eyes. "But no, he's not why I'm shattered." I hesitated, then decided to dive in. Izzy was my oldest friend, my confidante. She deserved to know. "It's Max Fewtrell."

Izzy's smile vanished, replaced by a sharp, immediate frown. "Max? What about that slimy snake? I thought he was safely tucked away in Monaco, bothering Lando."

"He's not," I said, my voice low, recounting John's visit, the abrupt departure from Lando's apartment, the "off the grid" movements, and the chilling detail about the listening device found outside my penthouse door. I watched her face as I spoke, seeing the disbelief turn to outrage.

When I finished, Izzy slammed her wine glass down on the table, a sharp ‘thud’ that made me jump. Her eyes, usually full of warmth, were blazing.

"Are you kidding me, Eleonora?!" she practically spat, her voice tight with fury. "He planted a listening device outside your door? That audacious, pathetic, little worm! What is he, a wannabe Bond villain with a Napoleon complex? And 'off the grid'? What, is he living in a cave now, plotting world domination with his collection of stolen socks?"

She ran a hand through her long, straight blonde hair, agitation radiating off her. "And John just tells you this, then goes off to enjoy his family time? While this deranged ferret is out there, untraceable, potentially planning God knows what? What kind of security is that, Eleonora? Seriously! This isn't some petty rivalry, this is stalking. This is a direct threat to your safety and your sanity!"

She leaned across the table, her voice dropping to a fierce whisper. "He doesn't know your secrets? Good. But he tried. He violated your sanctuary. And the fact that he's vanished, that he's being shady, as John so eloquently put it, means he's up to something. Something rotten. He's not just a nuisance anymore, Eli. He's a ticking time bomb. And the fact that John isn't glued to your side right now, tracking every single breath that little psychopath takes, is frankly, infuriating. It's like sending a sheepdog home when there's a wolf on the loose!" She picked up her fork, stabbing it into her pasta with unnecessary force. "God, I wish he'd just fall into a ditch somewhere and stay there. Preferably a very deep, very dark, very isolated ditch. With no Wi-Fi. And no Lando to annoy."

She took a huge gulp of wine, then slammed the glass down again. "And the sheer nerve of him! To think he could just waltz up to your door, install some creepy surveillance gear, and then disappear like a fart in the wind, expecting no consequences. What, is he auditioning for a spot on a reality TV show about 'How to be a Creep 101'? Because he's nailing it. And the fact that he's gone 'off the grid' just screams 'I'm about to do something monumentally stupid and illegal.' Honestly, Eli, this is beyond concerning. This is 'call the authorities and get a restraining order that actually means something' territory. Not just John giving you a heads-up and then going on holiday! He should be here, setting up a perimeter, installing laser grids, I don't know, something! This isn't a game, Eleonora. This is your life. And that little gremlin has no right to steal your peace of mind! He's a parasite, a leech, a festering wound that just refuses to heal! And now he's gone rogue! What if he tries to contact you? What if he shows up? What if he decides to disrupt your life in some grand, dramatic, and utterly terrifying way? Because let's be real, that's exactly the kind of theatrical nonsense he'd pull. You need to be safe, Eli. And right now, I don't feel like you are. Not with that menace lurking in the shadows. It makes my skin crawl just thinking about it!" She shuddered, then took another aggressive bite of pasta. "This is why I hate Monaco. And rich boys with too much time and too little sense. They're all just... overgrown toddlers with dangerous toys."

I sighed, running a hand over my face. "I know, Izzy. I know it's bad. But I'm safe here. John has all the security measures in place. This apartment is practically a fortress."

Izzy scoffed, waving her hand dismissively. "A fortress? Eli, darling, a fortress is only as good as the guards protecting it. And your primary guard is currently off sipping piña coladas with his family, while the resident goblin is out there playing hide-and-seek with your sense of security! What good are 'security measures' if the person who put them in place isn't here to react when the alarm inevitably goes off? You're telling me you feel safe when the man who planted a bug on your door is now a phantom, and the only person who knows where he might be is on holiday? That's not safe, that's a recipe for a very dramatic, very unwelcome surprise party! And knowing Max, it'll involve glitter and probably a dead fish. Or worse, a live fish! The point is, you're vulnerable. And I'm not about to let that happen. Not on my watch."

She set her fork down with a clatter, her eyes narrowing. "Look, I get it. John's a person. He needs time off. But this? This isn't a sprained ankle, Eli. This is a potential psycho on the loose who has already demonstrated a complete disregard for your boundaries. And until John is back, or until we have a concrete location for that menace, you are not sleeping alone in this 'fortress.' You're packing a bag. Right now. You're staying with me until Thursday. No arguments. My place has excellent locks, a very noisy cat, and a roommate – me, who is perpetually armed with sarcasm and a rolling pin. You'll be safer there. And I'll sleep better knowing you're not here, waiting for Max Fewtrell to decide if he wants to send you a singing telegram or set your potted plants on fire." She crossed her arms, her expression utterly resolute. "Consider it non-negotiable. I'm not asking, I'm telling. Go pack. Now."

I stared at her, a protest forming on my lips. "Izzy, it's really not necessary. I'll be fine. I have a meeting here tomorrow morning, and then the studio on Wednesday—"

Izzy cut me off, her voice suddenly soft, but with an intensity that silenced my objections. Her eyes, usually so sharp and witty, were clouded with a deep, almost painful concern. "Eleonora," she said, her voice barely a whisper, "I don't want to discover you the same way from before. I won't be able to take it. Don't argue, Eli."

The words hung in the air, a cold, stark reminder of the past. ‘The same way from before.’ The hospital. The police. The fear. The trauma that still haunted my nightmares and defined my need for control. Izzy had been there, had seen me at my most broken, and the memory of it, the raw pain in her eyes, was more potent than any argument. My own carefully constructed composure fractured. She was right. I couldn't put her through that again. I couldn't put myself through it again.

My shoulders slumped. "Okay," I whispered, the fight draining out of me. "Okay, Izzy. I'll pack a bag."

----------------------------------------------------------

An hour later, my luggage was tucked beside Izzy's sofa, and we were both sprawled out on her ridiculously comfortable, oversized sectional. The lights were dimmed, a bottle of wine half-empty on the coffee table, and the opening credits of “Van Helsing” glowed on the television screen. We were dressed in our nightwear – Izzy in an old, faded band t-shirt and flannel pajama bottoms, me in silk shorts and a camisole, a stark contrast to my earlier professional attire.

"Honestly, Eli," Izzy said, propping herself up on an elbow, her long blonde hair spilling over the cushions, "this is exactly what we need. Brain-off entertainment. And Hugh Jackman." She gestured emphatically at the screen as Jackman's brooding face appeared. "Look at him. Just... look at him. The jawline, the intensity, the way he carries that ridiculous crossbow. He's not just a man, he's a national treasure."

I giggled, a genuine, unforced sound that felt foreign after the day's stress. "He does have a certain... presence."

"Presence?" Izzy snorted, taking a dramatic sip of wine. "That's like saying the sun has a 'certain warmth.' The man is a walking, talking, leather-clad monument to all things glorious. And those arms, Eli. Those glorious, vampire-slaying arms. You could practically do pull-ups on them." She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. "And don't even get me started on the chest. The man is clearly sculpted by angels. Or at least a very dedicated personal trainer."

I burst out laughing, covering my mouth with my hand. "Izzy! You're incorrigible!"

"Am I wrong, though?" she challenged, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Be honest. If Hugh Jackman showed up at your door, in that outfit, offering to slay your personal demons, would you say no?"

"Well," I mused, pretending to consider it, "I suppose it depends on the demons. And if he brought snacks."

"See!" Izzy shrieked with laughter, nudging me with her foot. "You're just like me! Snacks are paramount. But seriously, the man has assets. All of them. And he's not afraid to use them. For justice, for monster-slaying, for... general brooding attractiveness. It's a public service, really. We should send him a thank-you card."

We dissolved into a fit of giggles, wine sloshing slightly in our glasses. The tension that had coiled in my stomach all day slowly began to unwind, replaced by the familiar, comforting warmth of Izzy's ridiculousness. For a few precious hours, the phantom of Max Fewtrell, the weight of Lando's words, and the looming chaos of my work could be pushed aside. Here, in Izzy's apartment, with Hugh Jackman on the screen and a glass of wine in my hand, I could almost forget everything and just be. Almost.

---------------------------------------------------------------

The movie faded into a blur of leather, fangs, and dramatic pronouncements. Eventually, the wine bottle was empty, the giggles had subsided into contented sighs, and the credits rolled. Izzy, ever the pragmatist, was already half-asleep, her head nestled into a cushion. I, however, found sleep more elusive. Despite the comfort of the sofa and Izzy's reassuring presence, my mind refused to fully shut down.

I must have drifted off, because the next thing I knew, I was startled awake. Not by a sound, not by a nightmare, but by a chilling, subtle shift in the air. The apartment was silent, save for Izzy's soft, even breathing beside me. The television screen was dark, reflecting the faint glow of the city outside. But something felt profoundly off.

It wasn't a sudden noise, but rather the absence of one. Izzy's noisy cat, a fluffy ginger terror named Marmalade, was usually a nocturnal menace, clattering around, batting at shadows, or demanding attention. Tonight, there was nothing. No rustle, no soft thud from the kitchen, no faint purr. An unnatural stillness.

And then, the temperature. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but the air in the living room felt cooler. Not a draft, not the usual chill of a London night, but a distinct drop, as if a window had been left ajar, or a door. But Izzy was meticulous about locking up.

My heart began to thump, a slow, heavy drum against my ribs. My eyes darted around the dimly lit room. Nothing seemed out of place. The furniture was where it should be, the shadows were just shadows. But the silence of Marmalade, combined with that faint, unsettling coolness, prickled at the back of my neck. It felt like the kind of quiet that precedes a storm, or the hushed stillness of a presence that doesn't want to be heard. It was the kind of off-ness that made the hairs on my arms stand on end, a primal warning that something, somewhere, was not as it should be. And in the oppressive quiet, my thoughts, unbidden, turned to Max Fewtrell.

I pushed myself up from the sofa, moving slowly, carefully, not wanting to disturb Izzy. My bare feet made no sound on the wooden floor. I padded towards the front door first, my hand reaching for the deadbolt. It was firmly engaged. I double-checked the chain, then the lower lock. All secure. Next, the windows. I moved from one to the next, pressing against the frames, checking the latches. Each one was locked tight, the glass cool and unyielding. The balcony door, too, was bolted.

I stood in the middle of the living room, a cold knot forming in my stomach. Everything was locked. Everything was secure. So why did the air still feel wrong? Why was Marmalade so unnaturally silent? My gaze swept the room again, searching for anything, any tiny detail. Nothing.

What is going on? The question echoed in my mind, a chilling whisper in the dead of night. The logical part of my brain told me it was exhaustion, paranoia, the lingering effects of John's visit and Izzy's rant. But the primal part, the part that had been honed by past traumas, screamed that something is profoundly, terrifyingly amiss. The apartment was a fortress, yes. But it felt like the enemy was already inside. Or perhaps, had never truly left.

The fear was a cold, constricting hand around my throat. My breath hitched. I could feel the frantic beat of my pulse in my ears. Every shadow seemed to deepen, every creak of the building settling seemed amplified. I was utterly, completely scared. The kind of fear that made your limbs heavy and your mind race with a thousand impossible scenarios.

My hand, trembling, went to my pocket, finding the cold, smooth surface of my phone. Before a second thought, before logic could even begin to argue, my thumb was already navigating. Not to John. Not to the police. To Lando. His contact. His last message, waiting. He had said he was listening. He had said he was here. And in that moment of raw, unadulterated terror, he was the only person I could think to reach out to. My fingers flew across the screen.

Eleonora Kimbel: Lando. I know it's the middle of the night. I know I said I needed space. But something feels wrong. I'm at Izzy's. Everything's locked. But it's... cold. And quiet. Too quiet. I'm scared. I don't know what's happening.

Almost instantly, my phone vibrated in my hand, startling me so badly I nearly dropped it. A new message. From Lando. He was awake.

Lando Norris: Eleonora?! What's wrong? Are you okay? Tell me everything. Right now.

My fingers flew across the keyboard, the words tumbling out in a frantic stream, barely coherent.

Eleonora Kimbel: I'm at Izzy's place, she made me come here. John is off duty until Thursday. We locked everything, the alarm is on, but something is not right. It's so quiet, Lando. The cat isn't moving. It's cold, like a window is open but they're all shut. I checked everything, all the locks, all the windows. But it feels like someone was here. Or is. I don't know. I'm so scared. My heart is pounding. I can't breathe.

I hit send, my thumb hovering over the screen, waiting. The seconds stretched into an eternity, each one amplifying the chilling silence of the apartment. My breath hitched, a small, terrified sound in the vast stillness. The cold seemed to seep into my bones, and the quiet pressed in, heavy and suffocating. I squeezed my eyes shut, wishing I could un-feel the eerie wrongness of it all.

Then, the phone vibrated again, a sharp, insistent buzz that made me jump.

Lando Norris: Okay. Okay, Eli. Deep breaths. You're at Izzy's, that's good. You're not alone. I'm in Monza right now, but I'm going to call you. Pick up. Don't text. Just pick up. We'll figure this out. Stay exactly where you are, near Izzy. Don't move from her side. I'm calling now.

My phone immediately began to ring, Lando’s name flashing on the screen. My hand was shaking so badly I almost fumbled the answer button. I pressed it, bringing the phone to my ear, my breath catching in my throat.

"Eleonora? Eli, are you there?" His voice, usually so full of youthful energy, was sharp with immediate concern, cutting through the fear like a lifeline. It was a little distorted by the phone, but undeniably Lando.

"Lando," I whispered, my voice barely a thread, a raw, ragged sound. "I... I don't know. I don't know what's happening." My eyes darted around the silent living room, every shadow seeming to stretch and writhe.

"Okay, listen to me," he said, his tone firm, taking immediate charge. "You're doing great. You checked the locks, that's smart. Listen, I need you to do something for me. Can you go to the kitchen? Get a glass of water. And look around. Slowly. Tell me if anything, anything at all, seems out of place. Even the smallest thing. Don't touch anything. Just look. And keep talking to me. I'm right here."

My bare feet, still cold, moved silently across the wooden floor towards the kitchen. Every shadow seemed to deepen, every familiar object taking on a sinister edge in the dim light. The silence of the apartment was suffocating, broken only by Lando's voice in my ear and the frantic thump of my own heart.

"I'm... I'm in the kitchen now," I whispered, my voice trembling. My gaze swept over the pristine countertops, the gleaming appliances. Nothing seemed disturbed. The wine glasses from dinner were still on the table. "It all looks... normal. Too normal. But it's so cold, Lando. And Marmalade... I can't see Marmalade anywhere. She's always around." My voice hitched.

"Okay, good. You're in the kitchen. That's a well-lit area. That's good," Lando said, his voice calm, steady. "Take a deep breath, Eli. Just focus on my voice. Can you see the cat's food bowl? Or her bed? Is anything moved from where it usually is?"

I moved slowly, my eyes scanning every surface, every corner. The cat's bowl, usually overflowing with kibble, was on the floor by the back door, half-empty. Her favorite toy mouse, usually discarded under the sofa, was nowhere in sight. But that wasn't unusual. Marmalade was a messy eater, and the toy could be anywhere.

"Her bowl is there," I said, my voice still shaky. "But... nothing seems out of place. It's just the silence. And the cold. It's like... like the air itself is holding its breath." My gaze drifted to the small window above the sink, then to the large glass door leading to the small balcony. Both were securely locked.

"The air holding its breath," Lando repeated, a hint of something in his voice, not fear, but intense focus. "Okay. That's a good description. Is there anything else? Any faint scent? Anything that doesn't belong?"

I closed my eyes, trying to sharpen my senses, to ignore the irrational terror tightening its grip. I inhaled deeply, trying to pick up on anything unusual. The faint scent of the wine we drank earlier still lingered, mixed with the clean, almost sterile smell of Izzy's apartment. Nothing else.

"No," I whispered, opening my eyes. "Nothing. Just... cold. And quiet. Lando, I'm really scared. What if... what if someone was here? What if they're still here? What if he found me?" The words tumbled out, raw and desperate.

A beat of stunned silence from Lando's end. I could hear a sharp intake of breath, a sudden shift in his posture, even through the phone. The calm, steady tone he'd maintained fractured, replaced by a raw, bewildered urgency.

"Who, Eli? Who are you talking about? Who found you?" His voice was sharp, a sudden edge of alarm, demanding an answer.

"No one! I don't know!" I snapped, the fear making me defensive, my voice rising slightly despite my efforts to keep it down. "It's just a feeling! It's just... it's just really quiet and cold and I'm scared, okay? Don't yell at me!"

Lando's breath hitched again, and I heard him exhale slowly, a conscious effort to rein himself in. His voice, when he spoke again, was softer, laced with immediate regret. "Hey. Hey, I'm not yelling. I'm sorry, Eli. I didn't mean to. I'm just... I'm worried about you. Really worried. I know you're scared. It's okay to be scared. Just... try to keep breathing with me, okay? You're doing great. You're safe with Izzy. I'm here. I'm right here on the phone. We're going to get through this. Just tell me what you need me to do. Anything. I'm listening."

"Just... talk," I whispered, the word a desperate plea. "Talk about something. Anything. Just... fill the quiet. Please."

"Okay," Lando said immediately, his voice taking on a slightly different cadence, a deliberate lightness. "Okay, I can do that. Let's see... what's happening here in Monza. Well, it's... surprisingly quiet, actually. For a race weekend. You'd think there'd be more noise, even at this hour. But the hotel room I've got, it's got this view of, like, three different shades of grey. Seriously. Grey sky, grey tarmac, and then, like, a slightly darker grey building in the distance. It's really inspiring, you know? Makes you want to write a song about... the subtle nuances of concrete. Or maybe just go back to sleep. Which I probably should have done, but then you texted, so... here we are. Talking about grey. Riveting stuff." He chuckled, a soft, self- deprecating sound. "And my bed. It's like a trampoline. Every time I move, I bounce. I swear, I almost launched myself into the ceiling earlier trying to get a glass of water. It's a real health hazard, this bed. I might lodge a formal complaint with the FIA. 'Unsafe sleeping conditions for a Formula 1 driver.' What do you think? Good case?"

A small, shaky laugh escaped my lips, a surprised, almost hysterical sound that cut through the lingering fear. The image of Lando bouncing off a hotel bed, complaining to the FIA about a mattress, was so utterly absurd, so perfectly him, that it momentarily shattered the icy grip of terror. It was a genuine, unforced giggle, a tiny spark of normalcy in the overwhelming strangeness.

"A formal complaint," I managed, still a little breathless from the laugh. "Yes, Lando. Absolutely. The safety of our drivers is paramount. We can't have you launching into orbit before qualifying."

"Exactly!" he said, his voice brightening slightly at my laugh. "See? You get it. It's a serious issue. But hey, that's better, right? You laughed. That's a good sign. Are you still feeling that cold? Is Marmalade still being... unusually quiet?" His tone softened again, the underlying concern immediately returning, pulling me back from the brief reprieve of humor. "I know it's still scary, Eli. But I'm here. Just keep talking to me. Or just listen. Whatever you need. I'm not going anywhere."

"Maybe... maybe I should wake Izzy up?" I suggested, my voice still a little wobbly, but with a new thought forming. The idea of facing this with her, even if it was just a feeling, seemed better than being alone with Lando's voice as my only anchor. "To check the alarm, to call the alarm company."

"That's a good idea, Eli," Lando said, his voice instantly back to its calm, reassuring tone. "That's a very smart idea. But let's do it carefully, okay? Don't just shake her awake. Maybe just gently call her name. And tell her what you told me, about the feeling, the cold, the quiet cat. Don't alarm her more than necessary. And keep me on the line. I'll stay right here. You're doing really well, Eleonora. Just keep breathing. And wake Izzy up. She'll help."

I took a shaky breath, then gently reached out and touched Izzy's shoulder. "Izzy," I whispered, a little louder this time. "Izzy, wake up."

Izzy stirred, a soft groan escaping her lips. Her eyes fluttered open, blinking against the kitchen lights. "Eli? What... what time is it?" she mumbled, her voice thick with sleep.

"Something's wrong," I whispered, my voice urgent. "I woke up, and... it's cold. And Marmalade is too quiet. Everything's locked, but it feels off. And Lando's on the phone." I held out the phone, still on call.

Izzy's eyes snapped open fully, instantly alert. Her gaze went from my terrified face to the phone in my hand, then swept the room, her sleep-addled brain catching up. "Lando?" she said, her voice still a little rough, but quickly sharpening. "Put him on speaker."

I pressed the speaker button, and Lando's voice filled the quiet kitchen. "Izzy? Are you awake? Eleonora says something's wrong."

Izzy was already swinging her legs off the sofa, her movements surprisingly swift. "Yeah, I'm awake now, Norris. And Eleonora's right. Something feels off. Cold as a witch's tit in here." She stalked towards the kitchen, her long blonde hair swaying. Without a word, her hand went to the knife block. Her fingers wrapped around the handle of a large, gleaming chef's knife. My eyes widened in the harsh kitchen light.

"Izzy, what are you—" I started, but she just gave me a fierce look.

"Precaution, Eli. Always. You never know when you'll need to fend off rogue dust bunnies or, you know, actual rogue people. Now, where's that blasted alarm panel?" She moved swiftly to the wall near the front door, her eyes scanning for the keypad.

"It's by the door, Izzy," I managed, my voice still a little stunned by the sight of her with the knife.

"Got it," she muttered, her fingers flying over the keypad. The small screen glowed green. "Alarm's armed, Norris. No breach detected. But that doesn't mean anything. This feeling... it's like when you know someone's been in your fridge, but all the food is still there, just... subtly rearranged."

"Okay, good," Lando's voice came through the speaker, calmer now that Izzy was awake and taking action. "No breach is a good sign. But if you're feeling that unsettled, Izzy, you should call the alarm company. Tell them you had a suspected anomaly, a temperature drop, and an unusual lack of activity from Marmalade. They can remotely check the system logs, see if any sensors were tripped, or if there was a power fluctuation."

Izzy paused, her thumb hovering over the alarm panel. She glanced at the phone, then back at the panel, a snarky smirk playing on her lips. "Wow, Norris. Who knew you had such a knack for home security? Next you'll be telling me to check for fingerprints with cocoa powder." She rolled her eyes, but then pressed a button. "Alright, fine. It's a good idea. Better than just sitting here and waiting for the boogeyman to pop out from under the sofa." She began dialing, her movements sharp and efficient.

As Izzy spoke to the alarm company, her voice a low, urgent murmur, my gaze fell on Marmalade's cat tree in the corner of the living room. It was empty. The blankets in her favorite basket were undisturbed. The silence of the cat was still the most unsettling thing.

"Izzy," I interrupted, my voice barely above a whisper, "where's Marmalade?"

Izzy, still on the phone with the alarm company, held up a hand, signaling me to wait. She finished her terse explanation, then listened intently, her brow furrowed. "Right. Thank you. Yes, we'll stay put. Keep me updated." She hung up, her gaze immediately snapping to me.

"Marmalade?" she repeated, her eyes scanning the room. "She's probably... oh, for crying out loud, where is that furry menace? She's usually draped across my face by now, demanding breakfast. Or plotting the downfall of the sofa cushions." She moved towards the living room, still clutching the knife, her eyes narrowed in a playful hunt. "Marmalade? Here, kitty, kitty, kitty..."

She rounded the corner of the sectional, and then she let out a soft "Aha!" There, tucked deep under the lowest shelf of the large bookshelf, a tiny ginger ball of fur, was Marmalade. Her eyes, usually bright with mischief, were wide and a little dilated in the bright kitchen lights, and she was indeed very still, almost flattened against the wall.

"Oh, you silly goose!" Izzy cooed, bending down and reaching for her. Marmalade twitched, then slowly, hesitantly, uncurled herself, blinking up at Izzy with a wary expression. She let out a tiny, almost inaudible meow, then stretched, shaking off the stillness. "She's just being a drama queen," Izzy said, scooping her up. Marmalade immediately began to purr, a rumbling vibration that filled the sudden silence. "She must have just found a new, extra-secret hiding spot. Probably heard us giggling about Hugh Jackman and decided we were too loud."

The purr was like a balm, instantly dissolving a layer of my fear. Marmalade was okay. She was just being a cat. The cold, however, still lingered.

Just then, Izzy's phone rang. It was the alarm company. She put it on speaker.

"Miss Richi, this is Gregory from “Secure Guard”. We've just completed a remote diagnostic check on your system. Everything appears to be fully functional, no breach detected, all sensors are green. However, we did note a significant drop in temperature readings from your internal climate sensors. It seems there's an unexpected issue with the building's central heating system that's just come online. We're getting multiple reports from other residents in your block. Our engineers are investigating, but it looks like a temporary malfunction. It should resolve itself within the next few hours."

"A central heating malfunction?" Izzy repeated, her voice laced with disbelief, then a sudden, loud laugh. "You're telling me all this drama, all this 'something's wrong' feeling, was just because the heating decided to take a holiday?" She looked at me, then at the phone, then back at Marmalade, who was now kneading her shoulder contentedly. "Well, I'll be damned. Norris, you hear that? It's just the heating. And Marmalade's being a drama queen. We scared ourselves silly over a faulty thermostat."

Lando's voice, now clearer and filled with relief, came through the speaker. "I told you, Eli. Sometimes the simplest explanation is the right one. I'm so glad you're both okay. And Marmalade. Give her a good scratch for me." There was a genuine warmth in his tone, a palpable easing of tension. "So, you're both safe now? Really safe?"

"Yeah, Lando," I said, a wave of profound relief washing over me, making my knees feel weak. The cold still felt a little present, but the oppressive, terrifying silence was gone, replaced by Marmalade's purr and Izzy's chattering. "We're safe. Thank you. Thank you for staying on the phone. I... I really needed that."

"Anytime, Eli. Seriously. Anytime," he said, his voice soft, almost tender. "Get some sleep now, okay? Try to properly rest. I'll... I'll be here. If you need anything at all. Just text or call. No matter the time."

"You too, Lando," I whispered, a genuine smile finally touching my lips. "Get some sleep. And good luck in Monza."

"Goodnight." I ended the call, the phone feeling light in my hand now. The fear was receding, leaving behind a lingering exhaustion, but also a profound sense of gratitude.

Izzy, still cradling Marmalade, gave me a wry smile. "Well, that was a rollercoaster. All because of a chilly apartment and a cat who apparently enjoys dramatic entrances." She put Marmalade down, who immediately trotted off towards the kitchen, likely seeking a late-night snack. "Come on, let's try this sleep thing again. This time, with fewer existential crises."

We settled back onto the sofa, pulling the blankets up. The kitchen lights remained on, casting a reassuring glow. The apartment felt normal again, just cold. My eyelids felt heavy, the adrenaline draining away, replaced by a deep weariness. I closed my eyes, listening to Izzy's soft breathing beside me, and the faint, comforting sounds of Marmalade exploring the kitchen.

-----

Unbeknownst to us, a lone figure stood across the street, shrouded in the deep shadows of a narrow alleyway. Their gaze was fixed on Isabella's apartment building, a single window on the third floor glowing brightly. A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched their lips, a chilling contrast to the stillness of the night. A hand rose, slowly, to adjust the brim of a dark baseball cap, obscuring their face further. The cold London air bit at their exposed skin, but they seemed oblivious to it, their eyes unwavering, fixed on the illuminated window. The silence of the street was profound, broken only by the distant hum of city traffic, and the faint, almost unheard click of a small, discreet device being powered off.

Chapter Text

Lando`s POV

August 29^th, 2023

The phone slipped from my grasp, landing with a soft thud on the hotel bed. My hand, still trembling, was clenched into a tight fist. The pre-dawn gloom of the room felt oppressive, but the true darkness was the cold, suffocating dread that had just settled deep in my gut. Eleonora's voice, raw and terrified, still echoed in my ears, cutting through the silence of the night like a knife.

Scared. Too quiet. Cold. I don't know what's happening. What if... what if someone was here? What if they're still here? What if he found me?

That last question. He. It was a phantom, an unknown, but the sheer terror behind it was sickening. My own desperate questions – "Who, Eli? Who are you talking about?" – had yielded no concrete answers, only more of her frayed panic. She hadn't known, or couldn't say. Just a feeling. A deep, chilling feeling of wrongness.

I shoved myself off the bed, the damn bouncy mattress launching me more than I intended. I needed to move, to burn off this frantic energy that was coiling tighter and tighter in my chest. Pacing felt like the only option, my bare feet sinking into the plush carpet, silent against the roaring chaos inside my head.

The alarm company's explanation – a faulty heating system… It was a joke. A cruel, ridiculous joke. It accounted for the cold, yes, and it explained Marmalade's silence. But it didn't account for the tremor in Eleonora's voice, the way she'd clung to me through the phone line, the desperate, uncharacteristic plea for me to just talk. She had been genuinely, utterly terrified, not just inconvenienced. And that deep, unnamed fear, that gnawing sense of a hidden threat, was what was twisting my stomach into knots. Eleonora didn't scare easily. If she felt something, something was there.

I knew she'd been through a lot in her past. She was so fiercely private, so guarded, so protective of the peace she'd fought so hard to build around herself. Seeing her so profoundly unsettled, so genuinely scared by something inexplicable, was infuriating. It was unacceptable.

My phone felt like a lead weight in my hand, a useless piece of technology keeping me a thousand miles away, stuck in this bland hotel room. I was here in Monza, focused on a race weekend that now felt completely irrelevant. Friday was practice. Tuesday morning. Days. Days to stew in this helplessness. Days for this feeling of hers to fester into something real.

I wanted to be there. Right now. To physically check every lock, to sweep every room, to stand guard outside her door, to make sure this unnamed he could never even breathe near her. But I couldn't. Not during a race week. Not without raising alarms she didn't need, or compromising things I couldn't.

A cold rage, sharp and impotent, surged through me. My usual coping mechanisms—joking, lightheartedness—felt utterly inappropriate. This was serious. This was Eleonora, at her most vulnerable, reaching out in desperate fear. And all I could do was talk her down over the phone and hope some remote alarm company explanation would soothe her.

I walked over to the minibar, yanked out a bottle of water, and gulped it down, the cold liquid doing nothing to extinguish the fire in my gut. I resumed pacing, the frantic rhythm mirroring my internal turmoil.

I needed to do something. Anything. Just lying here, replaying the conversation, was only going to shatter me.

I tore open the closet and pulled out my training gear. A run. That's what I needed. To punish my body, to burn off this frantic energy, to try and sweat out the gnawing anxiety that was consuming me. Maybe, just maybe, if my muscles screamed loud enough, my mind would finally quiet its relentless replay of her fear. Or at least, be tired enough to focus on the immediate, tangible action of running, rather than getting lost in the chilling unknown she'd sensed in that quiet London apartment.

As I dressed, the thought of Eleonora, safe, hopefully, with Izzy, was the only thing that kept me from completely losing it. I had to believe my distant efforts were helping. I had to believe she was truly okay now. But the tight, sickening knot in my stomach refused to loosen.

My fingers flew across the keyboard, typing out a message, not to John, but to someone else. Someone who operated outside the official channels, someone who knew how to find things, and people, without making a fuss. Someone who owed me a favor.

Lando Norris: Need eyes on an apartment building in London. Discreetly. ASAP. Hourly checks. Photo confirmation of exterior, street, all entrances. Looking for anything unusual. Especially if anyone is lingering. Top priority. Details to follow. Call me when you see this.

I hit send. It was all I could do for now. A private, unofficial security detail. It wasn't perfect, but it was something. It was proactive. It was doing something to address the unnamed fear in Eleonora's voice.

The hotel gym, usually a bustling place closer to dawn, was eerily quiet when I got there. The sterile fluorescent lights hummed, casting harsh shadows across the rows of silent machines. It was just me, the rhythmic squeak of my running shoes on the treadmill belt, and the persistent hum of my own worry. I slammed the speed higher, then higher still, until my lungs burned and sweat stung my eyes. Each pounding step was a desperate, guttural attempt to outrun the phantom fear that had clung to Eleonora, to physically exhaust the image of her trembling voice from my mind.

The physical exertion was a temporary reprieve, a blunting of the sharp edges of my concern. But even as my muscles screamed, my mind kept drifting back. Was Izzy awake? Was Eleonora sleeping now? Was Marmalade still purring? These mundane details, which should have been reassuring, were now tainted with the unknown, the subtle 'off-ness' that Eleonora had described.

After a grueling, self-punishing hour, I forced myself off the treadmill, my legs jelly, my shirt soaked. My phone, which I'd left in a locker, buzzed as I retrieved it. My heart leaped, a frantic bird against my ribs. It was the contact.

Contact: Got your message, Lando. On it. Eyes will be on the building within the hour. Will update you with initial findings before 07:00 AM London time. Send details for location now.

A powerful wave of relief, potent and immediate, washed over me, so strong it almost buckled my knees. Finally, concrete action. Something real. I typed out Izzy's address, double-checking it with a feverish intensity before hitting send. At least now, someone real was on the ground. Someone who could actually see what Eleonora only felt.

I still felt useless, a thousand miles away, but I was no longer adrift. I had done something. But the long wait until 7:00 AM London time, 8:00 AM in Monza, stretched out before me, filled with a new, agonizing blend of hope and anxious anticipation.

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The rest of Tuesday dragged on, each hour feeling like an eternity. I went through the motions of team meetings and media obligations, my mind a constant loop of Eleonora, John, and the unnamed threat. The thought of her being accompanied by security wherever she went, even just within London, grated on me. Her entire life, disrupted, her freedom curtailed. And now, she was coming to Monza. The fact that she'd be here, within sight, was a strange comfort.

Wednesday morning dawned, a pale, indifferent light filtering through my hotel window. My body felt heavy, my eyes gritty from lack of sleep, but my mind was sharp with a cold dread. The team schedule demanded my presence, and I forced myself into the routine. Breakfast was bland. Meetings were a drone. My phone, perpetually clutched in my hand or resting just within my peripheral vision, remained silent.

Around 10:00 AM, I found myself walking the legendary Monza circuit, my sneakers scuffing against the aged asphalt. The air was cool, carrying the faint scent of pine from the surrounding park. The track walk was usually a calming ritual, a chance to absorb the nuances of the tarmac, to visualize racing lines, to feel the history of the place under my feet. Today, it was just another stage for my restless mind. My engineers chattered beside me, pointing out apexes, discussing curb heights, but their voices were distant, muffled by the relentless thrum of my own worry.

My eyes kept scanning the long straights, the sweeping curves, but all I could truly see was an image of Eleonora's terrified face, the cold silence of Izzy's apartment. The he she'd instinctively referenced, the not a resident who'd tried to force entry. Who was it? And why?

Suddenly, my phone vibrated in my pocket. A sharp, insistent buzz that cut through the mundane sounds of the track. My heart leaped into my throat. It was John.

I mumbled an excuse to my engineers, gesturing vaguely towards the trees, and quickly stepped off the track, finding a spot near a barrier, away from prying ears. I brought the phone to my ear, my hand clammy.

"John? What's going on? Any news?" I demanded, skipping any preamble.

John's voice, usually so composed, held a tight, grim edge. "Mr. Norris. Yeah. News. And it confirms your fears."

My breath hitched. "Confirms what? Who was it, John? Did you find out?"

A heavy sigh from the other end. "We've identified the individual. He tried to gain access to Miss Richis' apartment building last night. Our London team pulled the security footage from the adjacent properties – he was also there the first night when Miss Kimbel was staying in Miss Richis` apartment. He had a hood up, baseball cap, but he's been identified."

A wave of sickening validation washed over me, immediately followed by a surge of pure, cold fury. Identified him. So it wasn't just Eleonora's anxiety. Someone real was targeting her. The same insidious threat that had caused her so much distress in the past, whatever form it took.

"Who was it, John?" I pressed, my voice low and dangerously quiet. "Give me a name. Is this connected to... to her past?"

"That's for us to handle, Mr. Norris," John said, his voice clipped, sidestepping my question. "What I can tell you is, he's vanished again after the attempt. He was there for a few minutes, tried the codes, then left. Disappeared into the night. We've got our resources working every lead, but he's good at covering his tracks. However," John continued, his voice hardening, "I've escalated Miss Kimbel`s security significantly. We've got a personal detail with them now, 24/7. Both Miss Kimbel and Miss Richi are safe. They will be accompanied by security wherever they go, for their own protection. I've briefed Miss Richi personally."

The news of constant, intrusive security, even if mobile, hit me hard. A grim knot formed in my stomach. Eleonora, under constant surveillance, her movements watched, her privacy invaded. All because of this anonymous bastard. It was for her safety, I knew that, but the thought of her having to live with a constant shadow, a visible reminder of this threat, chafed at me.

"It's for their safety, Mr. Norris. We can't risk it," John said, his voice uncompromising. "We need to know where he is. We need to know his intentions. This is no longer just a 'nuisance.' This is an active, targeted threat."

"You better find him, John," I said, my voice barely a whisper, but loaded with a raw, dangerous intensity I rarely let anyone hear. "And when you do, call me. Immediately. I don't care what time it is. I want to know who is doing this to her."

"I will," John replied, his voice firm. "Now, go focus on your job, Mr. Norris. We've got this end covered. She's safe. We'll talk more tomorrow when Miss Kimbel and I arrive in Monza."

The call ended. My hand tightened around the phone. Of course she was coming to Monza. It was a race weekend, and she was Max's PR. Her job brought her here. But knowing she'd be here, physically present, but arriving with John and a constant security detail, amplified the threat in a way a phone call couldn't. It meant the danger was real enough, persistent enough, that even being at a Grand Prix, usually a secure environment, required extraordinary measures.

I stood there, leaning against the barrier, the sounds of the track walk suddenly assaulting my ears again. Someone. An identified, yet unnamed, threat. The man who had haunted her past was now a direct, tangible threat to her present. "She's safe," John had said. But "safe" under constant protection felt like a heavy burden, a constant reminder of the freedom she'd lost. And my rage, cold and dangerous, had just found its target, even if I still didn't have a name for it.

------------------------------------------------------------------

By the time I was back in my hotel room that evening, the tension in my shoulders was a physical ache. The world outside had darkened, but my thoughts remained stubbornly bright, agitated. Sleep felt impossible. I paced, watched some meaningless TV, scrolled through my phone. The anticipation of tomorrow, of finally seeing Eleonora, of getting concrete answers from John, was a live wire humming under my skin. I needed to see her. I needed to know who this bastard was.

Just as the early hours of Thursday began to creep in, my phone buzzed. It wasn't John. It was Eleonora.

My heart gave a sharp, hopeful jolt. I immediately opened the message.

Eleonora Kimbel: Hey. Just checking in. John filled me in on the increased security for Monza. It's a lot. Bit overwhelming, but knowing I'll be there and under his eye, it helps. Just wanted to say thanks, for everything. For not making me feel crazy. And for making me laugh when I was honestly terrified. See you tomorrow. Try to get some sleep, you'll need it. I'm exhausted already just thinking about the flight.

I stared at her message, the words a lifeline in the suffocating darkness of my room. A small, shaky breath escaped me. She was okay. Or, at least, okay enough to text. "It's a lot. Bit overwhelming." My jaw clenched. I knew it was. Her life, turned upside down because of some anonymous coward. But then, "knowing I'll be there and under his eye, it helps." That was something. A flicker of reassurance that she felt safer knowing John was taking extreme measures.

And "For not making me feel crazy. And for making me laugh when I was honestly terrified." That hit me harder than anything else. It was a raw, vulnerable admission, and a quiet thank you. It meant my babbling about a bouncy bed hadn't just been a distraction; it had been a connection, a small anchor in her terror. It affirmed that our bond, whatever it was, meant something profound to her too.

She was exhausted just thinking about the flight, while I was already frayed from days of frantic worry. The thought of seeing her tomorrow, physically there, even under the shadow of this threat, brought a strange, complex mix of relief and renewed urgency. I'd finally be able to look her in the eye, gauge for myself how she truly was. And I'd finally get answers from John.

My thumb hovered over the keyboard, trying to find the right words. I wanted to tell her everything, how furious I was, how helpless I felt, how worried I'd been. But I kept it brief, focused on what she needed to hear.

Lando Norris: Got your message. Yeah, it's a lot. But glad you're coming, and that John's got you covered. You're definitely not crazy, Eli. Ever. And honestly, hearing you laugh that morning probably saved my sanity. Just focus on getting here safely. See you tomorrow. I'm not sleeping great either, so I'll be awake.

Seconds later, my phone vibrated again.

Eleonora Kimbel: Thank you, Lan. Really. That means more than you know. Knowing you're not judging me, that you believe me, it helps. I'm going to try and get some actual sleep now. See you tomorrow, hopefully less exhausted. Good luck with everything. You got this.

I read her final message, a faint, weary smile touching my lips. "Good luck with everything. You got this." The familiar words, given the circumstances, felt like a promise. A shared understanding. It was far from over, but for the first time since her frantic call, a sliver of genuine calm settled over me. She was coming. She was safe. For now, that would have to be enough. I placed the phone on the bedside table, finally letting my eyes drift closed, a tentative hope flickering in the dark.

August 31^st, 2023

Sleep, when it finally claimed me after Eleonora's message, was not the deep, restorative kind I craved. Instead, it was a restless, churning current that pulled me into a familiar, yet unsettling, landscape.

I was in my old apartment, the one I'd lived in years ago, before the current place. The morning light was soft, filtering through the blinds. The comforting aroma of fresh coffee hung in the air, and the clinking of a spoon against a mug echoed softly. I was sitting at the breakfast bar, scrolling lazily on my phone, a bowl of cereal and a plate with toast before me. Everything felt… normal. Peaceful. The way mornings should be.

Then the door to the apartment opened. Not the main door, but the internal one, as if someone had always been there, just out of sight. And then, he stepped in.

Max Fewtrell.

A sneer was already forming on his lips, an almost imperceptible curl that always hinted at judgment. He walked in as if he owned the place, picking up a piece of toast from my plate, eyeing it with distaste before putting it back down.

"Still having that for breakfast, mate? Really?" he drawled, but his eyes weren't on the toast. They were on me, filled with a dismissive, knowing look. "Honestly, Lando, you need to think about who you associate with. Some people... they're just not right for you. They'll only hold you back."

His voice, laced with its usual casual superiority, began to distort, the words echoing, multiplying. Six years ago. The memory shimmered, vivid and cold. Max, always in my ear, always subtly planting seeds of doubt, pulling me away. "She's just... too much, mate. Too complicated. Too sensitive. You need someone who gets the lifestyle. Someone who doesn't come with... baggage. She's not good for you, Lando. Trust me on this."

The scene shifted, a seamless, dream-like transition. We were standing by the door again, but the air felt charged, expectant. I was about to head out, a flicker of excitement in my chest. I remembered the feeling, the nervous anticipation. "Going to Verstappen's karaoke night, aren't you?" Max's voice was light, but his eyes were hard, a cold, calculating gleam in them. He didn't have to say anything else. Just the look. The knowing smirk that said don't go there. Don't waste your time. You don't want that kind of trouble. It was always there, that subtle pressure, that barely hidden disapproval of anyone who truly mattered to me, anyone who wasn't part of his world.

The room began to twist, the comfortable apartment now feeling claustrophobic, the air thick with his presence. Max was closer now, his face blurring, his voice a low, constant drone. "You know, when she just finally stopped writing to you ? Best thing that could've happened, honestly. Don't know what you were so cut up about. Needed the distraction, mate. Trust me. Sometimes, you just need to let go of the dead weight. It's for the best."

His words were a bitter poison, dismissive of my genuine pain, of the confusion and heartbreak I'd felt when I pushed Eleonora from my life due to his words . He'd never understood, never cared. He'd simply seen it as an opportunity, a problem resolved for me, for him.

The dream pulsed, Max's face looming, his eyes devoid of warmth, filled only with that same, insidious judgment. The normal morning, the comforting coffee, shattered. This wasn't just a memory; it was a re-enactment, a haunting. And the lurking shadow of the unnamed threat from London, the one who tried to force his way into Eleonora's temporary safe haven, suddenly coalesced with the face before me.

My eyes snapped open. The hotel room was dark, quiet, the air conditioning humming. My heart was pounding, a frantic drum against my ribs. It was still the early hours of Thursday morning, long before my alarm. But the cold dread that had gripped me in the dream lingered, sharp and undeniable.

Max.

It wasn't just a lingering shadow from the past. He was the present. And the pieces, finally, sickeningly, clicked into place. The unnamed "he" Eleonora had feared. The "identified individual" John had confirmed. It all pointed to him.

Chapter Text

Eleonora`s POV

August 31^st , 2023

The quiet hum of Izzy's apartment was a stark contrast to the frantic beat of my heart. Lando's last message, You're definitely not crazy, Eli. Ever. And honestly, hearing you laugh that morning probably saved my sanity, echoed in my mind. It was a comfort, a warm ember in the cold dread that had settled over me. His belief, his unwavering presence on the phone, had been a lifeline. He hadn't dismissed my fear as irrational, even when the alarm company had offered a perfectly mundane explanation. That meant everything.

I closed my eyes, trying to coax sleep back, but it remained elusive. The "all clear" from the alarm company and the discovery of Marmalade's hiding spot had brought a wave of relief, but the lingering chill, the unsettling feeling of wrongness, still prickled at the back of my neck. It felt like a phantom limb of fear, still aching even after the perceived threat was gone. John's call earlier, confirming that someone had indeed tried to access the building, had validated my instincts, but also amplified the underlying anxiety. And he had given me a name: Max Fewtrell. That name, now a tangible, active threat, sent a fresh wave of nausea through me.

I must have drifted into a shallow, fitful sleep, because the next thing I knew, the first pale light of dawn was seeping through Izzy's blinds. My body felt heavy, my mind still buzzing with a low-grade hum of apprehension. Izzy was already up, entering the room and sitting beside me.

"Morning, sleepyhead," she mumbled, then her eyes met mine, and the playful tone vanished. "Still feeling it?"

I nodded, pushing myself upright. "A bit. More like a hangover from fear now. And the name... it just makes it all so real."

"Yeah," Izzy said, her jaw grim. "John filled me in too. That little ferret. I swear, if I ever get my hands on him..." She trailed off, a dangerous glint in her eyes. "Well, good news, I suppose. Your new shadow has arrived."

My stomach clenched. "Shadow?"

"Yeah. He's downstairs. Apparently, John Terry is back on duty for you, and he's assigned a new bodyguard specifically for me. So, you and I are now a package deal with personal security, twenty-four-seven. Wherever we go." She gestured vaguely with her hand. "John said it's 'escalated security' because Max Fewtrell is an 'active, targeted threat.' Sounds like fun, doesn't it? Like living in a Bond movie, only less glamorous and with more early mornings."

The words hit me with a dull thud. Active, targeted threat. So it wasn't just a one-off. And the security wasn't just for the apartment; it was for us. My hard-won independence, the illusion of control I'd built, felt like it was crumbling around me.

"He's not kidding, Eleonora," Izzy said, seeing the look on my face. "John is downstairs, and there's another man built like a brick wall currently having a very polite conversation with my building's concierge. And another one, just as large, sitting in a black car outside. This isn't a suggestion. This is serious."

A sigh escaped me. "I know. I just... I hate it. I hate feeling like a target. Like I'm being watched." The irony wasn't lost on me, given the listening device found outside my own apartment.

"I know, Eli," Izzy said softly, reaching out to squeeze my hand. "But it's for your safety. And mine, apparently. Think of it as having your own army of personal bodyguards. Like Beyoncé, but with less glitter and more grim determination." She tried for a joke, but her eyes held a serious concern.

The morning unfolded with a strange, unsettling efficiency. We showered, dressed, and packed our minimal bags under the watchful, yet discreet, eyes of the security detail. The men were professional, silent, their presence a constant, heavy weight in the apartment. They moved with us, a silent perimeter, as we made our way to the waiting car.

The journey to the private airfield was swift and quiet. I glanced out the window, seeing the familiar London streets pass by, but they felt different now, imbued with a new sense of vulnerability. At the airfield, my sleek private jet waited, its engines already a low thrum. John was there, standing by the steps, his face grim but his posture alert.

"Miss Kimbel, Miss Richi," he greeted, his eyes sweeping over us, then the surrounding area. "Everything in order?"

"As ordered, John," I replied, my voice flat. "Just... a lot to take in."

"I understand," he said, his gaze softening slightly as he met my eyes. "But it's necessary. We're not taking any chances. We'll be in Monza within a few hours. The security there will be briefed and ready. You'll be safe."

The flight was a blur. I tried to work, to distract myself with emails and reports, but my mind kept drifting. Max Fewtrell. The name itself felt like a curse. His presence, even from a distance, was like a poison seeping back into my life. And then there was Lando. The thought of seeing him, of being in the same space, brought a nervous flutter. Our last conversation had been so raw, so intimate in its shared fear. How would it feel to see him now, with this new layer of threat hanging over everything?

Hours later, the plane began its descent, the landscape below transforming into the familiar green and grey of the Italian countryside. Monza. The Temple of Speed. Arriving here should fill me with a thrill and the anticipation of the race weekend. Sadly, it was tinged with a different kind of tension.

As we disembarked, the warm Italian air hit me, a stark contrast to the lingering chill in London. The tarmac in the paddock was already bustling with activity, team personnel, media, the low rumble of trucks. But what struck me most was the immediate, seamless presence of more security. They were everywhere, subtle but undeniable, blending into the background, yet always there. My personal detail from London merged with a new team, their eyes constantly scanning, assessing.

One of the guards immediately peeled off, heading towards the hotel to secure our rooms. John walked beside me, his presence a solid anchor. We moved through the controlled chaos of the paddock. Isabella was escorted by her dedicated bodyguard, heading towards the Ferrari garage, likely to meet Charles. My gaze instinctively swept the crowd, searching, almost against my will, for a glimpse of him. Max Verstappen's garage is in sight, a hive of activity.

And then I saw him.

Lando was standing near the McLaren garage, talking to an engineer, his back to me. Even from a distance, his posture conveyed a restless energy, a coiled tension. He ran a hand through his hair, a familiar gesture of thought. He turned, as if sensing my presence, and his eyes, usually so bright and full of mischief, locked onto mine.

For a moment, the bustling paddock, the security detail, the looming threat, all faded away. It was just us. His eyes, wide with a mixture of concern and relief, held mine across the expanse. And in that shared gaze, I saw the echo of our late-night call, the raw fear, the unexpected connection. He knew. He knew something was truly wrong. And he was here.

I offered him a small, weary smile, a silent acknowledgment of our shared moment, a brief, private communication across the busy paddock. His expression softened in return, a hint of his usual warmth breaking through the concern. Then, with a nod to John, I turned my attention back to the path ahead. My duties called.

"Coffee, John?" I asked, my voice a little steadier than I felt, already walking towards the Red Bull hospitality area, the familiar scent of espresso and pastries a welcome anchor in the chaos. John, ever vigilant, fell into step beside me, his eyes constantly sweeping our surroundings. The security detail, a silent, unobtrusive presence, moved with us, a fluid perimeter in the bustling heart of Formula 1. The track was a place of work, a place of public appearance, and despite the lingering threat, it was where I needed to be.

The Red Bull hospitality was already buzzing, a hive of activity even on a Thursday. I navigated through the familiar faces of team members and media, finding a quiet corner with a freshly brewed espresso. John took a position a few feet away, his back to the wall, his eyes subtly scanning the room. I took a grateful sip of the strong coffee, letting the warmth spread through me.

"Eleonora."

I looked up to see Max Verstappen approaching, a half-smile on his face, a Red Bull can in his hand. He looked as sharp and focused as ever, his usual intensity already dialed up for the race weekend.

"Max," I greeted, managing a more genuine smile than I'd thought possible. "Good to see you. Ready for the chaos?"

He chuckled, pulling up a chair opposite me. "As ready as I'll ever be. More importantly, are you ready? You look a bit... tired. Long flight?" His gaze was direct, perceptive, cutting through my practiced composure.

I gave a noncommittal shrug. "Something like that. London was... eventful. But I'm here now. And yes, I'm ready. Let's talk media strategy for the weekend. We've got the usual pre-weekend press conference this afternoon, then the fan event tomorrow. Anything specific you want to push, or avoid?"

Max leaned forward, his expression shifting to full business mode. "Right. So, obviously, we're coming off a strong run. The focus will be on maintaining momentum, but without sounding arrogant. I want to emphasize the team's hard work, the progress we've made. No 'we're unbeatable' talk, even if it feels like it sometimes." He gave a wry grin. "It's Monza, so the Tifosi will be out in force. Expect questions about Ferrari's home advantage, the pressure. Just keep it respectful, acknowledge their passion, but pivot back to our own performance. Standard stuff, really."

"Agreed," I said, pulling out my tablet. "I've drafted some key messages. For the press conference, stick to the 'one race at a time' mantra, highlight the unique challenges of Monza, slip in a mention of the incredible support from the fans – even the non-Red Bull ones. Keep the focus on the car's performance on high-speed tracks, without giving away too much on setup."

Max nodded, his fingers tapping rhythmically on his can. "And the questions about the championship? They'll try to bait me into saying it's a done deal."

"Deflect," I advised, my voice firm. "Always deflect. 'Too early to say,' 'focus on the next race,' 'anything can happen in Formula 1.' You know the drill. Emphasize the team's dedication, the continuous development. Make it about the collective effort, not just your driving."

He sighed dramatically. "So, no complaining about track limits, then?"

I allowed myself a small smile. "Preferably not. Not publicly, anyway. Save that for the debriefs."

"Understood," he said, pushing himself back, a more relaxed posture now that the work discussion was done. "Anything else I should be aware of?" His eyes flickered to John, then back to me, a subtle question in his gaze. He was sharp, he noticed things.

I shook my head, keeping my expression neutral. "Just the usual Monza madness. High speed, high stakes. We'll stick to the plan. And John will be close by, as always." I gave a slight nod towards John, who remained a silent, watchful presence.

Max held my gaze for a moment longer, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes, before he finally nodded. "Okay, Eli. Good. Let's do this." He stood up, ready to face the demands of his day.

The afternoon was a blur of interviews, press conferences, and team obligations. I moved through it all on autopilot, my professional mask firmly in place. Max was, as always, a media pro – direct, confident, and sticking to the agreed-upon messaging. Everything went smoothly, no unexpected curveballs, no awkward questions about his personal life or, thankfully, about mine. The security detail was a constant, almost invisible, presence, their movements fluid and unobtrusive. It was strangely comforting, knowing they were there.

As the media duties wound down, John and I started making our way back towards the parking lot. The paddock was still bustling, but the intensity was beginning to wane as teams wrapped up their Thursday schedules.

"Well, that was a success," I commented to John, allowing a small sigh of relief. "No fires to put out, no PR disasters. Max was on point."

"Indeed, Miss Kimbel," John replied, his tone approving. "He handled himself well. And the security detail reported no incidents. All clear."

"Good," I murmured, though the phrase still carried a faint echo of the previous night's false alarm.

My phone buzzed. It was Izzy.

Isabella Richi: Dinner with Charles tonight! So you're on your own, babe. Don't wait up! Enjoy the quiet. Or, you know, John's scintillating conversation.

I chuckled softly, a genuine smile finally breaking through. "Looks like Isabella won't be joining us for dinner," I informed John. "She's with Charles."

"Understood, Miss Kimbel," John acknowledged, already adjusting his mental plan. "We'll proceed directly to the hotel then. Your suite has been thoroughly swept and secured. One of the new team members is already on post there. I'll join you after I check in with the rest of the detail. You can get some rest."

"Perfect," I said, a wave of exhaustion suddenly hitting me. A hot shower and a quiet room sounded like heaven.

We reached the parking lot, the black car waiting. As I settled into the back seat, John pulled out his phone, already talking in low, clipped tones to the security team. I leaned my head against the cool window, watching the last of the paddock activity fade from view. The day had been a success, professionally. But the underlying tension, the knowledge of Max Fewtrell lurking somewhere, still hummed beneath the surface. I closed my eyes, anticipating the shower, hoping it would wash away not just the day's grime, but also the lingering unease.

In the hotel suite, the quiet was a luxury. The air was cool, the room impeccably clean, a stark contrast to the chaotic energy of the paddock. After a long, hot shower, I emerged feeling marginally more human, wrapped in a hotel robe. I called room service, ordering a simple pasta dish and a glass of red wine, craving something comforting and familiar.

John was already by the door, his phone still pressed to his ear, speaking in low, clipped tones. He gave a nod as I passed, his eyes scanning the room even as he listened intently. He ended the call just as the room service cart arrived. He supervised the delivery, his gaze sharp, before giving a curt nod to the waiter.

"Everything is in order, Miss Kimbel," he stated, his voice calm and reassuring. "The suite is secure. One of the team is on post just outside your door, and another is covering the floor. I'll be in the adjacent room, should you require anything at all. Just call."

"Thank you, John," I said, genuinely grateful for his unwavering vigilance.

He gave a slight bow of his head, then exited, the door clicking softly shut behind him. The silence that followed was profound, but this time, it felt safe.

I settled onto the sofa, the coffee table pulled close. The pasta was simple, exactly what I needed. I picked up the remote, scrolling through Netflix, craving a complete mental escape. My finger paused on “Pride and Prejudice” with Keira Knightley. Perfect. Something familiar, romantic, and utterly devoid of real-world threats.

I was halfway through, lost in the witty banter and longing glances of Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy, the gentle hum of the film filling the quiet suite, when a soft, hesitant knock sounded on the door. My heart leaped, a sudden, unwelcome jolt of adrenaline. The movie paused on screen, the romantic tension replaced by an immediate, chilling apprehension.

Through the heavy wood of the door, I heard the guard's voice, muffled but clear. "Miss Kimbel, Mr. Lando Norris wants to see you. He is on the list of approved visitors. Would you like him to come in?"

My breath hitched. Lando. Here? Now? The surprise was so absolute it momentarily eclipsed the lingering fear. My mind raced, a chaotic jumble of thoughts. He was here, at my door, in the middle of the night. He'd just seen me hours ago. What could he possibly want? A flicker of warmth, an undeniable pull, warred with the exhaustion and the ever-present anxiety. I was in my hotel robe, halfway through a comfort movie, utterly unprepared. But then, the memory of his unwavering voice on the phone, his belief when I was truly terrified, solidified my decision. He was the one person who had understood, who hadn't dismissed me.

"Yes," I called out, my voice a little breathless, but firm. "Yes, please. Let him in."

The door opened, revealing Lando. He stood there, a little rumpled, his hair slightly messy, but his eyes, usually so bright and full of mischief, were serious, searching. He wore a simple dark t-shirt and track pants, clearly having come straight from his own room. The guard, a silent, imposing figure, stepped aside, then discreetly positioned himself just outside the door, leaving us in a bubble of unexpected privacy.

"Hey," he said, his voice soft, almost hesitant, his gaze sweeping over me, taking in the robe, the half-eaten dinner, the paused movie. "Sorry to bother you so late. I just... wanted to check on you. See how you were doing. And if you wanted some company." His eyes held a deep, genuine concern that bypassed all my defenses.

In that moment, seeing him standing there, his worry so palpable, a wave of realization washed over me. I hadn't truly acknowledged it until now, but the past few days, the fear, the isolation, the constant vigilance – I had missed him. More than I cared to admit. Missed his easy presence, his ability to cut through the tension, even his ridiculous jokes.

A small, genuine smile, unbidden, touched my lips. "Lando Norris," I said, a hint of my usual wit returning. "Always the knight in shining armor, even at this hour. You can join me, but only if you promise not to complain about my movie choice. It's “Pride and Prejudice”."

He chuckled, the sound a warm, welcome balm in the quiet room. His shoulders relaxed slightly, a hint of his usual mischievous glint returning to his eyes. "”Pride and Prejudice”, huh? Well, as long as there are no sudden plot twists involving aliens, I think I can manage. I've endured worse. Like, you know, watching George Russell explain tire degradation for twenty minutes. So, bring on the Regency romance. Just... don't expect me to pick a favorite Bennet sister. I'm more of a 'fast cars and loud noises' kind of guy." He took a step further into the room, his gaze still holding mine, a silent question in his eyes.

I gestured to the empty space beside me on the couch, pulling a throw pillow into my lap. He settled down, the sofa dipping slightly under his weight. The scent of his perfume, mixed with something clean and faintly metallic from the track, filled the air around me. I unpaused the movie, the familiar strains of the orchestral score filling the room once more.

For a few minutes, we watched in comfortable silence, the gentle hum of the film a backdrop to the unspoken connection between us. Then, a sigh escaped Lando.

"Okay, hold on," he said, leaning forward slightly, his brow furrowed in concentration. "So, this Darcy guy... he's rich, right? And he's being a complete snob. But then he's also, like, secretly good? Is that the vibe? Because honestly, he just seems rude. Why does she even like him?"

I laughed softly, a genuine, unforced sound. "It's a classic, Lando. He's supposed to be rude at first. It's the 'pride' part. He's arrogant, socially awkward, and he judges everyone based on their social standing. But then, he has a hidden depth, a sense of honor, and he's actually quite devoted. It's about overcoming first impressions and societal expectations."

"So, he's like a really fast car with a terrible paint job and a dodgy exhaust note, but then you realize it's got a V12 engine and perfect handling?" he mused, trying to relate it to his world.

"Something like that," I agreed, amused. "Except the 'paint job' is his terrible manners, and the 'engine' is his good heart. And the 'dodgy exhaust note' is his inability to make polite conversation."

"Right, right," he nodded, still looking thoughtful. "So she's trying to fix his exhaust note?"

"She's trying to make him realize his exhaust note is terrible and that he needs to fix it himself," I corrected, a playful glint in my eye. "It's a journey of self-discovery for both of them, really. He learns to be less proud, and she learns to be less prejudiced."

"Ah, the title!" he exclaimed, a sudden light of understanding in his eyes. "Okay, I get the title now. So, when does he stop being a jerk? Because honestly, I'm not seeing it yet. He just told her friend that she's not pretty enough to dance with. That's a red flag, El. A massive red flag."

"Patience, Norris, patience," I teased, nudging him gently with my elbow. "It's a slow burn. And that's part of the charm. It's about the evolution of character, the subtle shifts. Not everything is a sudden overtake on the last lap."

He grumbled good-naturedly. "Fine. But if he doesn't apologize properly by the end, I'm going to send him a strongly worded email. And maybe a picture of a perfectly maintained exhaust."

I shook my head, smiling. The easy banter, the ridiculousness of his comments, was exactly what I needed. For the first time all day, the heavy weight of Max Fewtrell, the constant vigilance of the security, faded into the background. Here, in the quiet of the hotel room, with Lando beside me, even a period drama felt like a sanctuary.

"And what about this Bingley guy?" Lando asked, pointing at the screen as Mr. Bingley's cheerful, slightly naive face appeared. "He seems alright. Why isn't she just going for him? He's rich and he's not a complete... well, you know."

"Ah, Bingley," I said, taking a sip of wine. "He's the easy choice. Charming, agreeable, no rough edges. But sometimes, the easy path isn't the most fulfilling. Elizabeth is drawn to a challenge, to someone who stimulates her mind, even if he frustrates her. She wants substance, not just superficial pleasantness."

"So, like choosing a tricky corner over a long, boring straight?" Lando offered, a thoughtful frown on his face.

"Precisely," I confirmed, nodding. "The straight gets you there, but the corner makes you a better driver. And a better person, in this case."

"Deep," he murmured, then squinted at the screen. "Wait, so the mother is just obsessed with getting them married off? Is that all she does?"

"Pretty much," I sighed, a touch of genuine exasperation in my voice. "In that era, for women, marriage was often the only path to financial security and social standing. So, Mrs. Bennet's entire existence revolves around securing advantageous matches for her daughters. It's a matter of survival, really, albeit a highly dramatic one."

"So, like a team principal who's only focused on getting points, no matter what?" he quipped, a grin spreading across his face. "Just constantly pushing, pushing, pushing, even if it means annoying everyone around them?"

I burst out laughing. "Exactly! Except Mrs. Bennet doesn't have a multi-million dollar budget, just a lot of nerves and a very loud voice."

"Makes sense," he said, leaning back into the sofa, a comfortable silence settling between us again. He wasn't fully understanding the nuances of 19th-century English society, but he was trying, translating it into his own world, and that was endearing. The warmth of his presence, the easy flow of our conversation, was slowly, steadily, dissolving the last remnants of the day's tension. It was a strange, unexpected comfort, watching a classic romance with a Formula 1 driver, but it was exactly what I needed.

The final scene unfolded, the sweeping shot of Elizabeth and Darcy walking through the misty field, his declaration of love, her acceptance. The credits began to roll, the music swelling. Lando remained silent beside me, his gaze fixed on the screen, a strangely thoughtful expression on his face.

"So," he said, finally breaking the silence, his voice quiet. "That's it? They just... walk off into the fog? No big kiss? No celebratory champagne?" He turned to me, his eyebrows raised in genuine curiosity. "That's the big romantic payoff? A walk?"

I smiled, a soft, almost wistful feeling in my chest. "It's more than a walk, Lan. It's everything that led up to it. It's the understanding, the acceptance, the realization that they truly see each other, flaws and all. It's the quiet promise of a future, built on honesty and mutual respect, not just societal pressure or initial attraction."

He hummed, still looking at the now-black screen. "So, no dramatic overtakes, then. Just... a perfectly executed pit stop, where everything finally clicks?"

I chuckled. "Something like that. It's the satisfaction of a clean race, where you've earned every inch of the track, and the victory feels all the more meaningful because of the challenges you've overcome." I paused, then added, a little more seriously, "It's about finding peace, I suppose. With yourself, and with someone else."

He turned his head slowly, his eyes meeting mine in the dim light of the room. The playful glint was gone, replaced by an intensity that mirrored my own. "Peace," he repeated softly, the word hanging between us. "Yeah. I get that." His gaze dropped to my hands, clasped in my lap, then back to my eyes. The unspoken weight of the past few days, the fear, the threat, the shared vulnerability of the phone call, hung in the air. "You found your peace, El?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper, but loaded with genuine concern.

I hesitated, my gaze dropping from his. The truth was, I had. I had found a fragile, hard-won peace. But the events of the last few days, the name Max Fewtrell, the constant security—it had shaken that foundation. It felt like a delicate glass sculpture, painstakingly pieced together, now with a hairline crack running through it.

"I... I was getting there," I admitted, my voice quiet, almost a whisper. I looked back at him, meeting his gaze honestly. "It's been a long road. And I thought I was there, truly. But then... last night. And then John telling me who it was. It just... it makes you realize how easily it can all be disrupted. How fragile it is." I ran a hand through my hair, a weary gesture. "So, 'found' might be too strong a word right now. Maybe 'found, and then had it briefly stolen, and now I'm trying to find it again, with a few more bodyguards this time.'" I tried for a light tone at the end, but the underlying tremor was still there.

Lando listened, his expression unwavering, his gaze empathetic. He nodded slowly, a thoughtful frown creasing his brow. "Yeah," he said, his voice low, understanding. "I get that. It's like... you're driving a perfect lap, everything's clicking, and then suddenly there's a yellow flag, or a puncture you didn't see coming. It throws everything off. You have to reset, find your rhythm again, but the track's still the same, just... got a new obstacle you didn't expect." He leaned back, a hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. "It's not fair, El. That you have to deal with this. That someone can just... disrupt your life like that." His voice held a quiet anger, a protective edge I hadn't heard from him before. "But you're strong. You always have been. And you'll find it again. And we'll make sure that obstacle gets cleared, permanently."

We stared at each other, the air thick with unspoken emotions. The weight of his words, the quiet intensity in his eyes, pulled me in. It was a moment of profound connection, a shared understanding that transcended the witty banter and the comfort movie. He believed in me. He was here.

Then, a sudden thought, a desperate need for a different kind of distraction, sparked in my mind. "Hey," I said, breaking the silence, a mischievous glint in my eye. "Do you want to game on my laptop? I suppose you have yours, too."

Lando's eyes widened, a flicker of genuine surprise crossing his face. "Game?" he repeated, a hint of giddiness already creeping into his voice. "Seriously? I thought you said you'd probably never play with me again after that last disastrous Mario Kart session."

"Well, desperate times, Norris," I retorted, shrugging. "And my competitive spirit needs an outlet that doesn't involve actual life-threatening situations. What do you have in mind? I've got a few things installed."

His grin widened, a boyish excitement lighting up his features. "What kind of games do you have? Please tell me you have something decent. Not, like, a farming simulator."

"Oh, I have something much better than a farming simulator," I promised, a wicked smile playing on my lips. "I have Fortnite."

Lando's jaw dropped, then he let out a whoop of laughter. "Fortnite?! No way! You play Fortnite? You're going to be absolutely terrible at it, Kimbel. You're too... graceful. Too strategic. You'll probably try to negotiate with the storm."

"Hey!" I protested, playfully swatting his arm. "Don't underestimate me, Norris! I might surprise you. I've been known to pull off a few unexpected victories. Unlike some people who crash out on the first lap."

"Ouch," he feigned hurt, pressing a hand to his chest. "Low blow, El. Low blow. But fine. You're on. I'll even let you have the first kill. Just so you don't cry." He was already pushing himself off the couch, a spring in his step. "I'll be back in two minutes. Don't you dare start without me!"

He bounded out of the room, leaving the door ajar, and I heard him shout down the hallway, presumably to the guard, "Just grabbing my laptop, mate! Back in a sec!"

I shook my head, smiling. The tension that had been a constant companion for days had finally, blessedly, begun to dissipate. This was it. This was the Lando I remembered, the one who could make me forget everything else, even for a little while.

A few minutes later, he was back, practically vibrating with excitement, his gaming laptop tucked under his arm. We quickly got set up, connecting to the hotel's Wi-Fi, which, surprisingly, seemed robust enough for online gaming.

"Okay, what's your username, then, El?" he asked, tapping away at his keyboard. "Mine's L4ndo_Norris, obviously. Don't judge."

"No judgment here," I laughed. "Mine's Ariaina. A-R-I-A-I-N-A."

He paused, his fingers still over the keys. His blue eyes, filled with a soft adoration I hadn't seen before, met mine. "Ariaina? That's... interesting." He continued, his voice gentle, curious. "What's it stand for? Is it, like, some ancient warrior princess or something?"

I hesitated for a moment, a small, private smile touching my lips. "Something like that," I said, my voice softer. "It's a combination of two names. 'Aria,' for the song, the melody, something beautiful and free. And 'Ina,' which means 'mother' or 'origin' in some languages. It's... it's about finding my own voice, my own strength, and creating my own path. It's a reminder that even when things feel chaotic, I can still find my own rhythm. My own peace."

He listened carefully, his eyes never leaving mine, a warmth spreading through them, deepening the adoration. "Okay, Ari," he said, the new nickname rolling off his tongue naturally, a soft, intimate sound. "Game on. Let's see what you got, El."

We launched into a match, the familiar, vibrant world of Fortnite instantly engulfing us. The initial moments were a chaotic scramble for weapons and shields, punctuated by Lando's excited exclamations.

"Left, left! There's a shotgun, El! Grab it!"

"I see it, I see it! You take the AR, Norris, you're better with the long range!"

Our first few encounters were a mix of fumbling and frantic shooting, but the competitive spirit was immediate.

"No, no, no! You just walked right into that trap, you absolute donut!" Lando groaned, watching my character get eliminated by an unseen opponent.

"Hey! You were supposed to be covering my flank, L4ndo_Norris! You got distracted by a shiny loot chest, didn't you?" I shot back, already queuing us up for another match.

"Maybe," he admitted, a sheepish grin in his voice. "But you just stood there! Like a target dummy! You need to build, El! Build, build, build!"

"I'm more of a 'run and gun' kind of player, thank you very much," I retorted, though I started instinctively hitting the build button in the next game.

As the matches piled up, our banter became a rapid-fire exchange, a seamless blend of strategic calls and playful insults, just like we were teenagers.

"Nice shot, El! You actually hit something!"

"Oh, shut up, Norris! That was pure skill! Now watch my back, I'm pushing this squad!"

We found a surprising rhythm, covering each other, calling out enemy positions, celebrating small victories with whoops and cheers. The intensity of the game, the need for quick reflexes and teamwork, was a potent distraction. The hours melted away, the outside world, the threats, the security, all fading into the background. It was just us, two competitive idiots, lost in a virtual world.

"Okay, okay, you actually got that clutch, I'll give you that," Lando conceded after I managed to take down the final opponent in a particularly tense standoff. "You're not as bad as I thought, Kimbel. For someone who probably analyzes every single pixel before moving."

"And you're not as chaotic as I thought, Norris," I countered, a genuine laugh bubbling up. "You actually listened to my calls. Most of the time."

"Only because I knew you'd yell at me if I didn't," he joked, but there was a warmth in his voice. "This is actually... really fun, El. Like, proper fun. I didn't know you were into this."

"Didn't think you'd be into “Pride and Prejudice” either, but here we are," I said, smiling. "Turns out we have more in common than just a shared history of dealing with absolute morons."

He laughed, a loud, uninhibited sound that filled the room. "Yeah, turns out. This is actually pretty cool. Another thing we're good at, eh? Besides, you know, being incredibly charming."

"Oh, please," I scoffed, rolling my eyes playfully. "Don't let it go to your head, Norris. You still have a lot to learn about not falling off ledges."

"Hey! That was a tactical retreat!" he protested, a wide grin on his face. "And you still need to learn how to build a decent fort. Your walls look like they've been put up by a toddler."

"My walls are artistic," I declared, feigning indignation. "They're designed to confuse the enemy with their sheer lack of structural integrity."

He snorted. "Right. 'Artistic.' Just like your driving in Mario Kart. You're lucky I'm a patient teacher, El."

"And you're lucky I'm a forgiving student, Lan," I retorted, nudging him with my elbow. "Now, are we going for one more round, or are you going to admit defeat gracefully?"

He stretched, a comfortable yawn escaping him. "As tempting as it is to utterly dominate you one last time, I think my brain needs a break before practice tomorrow. And yours probably does too, El."

I nodded, feeling the weariness finally settling in, a pleasant exhaustion after the mental and emotional rollercoaster of the day. "Yeah, probably. Thanks for... well, for everything tonight. It helped."

He turned to me, his gaze serious again, the playful mask dropping. "Anytime, El. Seriously. I mean it." He reached out, his fingers gently brushing a stray curl from my forehead, tucking it behind my ear. His touch was light, tender, sending a shiver down my spine. His eyes, warm and deep, held mine for a long moment, a silent conversation passing between us. My heart swelled, a mix of love and a yearning desire that was too raw, too new, to articulate. His own eyes mirrored the intensity, a silent acknowledgment of the unspoken connection that had deepened between us tonight.

Then, with a soft, almost imperceptible sigh, he leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to my forehead. It was chaste, respectful, yet it spoke volumes. A promise. A comfort. A silent declaration.

"Goodnight, Ari," he whispered, his voice a low rumble against my skin.

"Goodnight, Lando," I whispered back, my voice thick with emotion.

He pulled back, his hand lingering for a moment before dropping away. He stood up, picked up his laptop, and with one last, lingering look that promised more conversations, more shared moments, he walked to the door. The guard outside gave him a nod, and Lando slipped out, the door clicking softly shut behind him.

I sat there on the couch, the silence of the suite now feeling vast, but no longer empty. The warmth of his kiss still tingled on my forehead, and the echo of his voice, calling me "Ari," resonated in my chest. My heart was full, overflowing with a quiet love and a fierce, burgeoning desire. For now, it was enough. More than enough.

September 1^st , 2023

The morning light, filtering through the heavy hotel curtains, felt softer, less harsh than the previous day. I stretched, a genuine, unburdened stretch, a rare luxury after the emotional turmoil. The lingering warmth on my forehead, the memory of Lando's quiet presence and our ridiculous gaming session, brought a faint smile to my lips. For a few hours last night, the world had shrunk to just us, a virtual battleground, and the ghost of Max Fewtrell had been banished.

I went through my morning routine with a lighter step. John was already outside my door, a silent, reassuring presence. We exchanged brief greetings, and he confirmed the hotel sweep had been uneventful. The new security detail was already seamlessly integrated, their movements efficient and discreet. It was still an adjustment, having constant shadows, but the professionalism of John's team made it bearable.

The drive to the circuit was quick, the early morning air crisp. The paddock was already a hive of activity, the low thrum of engines being warmed up a familiar symphony. I headed straight to the Red Bull hospitality, grabbing a quick, strong espresso and a pastry.

Soon, it was time for Free Practice 1. I made my way to the Red Bull garage, the scent of fuel and hot tires filling the air. The screens around the garage flickered with telemetry data and live timing. Max was already in the car, helmet on, focused. I watched the session unfold, my eyes glued to the timing screens.

Max was immediately quick, topping the session with a time of 1:22.657. He looked comfortable, in control, as expected. Carlos, in the Ferrari, was a close second, followed by Sergio Perez. My focus, however, drifted a little further down the leaderboard. Lando finished FP1 in P10, with a time of 1:23.441. A decent start, but I knew he'd be pushing for more. There was a slight pang of concern, a quiet hope that he'd find the pace he needed.

After FP1, there was a quick debrief with Max and Christian Horner. Max was calm, analytical, discussing the car's balance and tire degradation. My role was to capture his key insights, prepare for any media questions that might arise from the session's results, and ensure his messaging remained consistent.

Lunch was a hurried affair in the hospitality area, a blur of conversations and planning for the afternoon. I saw Izzy briefly, escorted by her bodyguard, heading towards the Ferrari hospitality. She gave me a quick, knowing wink – probably still buzzing from her dinner with Charles.

As the afternoon approached, the energy in the paddock ramped up again for Free Practice 2. This session was often more indicative of true pace, as teams pushed harder and experimented with qualifying and race setups.

I watched intently as the cars roared past, a visceral thrill despite the underlying tension. Max was pushing, but the Ferraris, on their home turf, seemed to have found something extra. Carlos truly shone in FP2, setting the fastest time of 1:21.355. The Tifosi in the grandstands erupted with a roar that vibrated through the garage floor. It was a strong statement from Ferrari.

Then, my eyes darted to the McLaren times. Lando delivered a strong performance, finishing FP2 in P3 with a time of 1:21.662. A significant improvement from FP1, and a clear sign of McLaren's potential. Max, despite his earlier dominance, ended up in P5 in FP2.

A quiet sense of pride, completely unprofessional, bloomed in my chest for Lando. He'd found his rhythm. He'd pushed. And he was clearly in contention.

The post-FP2 media scrum was intense, especially with Sainz topping the charts. I worked to manage Max's interviews, ensuring he remained composed and focused on the team's data, acknowledging Ferrari's pace without giving them too much credit. The security detail remained an ever-present, discreet shield, allowing me to focus on my duties without constantly looking over my shoulder.

As the sun began to dip below the horizon, casting long shadows across the track, the paddock slowly emptied. My professional day was done. The race was still two days away, but the intensity of the weekend had already begun.

Back in the hotel suite, the quiet was a welcome relief. John was already there, checking the perimeter one last time before settling into the adjacent room. The day had been a whirlwind of work and constant vigilance. But amidst it all, there had been moments of unexpected lightness: the memory of Lando's laughter, the shared gaming, the comfortable banter. It was a strange duality, living with the constant threat of Max Fewtrell, yet finding pockets of genuine connection and peace. The fragile glass sculpture of my life was still cracked, but tonight, with the memory of Lando, it felt a little less likely to shatter.

My phone buzzed, pulling me from my thoughts. It was Isabella.

Isabella Richi: Hey! What did you get up to last night? Spill! Charles was being disgustingly cute, so I'm assuming you had a boring night in with room service and your bodyguard.

I smiled, shaking my head. Trust Izzy to be direct.

Eleonora Kimbel: Room service was excellent, thank you very much. And the company was surprisingly competitive. Let's just say my Fortnite skills have been severely tested.

A beat later, her reply came.

Isabella Richi: FORTNITE?! No way! You played Fortnite?! With Lando?! Ugh. I swear, that boy just appears out of nowhere. Did he try to convince you his driving is better than his building? Because we all know that's a lie. Hope you wiped the floor with him, Eli.

I chuckled, picturing her rolling her eyes.

Eleonora Kimbel: He did not rage quit, unfortunately. And let's just say the score was balanced. He's surprisingly good at building, which is annoying. And yes, it was actually really fun. A much-needed distraction.

Isabella Richi: A distraction from what, exactly, Eli? The crushing weight of your responsibilities? The existential dread of adulting? Or perhaps the sudden realization that you're actually having fun with a certain McLaren driver? Don't think I didn't notice that little smile you just gave your phone. You're so predictable, Kimbel.

I rolled my eyes, a genuine laugh escaping me.

Eleonora Kimbel: You're insufferable, Richi. And yes, a distraction from all of the above. Especially the existential dread. And no, I was smiling at the sheer absurdity of your text. Now, are you going to join me for coffee tomorrow, or are you too busy being disgustingly cute with Leclerc?

Isabella Richi: Coffee! Yes! Paddock, 9 AM? I need to hear all the gory details of your gaming prowess. And maybe I'll even bring Charles along, just to annoy you. See you then, nerd.

I sent a laughing emoji in reply, then put my phone down. A coffee with Izzy, a chance to debrief properly, sounded perfect.

I settled back into the sofa, the silence of the suite once again wrapping around me. The day had been long, but last night and this evening had both ended on a high note. The gaming with Lando, the easy laughter, the unexpected intimacy of our conversation – it had been a balm to my frayed nerves. It felt like a small, normal piece of my life had been reclaimed, even amidst the chaos.

I started to clear the room service tray, stacking the plates and cutlery. As I picked up the half-empty wine glass, something caught my eye. Tucked carefully beneath the base of the glass, almost perfectly concealed by the condensation ring, was a small, folded square of paper. It wasn't the hotel's stationery. It was a vibrant, almost neon orange. Papaya orange.

My heart gave a curious little flutter, more of anticipation than fear. The color was unmistakable. Lando.

I picked it up, my fingers brushing against the smooth, slightly glossy surface. It was a miniature, perfectly folded replica of a McLaren pit board. On one side, in tiny, neat print, were the words: "P3, good job, keep pushing." And on the other, hand-drawn with surprising detail, was a stick figure of a tiny, victorious character with a helmet, holding a tiny trophy, next to a much taller, slightly exasperated stick figure with a headset. Beneath them, scrawled in Lando's distinctive, slightly messy handwriting, were the words: "For Ariaina. You're not half bad. - L4ndo_Norris."

A genuine, wide smile spread across my face. It was so utterly Lando. So thoughtful, so playful, and so him. He'd taken the time, probably while I was in the shower, to draw this, to leave this small, personal token. And he'd managed to slip it onto the room service tray without anyone noticing. Not because security was lax, but because it was so small, so innocuous, and so perfectly integrated into the delivery. It wasn't a threat; it was a secret message, a quiet cheer from a friend who understood.

The tiny pit board felt warm in my hand. The lingering fear from Max Fewtrell still existed, a dull ache beneath the surface, but in this moment, it was overshadowed by a profound sense of warmth and affection. Lando, with his silly comments and his unexpected gestures, was becoming a much-needed anchor in a world that suddenly felt very uncertain.

I felt a giddy warmth spread through me, a lightness I hadn't realized I was missing. I quickly grabbed my phone, my fingers flying across the keyboard.

Eleonora Kimbel: Someone left a very colorful message on my room service tray. And I'm not talking about the pasta sauce. 😉

My phone buzzed almost instantly. He must have been waiting.

Lando Norris: Oh really? And was this 'colorful message' perhaps a highly accurate assessment of your gaming prowess? Because I distinctly recall a certain someone needing a lot of 'tactical retreats.'

A laugh bubbled up from my chest. He was so predictable.

Eleonora Kimbel: Tactical retreats are a valid strategy, Norris. Unlike leaving secret messages that could easily be mistaken for a very tiny, very aggressive fan mail. You're lucky I recognized your... unique artistic style.

Lando Norris: Hey! My stick figures are masterpieces! And it was a crucial debrief, Ari. Couldn't risk losing that valuable data. Besides, it's better than a strongly worded email about exhaust notes, right? See you tomorrow, El. Don't let the lack of building skills keep you up.

I shook my head, still smiling. The world outside might be complicated and dangerous, but in these small, shared moments, with Lando, it felt a little bit more manageable.

Chapter Text

Lando`s POV

September 2^nd, 2023

The morning light, even through the heavy hotel curtains, felt brighter than usual. I stretched, a wide, contented yawn escaping me. The faint scent of her perfume, still clinging on me, was a pleasant surprise. My mind replayed snippets of Thursday night: the comfortable silence during the movie, her genuine laugh at my ridiculous comments, the surprising intensity of our Fortnite battle, and then… the quiet intimacy of the goodnight. Her soft "Goodnight, Lando," – it had settled something in my chest, a warmth that chased away the usual pre-race weekend jitters.

You're not half bad, Ariaina. My own words, scrawled on that tiny pit board, echoed in my head. I’d felt a ridiculous surge of giddiness leaving it for her, like a schoolboy leaving a secret note in a locker. And the way she’d replied, the quick, witty texts… Yeah, that was definitely a good feeling. A different kind of good feeling than a pole position, but a good feeling nonetheless.

I was up earlier than usual, the energy buzzing in my veins. A quick shower, a strong coffee, and then I was out the door. John was already there, a silent, imposing figure, talking quietly into an earpiece. The sheer scale of the security around Eleonora was a stark reminder of the underlying threat, pulling me back to reality. It wasn't just a fun night of gaming; her life was genuinely complicated and, frankly, dangerous. The protective instinct, the one that had flared up when she was scared on the phone, tightened in my gut. We'd clear that obstacle, permanently.

The drive to the circuit was a blur of Italian countryside. The paddock was already alive, the air thick with the smell of exhaust fumes and anticipation. I headed straight for the McLaren garage, a quick nod to my engineers and mechanics. The screens were already flickering with data, the low hum of engines a constant backdrop.

My phone buzzed. It was a text from her.

Eleonora Kimbel: Good morning, Norris. Hope you didn't have too many nightmares about my 'artistic' fort designs. 😉

I grinned, typing back quickly.

Lando Norris: Morning, Kimbel. Surprisingly, I dreamt of perfectly asymmetrical builds. Clearly, your influence is stronger than I thought. Don't worry, I'll try not to be too distracted by my newfound appreciation for structural integrity during FP3.

Her reply was almost immediate.

Eleonora Kimbel: Distraction is my superpower, Lando. You should know that by now. Just try not to crash into any 'tactical retreats' out there. See you for coffee later?

Lando Norris: Wouldn't miss it, El. And I'll try to keep my car on the track, unlike some people's Fortnite characters who prefer cliff-diving. 😉

I put my phone away, a genuine smile on my face. The banter was easy, familiar, a comfortable rhythm we'd fallen back into. It was good to have that, especially on a high-pressure day like today.

Free Practice 3 was first up. I strapped into the car, the world narrowing to the cockpit, the steering wheel, and the track ahead. The car felt… okay. Not great, not terrible. We were still working on the balance, trying to find that sweet spot for Monza’s high-speed demands. The data from yesterday’s FP2, where I’d finished P3, had been promising, but FP3 was proving trickier. The track was evolving, and other teams were clearly finding pace.

I pushed, trying to wring every tenth out of the MCL60, but the feeling wasn't quite there. The car felt a bit too lively in the high-speed corners, and the tire degradation was higher than we'd hoped. I saw the lap times flash on my dash: 1:21.650. Not bad, but not where I wanted to be. When the session ended, I saw the results: Max fastest, with 1:20.960, Leclerc second, Perez third. And me? P11. Oscar was right behind me at P12. A bit frustrating, especially after yesterday's P3. We definitely had work to do before qualifying.

After the debrief, which was a bit more intense than usual given the FP3 results, I headed towards the hospitality area for a quick break. As I walked, I spotted them – Eleonora and Isabella, sitting at a table, coffee cups in hand. Eleonora looked relaxed, a soft smile on her face as Izzy gesticulated wildly, clearly recounting some dramatic story. Her bodyguard was a few feet away, scanning the crowd.

"Hey, ladies," I said, sliding into a chair opposite them.

"Norris!" Izzy exclaimed, her eyes narrowing playfully. "So, how was practice? Did you manage to stay on the track, or were you busy practicing your 'tactical retreats'?"

"Very funny, Izzy," I retorted, grabbing a croissant. "The car's a bit tricky, but we'll get there. And for your information, I was a paragon of precision. Unlike some people's Fortnite characters who enjoy building abstract art instead of functional cover." I winked at Eleonora.

Eleonora just laughed, a bright, clear sound that made something in my chest flutter. "My builds are strategically confusing, Lando. A higher level of tactical genius you clearly can't comprehend." She took a sip of her coffee, her eyes sparkling. "Though, I did see your FP3 time. P11, eh? Maybe you need to spend less time drawing tiny pit boards and more time on the simulator."

My cheeks warmed slightly. "You got it, then. Thought you might appreciate the artistic effort."

"Oh, I did," she said, her voice softer, her eyes holding mine for a moment longer than strictly necessary. "It was... a nice surprise. Thank you, Lando."

Izzy, oblivious to the subtle undercurrent, leaned forward. "Wait, what pit board? What are you two talking about? Are you two having secret gaming debriefs I don't know about?"

"It's nothing, Izzy," I said quickly, trying to deflect. "Just a little... friendly encouragement."

"Uh-huh," Izzy said, clearly unconvinced, but before she could press further, her phone buzzed. "Oh, Charles needs me. Duty calls! Don't get into too much trouble, you two. And Eli, remember our coffee tomorrow. I still need the full report on your Fortnite dominance, or lack thereof." She gave a pointed look at me, then a quick hug to Eleonora, and was off, her bodyguard a silent shadow.

"Saved by the bell," I muttered, taking a large bite of my croissant.

Eleonora just smiled, shaking her head. "She'll get it out of me eventually. You know how she is."

"Yeah," I agreed, my gaze lingering on her. "She's... persistent. Like a certain storm in Fortnite."

"Exactly," she confirmed, then her expression softened. "But seriously, Lando. Thanks. For Thursday night. And for... this." She gestured vaguely between us. "It really helped. More than you know."

"Anytime, El," I said, my voice low. "Glad I could be of service. Now, go on. You's got a busy day managing Max's media duties. And I've got a qualifying session to prepare for. Need to make sure I don't end up in a 'tactical retreat' position on the grid."

She laughed, a genuine, warm sound. "Don't you dare. I'm expecting a strong performance, Norris. P3 in FP2 wasn't a fluke, was it?"

"Never a fluke, Kimbel," I retorted, standing up. "Pure skill. I'll prove it."

We exchanged a quick, knowing smile, and then I was off, the competitive fire reignited.

Qualifying was always the most intense part of the weekend. One lap, one chance, everything on the line. The pressure at Monza, with the Tifosi roaring for Ferrari, was immense. I could feel it vibrating through the floor of the garage.

Q1 was a scramble, as always. Everyone was pushing, trying to avoid being caught out. The car felt better than in FP3, more responsive. I put in a solid lap, good enough to comfortably get through. Max also easily progressed, as did Carlos and Charles.

Q2 was where it really started to count. The times dropped, the margins tightened. I pushed hard, feeling the car on the edge, dancing through the corners. It was a good lap, a clean one. I saw my time flash, and then the provisional P7. Oscar was just behind me. We were in the mix.

Then came Q3. The top ten shootout. The air in the garage was electric. This was it. Two flying laps, maximum attack. I focused, clearing my mind of everything but the track, the car, the perfect line.

My first lap was decent, but not perfect. I knew I had more in it. The second attempt. I pushed harder, braking later, carrying more speed through the Lesmos, holding the line through Parabolica. It felt good, really good. I crossed the line.

The numbers flashed. My heart sank slightly. P9. Not terrible, but Oscar had done it – he qualified P7. He'd found those extra tenths. And then the roar from the crowd. Carlos Sainz - pole position for Ferrari at Monza! Leclerc was P3, Verstappen P2. The Tifosi were going absolutely wild.

My competitive spirit stung. P9. Behind my teammate. It wasn't a disaster, but it wasn't what I wanted. I pulled into the garage, the noise of the crowd still deafening. I unstrap, pulling off my helmet, the weight of the result settling on me. My engineers were already there, ready to debrief, analyzing the data.

As I walked towards the media pen, I scanned the Red Bull hospitality area. Eleonora was there, talking to a journalist, her expression professional, composed. She looked up, our eyes meeting across the bustling paddock. She gave me a small, almost imperceptible nod, a silent acknowledgment of my result. There was no pity, just understanding. She knew the game. She knew the highs and lows.

Later, back in my hotel room, the adrenaline had faded, replaced by a quiet discontent. P9. It wasn't the end of the world, but it wasn't what I wanted. I picked up my phone, scrolling aimlessly. Then my phone buzzed. It was her.

Eleonora Kimbel: P9, Norris? What happened to 'pure skill'? Did your 'artistic' builds distract you? 😉

I chuckled, a much-needed release.

Lando Norris: Hey! It was a tough session, El! The car was a bit temperamental. And no, my builds were perfectly aerodynamic. Unlike some people's driving in Mario Kart, which is just chaos.

Eleonora Kimbel: Chaos is a ladder, Lando. And sometimes, you need a little chaos to climb. Maybe you need to embrace your inner toddler-builder. Or perhaps you just need a better teammate. You know, someone who can actually carry you to victory.

My fingers flew across the keyboard, a grin spreading across my face.

Lando Norris: Are you offering, Ari? Because I'm pretty sure my contract states I'm not allowed to have a teammate who tries to negotiate with the storm. But I'm open to 'strategic consultations' if you're free later. My P9 needs some serious cheering up.

Eleonora Kimbel: I'm always free for strategic consultations, especially when they involve improving your performance. And I happen to be an expert in cheering up grumpy racing drivers. Just don't expect me to let you win at Fortnite. We have a reputation to uphold, L4ndo_Norris.

I stared at her text, the playful challenge, the underlying warmth. A different kind of warmth than the adrenaline of the track. A better kind.

Lando Norris: Wouldn't dream of it, El. A true champion never accepts charity. But a little moral support wouldn't go amiss. Goodnight, Ari. Don't dream of P1s you can't have. 😉

I put my phone down, a smile still lingering. P9 still stung, but the sting was dulled. Knowing she was there, understanding, and ready to engage in ridiculous banter, made the pressure of the day feel a little lighter.

September 3^rd, 2023

Race day. The words hung in the air, heavy with anticipation and a familiar knot of nerves in my stomach. The hotel room, usually a sanctuary, felt charged with the impending chaos of the circuit. I glanced at my phone, a faint smile touching my lips as I reread Eleonora's last text from the night before. Cheeky. But the playful jab was tempered by the warmth of her presence, even through text. She got it. She understood the relentless pursuit, the sting of not being at the very top.

I was up before dawn, the routine ingrained: light breakfast, last-minute physical prep, and then the short, tense drive to the Autodromo Nazionale Monza. The air was already thick with the roar of engines being fired up, the smell of high-octane fuel, and the palpable excitement of the Tifosi. Even this early, the grandstands were beginning to fill, a sea of red.

At the McLaren garage, the atmosphere was a controlled frenzy. Engineers huddled over screens, mechanics made final adjustments, and the low thrum of the car being prepared was a constant reminder of what was to come. My P9 in qualifying yesterday still gnawed at me, especially with Oscar in P7. Today was about making up ground, about fighting for every position.

The pre-race briefings were intense. Strategy discussions, tire choices, potential scenarios for the start. We went over every detail, every possible variable. My mind was a whirlwind of data, cornering lines, and braking points.

As the grid walk approached, the paddock became a swirling vortex of media, team personnel, and VIPs. I saw Eleonora briefly, a flash of her smart Red Bull uniform amidst the crowd. She was already deep in conversation, probably managing Max's pre-race media obligations. Our eyes met across the throng, and she offered a quick, professional nod. No time for banter now; it was game face on for both of us.

Then, it was time. The national anthem, the roar of the crowd, the final moments on the grid. I strapped into the MCL60, the familiar embrace of the cockpit a strange comfort. The world outside shrunk to the confines of my helmet, the steering wheel, and the red lights ahead. The tension was electric, a physical force pressing down on me.

Lights out.

The start was, as expected, pure chaos. Carlos Sainz, starting from pole, launched well, holding off Max. I focused on getting a clean getaway from P9, avoiding any first-lap incidents. The pack surged into Turn 1, a cacophony of engine noise and screaming tires. I held my line, gaining a position or two in the initial melee.

The race settled into a rhythm. Monza is a high-speed track, demanding precision and courage. Every lap was a battle, managing tire degradation, slipstreaming on the long straights, defending and attacking into the chicanes. I was pushing, trying to find clean air, trying to make progress.

Mid-race, the team radio crackled with news of an incident. Oscar had made contact with Lewis. My heart sank. A DNF for Oscar. That was tough for the team, and for him. It added a layer of grim determination to my own race. I had to bring the car home, salvage as many points as possible.

Meanwhile, up ahead, Max was doing what Max does. He'd found a way past Sainz early on and was now pulling away, relentless and dominant. Perez, after a strong drive, was also making his way through the field, battling the Ferraris.

I fought hard, trading places with various cars, managing my tires, trying to optimize every corner. The car felt better as the race went on, the adjustments we'd made paying off. I could feel the fatigue setting in, the constant G-forces, the mental strain of 53 laps at full attack.

Finally, the checkered flag. I crossed the line, exhausted but relieved. P8. Not a podium, not a win, but points.

The cool-down lap was a mix of relief and reflection. Max had won, of course. Verstappen took the victory, extending his incredible winning streak. Perez finished second, securing a Red Bull 1-2. And in a brilliant performance for the Tifosi, Carlos held on for third place, just ahead of his teammate Charles. The roar from the crowd for the Ferraris was deafening, a testament to their passion.

Back in the garage, the debrief was thorough. We went over every lap, every decision. The engineers were generally pleased with my recovery drive. It wasn't the result we'd dreamed of, but it was a strong points finish.

As I headed to media duties, the paddock was still buzzing, but with a different kind of energy now – the post-race analysis, the celebrations for the winners, the commiserations for those who hadn't fared so well.

I saw Eleonora near the Red Bull media pen, her face alight with a professional, triumphant smile as she watched Max give an interview. She was in her element, managing the chaos of a winning team. Our eyes met again. This time, her smile softened, a quiet, almost imperceptible shift in her expression. She gave me a small, knowing nod, a silent message that said, I saw your race. You fought hard.

After my own media obligations, I found myself walking past the Red Bull hospitality once more. The crowds were thinning. I saw her standing by the entrance, looking at her phone, a slight frown on her face. John was a few paces away, his usual vigilant stance.

"Rough day at the office, Ari?" I asked, my voice softer than I'd intended, the competitive edge of the day fading. It felt natural, that nickname, a secret language just between us.

She looked up, startled, then her frown eased into a small, tired smile. "Lando. Just... dealing with the aftermath. Max is ecstatic, obviously. But the media circus around a 1-2 is always a lot." She gestured vaguely. "And you? P8. Not bad, Norris. You fought for that."

"Yeah," I sighed, running a hand through my hair. "Could have been better. Oscar's DNF... that sucks. But we got points. That's something." I paused, then added, "You seemed pretty busy out there. Didn't get a chance to leave me a 'good job' pit board." I tried for a light tone, but there was a genuine hint of wanting her acknowledgment.

She chuckled, a tired but genuine sound. "I was a bit preoccupied with managing the world's fastest driver's ego, I'm afraid. But for the record, I saw you pushing. You drove a strong race, Lando. You always do." Her eyes met mine, and in their depths, I saw that familiar understanding, the quiet belief that always calmed the storm within me. "And if you want a 'good job' pit board, I suppose I could draw you one later. My artistic skills are far superior to yours, after all."

My grin returned, wider and more genuine this time. "Oh, is that a challenge, Kimbel? Because I'm pretty sure my stick figures have more character than your entire art collection."

"We'll see about that, Norris," she retorted, a playful glint in her tired eyes. "Maybe a drawing contest is in order. Winner gets bragging rights. Loser has to... well, we'll figure out the punishment later."

"Deal," I said, a lightness spreading through me. The sting of P8, the exhaustion of the race, it all faded into the background. This. This was what mattered. "See you later, Ari. Get some rest. You'll need it for our artistic showdown."

"Later, Lando," she replied, her voice soft, a hint of something more than just friendly amusement in her eyes.

I turned and walked away, the familiar hum of the paddock slowly fading behind me. The race was over, the results were in. But something else, something far more interesting, felt like it was just beginning. It wasn't just about points or podiums anymore. It was about the quiet understanding in her eyes, the easy laughter, the way she could cut through the noise and make me feel... seen. It was about the way I'd called her "Ari," and the way my own heart had responded. The playful challenge of an "artistic showdown" felt less like a silly game and more like an invitation. An invitation to explore this new, fragile, yet undeniably potent connection that was rekindling between us, slowly, carefully, but with a warmth that promised something real. I closed my eyes, a new kind of peace settling in. A peace that smelled faintly of her perfume, and tasted like shared laughter over a virtual battlefield, and the quiet, hopeful promise of a future, together.

September 4^th, 2023

The hotel room felt strangely quiet, the last echoes of Monza's roar fading into a dull hum. I woke up to the soft, grey light of dawn, the kind that promised a calm, if not entirely bright, day. The adrenaline from yesterday's race had finally dissipated, leaving behind a pleasant exhaustion and a lingering sense of quiet satisfaction. P8 wasn't a win, but it was a fight, a recovery, and points for the team.

More importantly, though, my thoughts drifted to Eleonora. The memory of the tiny orange pit board I'd given her, the one she'd found on her room service tray, was a small, tangible reminder of Thursday night. And the texts yesterday, the easy banter, the way she understood the sting of a P9 qualifying and the grind of a race day. It felt… different. Not just the familiar comfort of an old friend, but something new, something rekindling. The way she'd looked at me, the hint of a deeper emotion in her eyes when she said "Goodnight, Lando," had stayed with me.

Today was departure day. A week off. A rare, precious pause in the relentless F1 calendar before we'd be off to Singapore. I packed my bag, the familiar routine almost automatic. No rush this morning. No immediate debriefs or media obligations. Just the journey home.

John was already downstairs when I arrived, looking as sharp and alert as ever, despite the early hour. He gave a curt nod. "Morning, Mr. Norris. Miss Kimbel has already departed. Her flight was scheduled earlier."

A small pang of disappointment hit me. I'd hoped to catch her, even for a quick goodbye. But then, it made sense. Her schedule was probably even more brutal than mine, especially after a Red Bull 1-2.

"Right," I said, trying to sound nonchalant. "Of course. Is everything clear for my departure?"

"All clear, sir. The car is waiting."

The drive to the private airfield was smooth. Monza, usually a place of frenetic energy, felt subdued, the grandstands empty, the paddock a skeleton crew. It was always strange, the immediate shift from high-octane chaos to quiet emptiness.

On the plane, the silence was almost deafening after the weekend's constant noise. I settled into my seat.

My phone buzzed. It was a text from Eleonora. My heart did that little flutter again.

Eleonora Kimbel: Airborne already, Norris? Impressive. Though I suspect your pilot is just trying to get away from your post-race grumbling. And as for your 'artistic masterpiece,' I'm still trying to figure out if it's a pit board or a very abstract rendition of your last crash. 😉

I grinned, the exhaustion of the weekend momentarily forgotten.

Lando Norris: My 'artistic masterpiece' was a subtle critique of your gaming style. Clearly, it's working, given your immediate need to analyze it. You're welcome.

Her reply was quick, a playful challenge.

Eleonora Kimbel: Oh, I'm analyzing it alright. Mostly wondering if you're secretly a frustrated engineer. And I'll have you know my strategic prowess is highly evolved. Unlike some people's ability to maintain a consistent racing line.

I laughed out loud, drawing a curious glance from one of the flight attendants. This was it. This was the easy, witty back-and-forth that felt so natural, so right with her. It was like picking up a conversation we'd never truly stopped, even after all these years.

Lando Norris: Ouch. Low blow, Kimbel. Low blow. But I'm always open to constructive criticism from my strategic consultant. Perhaps a video review session is in order? You can point out all my 'architectural flaws' in person.

Eleonora Kimbel: Perhaps. But only if you promise to bring snacks. And maybe a drawing pad. I have some ideas for improving your 'artistic masterpieces.' Safe flight, Lan. Don't miss me too much.

I smiled, a wide, genuine smile that reached my eyes. Don't miss me too much. The implication hung in the air, light and teasing, but undeniably there. It wasn't just friendly banter anymore. It's a clear invitation, a gentle pull back into something deeper.

Lando Norris: Snacks and drawing pad, noted. And I'll try my best, Ari. But no promises. It's a long week without my favorite tactical consultant. 😉 Text me when you land.

I put my phone away, the warmth spreading through me. The plane hummed, carrying me away from Monza, towards the familiar coastline of the French Riviera. Soon, the sparkling blue of the Mediterranean would appear, and then the dense, glittering cityscape of Nice. From there, a short helicopter ride or a quick car journey would take me to Monaco. The thought of being home, of having a week to myself in my own apartment, usually felt like pure freedom. Now, it felt like an opportunity. An opportunity to explore this rekindling connection, to see where this new, exciting race might take us. The checkered flag might have fallen on the Italian Grand Prix, but for Eleonora and me, the green light was definitely on.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

The helicopter ride from Nice to Monaco was always breathtaking, the glittering principality unfurling beneath me like a jeweled tapestry against the deep blue of the Mediterranean. Landing at the heliport, the familiar crisp air of home filled my lungs. A car was waiting, and soon I was pulling up to my apartment building. The doorman gave a respectful nod, and I was in.

My apartment felt blessedly quiet, a stark contrast to the constant hum of the paddock and the hotel. I dropped my bags by the door, took a deep breath, and let the silence wash over me. First things first: a proper shower, not the hurried hotel kind. I peeled off my travel clothes, the lingering scent of race fuel and exhaustion clinging to them, and stepped under the hot spray. The water was a balm, washing away the last remnants of the weekend's tension.

Feeling refreshed, I emerged, wrapped in a towel. I tossed my dirty clothes into the hamper and then, with a sigh of contentment, began to unpack my small travel bag. Race weekends were always a whirlwind, and coming home, even for a short break, felt like hitting a much-needed reset button.

Once everything was put away, I grabbed my phone and ordered dinner from my favorite local spot – two gourmet burgers with all the trimmings, extra fries. While I waited, I wandered into the living room, a spacious, minimalist area with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the sparkling harbor. The view was incredible, the yachts bobbing gently, the city lights beginning to twinkle as dusk approached.

My gaze fell on the PlayStation 5, sitting quietly beneath the large TV. A week off. No simulator sessions, no endless data analysis. Just pure, unadulterated gaming. I grabbed the controller, a familiar weight in my hands, and settled onto the sofa. Maybe a few rounds of Call of Duty to blow off some steam.

Just as the game was loading, my phone vibrated, startling me. It wasn't a text this time. It was a video call, from Eleonora.

My heart did a quick, unexpected flip. I fumbled with the controller for a second, almost dropping it, before quickly accepting the call. Her face filled the screen, framed by soft, natural light, her hair slightly damp, as if she'd just showered too. She was wearing a comfortable-looking oversized hoodie, and her eyes, usually so sharp and composed, held a soft, relaxed warmth. A faint, tired smile played on her lips.

"Well, well, well," she said, her voice a little husky, a hint of amusement in her tone. "Look what the cat dragged in. Made it home, Norris?"

I felt a genuine smile spread across my face, mirroring hers. "Just about, El. And you? Still grumbling about my artistic genius?" My gaze swept over her face, taking in the subtle changes from the race weekend – the lingering exhaustion, but also a newfound serenity. She looked… beautiful. Unfiltered, relaxed, and completely herself.

She laughed softly, a genuine, unforced sound that sent a warmth through me. "Hardly. Though I did briefly consider framing that pit board. It's certainly... unique. But yes, I made it. Just finished showering off the Monza grime. You look... surprisingly human, considering yesterday's antics."

"The magic of a week off, El," I countered, leaning back into the sofa, the controller now forgotten in my lap. "And the even greater magic of a video call from a certain strategic consultant. I was just about to dive into some serious PS5 action. You caught me in my natural habitat."

Her eyes twinkled. "Oh, I see that. Is that Call of Duty? Still stuck on those first-person shooters, Norris? I thought you'd have evolved your gaming tastes by now. Perhaps something with a bit more... strategy?"

"Hey!" I protested, feigning indignation. "There's plenty of strategy in Call of Duty! It's about tactical positioning, quick reflexes, teamwork... you know, things you might actually understand."

"Oh, I understand it perfectly," she said, though her smile widened. "I just prefer games where the objective isn't simply to run around and shoot everything that moves. Though, I suppose that's a very 'Lando' approach to life, isn't it?"

I chuckled. "Don't you start, Kimbel. Besides, I'm pretty sure you'd be terrible at it. Too much thinking, not enough impulsive chaos."

"You wound me, Lando," she said, shaking her head playfully. "I'm a highly adaptive gamer. And speaking of which, I've got my own PS5 right here." She shifted slightly, and for a moment, the camera angle dipped, revealing the sleek white console sitting beside her TV.

My eyebrows shot up. "No way! You actually have one? I thought you were strictly a PC gamer after our Fortnite debacle." A genuine intrigue sparked in my voice. This was a new layer to her, a shared passion I hadn't fully realized.

"Well, a girl needs options, Norris," she retorted, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "And sometimes, the couch-and-controller vibe is just what the doctor ordered. So, what are we playing then? Something that requires actual skill, not just button mashing?"

"Hmm," I mused, a new idea forming. "How about... Rocket League? It's cars, it's football, it's chaos, it's skill. And it's cross-platform, so we can actually play together."

Her eyes lit up. "Rocket League? Oh, you're on! I haven't played that in ages. But be warned, Norris, I'm pretty good at aerials. You might find yourself looking up at my car quite a lot."

"Dream on, Ari," I scoffed good-naturedly, already navigating to the game. "My car control is legendary. You'll be eating my dust. Or, you know, my exhaust fumes."

"Only if you can catch me," she shot back, her voice bright with anticipation. "Give me five minutes to get set up. And don't you dare start without me."

"You got it, El," I said, a wide grin on my face. "See you in the arena." Then, a thought struck me. "Wait, what's your PSN Online ID, Ari? So I can add you."

Her smile widened, a knowing glint in her eyes. "Do you really need to ask, Lando?"

I paused, a slow, flirty grin spreading across my face. "Well, I suppose I could guess. But where's the fun in that? I prefer to be given things, especially when they're as valuable as your gaming tag. Or, you know, your attention."

She rolled her eyes, but the blush on her cheeks was undeniable. "Fine, fine, you big baby. It's Ariaina. Just like my Fortnite one. Original, I know."

"Perfect," I said, my voice laced with satisfaction. "I'll send you an invite. Going to disconnect now to get set up. Prepare to be amazed by my aerial prowess."

"Alright, Lan," she said, her voice softening slightly. "I'll see you in-game then."

"Sounds good, Ari," I replied, a final smile on my face as the call ended.

The screen went dark. I quickly navigated to the PSN menu, found her Online ID, and sent a friend request. A moment later, the notification popped up: Ariaina has accepted your friend request.

I quickly plugged in my headset, adjusted the microphone, and launched Rocket League. I sent her an in-game invite, and almost instantly, her voice, clear and crisp, came through the headset.

"Okay, I'm in. You ready to get schooled, Norris?"

"As I'll ever be, Kimbel," I replied, my fingers already hovering over the controller. "Just try not to score on your own net. It's a common rookie mistake."

"Hey! I'm not a rookie, Norris!" she protested, a laugh in her voice. "And you're just jealous of my unpredictable genius. Now, let's see if your driving skills translate to rocket-powered cars."

The match loaded, the vibrant arena filling the screen. We picked our cars, customized our colors, and then the countdown began.

"Alright, Ari, let's show these randos how it's done," I said, boosting forward as the ball dropped.

"Speak for yourself, Lando! I'm carrying this team!" she yelled, her car flipping wildly as she went for an ambitious aerial shot. She missed, spectacularly.

"Oh, Eleonora! What was that?! Were you trying to hit the moon?!" I burst out laughing, narrowly saving the ball from our own net.

"Tactical miss, Norris! Distraction! You're welcome for the clear shot! And anyway, my Fortnite skills were always more about strategically minimalist defense, not flashy offense. Now get in position! I'm going for the pass!"

We fell into an easy rhythm, the competitive banter flowing as smoothly as our car movements.

"Lando! Left! Left! You're letting them through!" she screamed, just as I narrowly cleared a ball from our goal line.

"Relax, Ari! I had it under control! Just a bit of calculated risk, you wouldn't understand," I shot back, boosting towards the opponent's side.

"Calculated risk, my ass! That was pure luck! Now follow my boost trail, I'm setting you up!" she replied, then pulled off a perfect aerial pass that set the ball right in front of their net.

"Oh, you beautiful strategist, you!" I cheered, slamming into the ball for a powerful shot. GOAL! "YES! That's how it's done! Pure teamwork!"

"Don't flatter yourself, Norris, I did all the heavy lifting," she scoffed, but I could hear her grin. "You just happened to be in the right place at the right time. Unlike in qualifying."

"Low blow, Kimbel, low blow! I thought we agreed to leave race results on the track!"

"Some things are just too good to forget, Lando!"

Another match started, and this time she was on a roll. She weaved through opponents, pulling off impossible saves and even scoring a couple of solo goals.

"Okay, I'm actually impressed, Ari," I admitted, after she scored a particularly flashy goal. "Where have you been hiding these skills?"

"I told you, I'm highly adaptive," she said smugly. "Maybe you just haven't been challenging me enough. Or perhaps, my talent shines brighter when I'm not stuck trying to explain the finer points of tire degradation to a... less experienced driver."

"Ouch! Are you saying I'm less experienced?" I laughed. "I'm literally a Formula 1 driver!"

"And I'm literally kicking your virtual butt right now," she countered, as her car rammed into mine, sending me flying. "Tactical bump, Norris! Don't forget my highly evolved demolition skills apply to cars as well, you menace!"

"But I'm your menace, aren't I?" I said, a flirty edge to my voice as I scored a lucky rebound.

A beat of silence, then her voice, softer. "Don't push it, Norris. Just focus on the ball." But I could hear the smile in her tone.

Hours passed, the stack of empty wrappers growing beside me. The competitive energy was addictive, but it was the constant stream of banter, the easy back-and-forth, that made it truly fun. It was like we were teenagers again, but with a new layer of unspoken understanding, a playful tension that hummed beneath every joke.

Finally, after a particularly dramatic overtime victory, we decided to call it a night.

"Okay, I think my thumbs are going to fall off," she said, a tired but happy sigh in her voice. "You're not half bad, Norris. For a professional driver, your aerial control is surprisingly... grounded."

"And you, Ari, for a PR guru, your car control is surprisingly... reckless," I countered, grinning. "But in a good way. It keeps things interesting."

"Always interesting with me, Lando," she said, her voice dropping slightly, the playful tone softening. "Always."

"Yeah," I murmured, my gaze fixed on the dark screen of my TV, imagining her face. "Yeah, it is. Goodnight, Ari. Thanks for the games. And for... everything."

"Goodnight, Lando," she replied, her voice warm, lingering.

The call ended, and the silence of my apartment returned. But this time, it felt different. It wasn't empty. It was filled with the echoes of laughter, the memory of her voice, and the undeniable sense that something truly special was blossoming. The week off had just begun, and I had a feeling it was going to be anything but quiet.

Chapter Text

Eleonora's POV

September 4^th, 2023

The PlayStation screen went dark, the vibrant colours of the Rocket League arena replaced by my own reflection. I pulled off my headset, the comfortable weight of it replaced by the sudden quiet of my apartment. But the silence wasn't empty; it was filled with the echoes of Lando's laughter, the quick wit of our banter, and the warmth of his voice calling me "Ari."

A soft, genuine smile touched my lips. My thumbs ached, my eyes felt a little strained, but my chest felt lighter than it had in days. The stress of Monza, the constant vigilance, the lingering shadow of Max Fewtrell – for a few glorious hours, it had all faded into the background. It was just Lando and me, two competitive idiots in rocket-powered cars, making ridiculous calls and celebrating chaotic goals.

And then there was the way he'd looked at me on the video call, the genuine concern in his eyes, the subtle shift in his tone. The flirty edge to his voice when he asked for my PSN Online ID, and the way he'd teased about preferring to be "given" things, like my attention. It was all there, simmering beneath the surface of our easy friendship. The connection, the one I'd thought was long buried under the weight of our past and our separate lives, was undeniably rekindling. Slowly, carefully, but with a warmth that promised something real.

I stood up, stretching out the kinks in my back. My pizza had arrived during the gaming session, and I'd devoured it between matches. Now, the apartment felt like a haven. I tidied up the pizza box and the empty cans of Coca Cola, then wandered to the large window overlooking the city. The lights of London twinkled, a sprawling, vibrant tapestry against the dark velvet of the night. It was beautiful, peaceful.

I picked up my phone, scrolling aimlessly for a moment, then my gaze fell on the small, orange pit board I'd tucked onto my bedside table. "P3, good job, keep pushing." And his little stick figures. I picked it up, tracing the lines with my thumb. It was such a Lando thing to do – a small, personal, utterly charming gesture. He always had a way of cutting through the noise, of making me feel seen.

A wave of affection washed over me. He was a good man, Lando Norris. A complicated, competitive, sometimes ridiculously childish man, but undeniably good. And the idea of exploring this rekindling connection, of seeing where it might lead, filled me with a quiet anticipation that was both thrilling and a little terrifying.

I decided to do a quick check of my work emails one last time before bed, just to make sure no urgent Red Bull media crisis had erupted. I opened my laptop, the familiar hum of the fan a comforting sound. I scrolled through my inbox, replying to a few non-urgent messages, confirming schedules for the week ahead.

Everything seemed in order. I was about to close the lid when a new email, from an unknown sender, popped into my inbox. My brow furrowed. I didn't recognize the address, a string of random characters, and the subject line was simply blank. My heart began to pound, a cold dread spreading through me. This was wrong. This was very, very wrong.

I clicked on the email, a prickle of unease starting in my stomach. The content was sparse, yet chillingly specific.

Unknown Sender:

A week off. How quaint.

I'll be seeing you, Eleonora.

My breath hitched. The blood drained from my face, leaving me cold. Eleonora. He used my full name, a chillingly formal address from someone who shouldn't have access to me at all. The brevity of the message, the casual menace of "How quaint," and the unsettling promise of "I'll be seeing you," sent a fresh wave of terror through me. It was a clear assertion of his knowledge of my current situation, a chilling reminder that he was aware of my movements, my plans.

My hands began to tremble, the laptop suddenly feeling heavy and menacing. How had he gotten this email address, my work email, which was supposed to be secure? How had he known I was home, and that I was on a "week off"? My carefully constructed peace of the evening shattered, replaced by a surge of raw, primal fear. Max Fewtrell. He wasn't just a distant threat anymore. He was a phantom in my inbox.

Without a second thought, my trembling fingers fumbled for my phone. I scrolled past Lando's contact, past Izzy's, and hit John's number. It rang once, twice, before his gruff voice answered.

"Miss Kimbel? Is everything alright? You never call this late unless it's urgent." His tone was immediately sharp, alert.

"John," my voice came out as a shaky whisper, barely recognizable. "It's not alright. I... I just got an email. From him. Max Fewtrell."

A beat of stunned silence on the other end, then a sharp intake of breath. "An email? How? What does it say?" His voice was low, dangerous now, laced with a barely contained fury.

I quickly read out the chilling message, my voice cracking slightly. "It just says, 'A week off. How quaint. I'll be seeing you, Eleonora.' John, he knows I'm here. He knows I'm on a week off. And he found this email address. This is insane. How is he doing this? My apartment was swept!"

"Damn it!" John's voice exploded through the phone, a raw, guttural sound of frustration and rage. "He's one step ahead. Always one step ahead. This is a direct breach. Stay calm, Miss Kimbel. Do NOT touch anything else on that laptop. Do NOT reply. Do NOT close the email. I'm on my way. I'll be there in fifteen minutes. Don't open the door for anyone else."

"Okay," I managed, my teeth chattering despite the warmth of the room. "Okay, John. Hurry."

I ended the call, my hand still shaking. I stared at the laptop screen, the glowing text a malevolent presence in the darkened room. Every shadow seemed to deepen, every creak of the building sounded like footsteps. I pulled my knees to my chest, wrapping my arms around myself, trying to quell the tremors that ran through my body.

True to his word, exactly fifteen minutes later, there was a firm, distinct knock on my door – two quick taps, a pause, then one more. John's signature knock. I practically leaped to the door, peering through the peephole to confirm it was him before fumbling with the locks.

He stood there, a grim expression on his face, his usual composed demeanor replaced by a taut intensity. He was dressed in dark tactical gear, a clear indication of how seriously he took this. Behind him, two other security personnel were already sweeping the hallway, their movements silent and efficient.

"Miss Kimbel," he said, his eyes immediately assessing me, then sweeping the apartment. "Are you alright? Anything else happen?"

I shook my head, stepping aside to let him in. "No. Just... the email. It's still open."

He strode directly to the laptop, his gaze fixed on the screen. He leaned over it, his broad shoulders tensing as he read the message. His jaw clenched, a muscle twitching furiously. He read it again, slowly, his eyes scanning every word. The silence in the room was heavy, broken only by the faint hum of the laptop.

Finally, he straightened, his expression a mixture of cold fury and grim determination. He looked at me, his eyes hard.

"This changes things, Miss Kimbel," he stated, his voice low and gravelly. "This isn't just a threat anymore. This is a direct, undeniable breach of your secure communications. He's not just trying to get to you physically; he's trying to get inside your head. And the way he got this email, to your work account... it means he's either compromised Red Bull's systems, or he's got someone on the inside of our operation, or he's far more sophisticated than we gave him credit for. This is a high-level cyber intrusion."

"So far, he's one step ahead because he clearly knows the race schedules. That's public information, yes, but he's using it to predict your movements. This email proves he's escalating, and he's not afraid to show it."

He paused, then ran a hand over his close-cropped hair, a rare gesture of frustration. "We need to inform the police. Immediately. Everything. The attempted access to Miss Richis` building, the listening device, the name Max Fewtrell, and now this email. We've been trying to handle this discreetly, keep you out of the public eye, but this... this is beyond that. This is a criminal act, and we need official channels involved."

My stomach churned. The police. It meant headlines, questions, a public spectacle. Everything I had tried to avoid. "The media, John. What about the media?"

"We'll manage it," he said, his voice firm, leaving no room for argument. "My team will work with the police to control the narrative as much as possible. But your safety comes first. Always. And there's one more thing." He looked at me, his gaze softening slightly, a hint of genuine concern returning. "Mr. Norris. We need to tell Mr. Norris everything. He's involved now, whether he likes it or not. Fewtrell is obsessed with you, and anyone close to you becomes a potential target. He needs to know the full extent of this threat, for his own safety, and because... because he cares about you, Miss Kimbel. He deserves to know."

My breath caught. Lando. The thought of telling him, of dragging him into this nightmare, made my heart ache. He had his own life, his own career, his own pressures. But John was right. He was already in it. And the idea of facing this alone, without him, suddenly felt impossible.

John's gaze intensified. "I am thinking that we should move you. Immediately. To your penthouse in Monaco. He won't expect you to go there. It will take him a lot of resources to travel back there, to re-establish surveillance, to figure out your new patterns. It buys us time."

My mind reeled. Monaco. But the thought of being here, in London, knowing he could reach me digitally, felt suffocating. Monaco, with its layers of security, its inherent privacy for its residents, suddenly seemed like a fortress.

"You will work remotely until the next race weekend," John continued, his voice firm, leaving no room for argument. "While you are at your penthouse, me and my team will contact a private eye and the police. We will assure your safety, discreetly, through official channels, while minimizing media exposure as much as possible."

He took a deep breath, then looked at me, his gaze softening slightly, a hint of genuine concern returning. "You need to pack, Miss Kimbel. Just essentials for now. I will arrange your flight immediately."

September 5^th, 2023

The drive from the heliport to my penthouse was a blur of gleaming high-rises and winding, perfectly manicured streets. The city, even at this early hour, hummed with a quiet, expensive energy. As the car pulled into the underground garage of my building, the familiar sense of home, albeit one I hadn't expected to inhabit so soon, offered a small, much-needed anchor.

The security detail was already in motion. John's team, a seamless extension of his will, moved with quiet precision. Two men were already positioned in the opulent lobby as we passed through, their presence discreet but undeniable. Another two were waiting as the private elevator ascended, their eyes sweeping the interior before we stepped out onto my floor.

The elevator doors opened, and I stepped out into a private, short hallway that led directly to my penthouse entrance. It was a vast, sunlit space with panoramic views of the Mediterranean. My gaze immediately swept over the familiar, pristine white and glass interior, the modern art, the expansive terrace overlooking the harbor. It was a sanctuary.

John, ever vigilant, didn't pause to admire the view. He immediately directed one of his men to take up position by my main entrance, while another moved swiftly to secure the emergency exit on my floor. Their movements were fluid, practiced, a silent ballet of protection.

"Miss Kimbel," John said, his voice cutting through the lingering awe, "your penthouse has been thoroughly swept and secured. No anomalies detected. We have personnel positioned in the lobby, at your door, and covering the emergency exit on this floor. You are as safe here as we can possibly make you."

I nodded, a shiver running through me despite the warmth of the Monaco morning sun streaming through the windows. The sheer scale of the security was both reassuring and terrifying. It meant they were taking Max Fewtrell seriously. It meant I had to take him seriously.

"Thank you, John," I managed, my voice still a little hoarse from lack of sleep and the lingering fear.

"I need to discuss the immediate plan with you," he continued, gesturing towards the internal staircase that led to the penthouse's second floor. "We'll go up there. It's more private."

As I followed him up the sleek staircase, my mind raced. The "immediate plan." It would involve the police, the private investigator, and... Lando. The thought of telling him, of seeing the concern, perhaps even fear, in his eyes, made my stomach clench. But John was right. He deserved to know. He was already in this.

We reached the second floor, and John led the way directly into my study. He moved towards the large desk, placing his secure tablet on its surface. He turned to face me, his expression serious.

"First, Miss Kimbel," he began, his voice firm but with a note of reassurance, "you will not be alone here. Not at any point. One of my team will be sleeping in the guest suite on this floor, ensuring constant, direct oversight. They are trained, discreet, and their sole purpose is your safety. You'll have privacy, of course, but you will always have immediate access to protection."

The words hit me. Not alone. Ever. It was a strange mix of relief and a fresh wave of claustrophobia. My independence, already chipped away by the constant threat, was now being completely subsumed by this new reality. But the alternative... the image of Max Fewtrell's email, of his chilling words, flashed in my mind. No. This was necessary.

"Understood, John," I said, my voice barely a whisper.

He nodded. "Good. Now, as I said, you will work remotely until the next race weekend. My team will handle all communications with Red Bull, ensuring your absence is explained as a necessary, high-level strategic planning period. No one will be informed of your exact location. All meetings will be conducted online, and they will be told you can be reached remotely."

He gestured to the tablet. "While you are here, safe, me and my team will be working tirelessly. We will contact the local Monegasque police, providing them with all the evidence we have so far: the attempted access to your London building, the listening device, the name Max Fewtrell, and, critically, that email. I've already taken your work laptop; it will be provided as evidence. I'll have a new, clean work laptop delivered to you by the end of the day. Your personal gaming laptop can be used for now, but I've already turned off its location sharing. I also need you to do the same on your phone, immediately." He waited, watching me as I fumbled with my phone, navigating to the settings and disabling location services.

"This penthouse is a secure base of operations for you. Focus on your work, and on your well-being. We will handle the rest."

He paused, then added, his gaze softening slightly, a hint of genuine concern returning. "And then, Mr. Norris. I've already alerted his own security team to the potential risk. They'll be doing a full sweep of his apartment as we speak. But you need to tell him, Miss Kimbel. Face to face, or as close to it as possible."

My gaze drifted to the vast expanse of the Mediterranean outside the window, the sun now fully risen, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink. A new day. A new city. And a new, terrifying reality. But also, a fragile hope, tethered to the presence of a certain British racing driver just a few floors down.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The words "You need to tell him" echoed in the quiet of my study. John had left a few minutes ago, his presence replaced by the silent hum of the secure tablet on my desk and the knowledge that Mark, my assigned security detail, was discreetly settled in one of the guest rooms. The sun was higher now, painting the Mediterranean a dazzling sapphire, but the beauty outside felt distant, unreal.

My phone lay on the polished surface of the desk, a small, innocent-looking device holding the power to shatter Lando's newly found peace. My finger hovered over his contact, my thumb tracing the familiar lines of his name. This was it. The hardest part. How do you tell someone that their best friend, someone they trusted implicitly, is a deranged stalker obsessed with you, and that they are now a target by association? The thought made my stomach churn.

I took a shaky breath, trying to steady my nerves. There was no easy way to do this. No gentle introduction to a nightmare. It had to be direct, honest, and as calm as I could possibly make it. For his sake.

I pressed the call button. The dial tone seemed to stretch on forever, each ring a hammer blow against my anxiety. What if he didn't answer? What if he was busy, still unwinding from the race weekend? What if he was still asleep, enjoying the precious quiet of his week off?

Then, his voice, a little groggy, but immediately warm. "Hey, El. Everything alright? Bit early for a tactical consultation, isn't it?"

My heart squeezed. That easy banter, that familiar comfort. It made this so much harder. "Lando," I began, my voice tighter than I intended. "No, everything's... not alright. I need to talk to you. It's important. It's about Max Fewtrell."

A beat of stunned silence. The warmth in his voice instantly vanished, replaced by a wary caution. "Max? What about him?" The underlying tension in his tone was palpable, but without any hint of previous direct trouble.

"Can you talk? Are you somewhere private?"

"Yeah, I'm at my apartment," he replied, his voice now fully alert, all traces of sleep gone. "Just finished breakfast. What's going on, Eleonora? You sound... you sound scared."

"I am," I admitted, my grip tightening on the phone. "And you have every right to be too, once I tell you. This isn't just about me anymore, Lando. It's about you too. And it's about Max."

I took another deep breath, gathering every ounce of courage I possessed. "Okay. So, the night I told you I felt unsafe and scared in my penthouse in Monaco – that night Max was on my floor, in my hallway. John discovered a listening device. And then, last night, after we played Rocket League, I got an email. To my work account. From an unknown sender. It was Max, Lando. He knows I'm here. He knows I'm on a week off. The email was chillingly direct. It just said, 'A week off. How quaint. I'll be seeing you, Eleonora.'"

I paused, letting the words sink in, trying to gauge his reaction through the phone. I heard a sharp intake of breath on his end, a sudden, heavy silence.

Then, his voice came, strained and raw, barely recognizable. "Max? No. No, he wouldn't. He's... he's doing this? He's a stalker? Eleonora, are you serious? This isn't some sick joke? This is... this is insane. I can't... I can't believe it." The disbelief was profound, laced with a sudden, aching hurt and outright denial. The idea that Max, the person he'd grown up with, raced with, shared everything with, could be capable of this kind of sinister, calculated harassment, was clearly unfathomable to him.

"I wish it were, Lando," I said, my own voice thick with emotion. "I truly wish it were. But John has evidence. There's security footage of Max trying to enter Isabella's apartment building, for example. The police are being informed. I've been moved to my penthouse in Monaco for my safety."

Then, his voice changed, a new, quieter tone, almost a whisper. "I... I somehow knew, El. After you called me that night, from Izzy's. When you just said 'he.' I had a dream. It wasn't clear, not really, but... it was him. Max. And you. And something dark. I woke up feeling... sick. Like something was terribly wrong. I tried to shake it off, to tell myself it was just a bad dream, the stress of the race, of seeing you again. But... it was him, wasn't it? Even then, my gut was screaming it was him."

"Yes, Lando," I whispered, tears pricking at my eyes. "It was him. He's... he's truly unwell. And dangerous."

"A listening device... an email to your work account?" Lando's voice was a low, disbelieving growl, the shock now layered with the confirmation of his premonition. "How? How did he get your work email? That's... that's impossible. And he knew you were on a week off? This isn't just some random crazy fan, is it?"

"No, Lando," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "It's not. John thinks he's either compromised Red Bull's systems, or he has someone on the inside of John's operation. He's far more sophisticated than we gave him credit for. And... and there's something else you need to know. Something that makes this even worse for you."

I braced myself. This was the hardest part. "Lando, John and I... we've pieced things together. Because of your connection to me, because we've been seen together, because you've shown you care... John believes you could become a target. We can't risk it, Lando."

Another long, agonizing silence. I could almost hear his mind working, putting the pieces together, the implications dawning on him. The weight of the truth felt immense.

I heard a sharp, choked sound from his end, like a punch to the gut. The betrayal, the sheer horror of it, was clearly hitting him. Max. His best friend. To realize that person had become a twisted, dangerous threat... it was unimaginable.

"I... I don't... I can't believe it," Lando stammered, his voice cracking. "Max... he wouldn't. This is insane. He's... he's sick." He paused, then added, his voice quieter, almost a whisper. "And... my security team was just here. Doing a 'routine sweep,' they said. But... it wasn't routine, was it, Eli? John told them to, didn't he? Because of this."

"He did, Lando," I agreed, my voice gentle, trying to convey empathy through the phone line. "And he's dangerous. That's why you need to be aware. You need to be careful. John and his team are doing everything they can, but you need to understand the full extent of this. For your own safety. Especially given that Max was your best friend. That connection, that history, makes you uniquely vulnerable to his manipulations. He knows your weaknesses, your habits."

"God, Eli," his voice was rough with emotion. "All this time... you've been dealing with this alone. Why didn't you tell me sooner?" The question wasn't accusatory, but laced with a profound sadness.

"I didn't want to drag you into it," I confessed, the words tumbling out. "You have so much on your plate, your career, everything. And I just... I didn't want to believe it was him. Not really. Not your Max. But it is. And now... now you're in it too. I'm so sorry, Lando."

"Don't you dare apologize, Eleonora," he said, his voice firm, cutting through my self-blame. "Never apologize for this. This isn't your fault. And you're right, I'm in it. And I wouldn't have it any other way. You're not alone, Eli. You hear me? Not anymore. We'll figure this out. Together."

His words were a lifeline, a strong, steady hand reaching out through the chaos. A wave of relief, so profound it almost buckled my knees, washed over me. The fear was still there, a cold knot in my stomach, but it was no longer all-consuming. It was tempered by the warmth of his resolve, the unwavering strength in his voice.

"Thank you, Lan," I whispered, the tears finally spilling over, hot on my cheeks. "Thank you."

"Hey," he said, his voice softening, a gentle comfort. "Don't cry, El. We've got this. Just... tell me everything. Every detail. From the beginning. I need to understand. And then... then we stop him. For good."

The conversation continued, a grim, necessary exchange of facts and fears, but now under a new light. There was a shared understanding, a profound connection that had deepened in the face of this terrifying truth. Lando listened, his questions sharp and to the point, even through his shock. He was processing, absorbing, the F1 driver's analytical mind kicking in even amidst personal devastation.

When we finally hung up, the silence in my penthouse felt even heavier than before. But it was a different kind of silence. It was the silence of shared burden, of a terrifying truth now laid bare. My heart ached for Lando, for the pain I knew this revelation would cause him. But a new resolve hardened within me. We were in this together now. And together, we would face Max Fewtrell.

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The afternoon sun poured into the penthouse, turning the Mediterranean outside into a shimmering expanse of impossible blue. Despite the breathtaking view, the golden light felt almost oppressive, a stark contrast to the churning storm inside me. I sat at the kitchen island, nursing a lukewarm coffee, the new work laptop John had delivered earlier sitting unopened beside me. The silence of the apartment, broken only by the distant hum of the city, felt heavy, pregnant with unspoken fears.

My conversation with Lando this morning had been agonizing. Hearing the raw disbelief, the profound hurt in his voice, had torn at something deep inside me. He had processed it, but beneath the questions, I could feel the tremor of betrayal, the shock that Max, his Max, could be capable of such darkness. And his admission, that he'd had a premonition, a dream after my call from Izzy's, had sent a fresh wave of chills down my spine. It spoke of a connection between us that was far deeper than I'd dared to acknowledge, a resonance that defied logic.

I was exhausted, but sleep felt impossible. The anger, a cold, hard knot in my stomach, was now a constant companion. Anger at Max, for his twisted obsession, for shattering the fragile peace I'd found. Anger at the injustice of it all, at being forced to run, to hide, to live under constant surveillance. And beneath it all, a deep, aching sadness for the innocence lost, for the way this nightmare was now tainting everything, even my rekindled connection with Lando.

A subtle shift in the air, a faint click from the hallway, pulled me from my thoughts. I looked up, my heart immediately leaping into my throat. John stepped into the living room, his face as stoic as ever, but his eyes held a rare, almost gentle, understanding. And then, just behind him, stepping fully into the sunlit space, was Lando.

He was dressed in a simple t-shirt and shorts, his hair slightly disheveled, as if he’d rushed. His eyes, usually so bright and full of mischief, were shadowed, burdened. But when they met mine across the expansive living room, something raw and vulnerable flickered in their depths.

For a moment, the world seemed to tilt. The tight security, the menacing email, the strategic discussions with John – all of it dissolved. There was only Lando. The boy who had once been my closest friend, the man who was now inextricably linked to my terror, and to my fragile hope.

A choked sound escaped my throat, a mix of all the emotions that had been warring inside me. Fear, sharp and cold, for him. Sadness for the pain I knew he was carrying. Anxiety about what lay ahead. And a fierce, burning anger at the situation that had brought us to this point. But overriding it all, a tidal wave of relief, of profound, aching missing, that slammed into me with full force.

I didn't think. I couldn't. I was off the stool, stumbling, almost running across the polished floor towards him. His own eyes widened, and he took a step, then another, meeting me halfway.

And then we collided.

It wasn't a gentle embrace. It was raw, desperate, almost violent in its intensity. My arms flew around his neck, my fingers digging into the soft fabric of his t-shirt, clinging to him as if he were the only solid thing in a world that had suddenly become liquid. His arms wrapped around my waist, pulling me in so tightly I could barely breathe, his face buried in my hair. I could feel the tremor in his body, mirroring my own.

No words were needed. None could possibly capture the maelstrom of emotions that surged between us. It was the unspoken apology for the pain he was now enduring. It was the shared horror of Max's betrayal. It was the desperate need for comfort, for reassurance that we weren't alone in this nightmare. It was the fierce, protective instinct that flared in both of us. And it was the undeniable, aching truth that we cared for each other, deeply, irrevocably, in a way that defied explanation or logic.

I buried my face in his shoulder, inhaling the familiar scent of him – a mix of his perfume, fresh air, and something uniquely Lando. His grip tightened, a silent promise. I felt the wetness on my cheeks, whether my own tears or his, I didn't know, didn't care. For a long, precious moment, we just held each other, two souls clinging to a shared anchor in a storm that threatened to consume us both.

John stood a respectful distance away, his gaze fixed on the scene, his expression unreadable. He understood. He saw the depth of the connection, the raw vulnerability, the unspoken pact being forged between us. This wasn't just a security detail anymore. This was personal. And for the first time since the email, a tiny, fragile seed of strength began to sprout within me, fueled by the warmth of Lando's embrace. We would face this. Together.

The desperate embrace had lasted for what felt like an eternity, a silent anchor in the storm. Slowly, reluctantly, we pulled apart, the warmth of his body lingering against mine. My eyes, still glistening with tears, met his. His own were red-rimmed, a testament to the shock and pain he was processing, but there was a fierce, protective light in them now. A promise.

John, ever the professional, had cleared his throat discreetly, giving us a moment before stepping forward. "Mr. Norris, your security team has completed their sweep. No immediate threats detected, but we'll be maintaining heightened vigilance. And Mr. Norris, if you're agreeable, it would be prudent for you to stay here as well, at least until your own apartment has been fully secured and monitored for any potential breaches. We don't want to risk you returning to a compromised environment."

Lando, still holding my hand, nodded, his gaze never leaving mine. "Agreed. I'll stay here. Thank you, John."

John gave a curt nod, a silent acknowledgment of the unspoken understanding that had just passed between us. He then turned, his team already moving to secure the penthouse perimeter. "I'll be in the study, Miss Kimbel. We'll set up a secure line for the police and the private investigator. Mark will be on the second floor. Just buzz if you need anything." With a final, knowing glance, he disappeared up the staircase.

The silence that descended was different this time. Not heavy with dread, but charged with a new, fragile intimacy. Lando's thumb stroked the back of my hand, a small, comforting gesture.

"So," he said, his voice still a little rough, but a hint of his usual playful tone returning, "Monaco, huh? Nice upgrade from London, even if the circumstances are a bit... extreme."

I managed a weak smile, the last vestiges of tears drying on my cheeks. "It has its perks. Though I prefer my moves to be less, you know, forced." I squeezed his hand. "Thank you for coming, Lando. For everything."

"Wouldn't be anywhere else, Eli," he murmured, his gaze soft. He looked around the expansive living room, then back at me. "So, what's the plan for dinner? I'm starving. All that emotional turmoil and tactical gaming works up an appetite."

A small laugh escaped me, genuine this time. "Good. Because I'm cooking. Figured we needed something a bit more substantial than cold pizza." I felt a flicker of domesticity, a strange comfort in the mundane act of preparing food amidst the chaos.

I pulled my hand from his, turning towards the sleek, modern kitchen. I was wearing a fresh pair of soft, grey athletic shorts and a matching tank top, a quick change I'd made after showering this morning, a small attempt at normalcy. The cool marble of the countertops felt good under my fingertips.

"Cooking, huh?" Lando followed me, leaning against the kitchen island, his eyes tracing the lines of my shorts. "Impressive. Thought you were more of a 'order in and conquer the world' type."

"I have many hidden talents, Norris," I retorted, pulling out a cutting board and a gleaming chef's knife. "Tonight, you get to witness my culinary prowess. Or, at least, my ability to not burn water." I grabbed a rack of beautiful, lean lamb chops from the fridge, then some fresh rosemary, garlic, and a large bag of potatoes. "I was thinking pan-seared lamb chops with a rich red wine reduction and creamy dauphinoise potatoes. Something to properly welcome you to my home in Monaco."

Lando's eyebrows shot up. "Lamb chops and dauphinoise? Well, well, well, Miss Kimbel. You're really pulling out the big guns. I'm impressed. And slightly intimidated. Are you trying to distract me with your domestic goddess routine?" He pushed off the counter, moving closer, circling the island as I started mincing shallots. The sharp, sweet scent immediately filled the air. "Need any help? I'm surprisingly good at... moral support. And taste-testing."

"Oh, I'm sure," I scoffed playfully, but the proximity sent a shiver down my spine. His presence was a warm current in the room, a stark contrast to the cold fear that had gripped me. "You'd probably just distract me. Or steal all the ingredients before they make it to the pan."

"Only if they're particularly tempting," he countered, his voice dropping, his eyes lingering on my legs as I shifted, the fabric of my shorts riding up slightly. He leaned in, his voice a low, husky rumble, "Like those shorts, for instance. They should be illegal, Eli. Seriously. I'm trying to focus on the lamb, but my eyes keep getting... distracted." His gaze lingered for a beat, appreciative and hungry, before flicking back to my face, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Especially the way those shorts fit. Very... distracting. I'm thinking of taking up a new hobby, and you, Eleonora, would be my favorite subject for inspiration."

I felt a blush creep up my neck, but I met his gaze, a challenge in my own eyes. "Focus, Norris. We have dinner to make. Unless you'd prefer to go hungry? Because I'm pretty sure you'd be less distracting if you were actually helping." I handed him a peeler. "Potatoes. Start on those. Thin slices, evenly."

He took the peeler with a mock sigh, but his smile was genuine. "Fine. But if I accidentally nick myself, I'm expecting a very specific kind of comfort."

"Don't be dramatic," I laughed, turning to a saucepan to start the reduction base. The gentle sizzle of butter and shallots filled the air. "Just focus on the task at hand. Precision, Norris. You know all about precision, don't you?"

He started peeling the potatoes, but his technique was... questionable. The slices were uneven, some thick, some paper-thin, and a few had jagged edges. I watched him for a few seconds, a smirk playing on my lips.

"Norris," I finally interrupted, unable to resist. "What exactly are you doing to those poor potatoes? Are you trying to make abstract art? Because I asked for dauphinoise, not a deconstructed potato sculpture."

He looked up, feigning innocence. "Hey! This is my artistic interpretation. It adds character. Rustic charm." He held up a particularly lopsided slice. "See? Each one unique, just like us."

"Unique, yes. Edible, debatable," I countered, shaking my head. "Move over, Picasso. I'll do it myself before we end up with potato crisps and mashed potatoes in the same dish." I reached for the peeler.

"Hey!" He pulled his hand back, a playful glint in his eyes. "No, no, no. I'm helping. This is teamwork, Kimbel. You handle the fancy sauces, I handle the... foundational elements."

"Your 'foundational elements' are going to collapse the entire dish," I retorted, stepping closer, trying to snatch the peeler. "Give it here, you menace."

He laughed, a rich, warm sound that filled the kitchen, and dodged my hand, stepping swiftly around the island. "Catch me if you can, El!"

"Oh, you're on!" I declared, a surge of adrenaline, not from fear but from pure, unadulterated playfulness, surging through me. This was Lando. This was us.

The kitchen, with its sleek surfaces and open space, became our playground. I chased him around the large island, his quick reflexes and long strides making him surprisingly agile. He weaved between the counter and the fridge, a mischievous grin plastered on his face, the peeler held aloft like a trophy. My own laughter bubbled up, light and free, a sound I hadn't realized I'd missed.

"Give me the peeler, you absolute child!" I gasped, rounding the corner, my hand outstretched.

He feigned a stumble, then pivoted, pressing himself back against the cool stainless steel of the large refrigerator, effectively cornering himself. I followed, my momentum carrying me forward until I was flush against him, my hands landing on his chest.

The laughter died in my throat, replaced by a sudden, intense stillness. His breath hitched, and mine caught in my lungs. We were pressed together, hip to hip, chest to chest, the warmth of his body radiating through my tank top. With one swift motion he turned me and I was now cornered between the fridge and him. His arms, still holding the peeler, were now braced on either side of my head, trapping me gently against the fridge.

His eyes, dark and intense, searched mine, the playful glint replaced by something deeper, something raw and hungry. I could feel the rapid beat of his heart against my palms, mirroring the frantic rhythm of my own. The scent of him, clean and undeniably male, filled my senses, mixing with the subtle aromas of garlic and rosemary in the air.

In that moment, suspended in the quiet hum of the kitchen, the memory slammed into me with the force of a tidal wave. The yacht. That night. The warm, salty air. The gentle sway of the boat. The way his body had felt against mine, the desperate, unthinking hunger that had consumed us both. The raw intimacy of skin on skin, the whispered breaths, the shattering release. It had been impulsive, exhilarating, a primal connection that had left me breathless and irrevocably changed.

His gaze dropped to my lips, then back to my eyes, a silent question, a shared memory. The air crackled with unspoken desire, a tension so thick it was almost painful. My lips parted, a silent invitation. The peeler, forgotten, clattered to the floor.

Chapter Text

Lando's POV

September 5^th, 2023

The peeler clattered to the floor, a small, insignificant sound that echoed in the sudden, deafening silence. My arms were braced against the cool steel of the refrigerator, Eleonora pressed against me, her hands flat on my chest, her body a warm, electric current against mine. The playful chase had ended, but the game had just begun.

Her eyes, wide and dark, were locked on mine, a swirling vortex of emotions I recognized, because they mirrored my own. Fear, yes, a lingering shadow from the horrors she'd just revealed, but beneath it, a raw, undeniable hunger. A vulnerability that called to something deep within me, something fiercely protective. And a desire that was a physical ache in my chest, a thrumming beneath my skin.

Her scent, a delicate mix of her shampoo and the subtle, intoxicating fragrance that was uniquely her, filled my lungs, making my head spin. Every nerve ending in my body was alive, hyper-aware of the soft curve of her hip against mine, the brush of her tank top against my chest, the warmth emanating from her skin.

"Eli," I breathed, her name a rough whisper, barely audible above the roar in my ears. My gaze dropped to her lips, slightly parted, inviting. All the chaos of the past few hours – the shock of Max's betrayal, the grim reality of the threat, the unsettling sweep of my own apartment – faded into a distant hum. In this moment, there was only her. Only us.

The memory of the yacht night flashed through my mind, vivid and potent. The humid air, the gentle rocking of the boat, the way her skin had felt beneath my hands, the desperate urgency of our shared passion. It had been real. More real than almost anything I'd experienced. And now, here, pressed against a cold appliance in her opulent kitchen, that same primal hunger, that same magnetic pull, was back, stronger, deeper, because it was now laced with the shared weight of this nightmare.

My head dipped, slowly, inexorably. Her eyes fluttered, then closed, her lips parting further, a silent invitation. The anticipation was exquisite, a sweet agony. I could feel her breath on my face, warm and shallow, mingling with mine. Just a fraction of an inch more...

Then, a soft, almost imperceptible shift. Her eyes opened, a mischievous glint, quickly followed by a wry smile. She leaned back, just enough to break the spell, though her body still brushed mine.

"Norris," she whispered, her voice a low, teasing murmur, "as much as I appreciate the... enthusiasm for my culinary efforts, my dauphinoise potatoes are not going to cook themselves. And I promised you a proper welcome to Monaco, not a takeout disaster."

My breath hitched, a frustrated groan rumbling in my chest. She pulled back further, a small, triumphant smirk playing on her lips. Damn her. She was good. Too good.

"You're impossible, Eleonora," I muttered, but the corners of my mouth twitched upwards. My arms dropped, though I kept my hands on her waist for a moment longer, savoring the lingering contact. "Just when I thought I had you right where I wanted you."

She laughed, a light, airy sound that made my chest ache. "Oh, you had me, Norris. You always do. But a chef's work is never done. Especially when dealing with... foundational elements that need constant supervision." She glanced pointedly at the scattered, uneven potato slices on the cutting board.

I rolled my eyes, but the heat in my gaze never left her. "Right. The potatoes. My artistic masterpieces. You know, for someone who claims to be so strategic, you're surprisingly quick to abandon a perfectly good ambush."

"Only when the stakes are higher," she retorted, turning back to the counter, grabbing a clean bowl. "And right now, the stakes are perfectly golden, creamy potatoes. And perhaps, a very satisfied Lando Norris. Which, I assure you, is a much more challenging objective than winning a Rocket League match."

I pushed off the fridge, moving to stand beside her, close enough that her shoulder brushed my arm. "You think so, huh? You think satisfying me is a challenge?" I leaned in, my voice low, a playful tease in my tone. "I'm pretty sure I'm a very easy man to please, Eleonora. Especially when the chef looks like that." My gaze lingered on her, from the curve of her calves in the shorts, up the line of her back, to the way her tank top stretched subtly across her shoulders as she reached for the cream.

She chuckled, a soft, breathy sound. "Oh, I'm sure you are, Norris. A simple man with simple needs. Like winning races. And eating lamb chops. But I prefer a challenge. It makes the victory all the sweeter." She poured cream over the potato slices, her movements precise, graceful.

"And you, Eli," I murmured, my hand hovering near her waist, resisting the urge to touch. "You're a challenge I'm more than willing to take on. Every single one of your complexities. Every single layer. I'm ready to explore them all."

She glanced at me, her eyes sparkling with a mix of amusement and something deeper, something that promised endless possibilities. "Just make sure you have enough... endurance, Norris. I tend to keep people on their toes."

"I'm a Formula 1 driver, Eleonora," I said, a grin spreading across my face. "Endurance is my middle name. And I've got all week."

She just shook her head, a soft smile playing on her lips, and turned back to the potatoes, carefully arranging them in the baking dish. "Now, if you don't mind, Norris, could you perhaps step away from the potatoes? Your hungry eyes are making them nervous. And I need them to be perfectly behaved for the oven."

I took a step back, but my eyes never left her. She was a vision, bathed in the warm glow of the kitchen lights, her grey shorts clinging to the curve of her hips, her tank top hinting at the soft lines of her body. Every movement was fluid, purposeful, from the way her fingers deftly arranged the potato slices to the subtle sway of her hips as she reached for the salt. God, she was captivating. My gaze lingered on her toned legs, visible beneath the hem of her shorts, and I felt a fresh wave of desire, a primal ache that settled deep in my gut. This wasn't just about the physical; it was about the sheer, overwhelming presence of her, the way she filled a room, filled my world, with a vibrant energy that had been missing for too long.

My new hobby, I thought, a mischievous grin playing on my lips. Watching Eleonora. Every single curve, every single movement. From every single angle. The thought was both playful and deadly serious. I wanted to absorb every detail, commit her to memory, because the idea of her not being here, not being within my sight, was suddenly unbearable.

A low growl rumbled in my chest, a silent testament to the hunger that gnawed at me. Not just for the lamb chops and dauphinoise, though they smelled incredible. But for her. For the taste of her lips, the feel of her skin, the soft sounds she made when she was close. The memory of the yacht, of our bodies entwined, was a constant, tantalizing whisper in my mind. I wanted to pull her back against me, to bury my face in her hair, to lose myself in the intoxicating scent of her. To forget the world, if only for a moment, and just exist in the bubble of her presence.

The fear of Max, the stark reality of the threat, still pulsed beneath the surface, a cold current. But it was precisely that fear that sharpened my desire to keep her close, to protect her, to never let her out of my sight. This wasn't just about a rekindled spark; it was about a desperate, aching need to be her anchor, her shield. The thought of her being alone, vulnerable, sent a fresh wave of cold dread through me. I needed to be here. I needed to be with her. Always.

She turned, catching my gaze, a knowing smile playing on her lips. "Still staring, Lan? You're going to burn a hole through the oven door."

"Just admiring the view, El," I replied, my voice a little rougher than I intended. "And planning my next move. This week just got a whole lot more interesting." I leaned back against the counter, crossing my arms, trying to project an air of casual nonchalance that I was far from feeling. Every fiber of my being screamed to close the distance between us, to pull her back into my arms. But for now, I would wait. I would watch. And I would savor every single moment of her presence.

The air in the kitchen was still thick with unspoken desire, but now it was layered with the comforting sounds of dinner being prepared, and the easy rhythm of our banter. The storm outside was still raging, but in this kitchen, with her, I felt a profound sense of peace. And a very, very hungry anticipation.

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The kitchen, once a battlefield of playful pursuit and questionable potato-peeling, now hummed with the rich, comforting aromas of a perfectly executed meal. Eleonora moved with an effortless grace, her movements precise and confident as she plated the food. The golden light of the setting sun, now a soft, warm glow through the panoramic windows, cast long shadows across the sleek marble countertops.

I watched her, mesmerized. The way her brow furrowed in concentration as she arranged the lamb chops, the subtle flex of her muscles in her arms as she lifted the heavy baking dish of dauphinoise. Every detail was captivating. My "new hobby" was proving to be far more engaging than any video game.

"Alright, Norris," she announced, her voice a triumphant purr, breaking my reverie. "Dinner is served."

She placed two hot plates on the kitchen island, which now served as our dining table. The presentation was impeccable. Two perfectly seared lamb chops, glistening with a deep, rich red wine reduction, rested beside a generous portion of creamy, golden dauphinoise potatoes, their layers visible and inviting. A sprig of fresh rosemary adorned each plate, adding a touch of vibrant green. The scent was intoxicating – savory lamb, sweet reduction, the comforting warmth of baked potatoes. My stomach, which had been rumbling a constant protest for the last hour, gave a particularly loud growl.

"Wow," I breathed, genuinely impressed. "That actually looks... incredible, Eli. You weren't kidding about those hidden talents." I leaned forward, inhaling deeply. "Smells even better."

She gave a small, pleased smile, a hint of pride in her eyes. "Only the best for my... unexpected houseguest. Now, don't just stare. Dig in before it gets cold."

I picked up my fork, a playful smirk tugging at my lips. I cut a small piece of lamb, the knife slicing through it effortlessly. I brought it to my nose, sniffing dramatically.

"Hmm," I mused, my eyes narrowed in mock suspicion. "A gourmet meal, prepared by a woman who, just hours ago, was running from a stalker. And she's been suspiciously quiet about her past culinary experiments. Are you sure this isn't some elaborate plot, Kimbel? A slow-acting poison, perhaps? To finally get rid of the 'menace'?" I winked, a challenge in my eyes.

Eleonora laughed, a full, throaty sound that resonated through the quiet kitchen. She picked up her own fork, taking a delicate bite of a potato. "Oh, Norris, if I wanted to get rid of you, I have far more efficient and less messy methods than a slow-acting poison. Besides," she leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, her eyes sparkling, "where's the fun in that? I prefer my victims to be fully aware of their impending... satisfaction."

My heart skipped a beat. "Satisfaction, huh?" I took a bite of the lamb. It was tender, perfectly cooked, the reduction bursting with flavor. "Well, if this is how you 'satisfy' your victims, then I'm officially signing up for a lifetime sentence." I chewed slowly, savoring the taste, my gaze fixed on her. "Seriously, El, this is amazing. You could quit your job and open a Michelin-star restaurant."

"And leave you to fend for yourself at the paddock?" she scoffed, but her cheeks flushed a delicate pink. "Never. Besides, who would appreciate my culinary genius if not a perpetually hungry racing driver who thinks a balanced meal is a protein bar and a Monster?"

"Hey! I have a very sophisticated palate!" I protested, though my mouth was full of delicious dauphinoise. "And I appreciate quality. Which, clearly, you deliver. So, what's the catch? This level of domestic perfection usually comes with a hidden agenda. Are you trying to trap me here indefinitely? Because, honestly, after today, it's not the worst idea I've heard."

Her smile softened, losing some of its playful edge, replaced by something warm and genuine. "No hidden agenda, Lando. Just... dinner. And maybe," she paused, her eyes meeting mine, a silent invitation passing between us, "just maybe, I wanted to make sure you felt safe. And looked after. After everything."

The sincerity in her voice hit me, a quiet counterpoint to our usual banter. It was a reminder of the raw vulnerability we'd shared earlier, the fear that still lingered. And it made the warmth spreading through me even deeper.

"Well, mission accomplished, El," I said, my voice softer now, my gaze tender. "I feel... incredibly safe. And very, very looked after. Thank you." I reached across the island, my fingers brushing hers, a fleeting, electric contact. "This is exactly what I needed."

She squeezed my hand gently, then pulled back, a ghost of her mischievous smile returning. "Good. Now eat your potatoes before I decide to take them away. You've been eyeing them like they're the last set of soft tires on a hot track."

I chuckled, a genuine, contented sound. "Can't blame a man for appreciating a good set of curves, can you?" I winked, then focused on my plate, but my eyes kept flicking back to her. The hunger for the food was being satisfied, but the hunger for her, for her presence, her laughter, her touch, was only just beginning. And I had all week to indulge it.

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I finished my meal, pushing the empty plate slightly forward. The lamb chops were devoured, the dauphinoise a creamy, comforting memory. I leaned back against the high stool, a sigh of pure contentment escaping me. "Eleonora Kimbel," I declared, looking at her with genuine awe, "you are a culinary wizard. That was honestly one of the best meals I've had in ages. Seriously. I'm stuffed."

She smiled, a soft, pleased expression that made her eyes crinkle at the corners. She began to gather the plates, her movements efficient. "High praise from the man who survives on Nando's and protein shakes. I'll take it."

"No, I mean it," I insisted, reaching out to stop her from taking my plate just yet. "It was genuinely incredible. But it also begs the question... how? Last time I remembered, your family had a personal cook. You barely knew how to boil water, let alone conjure up something like that." I gestured to the remnants on my plate, still impressed.

She paused, a faint, almost imperceptible shadow crossing her face, quickly replaced by a wry smile. She picked up a damp cloth and began wiping down the counter. "Well, Norris, necessity is the mother of invention, isn't it? And a global pandemic certainly qualifies as 'necessity'."

I frowned slightly, leaning forward. "COVID? What did COVID have to do with you becoming a gourmet chef?"

She sighed, a soft, almost wistful sound. "When the first lockdown hit, back in 2020, Izzy moved in with me. We decided to isolate ourselves completely, just the two of us, to minimize any risk. And suddenly, Nora, my cook, couldn't come to the house anymore. It was just... us." She shrugged, a small, self-deprecating laugh escaping her. "And let me tell you, Izzy's cooking skills are... enthusiastic, but not exactly refined. We survived on a lot of very questionable dishes for the first few weeks."

I chuckled, picturing Izzy's chaotic attempts at cooking. "I can imagine. So, you took up the apron out of self-preservation?"

"Precisely," she confirmed, her eyes twinkling. "Someone had to. And it started as just that – survival. But then... it became something more. Something to focus on. Something to control." Her voice softened, her gaze drifting towards the panoramic window, her eyes unfocused, as if looking into the past. "The world outside was terrifying. The news, the uncertainty, the isolation. And then... there were other things too. Just... the general anxieties of everything. It was a way to ground myself, I suppose."

"So, cooking became your... therapy?" I prompted gently, wanting to understand, to see into those hidden layers she'd alluded to earlier.

She nodded, a faint, sad smile touching her lips. "Something like that. It was methodical. Precise. You follow a recipe, you get a result. There's a satisfaction in that, a sense of order in a world that felt completely chaotic. It took my mind off... everything. The virus, the fear, the isolation. The overwhelming nature of it all. It was a way to create something beautiful, something nourishing, when everything else felt so ugly and uncertain." She turned back to me, her gaze clear again, but with a lingering vulnerability. "And it turned out I was actually quite good at it. Who knew?"

"I did," I said, my voice low, reaching out to gently touch her arm, my thumb stroking her skin. "I always knew you had hidden depths, Eli. You're full of surprises. And honestly," I leaned in, my voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "I'm incredibly grateful for those 'other things' that pushed you into the kitchen. Otherwise, I might never have experienced this culinary masterpiece. Or... this." My eyes dropped to her lips, then back to her eyes, a silent, hungry question.

She laughed, a breathy, nervous sound, her cheeks flushing. She pulled her arm back, but her eyes lingered on mine, the unspoken attraction thrumming between us. "Norris, you're incorrigible. Now, if you're quite finished with your compliments, and your thinly veiled attempts at distraction, perhaps you could help me clear these plates? Or are you too 'famished' for manual labour?"

I grinned, pushing myself off the stool. "Anything for the chef, El. Anything at all. Especially if it leads to... dessert." I winked, reaching for the stack of plates, my fingers brushing hers as I took them. The contact was brief, but electric. The kitchen was still filled with the lingering scent of lamb and rosemary, but now, it was also charged with the heady aroma of anticipation. This week was going to be a long, delicious, and very revealing one.

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I watched Eleonora move around the kitchen, her presence a magnetic force. After our conversation about her newfound culinary skills, the air between us felt even more charged, a deeper understanding now woven into our playful banter. She retrieved the small ramekins of chocolate pudding from the refrigerator, their dark surfaces gleaming. The rich, sweet scent of cocoa immediately intensified, a promise of indulgence.

"Alright, Norris," she announced, her voice a low, teasing purr, "the main event is chilling. Now for the grand finale." She reached into the fridge again, pulling out a can of squirty cream. The bright white can, with its cheerful cap, seemed almost comically innocent in her hands, yet somehow, she made even that look alluring.

"Squirty cream, eh?" I raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on my lips. "Going for the full childhood fantasy, are we? I approve. Though I suspect your Michelin star might be revoked for such... unconventional plating."

She shot me a playful glare, a challenge in her eyes. "Don't knock it until you've tried it, Norris. There's an art to the perfect squirt. It's all about control, precision, and knowing just when to stop." She held the can aloft, demonstrating with a flourish. "Something I'm sure you, as a racing driver, can appreciate."

"Oh, I appreciate control and precision more than anyone, El," I countered, my voice dropping, my gaze lingering on her hands, then drifting to her lips. "Especially when it comes to... delicate maneuvers. And knowing just when to stop? Highly overrated, I find. Sometimes, it's more fun to just keep going."

She laughed, a breathy, nervous sound that sent a shiver down my spine. "You're incorrigible. Now, watch and learn." With a practiced hand, she began to swirl generous dollops of the white cream onto the dark, glossy surface of the puddings. The soft, airy clouds contrasted beautifully with the deep brown, a visual delight.

"Looks almost too good to eat," I murmured, leaning closer, my eyes fixed on the desserts. "Almost."

"Almost is the operative word," she said, finishing the last ramekin. She picked one up and handed it to me, the cool ceramic warm from the pudding's lingering heat. "Here. Your reward for not completely sabotaging my kitchen. And for being a surprisingly good listener."

I took the ramekin, my fingers brushing hers, a spark igniting at the brief contact. The cream wobbled invitingly. I dipped my spoon in, scooping up a perfect mouthful of rich chocolate and airy cream. The taste was heavenly – smooth, decadent, the sweetness balanced by the slight bitterness of the dark chocolate.

"Oh, Eleonora," I groaned, my eyes closing in pure bliss. "This is... this is dangerous. You're going to make me forget all about my strict diet. And my self-control." I opened my eyes, meeting her gaze, a deep, appreciative warmth in mine. "Seriously, this is incredible. You've outdone yourself."

"I aim to please," she said, taking a bite of her own pudding, a faint smudge of cream on her upper lip. My eyes immediately fixated on it. A sudden, visceral urge pulsed through me, a raw, aching want to reach out, to brush it away with my thumb, to feel the softness of her skin, to linger. The thought of that sweet, cool cream, mixed with the warmth of her, was an almost unbearable temptation. My gaze burned, imagining the soft brush of my fingers against her skin, the taste.

"You certainly do," I murmured, my voice a little husky, my eyes still locked on that tiny, tempting mark. I took another spoonful, then paused, a mischievous glint entering my eyes. "You know, El, this pudding is fantastic. Truly. But I have to admit..." I leaned in, my voice dropping to a low, intimate whisper, "I had another dessert in mind for tonight."

Her eyes widened slightly, a blush creeping up her neck. "Oh? And what, pray tell, would that be, Norris? Something even more decadent than this?" She gestured to the pudding.

My gaze dropped to her lips, then swept over her face, lingering on the soft curve of her jaw, the pulse fluttering at her throat. "Something far more decadent. Something I've been craving since the moment I walked through that door." My eyes met hers, a raw, undeniable hunger in their depths. "Something that doesn't involve chocolate, or cream, but is infinitely sweeter. And much, much closer."

The air crackled between us, thick with unspoken desire. Her breath hitched, and her spoon clattered softly against the ramekin. The playful banter had given way to a palpable tension, a magnetic pull that threatened to consume us both. I wanted to reach out, to pull her into my arms, to kiss her and taste the sweetness of her, to banish all thought of Max and the outside world. The thought of her, warm and yielding in my arms, was a powerful, almost desperate longing. I wanted to drown out the lingering fear, the weight of the world, with the intoxicating reality of her. To lose myself in her, completely.

She held my gaze for a long moment, her eyes dark and searching, a silent battle playing out within her. Then, slowly, a faint, knowing smile touched her lips, a hint of playful defiance returning.

"Well, Norris," she said, her voice a little breathless, but regaining its witty edge, "you're going to have to wait for that one. This pudding needs to be finished first. And then, perhaps, we can discuss... alternative dessert options." She took another deliberate spoonful of her pudding, her eyes never leaving mine, a clear challenge in her gaze. "Unless, of course, you'd prefer to skip straight to the main course of your 'other dessert' and miss out on this deliciousness entirely?"

I chuckled, a low, frustrated sound, but a grin spread across my face. She was good. She was so damn good. "You drive a hard bargain, Eleonora Kimbel. A very hard bargain." I took another bite of the pudding, savoring the taste, my eyes still fixed on her. "But I suppose some things are worth waiting for. Even if the anticipation is absolutely killing me."

The kitchen was still filled with the lingering scent of chocolate, but now it was also charged with the heady aroma of anticipation.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

The last spoonful of chocolate pudding was a sweet, lingering memory on my tongue. I set the empty ramekin down with a contented sigh. Eleonora, equally finished, was already rinsing her spoon under the tap. The kitchen, now quiet save for the gentle hum of the refrigerator, felt warm and inviting.

"Alright, Chef," I said, pushing myself off the stool, feeling a pleasant fullness. "Dinner was spectacular, dessert was divine. You've officially spoiled me for all other home-cooked meals." I stretched, rolling my shoulders, then turned to her, a casual, inviting tone in my voice. "So, what's the next item on the agenda for our impromptu Monaco staycation? I was thinking... 'Netflix and chill'? Unless you have a more rigorous training schedule in mind for your guest?"

She turned, wiping her hands on a small towel, a playful glint in her eyes. "Netflix and chill, Norris? Is that your subtle way of suggesting we actually relax for once? I'm shocked. I thought you'd be itching to analyze some race telemetry or, you know, build a new Lego set."

"Hey! Lego is a serious commitment," I retorted, feigning offense. "And yes, I am suggesting we relax. After the day you've had, and the day I've had, I think we've earned it. Besides, I'm pretty sure my security team would appreciate a quiet evening. Less running around for them." I winked.

She laughed, a soft, genuine sound. "Alright, alright, you've convinced me. Follow me, Lan. I think you'll appreciate this room."

She led the way, a subtle sway to her hips as she moved, and I followed, my gaze fixed on her. She pushed open a discreet doorway I'd noticed earlier, tucked away in the living room, revealing what could only be described as a private cinema. The room was bathed in soft, indirect lighting, with plush, oversized sofas arranged in a semi-circle facing a massive screen that dominated one wall. Thick, sound-dampening curtains covered the windows, making the space feel completely isolated from the outside world. It was cozy, luxurious, and instantly inviting.

"Wow," I heard myself breathe, my voice filled with genuine surprise. "Okay, this is... impressive, El. Very impressive. You certainly know how to live." I walked further into the room, taking in the surroundings.

"Only the best for my... relaxation," she said, a smug grin on her face. She plopped down onto the largest sofa, sinking into its plush cushions, and patted the spot next to her. "Come on. Prime seating."

I settled beside her, the sofa swallowing us both in its comfortable embrace. The faint scent of her shampoo, mixed with the lingering sweetness of the chocolate, was intoxicating. She snuggled closer, her head resting naturally on my shoulder, her arm brushing mine. The warmth of her body against mine was a comforting weight, a silent promise of shared peace. She reached for a remote on the side table, the large screen flickering to life, displaying the familiar Netflix interface.

"Alright, what's on the menu tonight?" she murmured, scrolling through the options. "Anything that won't give me nightmares?"

"Hopefully not," I chuckled, my arm instinctively wrapping around her, pulling her a little tighter against me. The softness of her hair brushed my cheek. "Though, after today, I'm not sure anything could be worse than reality." I leaned my head back, content, just enjoying the feel of her beside me.

Then, she suddenly stiffened. "Oh, damn it!" she exclaimed, pushing herself upright, a look of exasperated realization on her face. "The snacks! I completely forgot the popcorn! And drinks!"

Before I could even react, she was off the sofa, a blur of grey shorts and tank top, hurrying out of the room.

I watched her go, a slow, contented chuckle rumbling in my chest. Typical Eleonora. Always forgetting the small, mundane things in her rush to conquer the big ones. But it was endearing. It was her. And in that moment, sitting alone on the vast sofa, in the quiet luxury of her home, a profound sense of happiness washed over me. Max was a threat, yes, a dark cloud on the horizon, but here, now, in this moment, with her, everything felt... right. Safe. Content. The desperate hunger for her was still there, a constant thrum beneath my skin, but it was a warm, patient hunger now, filled with the promise of time.

It was only five minutes before she reappeared, her arms laden. She emerged with a large, overflowing bowl of freshly popped popcorn, the buttery scent filling the air, and two frosty bottles of iced tea clutched in her other hand. She navigated the dim lighting with practiced ease, a small, triumphant smile on her face.

"See?" she announced, carefully setting the bowl and bottles on the coffee table in front of us. "Crisis averted. Now, where were we?" She settled back onto the sofa, snuggling into my side once more, her warmth immediately seeping into me.

"Crisis averted, indeed," I said, reaching for a handful of popcorn. "Though I was starting to think you'd abandoned me for a midnight snack raid. And speaking of snacks... let's see what culinary delights you've been saving on Netflix." I took the remote from her hand, scrolling through her "My List."

My eyes widened. "Eleonora! What is this? 'The Witcher'? 'Mindhunter'? And is that a documentary about alien abductions?" I turned to her, a look of mock horror on my face. "El, what have you been doing with your life? This is a national emergency. I'm pretty sure my PR team would disown me if they saw this list."

She punched my arm playfully. "Hey! Don't you dare judge my cinematic tastes, Lando! The Witcher is epic fantasy! And Mindhunter is a brilliant true crime series! As for the alien abduction documentary, it's about exploring the unknown, pushing boundaries! Things you should understand!"

"Passion, yes. Dedication, absolutely. But alien abductions?" I shook my head, a grin splitting my face. "I'm pretty sure my definition of 'excellence' involves a bit more speed and a lot less tin foil hats. And don't even get me started on the horror. Are you secretly a thrill-seeker, Eleonora Kimbel? Is this the 'complexity' you were talking about?"

She playfully pushed my shoulder, her laughter bubbling up. "Maybe I am! What's wrong with a bit of suspense, Norris? Or a good mystery? Unlike your saved list, which I'm sure is 90% action movies with gratuitous explosions and 10% documentaries about tire compounds."

"Hey! Explosions are art! And tire compounds are fascinating!" I defended, popping another handful of popcorn into my mouth. "But fine. Since you're the one who cooked, and you're the one with the questionable taste, you pick. But if it involves any more serial killers or interdimensional portals, I'm putting on a Formula 1 race replay."

She pretended to ponder, her finger hovering over a title. "Hmm. Tempting. But I think I'll go easy on you tonight. How about... 'Stranger Things'?" Her finger hovered over the title, the iconic neon title card glowing. "It's got sci-fi, a bit of mystery, some horror elements, and it's genuinely well-written. Plus, it's a series, so we can binge-watch if you behave."

My eyebrows shot up. Stranger Things. I'd heard about it, seen the buzz. It was sci-fi, yes, but it had a strong narrative, a sense of adventure, and a bit of a cult following. It wasn't my usual fare, but it definitely wasn't a knitting documentary. And the idea of "binge-watching" with her... that was a very appealing prospect.

"Stranger Things, huh?" I mused, a slow grin spreading across my face. "Alright, Kimbel. You're full of surprises. I'll admit, that's a solid choice. A bit... spooky for my usual tastes, but I'm willing to expand my horizons for a night. As long as there are no actual demogorgons trying to eat us. I draw the line at interdimensional monsters."

She laughed, a soft, warm sound against my chest. "Deal. No actual demogorgons. Just the cinematic kind." She pressed play, and the iconic opening credits filled the vast screen, the synth-heavy score beginning to swell.

The world outside, with its threats and its anxieties, felt miles away. Here, in the soft glow of the screen, with Eleonora snuggled beside me, the scent of popcorn and her warmth enveloping me, everything felt perfectly, wonderfully, gloriously right. This was more than just Netflix and chill. This was a new beginning, a quiet, intimate moment of peace in the eye of a storm, with the woman who was quickly becoming my entire world.

Eleonora, nestled comfortably against my side, hummed along softly, her fingers idly tracing patterns on my arm. The buttery scent of popcorn mingled with the lingering sweetness of chocolate, a comforting counterpoint to the growing suspense on screen.

We settled into the first episode, "Chapter One: The Vanishing of Will Byers." The introduction of the Dungeons & Dragons game immediately caught my attention.

"Right, so this is your idea of 'action,' El?" I whispered, nudging her gently with my shoulder as the kids rolled their dice. "A bunch of nerds in a basement playing a board game? Pretty sure my Gran's bingo night has more thrills."

She chuckled, a warm vibration against my side. "Shh, Lan. This is where the real strategy begins. It's about imagination, world-building, facing your inner demons... you wouldn't understand. You're too busy trying to out-brake everyone."

"My inner demons are usually just a bad setup," I retorted, but I was already intrigued. The sudden shift in tone as Will vanished, the ominous flickering of the lights in Joyce's house – it was genuinely unsettling. The way the phone crackled, the static electricity in the air, the unsettling feeling that something was there, just beyond the veil of normal. It was subtle, effective.

As the first episode unfolded, we were drawn in. The frantic search for Will, Hopper's gruff, world-weary demeanor, the chilling escape of Eleven from Hawkins Lab. Eleonora gasped softly when Eleven flipped the van, her body tensing against mine, and I felt a protective urge surge through me.

"Okay, I'll admit," I conceded as the credits rolled on the first episode, "that was... surprisingly good. Not a single explosion, and yet, I'm vaguely invested. Though, the whole 'lights communicating' thing? Bit dramatic, isn't it? Surely there's a more efficient way to send a message than flickering fairy lights."

Eleonora pushed herself up slightly, turning to face me, her eyes bright with enthusiasm. "Dramatic? Lando, it's brilliant! It's pure, unadulterated terror! Imagine, your own house turning against you, speaking in a language only you understand. It's a classic horror trope, perfectly executed. And it's so much more chilling than a simple text message, wouldn't you agree?" She punctuated her point with a playful poke to my chest, her finger lingering.

"I don't know, El," I countered, catching her finger and holding it gently. "A text message is pretty terrifying when it's from your PR manager after you've said something questionable in an interview. Far more immediate dread than a flickering bulb, I assure you." I squeezed her finger, enjoying the soft contact.

She rolled her eyes, but a smile played on her lips. "You're impossible. But seriously, the atmosphere? The 80s vibe? The way they've captured that small-town innocence before everything goes sideways? It's perfectly creepy. And Eleven! She's so mysterious. What do you think her powers are? And where did she come from?"

"Hawkins Lab, clearly," I stated, my analytical brain kicking in. "Some kind of government experiment gone wrong, probably. They're trying to weaponize psychic abilities, or something equally nefarious. It's always the quiet government facilities, isn't it? All that sterile equipment and hidden agendas." I took a handful of popcorn, my gaze still on the screen, piecing together the subtle clues. "Though, I'm still trying to figure out the energy source for flipping a van like that. Kinetic energy displacement? Telekinesis on a molecular level? The physics are a bit... fuzzy. And the nosebleeds? A side effect of extreme cerebral exertion, perhaps?"

Eleonora scoffed, leaning her head back against my shoulder, her warmth a comforting presence. "Lando, you're ruining the magic! It's sci-fi, not a technical briefing. You're supposed to suspend your disbelief, not try to calculate the G-forces of a levitating vehicle." She leaned in, her voice dropping to a teasing whisper, her breath warm against my ear. "Unless you're secretly hoping to replicate her powers for a shortcut on the track? Imagine, just thinking your way past Verstappen, making his car spontaneously combust."

I grinned, a slow, predatory smile. "Now that is an idea I can get behind. Forget DRS, Eleonora. We need Eleven on the pit wall. Though, I'm not sure the FIA would approve of 'psychic overtaking maneuvers'. And the post-race interviews would be a nightmare. 'So, Lando, how did you manage that impossible overtake?' 'Oh, just a bit of mental fortitude, you know.' They'd never believe me."

We started the second episode, "Chapter Two: The Weirdo on Maple Street." The tension ratcheted up. Jonathan's desperate search in the woods, his eerie photographs, Nancy's oblivious romance with Steve, and the truly chilling moment when Barb disappeared from the poolside. The sudden, guttural sounds, the way the lights flickered and died, leaving Nancy alone and vulnerable.

"See?" Eleonora whispered, nudging me as Barb vanished, her body tensing slightly against mine. "I told you it was creepy. Poor Barb. She just wanted to chill by the pool, be a good friend, and suddenly she's... gone. This is why you never leave your friends alone at a party, Norris. Especially when there are interdimensional monsters lurking in the shadows, attracted to teenage angst."

"Interdimensional monsters, right," I muttered, though a genuine shiver did run down my spine. The creature's brief, shadowy appearance was unsettling, a fleeting glimpse of something truly alien. "Though, I'm more concerned with the lack of proper security at this 'Hawkins Lab.' Seriously, a few armed guards and some proper perimeter fencing could solve half their problems. And why are they keeping a child with superpowers in a flimsy hospital gown? It's hardly a secure containment measure."

"Because it's a story, Lando, not a security audit!" she exclaimed, laughing, her head shaking against my shoulder. "You're missing the point! It's about the unknown, the vulnerability, the fact that these ordinary people are facing something extraordinary. It's terrifying because it's so unexpected, so out of their control. It's about the fear of what lurks just beneath the surface of normal life." She leaned back against me, her body warm and soft, her fingers now playing with the collar of my t-shirt. "And Joyce. My heart breaks for her. She's so desperate, and everyone thinks she's losing her mind. But she's the only one who truly believes Will is still there, still trying to communicate."

"I get that," I admitted, my voice softening. "The maternal instinct. It's powerful. You can see her breaking, but she keeps fighting. And Hopper's starting to clue in, too. He's got that cynical, seen-it-all cop vibe, the 'nothing surprises me' attitude, but you can tell he's starting to realize something genuinely messed up is going on. He's looking for the logical explanations, the mundane answers, but the evidence is pointing somewhere else entirely. He's a man of facts, but the facts are getting... weird."

She turned her head, her chin resting on my shoulder, her eyes meeting mine. Her face was close, her breath warm against my cheek. "Just like you, Lando. Always looking for the logical explanation, the data, the precise calculations. But sometimes, the most interesting things happen when you step outside the data, wouldn't you agree?" Her gaze dropped to my lips, lingering for a moment, a silent, hungry question in her eyes, a challenge that went beyond the flickering screen.

"Sometimes," I murmured, my voice a little rough, my hand tightening around her waist, pulling her even closer. The popcorn bowl was forgotten on the table. The hum of the cinema room, the flickering images on the screen faded, becoming mere background noise. All that mattered was the warmth of her body against mine, the scent of her hair, the unspoken promise in her eyes, and the electric tension that constantly crackled between us. The mysteries of Hawkins, Indiana, suddenly seemed far less compelling than the mysteries of Eleonora Kimbel, and the different kind of unknown that lay between us, one I was more than ready to explore.

Chapter Text

Eleonora's POV

September 5^th, 2023

"I get that," he admitted, his voice softening. "The maternal instinct. It's powerful. You can see her breaking, but she keeps fighting. And Hopper's starting to clue in, too. He's got that cynical, seen-it-all cop vibe, the 'nothing surprises me' attitude, but you can tell he's starting to realize something genuinely messed up is going on. He's looking for the logical explanations, the mundane answers, but the evidence is pointing somewhere else entirely. He's a man of facts, but the facts are getting... weird."

I turned my head, my chin resting on his shoulder, my eyes meeting his. His face was close, his breath warm against my cheek. "Just like you, Norris. Always looking for the logical explanation, the data, the precise calculations. But sometimes, the most interesting things happen when you step outside the data, wouldn't you agree?" My gaze dropped to his lips, lingering for a moment, a silent, hungry question in my eyes, a challenge that went beyond the flickering screen.

The world narrowed to the space between us. The faint glow of the Netflix screen, the distant hum of the city, the buttery scent of popcorn – all faded into a soft, indistinct blur. There was only Lando. His eyes, dark and intense, were locked on mine, a raw, undeniable hunger in their depths that mirrored the frantic beating of my own heart. The air crackled, thick with unspoken desire, a tension so potent it was almost painful.

My breath hitched. His hand, warm and firm, tightened around my waist, pulling me closer still, until there was no space left between us. I could feel the heat radiating from his body, the steady rhythm of his breathing, the powerful thrum of his pulse against my side.

His gaze dropped to my lips, then back to my eyes, a silent question, a shared memory of that yacht night, of the impulsive, undeniable current that had surged between us. This time, there was no rocking boat, no salty air, just the plush softness of the sofa and the overwhelming reality of him.

Slowly, inexorably, his head dipped. My lips parted, a silent invitation, my eyes fluttering closed as I leaned into him, anticipating the contact. The wait was exquisite, a sweet agony that stretched time. I could feel the soft brush of his breath on my face, warm and shallow, mingling with mine.

Then, his lips met mine.

It was a slow, tender press at first, a gentle exploration, as if he were asking permission. But then, as my own lips responded, yielding, a soft sigh escaping me, the kiss deepened. It was hungry, desperate, a culmination of weeks, months, years of unspoken longing, of missed chances and undeniable connection. His mouth moved over mine with a fierce, tender urgency, a silent language of need and comfort. I tasted chocolate from the pudding, and something else, something uniquely Lando, a clean, masculine warmth that filled my senses.

My hands, almost without conscious thought, found their way to his hair, my fingers tangling in the soft strands at the nape of his neck, pulling him closer still. His arms tightened around my waist, lifting me slightly, fitting my body even more perfectly against his. I felt the soft give of the sofa cushions beneath us as we shifted, lost in the moment. Every nerve ending in my body is alive, humming with a vibrant energy that chased away the cold fear that had gripped me for so long.

This wasn't just desire; it was a profound sense of relief. In his arms, in the intoxicating reality of his kiss, the terrifying shadow of Max faded. The anxieties of the day, the constant vigilance, the feeling of being hunted – for these precious moments, they dissolved into nothingness. Lando was a sanctuary, a warm, solid anchor in a world that had suddenly become liquid and unpredictable. He was the safe harbor I hadn't realized I was so desperately searching for.

His lips moved from mine, trailing a path along my jawline, down my neck, sending shivers across my skin. I arched into him, my breath catching in my throat, a soft moan escaping me. His touch was both gentle and demanding, a promise of deeper intimacy. I felt the soft brush of his stubble against my skin, the warmth of his breath, the subtle scent of his perfume. Every sensation was heightened, magnified by the sheer intensity of the moment.

He pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against mine, his eyes still closed, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "El," he whispered, his voice rough with emotion, "God, El."

I opened my eyes, meeting his. They were dark, dilated, filled with a raw, vulnerable emotion that mirrored my own. A profound tenderness settled between us, a silent understanding that transcended words. We just lay there for a long moment, tangled together on the sofa, listening to the rapid beat of our hearts, the lingering echoes of the kiss still vibrating between us.

Eventually, with a soft sigh, he shifted, pulling me even closer, tucking my head under his chin. His arm wrapped securely around me, his hand resting on my hip, a silent promise of protection. I closed my eyes, inhaling his scent, feeling utterly safe, utterly cherished. The TV series played on, a distant hum, but its narrative was irrelevant. Our own story, unfolding here in the quiet of the cinema room, was far more compelling.

I drifted into a light, contented sleep, the first truly peaceful rest I'd had in days, lulled by the steady beat of his heart and the comforting warmth of his body.

September 6^th, 2023

I woke slowly, a delicious warmth enveloping me. For a moment, I was disoriented, the unfamiliar softness of the sofa beneath me, the scent of a different pillow. Then, memory flooded back: Lando. His arm was still securely around me, his breath soft and even against my hair. The cinema room was dim, the curtains still drawn, but a sliver of bright morning light peeked through a gap, painting a thin, golden line across the far wall.

I shifted slightly, careful not to wake him, and looked up at his face. He was still asleep, his features relaxed, a faint stubble darkening his jaw. He looked younger, more peaceful, without the usual intensity that shadowed his eyes. A wave of affection, so profound it almost hurt, washed over me. He had been there for me, without question, without hesitation, stepping into the chaos of my life and offering a refuge.

I gently disentangled myself from Lando's embrace, careful not to disturb him. He stirred slightly, a soft groan escaping him, but didn't wake. I pulled a soft throw blanket over him, then stood, stretching out the kinks in my body. The room was cool, quiet.

I padded silently out of the cinema room, through the living area, and into the kitchen. The rising sun was now flooding the space with brilliant light, glinting off the polished surfaces. The empty plates from last night were still stacked by the sink, a testament to our shared meal.

I made myself a cup of coffee, the rich aroma a welcome jolt to my senses. As I sipped it, leaning against the cool marble of the island, my mind drifted. The fear of Fewtrell was still a distant hum, a problem John was actively managing, but for now, in the quiet glow of this Monaco morning, it felt manageable. My thoughts were lighter, filled with the warmth of Lando's presence, the memory of his lips on mine, the comfortable weight of his arm around me. A soft smile touched my lips. This was a new kind of normal, a safe bubble within the larger storm.

A soft groan from the doorway pulled me from my reverie. Lando stood there, leaning against the frame, his hair even more disheveled than usual, a sleepy, charming grin on his face. He was wearing the same shorts and t-shirt from last night, looking utterly rumpled and utterly adorable.

"Morning, Eli," he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep, stretching his arms above his head. "Smells good in here. You're trying to lure me out of bed with the promise of caffeine, aren't you?"

"It's working, isn't it, Norris?" I retorted, a playful glint in my eye. "Though I'm pretty sure the smell of coffee is enough to wake the dead. Or at least, a very sleepy racing driver." I gestured to the coffee maker. "Want a cup? Or are you going to stand there looking like you just rolled out of a hedge?"

He chuckled, pushing off the doorway and padding towards me, his bare feet silent on the cool floor. "Definitely coffee. And yes, I probably do. I had a rather excellent dream, you see. Very comfortable sofa. Very good company." His eyes met mine, a soft, intimate warmth passing between us, acknowledging the unspoken events of the night.

"Oh, really?" I said, pouring him a mug, the steam curling invitingly. "And here I thought you'd be dreaming of podiums and tire strategy. My ego is severely bruised." I handed him the mug, our fingers brushing.

"Podiums are temporary, El," he said, taking a long sip, his eyes closing in bliss. "This coffee, and this company, are far more... enduring." He winked, then leaned against the counter beside me, taking another sip. "So, what's the plan for breakfast, Chef? More culinary wizardry? Or are we back to protein bars?"

"Hardly," I scoffed, already pulling a carton of eggs and a packet of bacon from the fridge. "I'm feeling ambitious. Today, you get the full English experience. Or, at least, my Monaco-inspired version. Eggs and bacon. And perhaps some toast, if you behave." I pulled out a large frying pan, the metal cold against my fingers.

"Eggs and bacon?" His eyes lit up, a genuine, boyish excitement. "You're spoiling me, Eleonora. First lamb chops, then chocolate pudding, now a proper breakfast. I might never leave." He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a low, teasing murmur. "Is this your cunning plan? To fatten me up so I can't escape your clutches?"

"It's a possibility," I admitted, cracking two eggs into a bowl, their yolks a vibrant orange. "Though, I think my charm is far more effective than any amount of bacon. You're already quite ensnared, wouldn't you say?" I glanced at him, a challenge in my eyes.

He chuckled, a deep, warm sound. "Oh, completely. Hook, line, and sinker. I'm practically a permanent fixture on this sofa now. Just try to get rid of me." He reached out, playfully stealing a strip of uncooked bacon from the packet.

"Hey!" I swatted his hand, a mock frown on my face. "Thief! That's for the pan, Lan, not your pre-breakfast snack attack! You'll get salmonella!"

"A small price to pay for such deliciousness," he said, popping the bacon into his mouth, a satisfied grin on his face. "Besides, I'm a professional athlete. My immune system is practically bulletproof. And you know you love my rebellious streak."

"I love your rebellious streak when it's winning races, not when it's endangering my breakfast ingredients," I countered, shaking my head, but a smile played on my lips. I dropped the bacon into the hot pan, the immediate sizzle and aroma filling the kitchen. "Now, if you're quite finished with your criminal activities, perhaps you could make yourself useful? Toast. And don't burn it. I have standards, you know."

He saluted, a playful glint in his eyes. "Aye, aye, Chef. Toast, coming right up. Anything for my captor." He moved to the toaster, whistling a tuneless melody.

The morning sun streamed through the windows, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air. The smell of sizzling bacon, the gentle clinking of mugs, and the easy, comfortable banter filled the kitchen. It was a simple, perfect moment of domestic bliss, a stark contrast to the storm brewing outside. But here, with Lando, in this bright, beautiful space, everything felt wonderfully, gloriously, safely normal. And that, in itself, was a kind of miracle.

Within minutes, the eggs were perfectly scrambled – fluffy and golden – and the bacon was crisp, sizzling invitingly on the plate. The toast, surprisingly, was also perfectly golden brown, thanks to Lando's diligent supervision. We sat opposite each other at the kitchen island, the same spot where we’d shared dinner last night, but the mood was lighter, brighter, filled with the promise of a new day.

Lando, true to form, attacked his plate with the speed and precision of a pit crew. He devoured half his bacon in two bites, then scooped up a large forkful of eggs, his cheeks bulging slightly.

"Norris," I said, a laugh bubbling up from my chest, "are you even chewing that? I'm pretty sure you just inhaled half your breakfast. Are you trying to set a new land speed record for egg consumption?"

He swallowed, a satisfied groan escaping him. "What? Can't a man enjoy a truly excellent breakfast without being timed? Besides," he countered, a mischievous glint in his eyes, "I've got a lot of energy to burn today, Eleonora. And I need to fuel up for... well, for whatever you have planned for me. You're a demanding taskmaster, you know." He took another bite of bacon, crunching it loudly.

"Demanding, yes. But I also provide excellent sustenance," I retorted, taking a more leisurely bite of my own eggs. "And I'm pretty sure your 'energy to burn' isn't just about training. You're just perpetually hungry, aren't you? A bottomless pit of a human being."

"Only for the good stuff, El," he said, his voice dropping, his eyes meeting mine, a warm, intimate gaze that made my stomach flutter. He leaned forward slightly, his elbows on the counter. "And you, Eleonora, are definitely the good stuff. The best stuff. So, yeah, I'm hungry. Always hungry. Especially when you're around."

A blush crept up my neck, but I met his gaze, a playful challenge in my eyes. "Careful, Norris. Too many compliments, and I might start believing you. And then I'll get complacent. And my cooking might suffer."

"Never," he declared, shaking his head. "Your cooking is a reflection of your... passion. And I've seen that passion. Up close. It's undeniable. And highly addictive." He took another bite of eggs, his eyes still fixed on mine, a silent conversation passing between us.

"So, what's on your agenda today, Mr. Hungry?" I asked, steering the conversation back to a more neutral, yet still flirty, territory. "Beyond consuming my entire pantry, that is."

He shrugged, a relaxed smile on his face. "Whatever you want, El. Seriously. John said I should lay low, and this penthouse is pretty much the safest place on earth right now. So, I'm at your disposal. Unless you have some top-secret Red Bull strategy meetings that require my absence?"

"Not until later," I confirmed, taking a sip of my coffee. "Though, I do have a few calls to make. But nothing that can't wait until after we've properly digested this masterpiece." I gestured to his now almost-empty plate. "And I'm pretty sure you'll need at least an hour to recover from that speed-eating performance."

He chuckled, pushing his plate away with a satisfied sigh. "An hour? Eli, I'm a professional. I'm already ready for round two. Or, you know, whatever 'round two' entails." His eyes sparkled, a clear invitation in their depths.

-------------------------------------------------------------------

After breakfast, the comfortable morning haze began to lift, replaced by the familiar hum of professional obligation. Lando had wandered off to the living room, probably to check his phone or just enjoy the view, while I retreated to my study. It was a sleek, minimalist space, dominated by a large, curved monitor and a pristine white desk. The only personal touches were a small, framed photo of Izzy and me on a beach holiday, and a discreetly placed McLaren cap that Lando had left behind during a previous visit in August.

I settled into my ergonomic chair, the cool leather a familiar comfort. My secure work laptop, the one John had delivered yesterday, was already open. The screen glowed with my inbox, a steady stream of emails from various clients and industry contacts. I started by clearing out the less urgent ones, drafting responses, and reviewing the latest market analyses for a potential sponsor pitch. The familiar rhythm of work was grounding, a welcome distraction from the lingering anxieties of the past few days.

My eyes flicked to the clock on the monitor: 9:55 AM. My 10 o'clock Zoom meeting with Gavin was about to start. Gavin Atterbury, the singer and songwriter, was usually a whirlwind of creative energy, but also notoriously direct. I quickly opened the Zoom application and clicked the meeting link.

The connection established, and Gavin's face filled the screen. He was in what looked like a professional recording studio, microphones and soundproofing visible in the background, a guitar stand faintly in the corner. He was wearing a stylish, slightly unbuttoned shirt, and his blonde, artistic hair was a little more tousled than usual, giving him a slightly rugged, yet still polished, look. His eyes, a striking gray, immediately focused on me, a flicker of something beyond professional interest in their depths.

"Eleonora! There you are," he said, his voice a smooth, confident baritone, a smile playing on his lips. "Good morning. Or, maybe, good afternoon for you." He paused, his gaze lingering, a subtle, almost imperceptible appraisal in his eyes that made me feel like he was seeing more than just my professional facade. "You're looking... well. Very well, in fact."

I managed a professional smile, trying to ignore the subtle heat that crept up my neck. Gavin had always been a bit too charming, a bit too observant for my comfort, especially given that we'd only met last week at my office in London. "Good morning, Gavin. Or afternoon. Yes, the change of pace is certainly... refreshing." I decided to tackle the missed meeting head-on. "My apologies again for missing our previous check-in. My schedule last week became unexpectedly overbooked, a bit of a perfect storm of last-minute commitments and urgent client demands. You know how it is." I gave a slight, apologetic shrug, hoping it sounded convincing enough.

He chuckled, a low, knowing sound. "Oh, I know exactly how it is, Eleonora. Your calendar is legendary, even from the little I saw when I visited your office. Though I must admit, I was a little disappointed. This new demo... it's something I really wanted your immediate ears on. Your unique perspective is always so valuable, and I was really looking forward to getting your insights personally." His gaze held mine, a warmth in his eyes that was definitely not strictly professional.

"I'm sure you managed just fine," I said, deflecting the compliment, though a small part of me appreciated the recognition. "So, the new demo? What have you got for me? Anything revolutionary, or just another catchy pop anthem? Play it for me. I'm ready for a private concert."

Just as the words left my lips, the study door opened. I looked up, a warm smile spreading across my face as Lando entered, his hair still adorably disheveled from sleep. He was wearing a fresh t-shirt and shorts, looking much more awake, but still with that comfortable, morning softness. I subtly pointed to the armchair in the corner of the room, an unspoken invitation for him to sit and listen, which he understood, settling in with a nod.

Gavin, oblivious to Lando's presence, took a breath, then leaned into the microphone. A soft, acoustic guitar melody filled the speakers, a simple, poignant arrangement that immediately captured my attention. Then, his voice, smooth and resonant, began to sing.

"When I was young

My father said

'Don't you worry son

You'll find yourself in a world

Of fake and lonely souls'"

His voice had a raw, emotional quality that was both familiar and new, a vulnerability that hadn't been as prominent in his more upbeat tracks. I found myself swaying slightly to the rhythm, drawn into the narrative.

"I'm losing sleep

'Cause this guitar just can't seem to make ends meet, no

I walk the line between confidence and suicide

I made a promise to myself

That the sun, it will rise

I lost some friends along the way"

He stopped there, the last chord of the guitar fading into the silence of the room. The music had been so captivating, so emotionally resonant, that I reacted without thinking, a small, quiet sigh escaping me.

"Oh well what a shame."

The words were out before I could censor them, a spontaneous response to the raw, unfinished emotion of the song. A beat of silence stretched. On screen, Gavin blinked, his expression shifting from introspective artist to surprised confusion.

"What was that?" he asked, his voice a little hoarse, clearly taken aback. He was trying to compose himself, his eyes wide.

I felt a flush creep up my cheeks, suddenly aware of what I'd done. "Oh, um... nothing. Just... an idea. A thought that popped into my head." I tried to sound modest, brushing it off, but my heart was doing a little flutter.

Gavin's confusion melted away, replaced by an electrifying excitement. His eyes widened, a genuine, artist's spark igniting in them. "An idea? Eleonora, that's brilliant! 'Oh well what a shame.' It's perfect! It fits right in. It's exactly the kind of bittersweet, resigned lament that song needs! Oh, wow, I'm adding that. Right now. Seriously, that's incredible!" He was practically vibrating with enthusiasm, already muttering something about a vocal track as he scribbled furiously on a notepad beside him.

As Gavin continued to rave, adding between his excitement an invitation for dinner, my gaze instinctively flicked to Lando. He was still in the armchair, but his posture had subtly stiffened. His jaw was tight, and his blue eyes, usually so expressive, were narrowed slightly as he watched Gavin's effusive reaction. There was a quiet intensity about him, a stillness that spoke volumes. He wasn't happy. Not at all.

"Eleonora, honestly, that's why I value your input so much," Gavin gushed, looking back at the screen, his grin wider than ever. "You just get it. The raw emotion, the lyrical depth... you have a true gift. I'll get the full demo, with your inspired addition, sent over to you as soon as it's ready. You're going to love it."

"Great, I look forward to hearing it," I managed, trying to keep my voice even, acutely aware of Lando's simmering presence. "Thank you, Gavin. It sounds promising."

"Excellent! You'll hear from me soon. Take care, Eleonora!" he said, still buzzing with creative energy.

"You too, Gavin. Goodbye."

I ended the call, the screen reverting to my desktop background. The sudden silence in the room was heavy, broken only by the soft whir of the computer. I turned fully to Lando, who was now staring directly at me, his expression unreadable. This was going to be an interesting conversation.

Lando slowly uncrossed his arms, a deliberate, almost theatrical movement. He pushed himself up from the armchair, his gaze never leaving me. His eyes, usually so bright and playful, were a stormy blue, narrowed with an intensity that made my stomach clench, but also, perversely, sent a thrill through me. He walked towards the desk, his steps slow and measured, like a predator circling its prey.

"So," he began, his voice low, a dangerous purr that was utterly devoid of his usual lightheartedness. " 'Gavin.' The singer-songwriter. And 'Eleonora, you just get it.' 'Your unique perspective.' 'Raw emotion, lyrical depth.' And a private concert, apparently." He stopped directly in front of the desk, leaning his palms flat against the cool surface, effectively caging me in. His eyes bored into mine, a clear, undeniable fire of jealousy burning in their depths. "That was quite the performance. From both of you."

I felt a smile tugging at the corners of my lips, despite myself. The raw, unfiltered jealousy was almost... endearing. And incredibly attractive. "Oh, Norris," I said, my voice soft, laced with amusement. "Are we feeling a little... territorial this morning? Is someone's ego a bit bruised by a talented musician?" I leaned back slightly in my chair, enjoying the power dynamic, the palpable tension.

He scoffed, a short, sharp sound. "Territorial? Me? Never. I'm just... observing. As a professional, you understand. I observe the competition. And that, Eleonora, was definitely competition. 'Unreleased tracks in person'? 'Dinner, my treat'? The man's practically serenading you through a webcam." He straightened up slightly, crossing his arms over his chest, his gaze still fixed on me, a muscle twitching in his jaw. "And then you just casually drop a lyrical gem into his heartfelt ballad. 'Oh well what a shame.' You practically wrote him a new chorus. You're making it very easy for him, El."

I laughed outright, a genuine, delighted sound. "Oh, darling, are you jealous? You are! Your face is practically green. It's adorable." I reached out, my fingers tracing the line of his arm, feeling the tense muscle beneath my touch. "And it was just a thought. An instinctive response. It happens. It's what I do. I work in PR for artists, remember? My job is to understand their creative process, to help them refine their message. It's not a personal serenade, Lando. It's business."

His grip on the desk tightened, his knuckles turning white. "Business?" His voice was a low growl, the word laced with disbelief. "He looked like he was about to propose marriage through the screen, Eleonora. And you just sat there, looking all charming and insightful, feeding him lines for his next hit single. You're dangerous, you know that? You just walk into a room and accidentally inspire greatness in other men." His gaze dropped to my lips, lingering, then back to my eyes, a possessive glint in them. "And what about the 'private concert'? Is that also 'business'?"

I leaned forward, my voice dropping to a teasing whisper, my eyes sparkling with mischief. "Perhaps. Depends on the artist. And the song. And the audience." I let my gaze sweep over his face, lingering on the tight line of his jaw. "But, Lando, let me assure you of something very important. I have a very strict policy when it comes to my clients. I do not fraternize. My professional boundaries are iron-clad. So, Gavin, or any other client, expressing more than professional gratitude... it doesn't matter. It goes nowhere."

His eyes widened slightly, a flicker of surprise, then a slow, almost imperceptible softening of his intense gaze. The muscle in his jaw relaxed, but only fractionally. He was listening, truly listening.

"But," I continued, my voice even softer, leaning in just a fraction more, my fingers still resting lightly on his arm, feeling the warmth of his skin. "I do have to say... I absolutely love how jealous you are. It's incredibly, deliciously attractive, Norris. It’s… very telling." My thumb brushed over the tense line of his bicep, a deliberate, sensual touch.

The air between us thickened, charged with a new kind of electricity. The jealousy in his eyes flared again, but this time it was mixed with a potent, undeniable desire. He lowered his head, his gaze burning into mine, his breath warm on my face.

"Oh, you love it, do you?" he murmured, his voice a low, husky rumble that vibrated through me. His free hand, the one not braced on the desk, came up, gently cupping my cheek, his thumb stroking the soft skin just below my eye. His touch was feather-light, yet it sent a shiver through my entire body. "Well, Eleonora, you're going to see a lot more of it. Because I don't share. Not when it comes to you." He paused, his thumb moving to trace the curve of my bottom lip, his eyes never leaving mine, a silent question in their depths. "And as for those 'iron-clad boundaries' with clients... I'm glad to hear it. Very glad. Because I'm not a client, am I?"

He leaned in, his lips just a whisper from mine, his breath warm and minty. "I'm... something else entirely. Something far more permanent, if I have my way." He didn't kiss me immediately, instead letting the anticipation build, his gaze dropping to my lips, then back to my eyes, a slow, deliberate torture. The air crackled with unspoken promises, with the heady scent of his desire. My own breath hitched, my fingers tightening on his arm, pulling him closer. The world outside, with its looming threats and professional obligations, faded into a distant hum. In this moment, there was only Lando, his fierce jealousy, and the intoxicating promise of his touch.

He finally closed the distance, his lips meeting mine in a deep, consuming kiss that left no room for doubt. It was a kiss that spoke of ownership, of passion, and of a fierce, unyielding desire that was purely, wonderfully, mine. My hands moved from his arm, tangling in his hair, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss, lost in the intoxicating reality of him. The jealousy was still there, a delicious undertone, but now it was a testament to the depth of his feelings, a thrilling confirmation of his devotion.

I broke the kiss, reluctantly, my lips tingling, my breath coming in short, quick gasps. His eyes were still dark with desire, his face flushed, and he looked utterly undone. It was a powerful sight.

"As much as I'd love to continue this... performance," I murmured, my voice a little breathless, my fingers still tangled in his hair, "I actually do have a few more work calls to make. Real ones. Not private concerts." I gave him a playful, apologetic smile, though my body still thrummed with the lingering intensity of his kiss. "Important client portfolios. Deadlines. The usual."

His brow furrowed instantly, the playful desire in his eyes giving way to that familiar, possessive glint. He pulled back slightly, but his hands remained firmly on my waist, his thumbs stroking my hips. "More calls? How many more 'talented musicians' are you inspiring today, Eleonora?" His voice was a low growl, the jealousy sharpening its edge once more. "And how long are these 'important client portfolios' going to take? Because I'm pretty sure my patience has a very short fuse when it comes to sharing your attention."

I chuckled, a soft, teasing sound. "Oh, Norris, you're insatiable. And dramatic. There are no more 'talented musicians' on the schedule today, I promise. Just... corporate types. And a few very demanding fashion houses. They're far less inspiring, I assure you. And probably won't be asking me for dinner." I leaned in, pressing a quick, soft kiss to his jaw, feeling the slight stubble there. "It won't be long. A couple of hours, maybe. Just enough time to clear my desk, and then... then I'm all yours. Completely. No more distractions. No more Zoom calls. Just us." I let my gaze sweep over his face, a clear promise in my eyes.

His eyes, still narrowed, searched mine, as if trying to gauge the sincerity of my promise. The jealousy was a tangible thing, a hot current between us, but the desire was even stronger. He sighed, a frustrated but ultimately conceding sound. He leaned his forehead against mine, his breath warm on my lips.

"A couple of hours," he repeated, the words a low rumble against my skin. "That's a long time, Eli. A very long time when I'm this close to you." His hands tightened on my waist, pulling me even closer against the desk, the hard edge pressing into my back. His hips nudged mine, a silent, undeniable message. "You're going to make me wait, aren't you? Torture me with anticipation."

"Perhaps," I whispered, my fingers tracing the strong line of his neck. "Consider it... foreplay. Builds character. And makes the eventual reward all the sweeter." My eyes twinkled, challenging him.

He groaned, a soft, frustrated sound, his lips brushing mine. "You're playing a very dangerous game, Eleonora Kimbel. Because when you're finally done with your 'corporate types' and your 'demanding fashion houses,' I'm going to collect on that promise. And I'm going to make sure you forget every single one of them. Every single client. Every single singer-songwriter. Everything but me." His voice was husky, filled with a raw, possessive hunger that made my core ache. "Every single moment. You won't be able to think of anything else."

He pulled back, just enough to meet my gaze, his eyes burning with a fierce, possessive promise. "So, go make your calls, El. But don't take too long. Because I'll be waiting. And I'm not known for my patience." He gave my waist a final, possessive squeeze, then, with a last, lingering look that promised delicious torment, he finally stepped back, releasing me from his captivating hold.

I watched him walk out of the study, a slow, satisfied smile spreading across my face. The jealousy was a powerful, intoxicating force, and the anticipation he'd just ignited was almost unbearable. But it was a good kind of unbearable. A thrilling, delicious kind. I turned back to my laptop, my fingers hovering over the keyboard. Work. Right. Focus. This was going to be a very productive couple of hours. And a very exciting rest of the day.

Chapter Text

Lando's POV

September 6^th, 2023

Three hours. Three agonizingly long hours. I’d tried. I really had. I’d gone to the living room, scrolled aimlessly through my phone, checked the news, even attempted to play a few rounds of Call of Duty on my laptop – but my focus was shot. Every ten minutes, my eyes would flick to the study door, waiting for it to open, for her to emerge. The memory of her teasing smile, the feel of her lips, the delicious flush on her cheeks when I’d called her out on her 'client policy' – it was all a constant, burning distraction. And that damn Gavin. Even the thought of his smooth voice and her 'lyrical gems' still made a muscle in my jaw twitch.

I’d given her "a couple of hours." It had been three. My patience, as I’d warned her, was definitely not my strong suit, especially not where she was concerned. The penthouse felt too quiet, too empty without her. I needed to see her. I needed to touch her. I needed to remind myself – and her – exactly who she belonged to.

Pushing myself off the plush sofa, I strode towards the study. The door was ajar, just as I’d left it. I pushed it open fully, expecting to see her hunched over her laptop, perhaps with a furrowed brow, lost in her work. But the chair was empty. The curved monitor displayed a screensaver, a mesmerizing loop of abstract art. Her laptop was closed. The desk was meticulously tidy, as if she’d never been there.

A huff of frustration escaped me. "Eli?" I called out, my voice echoing slightly in the silent room. No answer.

I walked into the study, glancing around. No sign of her. Had she gone out? No, John had been clear: she needed to stay low. And she wouldn't just leave without telling me. Would she? A flicker of irrational annoyance, that possessive edge, tightened in my chest. She was mine to protect, and she knew it.

I stepped out of the study and began my search. The vastness of the penthouse, usually a source of quiet luxury, now felt like an endless maze. I checked the sprawling living room again, the panoramic windows overlooking the sparkling Mediterranean. Empty. The dining room, still bearing the faint scent of our breakfast. Empty. The guest bedrooms, their doors ajar. Empty.

My impatience was growing, morphing into a restless energy. Where the hell was she? Was she deliberately avoiding me? Playing a game? The thought, while annoying, also brought a spark of anticipation. She loved to tease, and I loved to chase.

I walked towards the back of the penthouse, where I knew there were some more private, functional rooms. The kitchen was still quiet, the coffee maker cold. I passed the cinema room, its door closed, the lingering scent of popcorn a ghost of last night's intimacy. My gaze caught on the closed door at the very end of the hallway, a door I hadn't really paid attention to before. It was sleek, minimalistic, like the rest of the apartment, but a faint, rhythmic thudding sound seemed to emanate from behind it. Thump-thump, thump-thump.

My heart gave a sudden, hard jolt. A private gym. Of course. Eleonora, with her relentless discipline and drive, would have a private gym.

I pushed the door open slowly, quietly, and stepped inside.

The air hit me first – warm, humid, thick with the faint, clean scent of sweat and something else, something uniquely her. The rhythmic thudding intensified, accompanied by a low, pulsing beat of music, muffled but discernible. The room was bright, with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking a secluded terrace, but my eyes were immediately drawn to the center.

There she was.

Her back was to me, her silhouette defined against the bright window. She was on a treadmill, running. Not jogging, not a gentle pace, but a full-on, powerful run. Her body moved with a fluid, athletic grace, her legs a blur of motion beneath tight black leggings. A fitted, dark grey sports bra clung to her, revealing the toned curve of her back, the subtle flex of her shoulder blades with each stride. Her usually perfectly styled hair was pulled back into a messy, high ponytail, but strands had escaped, clinging to her neck and forehead, dark with sweat. Her skin glistened, a fine sheen of perspiration coating every visible inch.

She was completely lost in her rhythm, her head slightly bowed, her eyes fixed on some distant point, probably the digital display of the treadmill. The music, though faint to my ears, was clearly loud in her earbuds, isolating her in her own intense world.

I stood there, rooted to the spot, a sudden, unexpected wave of awe washing over me. This was a side of Eleonora I hadn't truly seen before – raw, uninhibited, utterly focused on her physical exertion. She wasn't the composed PR executive, or the witty, teasing woman from breakfast, or even the vulnerable one. This was pure, unadulterated strength and determination.

A primal sense of longing, sharp and urgent, coiled in my gut. I wanted to walk up to her, to wrap my arms around her sweaty waist, to pull her off that machine and press my face into her damp hair. I wanted to taste the salt on her skin, feel the heat radiating from her body. The jealousy from earlier, the annoyance at Gavin, it all coalesced into a fierce, possessive desire. She was so captivating, so completely herself in this moment, and it made me want her with an intensity that bordered on painful.

God, she's beautiful.

Her muscles flexed and released with each powerful stride, a testament to the strength hidden beneath her elegant exterior. I imagined the steady beat of her heart, the rush of blood through her veins, the way her lungs expanded with each deep breath. Every part of me yearned to be closer, to feel that vibrant energy against me.

The thought of Gavin, of any other man, seeing her like this, even just on a screen, made a fresh wave of possessiveness surge through me. This was my Eleonora. This raw, powerful, sweaty, beautiful woman. And I wanted to claim every inch of her.

I watched her for another long moment, letting the longing build, letting the desire consume me. The muffled beat of her music seemed to sync with the pounding of my own heart. I took a deep breath, the scent of her exertion filling my lungs, a potent aphrodisiac.

My gaze dropped to the small towel draped over the treadmill's console, then back to her glistening skin. She was almost done. I could feel it. The way her pace, though still strong, had a subtle rhythm of winding down.

A slow, predatory smile spread across my face. Two hours, she’d said. A couple of hours. And now she was free. And completely unaware that I was standing here, watching her, planning exactly how I was going to collect on that promise. The anticipation was a delicious torment, but the reward was going to be worth every agonizing second. I took another step into the gym, letting the door click softly shut behind me. She still hadn't noticed me. Good. This was going to be fun.

I moved silently, my bare feet making no sound on the cool, rubberized floor. I approached the treadmill from the side, my eyes fixed on the small, white earbud. Her earbuds. The source of her blissful ignorance. A wicked idea sparked in my mind, a playful retaliation for the torture she’d put me through this morning.

Her pace was slowing now, a cool-down phase, her breathing still a little ragged but evening out. She was so focused, so utterly absorbed in her post-run stretch on the moving belt, that she didn't even twitch when I reached out.

With a swift, deliberate movement, I plucked one of her earbuds from her ear.

Her head snapped up, eyes wide, startled. She stumbled slightly on the belt, her arms flailing for a moment before she caught her balance, her face flushing crimson as she saw me. The music, now blaring from the single remaining earbud, was a thumping, aggressive rock track.

"Norris!" she gasped, her voice a mix of surprise and irritation, but with an underlying current of amusement. She yanked the other earbud out, the music cutting off abruptly. Her chest was heaving, glistening with sweat, and her cheeks were flushed a vibrant rose. "What the hell was that for?! You nearly made me face-plant! Are you trying to kill me?"

I grinned, holding the offending earbud aloft like a trophy. "Just checking if you were still alive, Eli. You were so deep in your zone, I thought you might have ascended to another plane of existence. And besides," I leaned in, my voice dropping to a low, teasing murmur, my eyes raking over her sweaty form, "I told you I'm not known for my patience. Three hours is a lifetime when I'm waiting for you."

She rolled her eyes, but a playful smile touched her lips. She hit the stop button on the treadmill, the belt slowly grinding to a halt beneath her. She stepped off, her legs still humming with residual energy, and grabbed the small towel from the console, dabbing at her forehead and neck. The movement pulled the sports bra taut across her chest, and my gaze lingered, a flash of pure desire.

"A lifetime, really?" she scoffed, but her eyes were sparkling. "You survived, didn't you? And I was being productive. Unlike some people, who I suspect were just brooding in the living room, plotting my demise." She tossed the damp towel onto a nearby bench, then turned fully to face me, her hands on her hips. The scent of her sweat, clean and musky, was intoxicating. "And what was that? A power play? Stealing my music? That's a new low, even for you."

"It was a strategic maneuver," I corrected, stepping closer, my eyes never leaving hers. The air between us was thick with heat – from her exertion, and from the growing tension. "A tactical disruption. Can't have you getting too comfortable in your own world when I'm waiting for your undivided attention. And besides," I took another step, closing the distance, "I was getting lonely. And a little... agitated. You promised me you'd be free." My voice dropped, a low, possessive rumble. "And I'm here to collect."

She laughed, a throaty, breathless sound. "Agitated, were we? Poor Lando. Did Gavin's dulcet tones upset your delicate sensibilities?" She took a step back, a playful challenge in her eyes, forcing me to follow. "And what makes you think I'm 'all yours'? I'm still hot and sweaty, Norris. Not exactly prime cuddling material."

"Oh, I think you're exactly prime cuddling material," I countered, my gaze dropping to her glistening collarbone, then lower. "And the sweat? Just adds to the appeal. Makes you look like you've been working hard. Which you have. And now you deserve a reward." I reached out, my fingers brushing the damp skin of her arm, sending a shiver through her. Her breath hitched.

"A reward?" she repeated, her voice a little softer, a hint of anticipation in her eyes. "And what kind of reward did you have in mind, Norris? Because I'm pretty sure I have a very strict policy about rewards from non-clients." She was teasing me, playing the game, and it was driving me wild.

"Oh, it's not a client reward, El," I murmured, stepping into her space, my body almost touching hers. "This is a personal reward. For being so incredibly distracting, so infuriatingly charming, and for making me wait three hours when all I could think about was this." My hand moved from her arm, sliding around her waist, pulling her flush against me. Her skin was hot, damp, and utterly intoxicating against mine. I could feel the rapid beat of her heart against my chest.

"And what exactly is 'this'?" she whispered, her eyes wide, her hands coming up to rest on my chest, not pushing me away, but anchoring herself. Her breath was warm against my neck.

"This," I breathed, my lips brushing her temple, then her ear, "is me reminding you that you're mine. And that no singer-songwriter, no corporate type, no demanding fashion house, is ever going to come between us." My voice was husky, thick with desire and a fierce, unyielding possessiveness. I inhaled her scent, a mix of sweat and Eleonora, and it was the most intoxicating thing I’d ever experienced.

I pulled back just enough to look into her eyes, which were now dark and dilated with desire. "And this," I added, my gaze dropping to her lips, "is me collecting on that promise. Every single second of it." I didn't wait for an answer, my mouth claiming hers in a kiss that was hot, hungry, and utterly consuming. The taste of salt and her, the feel of her damp skin against mine, the way her body melted into mine – it was everything I’d been craving for the last three agonizing hours. The game was over. The chase was done. And the reward was finally mine.

Her lips parted beneath mine, a soft, yielding sigh escaping her as she melted into the kiss, her body molding against mine. The faint scent of sweat, the warmth of her skin, the subtle tremor that ran through her as my arms tightened around her waist – it was all a potent cocktail that sent my senses into overdrive. My fingers tangled in the damp strands of hair at her nape, pulling her closer, deepening the angle of the kiss. Her hands, which had been resting on my chest, now slid up, her fingers digging gently into my shoulders, clinging to me as if I were her only anchor.

The kiss was a hungry, desperate exploration, a silent conversation of pent-up longing and fierce possessiveness. I tasted the lingering salt on her lips, the unique sweetness that was just Eleonora. My tongue traced the soft curve of her mouth, then delved deeper, seeking, demanding. She met my intensity with her own, her soft moans a delicious counterpoint to the frantic pounding of my heart.

I felt the heat radiating from her body, a furnace against mine, and the thin fabric of her sports bra and leggings felt like an unnecessary barrier. My hands, almost instinctively, slid from her waist, tracing the curve of her spine, then moving lower, pressing her hips flush against mine. The contact was electric, a jolt of pure, unadulterated desire.

She whimpered softly into the kiss, a sound that ignited a fresh wave of hunger within me. My lips trailed from her mouth, down her jawline, to the sensitive skin of her neck, tasting the salt, inhaling her intoxicating scent. I felt the pulse throbbing beneath my lips, a frantic rhythm that mirrored my own.

"You're a dangerous woman, Eleonora," I whispered against her skin, my voice rough with emotion, my breath hot against her ear. "Making me wait. Making me want you like this." My fingers found the hem of her sports bra, my thumb brushing against the warm skin just beneath.

She arched into me, a soft gasp escaping her. "And you, Norris," she breathed, her fingers tightening in my hair, pulling my head back up to meet her gaze, her eyes heavy-lidded with desire, "you're a very impatient man. But I suppose... some things are worth waiting for."

Her lips curved into a slow, wicked smile, a clear challenge. "Are you going to stand there and talk about it, or are you going to prove it?"

The challenge was all I needed. My grin mirrored hers, predatory and possessive. "Oh, I'm going to prove it, El. Every single second."

My hands moved with renewed purpose, sliding beneath the hem of her sports bra, feeling the warm, damp skin of her back. Her breath hitched again, and she leaned into my touch. I felt the soft curve of her ribs, the subtle flex of her muscles, and the raw, uninhibited desire that emanated from her.

"This is going to be a much better workout than that treadmill, I promise you," I murmured, my lips brushing hers once more, a promise of the delicious intensity to come. The scent of her, the feel of her body against mine, the unspoken hunger in her eyes – it was all I needed. The world outside the gym, with its threats and its demands, ceased to exist. There was only her, and the burning, undeniable need to claim her, completely and utterly.

My fingers, having found purchase under the sports bra, slowly, deliberately, pushed the fabric upwards. Her arms rose gracefully, helping me, her eyes never leaving mine, a silent invitation in their depths. The grey material peeled away from her skin, revealing the full, glistening expanse of her torso. I tossed it onto the treadmill, the soft thud barely registering over the pounding in my ears.

She stood before me, clad only in her tight black leggings, her body a masterpiece of strength and curves, shimmering with a fine sheen of sweat. Her nipples, already firm from her run, were now exquisitely taut, drawing my gaze like a magnet. A soft gasp escaped her lips as my eyes devoured her.

"Perfect," I breathed, the word a raw whisper. My hands moved to her waist, spanning the narrow expanse, then slid lower, my thumbs hooking under the waistband of her leggings. I felt the subtle tremor that ran through her as I began to push them down, slowly, deliberately.

She leaned into me, her body pressing flush against mine, her breath coming in short, rapid gasps. Her hands, now free, slid around my neck, her fingers tangling in my hair, pulling my head down for another fierce kiss. The kiss was deep, consuming, a silent acknowledgment of the escalating desire between us.

The leggings slid down her hips, around her ankles. I kicked them away with my foot, barely breaking the kiss. She stood before me, completely exposed, her body a testament to her dedication, and to the untamed desire that now consumed us both.

I lifted her into my arms, her legs instinctively wrapping around my waist, her body fitting perfectly against mine. The cool rubberized floor of the gym beneath my feet was forgotten as I carried her, her weight a delicious burden, her warmth a searing brand against my skin. Her head fell back, a soft moan escaping her throat as my lips trailed a path from her jaw to the sensitive skin behind her ear.

"Mine," I whispered, the word a primal growl, as I carried her towards the soft, padded mat in the corner of the gym. The light from the windows streamed in, illuminating her glistening skin, casting long, dancing shadows around us. Every touch, every breath, every whispered word was a promise, a culmination of the longing that had simmered between us for so long.

The gym air was thick with our desire, the scent of her sweat and arousal a potent aphrodisiac that sent my senses into overdrive. My body was trembling with the effort of holding back, of not taking her right there against the wall. But I wanted her beneath me, wanted to see her spread out, a feast for my eyes and my hungry cock.

I lowered her gently onto the mat, her body sinking into the soft give of the material. She pulled me down with her, her legs still wrapped around my waist, her eyes locked on mine, a silent, hungry invitation. The air was thick with the scent of her, the heat of her skin, and the raw, unbridled desire that pulsed between us.

I took a moment to drink her in, my hunger for her almost painful. Her skin was perfect, flushed and glistening with a fine sheen of sweat, her cheeks pink with exertion and desire. Her hair, usually so perfectly styled, was a wild mess, damp strands clinging to her neck and forehead. Her eyes were heavy-lidded, her pupils dilated with want. I could see the rapid rise and fall of her chest, her full breasts heaving with each ragged breath, her pink nipples hard and begging for my mouth.

My body covered hers, pressing her into the mat, the soft give of the material a stark contrast to the hard planes of my own body. Her hands moved from my hair, sliding down my back, her fingers digging into the muscles of my shoulders, pulling me closer still.

"Eleonora," I groaned against her lips, the sound torn from my throat, a mix of hunger and adoration. My hands were everywhere, tracing the curves of her waist, the swell of her hips, the soft skin of her inner thighs. Every touch was electric, igniting a fresh wave of shivers across her damp skin.

I started with her lips, kissing her deeply, my tongue exploring her mouth, dueling with hers. She tasted sweet, a contrast to the salty sheen of sweat that covered her body. I broke the kiss only to trail my lips down her neck, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin, marking her as mine. Her breaths were already coming in short gasps, her body arching into me, seeking more contact.

My hands roamed her body, squeezing her full breasts, rolling her sensitive nipples between my fingers, making her cry out. I leaned down, taking one taut nipple into my mouth, sucking and nipping, before giving the other the same tormented pleasure. Her hands were in my hair, holding me to her, her hips bucking up against me, seeking friction. I could feel her heat, her wetness, and it was all I could do not to tear off my clothes and drive into her right then.

She arched into me, her body moving instinctively, seeking, demanding. Her legs tightened around my waist, pulling me impossibly closer, her hips rocking against mine in a rhythm that was both ancient and urgent. Her soft moans filled the space between us, a symphony of pure, uninhibited pleasure that drove me wild.

I moved lower, my tongue tracing a path down her stomach, dipping into her navel, making her squirm. I could smell her arousal, musky and intoxicating, and it sent a fresh wave of desire crashing through me. I positioned myself between her legs, pushing them wide so I could see all of her, glistening and ready for me.

"So fucking beautiful," I murmured, my voice hoarse with desire. "Every inch of you is perfect."

I leaned in, inhaling her scent, before running my tongue through her folds, tasting her, savoring her. She cried out, her hips bucking, her hands reaching down to tangle in my hair, holding me to her. I took my time, exploring her with my tongue, sucking on her clit, sliding two fingers inside her, curling them up to hit that spot that made her scream.

Her body was a live wire, trembling and sensitive, and I could feel her building, her inner muscles clenching around my fingers, her breaths coming in short, sharp gasps. I added a third finger, stretching her, preparing her for me. Her moans filled the room, a symphony of pleasure that spurred me on. I could see her body trembling, her skin flushed, her nipples hard and begging for my touch.

"That's it, El," I murmured against her flesh. "Come for me. Let me taste it."

I redoubled my efforts, my tongue and fingers working in tandem, driving her higher and higher, until she finally crashed over the edge, her body convulsing, her cry of pleasure echoing through the gym. I lapped at her, slowing my fingers, drawing out her orgasm, making her ride the waves of pleasure.

But I wasn't done. Not by a long shot. I moved back up her body, my lips capturing hers in a fierce, hungry kiss, letting her taste herself on me. She moaned into my mouth, her body still trembling with the aftermath of her orgasm. I could feel her hands on my body, urgent, demanding, and I knew she wanted more.

"Lando," she gasped, her hips bucking up against me, seeking friction. "Please."

I smiled against her skin, a slow, wicked smile. "Please what, El?" I murmured, my voice a low, dangerous growl. "Tell me what you want."

She looked up at me, her eyes wild, her cheeks flushed. "I want you inside me," she said, her voice a desperate plea. "I want you to fuck me, Lando. Hard."

Her words were like a match to gasoline, and I was suddenly a raging inferno of need. I sat back, quickly shedding my clothes, my eyes never leaving hers. Her gaze roamed my body, lingering on my cock, which stood proud and hard, leaking at the tip.

"Like what you see?" I asked, a cocky grin on my face as I fisted my length, giving it a slow stroke.

She bit her lip, nodding, her eyes dark with desire. "Yes," she whispered. "I want that inside me."

I growled, a low, animalistic sound, and crawled back over her, my body covering hers. I could feel her heat, her wetness, and I positioned myself at her entrance, teasing her, rubbing the head of my cock through her folds, coating myself in her desire.

She whimpered, her hips bucking up, trying to impale herself on me. But I held back, wanting to draw this out, to make her crazy with need. I leaned down, capturing one of her nipples in my mouth, sucking hard, making her cry out. I bit down gently, then soothed the sting with my tongue, before moving to give the other nipple the same treatment.

And then I slowly, deliberately, pushed into her. We both moaned, a long, low sound of pure pleasure. I stayed still for a moment, letting her adjust, letting her feel every inch of me filling her, stretching her. Her inner muscles clenched around me, and I had to hold back, had to stop myself from pounding into her right then.

"God, you feel so fucking good," I groaned, my voice a low, guttural sound. "So tight, so wet. You're perfect, Eli. Every fucking inch of you."

She whimpered, her nails digging into my back, urging me on. "Please, Lando," she begged. "Fuck me. I need it. I need you."

Her words were all the encouragement I needed. I began to move, my hips rolling, my cock sliding in and out of her in long, deep strokes. I set a punishing pace, each thrust driving me deeper, each withdrawal almost too much to bear. The sound of our bodies slapping together filled the room, a raw, primal rhythm that spurred me on. It was a symphony of desire, a testament to the unbridled passion between us.

The world narrowed to the sensations of her body against mine, the taste of her lips, the intoxicating scent of her skin. Her breath came in ragged gasps, mingling with my own, a shared struggle for air in the intensity of the moment. We moved together, a seamless dance of desire, each touch, each kiss, each whispered word building the exquisite tension to an almost unbearable peak.

I could feel her building again, her body tensing, her inner muscles clenching around me, trying to milk me. I reached between us, my fingers finding her clit, rubbing in tight, fast circles, pushing her over the edge.

"Come for me, El," I growled, my voice a low, dangerous command. "Let me feel that sweet pussy come all over my cock. Let me see that beautiful body fall apart for me."

She cried out, her body convulsing, her inner muscles clamping down on me, milking me as she came undone beneath me. The sensation was incredible, and I could feel my own release building, my balls drawing up tight.

I pounded into her, chasing my own pleasure, my body slapping against hers. I could feel it, the coil in my spine, the tingling in my balls, and I knew I was close.

Her fingers clutched at my back, her nails lightly raking my skin, a testament to the raw, primal pleasure that consumed her. I felt her body tense, a delicious tremor running through her as she cried out my name, a broken whisper against my lips.

"Fuck, Eli," I groaned, my voice a low, guttural sound. "You feel amazing. I'm going to come so hard inside you. I'm going to fill you up."

Her eyes flew open, locking onto mine, and she nodded, her hands gripping my ass, urging me on. "Come inside me, Lando," she whispered. "I want to feel it. I want to feel you come. I want all of it."

Her words pushed me over the edge, and I came with a roar, my body tensing, my cock pulsing as I spilled into her, filling her with my release. It was a release of not just physical tension, but emotional too. A claiming, a promising, a testament to the depth of my feelings for her.

We lay there for a long moment, tangled together on the mat, our bodies slick with sweat, our breaths ragged. There was only the heavy beat of our hearts, slowly returning to normal, and the profound, overwhelming sense of peace and contentment that settled over us.

I buried my face in the curve of her neck, inhaling her scent, feeling the soft, damp skin against my cheek. Her arms were still wrapped around me, holding me close, a silent promise of endless intimacy. The jealousy, the impatience, the frustrations of the morning – they had all dissolved into this single, perfect moment of shared passion. She was mine, completely and utterly, and I never wanted to let her go.

The gym, the world outside, it all faded away, leaving just the two of us, tangled together, our bodies sated, our souls entwined. I pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, inhaling her scent, committing this moment to memory.

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The rhythmic drumming of water against glass was the first thing I registered, a soft, soothing sound that slowly pulled me back to full consciousness. Eleonora was in the shower, the faint steam beginning to creep under the gym door. I was already clean, having taken a quick, cold shower in the guest bathroom down the hall, trying to cool the lingering fire in my veins.

I lay on the mat, a satisfied ache in my muscles, staring up at the ceiling. A slow, contented smile spread across my face. Happiness, pure and unadulterated, bloomed in my chest, warm and expansive. It wasn't just the physical release, though that had been spectacular. It was the emotional intensity, the way she had melted into me, the way her body had responded so completely to mine. It was the knowledge that this connection, this raw, undeniable pull, was real.

I was in love with her. The thought, clear and undeniable, settled deep within me. It wasn't a sudden realization, not really, but a quiet, powerful confirmation of something I'd felt for a long time. The way she challenged me, teased me, the way she was fiercely intelligent and utterly captivating – she was everything I needed.

My gaze drifted to the open gym door, the sound of the shower a gentle reminder of her presence. I thought about the conversation we'd just had, the possessiveness that had flared in me, her teasing response, and her firm declaration about her client policy. She had drawn a clear line, and I respected that. More than that, I appreciated it. It meant that what we had, this thing between us, was separate. It was ours.

But I also remembered her fears, the vulnerability she'd shown me, the glimpses of past hurts that made her hesitant to fully commit, to define things. I had lost her once before, six years ago, when I was too young and too stupid to understand what I had. And then, after her birthday party, when I'd pushed too hard, trying to force a definition, trying to make her feel cornered, I'd lost her again. That sharp, aching memory still stung. I wouldn't make that mistake a third time. Not now, not when she was finally here, in my arms, in my life.

I would wait. I would let her set the pace. I would cherish every moment, every touch, every shared laugh, and let her come to me when she was ready. My love for her was strong enough to be patient. Strong enough to simply be here, for her, no matter what.

The sound of the shower cut off. A few minutes later, the bathroom door creaked open, and then the gym door. I propped myself up on my elbows, my eyes immediately finding her.

She stood framed in the doorway, a vision of fresh, post-shower radiance. Her hair was wrapped in a white towel, turban-style, and another, larger towel was wrapped snugly around her body, just above her breasts, reaching to mid-thigh. Her skin glowed, a healthy, rosy flush from the hot water, and she smelled faintly of expensive soap and something clean. The lingering heat of our intimacy still clung to her, a subtle aura that made my blood hum. Her emerald eyes, bright and sparkling, met mine, a soft, knowing smile playing on her lips. She looked utterly refreshed, utterly beautiful, and utterly satisfied.

"Well, look who decided to rejoin the land of the living," she purred, her voice still a little husky, but filled with a playful lightness. She walked towards me, her bare feet silent on the mat, a confident sway to her hips. "Did you manage to survive my absence, Norris? Or did the sheer boredom of not annoying me prove too much?"

I grinned, pushing myself up to a sitting position, my eyes devouring her. "Barely. It was a harrowing three hours. I nearly resorted to talking to myself. And I missed your witty banter. Though, I must admit, the view from here wasn't too bad while you were... otherwise engaged." My gaze lingered on her, a possessive warmth in my eyes. "You look... radiant, El. Like you just conquered the world. Or, you know, a treadmill."

She laughed, a melodic sound that filled the gym. She stopped a few feet from me, her hands on her hips, striking a mock-heroic pose. "Oh, I conquered more than just a treadmill, Lando. Much more. And I'm pretty sure I have the sore muscles to prove it." Her eyes twinkled, a clear invitation. "But thank you. You clean up nicely too, for a man who was just moments ago a sweaty, jealous mess."

"Hey!" I protested, feigning indignation. "I was never a 'sweaty, jealous mess.' I was a strategically observant and passionately concerned individual. There's a difference. And I'm always clean. It's part of the racing driver aesthetic. You have to be presentable for the cameras, even after... intense sessions." I winked, letting my gaze drop to the towel wrapped around her. "Though, I suspect you're far more presentable now than you were a few minutes ago. Not that I was complaining, mind you."

She rolled her eyes, but her smile widened. "Of course you weren't. You were too busy being a menace. But speaking of 'intense sessions,' I believe you owe me a proper cool-down. And perhaps a very large, very indulgent lunch. I've worked up an appetite." She took a step closer, her scent filling my nostrils – fresh, clean, and still with that subtle, musky undertone that drove me wild.

"An appetite, hmm?" I murmured, reaching out to gently take her hand, my thumb stroking the back of her fingers. Her skin was warm and soft. "I think I can arrange both. But first," I tugged her closer, pulling her down onto the mat beside me, her towel-clad body brushing against my bare leg, "tell me, was that 'Oh well what a shame' line truly just an 'idea'? Or were you secretly trying to impress Gavin with your profound lyrical genius?"

She gasped, a playful affront on her face. "Norris! Are you still on about that? I told you, it was an instinct! A fleeting thought! And besides," she leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, her eyes dancing with mischief, "even if I were trying to impress him, it clearly worked, didn't it? He was practically swooning. You should be proud of my talent, Lan."

"Your talent is my talent," I corrected, pulling her closer still, until her head rested on my shoulder, her damp hair-towel tickling my ear. "And I'm very proud. Extremely proud. Just... less proud when it's being directed at other men. Especially ones who sing about lonely souls and want to take you to dinner." I pressed a soft kiss to the top of her towel-wrapped head. "Next time, keep your lyrical genius to yourself. Or, you know, direct it at me. I'm sure I could use a few new lines for my post-race interviews. Something about conquering the track... and other things."

She giggled, a soft, happy sound that vibrated through my chest. "You're impossible, Lando Norris. Truly. But I wouldn't have you any other way." She shifted, turning her head to press a soft kiss to my jaw. "Now, about that lunch. And that cool-down. I'm starting to get hungry. And," she paused, a teasing glint in her eyes, "I'm pretty sure you're still a little agitated, aren't you?"

I pulled her tighter against me, my grin wide. "Always agitated, Eleonora. Always. Especially when you're around. But in the best possible way. And just to be clear, El," I added, my voice dropping to a low, confident murmur, my lips brushing her temple, "the 'no fraternizing with clients' rule applies to me too. But you're not a client. You're... something far more important. So, no rules broken there." I gave her a squeeze. "Now, let's go get you some real clothes, and then we can discuss the specifics of this 'cool-down' in much greater detail." I kissed her temple, feeling the warmth of her skin, the soft curve of her body against mine. The day stretched before us, full of possibilities, and for the first time in a long time, I felt like everything was exactly where it was supposed to be.

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We settled into the living room for a very late lunch, the sun now high in the sky, streaming through the panoramic windows and bathing the room in a soft, golden glow. Eleonora had changed into a pair of soft, flowing linen trousers and a loose-fitting silk camisole, her hair still damp, giving her a relaxed, ethereal look. I was in fresh shorts and a t-shirt, feeling much more human after my own shower. We had opted for something light, a vibrant caprese salad with fresh mozzarella and sun-ripened tomatoes, alongside some crusty bread and a bottle of sparkling water.

The conversation flowed easily, animated and comfortable. We talked about everything and nothing – the ridiculousness of some F1 regulations, a new documentary she’d watched, my upcoming simulator session. The air between us was still charged, a delicious hum of intimacy that lingered from our morning in the gym. Every now and then, our eyes would meet, a shared smile passing between us, hinting at the unspoken depth of our connection.

Eleonora’s laptop was open on the coffee table in front of us, its screen a silent, glowing rectangle. She had mentioned waiting for an important email, and occasionally her gaze would flick towards it, a professional habit she couldn't quite shake.

As we finished the last of the caprese, the plates pushed aside, she finally reached for her laptop. "Just a quick check," she murmured, her fingers flying over the trackpad. "That email I was waiting for should be in by now. Hopefully, it's good news and I can officially switch off for the rest of the day."

I leaned back against the plush cushions of the sofa, a contented sigh escaping me. "Good. Because I have plans for the rest of your day, Eleonora. Plans that do not involve screens or corporate jargon." My voice was low, teasing, my eyes fixed on her.

She chuckled, a soft, warm sound. "Oh, really? And what grand plans does the impatient Lando Norris have in store for me?" Her eyes were still on the screen, scrolling through her inbox.

Suddenly, her scrolling stopped. Her brow furrowed slightly, then a small, almost imperceptible smile touched her lips. "Ah, here it is," she said, clicking on an email.

I was sitting close enough to see the sender's name on the screen: Gavin Atterbury. My jaw tightened, a familiar, unwelcome prickle of jealousy starting to spread through my chest. Bloody hell. Him again. I tried to keep my expression neutral, but I could feel the subtle shift in my posture, the way my shoulders tensed.

Eleonora opened the email, and the first few lines immediately caught my eye.

Subject: That 'Shame' line and a little something extra for you, Eleonora...

The "little something extra" immediately set my teeth on edge. I leaned in slightly, pretending to be interested in the empty plates, but my eyes were glued to the screen.

The email read:

Dearest Eleonora,

Just wanted to send this over immediately. I've been buzzing all morning since our call. That line you threw out, "Oh well what a shame," it's absolutely genius. Seriously, it's transformed the whole track. You have an uncanny knack for tapping into the raw emotion, a depth I rarely encounter. It's truly inspiring.

I've attached the updated demo with your brilliant addition. Give it a listen when you have a moment – I think you'll agree it's a game-changer. And Eleonora, I was thinking - this collaboration, this creative spark between us, it feels incredibly special. More than just professional, wouldn't you say? I'd love to discuss it further, perhaps over that dinner I mentioned. Or something more casual, if you prefer. Just you and me. Let me know when you're free. My treat, of course.

Warmly,

Gavin

My blood ran cold. "Warmly"? "More than just professional"? "Just you and me"? The audacity of the man! My jaw clenched so hard I thought I might crack a tooth. The jealousy, which I'd tried to keep at bay, surged back with a vengeance, hot and sharp. He wasn't just flirting; he was practically declaring his intentions. And she was my Eleonora.

Eleonora, meanwhile, was listening to the attached demo, a soft, thoughtful expression on her face. The new version of the song, with her line woven in, sounded even more poignant. She hummed along softly, seemingly oblivious to the storm brewing beside her.

She finished listening, then closed the email, a satisfied smile on her face. "See? I told you it was a good line. He really made it work." She turned to me, her eyes bright. "And now, my dear Lando, I am officially free. What were those grand plans you were talking about?"

I stared at her, my eyes narrowed, my voice a low, dangerous rumble. "Gavin. 'Dearest Eleonora.' 'More than just professional.' 'Just you and me.' Did you miss that part, El? Or are you just going to pretend that wasn't a full-blown declaration of interest from your 'client'?" The word "client" was laced with heavy sarcasm.

Her eyes widened slightly, then a slow, knowing smile spread across her face. She leaned back against the cushions, crossing her arms, her head tilted, enjoying my obvious irritation. "Oh, Norris. Are we back to this? I thought we'd established my 'iron-clad boundaries' this morning. And I distinctly remember you saying you loved how jealous I make you." Her eyes sparkled with mischief. "Besides, it's just Gavin. He's a creative. They're all a bit dramatic. It's part of their charm. And it's good for business."

"Dramatic?" I scoffed, pushing myself closer to her on the sofa, invading her space. "He's practically writing you a love song, Eleonora! And you're just sitting there, basking in his 'artistic appreciation.' You're playing a very dangerous game, Eleonora Kimbel. Very dangerous. Because I'm pretty sure my 'patience' is about to run out again." My hand, almost without conscious thought, found her waist, my thumb stroking the soft skin just above her linen trousers.

She shivered, a small, involuntary movement, but her eyes held their playful challenge. "Oh, am I? And what happens when your 'patience' runs out, Lando? Are you going to steal his next demo? Or perhaps challenge him to a race? I'm pretty sure your McLaren would beat his guitar any day."

"I'm going to do something far more effective than stealing his demo," I growled softly, leaning in, my lips brushing her ear. "I'm going to remind you who you belong to. And it won't involve any 'lyrical gems' or 'private concerts' over Zoom." My voice was husky, thick with desire and a fierce, possessiveness that made her breath hitch. "And as for challenging him to a race... I'd win. Easily. But I prefer to win what truly matters." My gaze dropped to her lips, then back to her eyes, a silent, powerful declaration. "And that, Eleonora, is you."

Her eyes softened, the teasing fading to a deep, warm affection. "You're ridiculous, Lan. Utterly, wonderfully ridiculous." She leaned into my touch, her hand coming up to cup my jaw, her thumb stroking my cheek. "But you're my ridiculous. And you know perfectly well that Gavin, or any other 'talented musician,' doesn't stand a chance. My policy is iron-clad, remember? And you, Norris, are definitely not a client." Her voice was soft, laced with a warmth that sent a jolt of pure happiness through me. "So, about those plans you have for me... are they going to involve less brooding and more... proving?"

I grinned, a slow, predatory smile. "Oh, much more proving, El. Much, much more. And absolutely no brooding. Just pure, unadulterated devotion. Starting right now." My hand tightened on her waist, pulling her closer, my lips claiming hers in a kiss that left no room for doubt, a kiss that sealed our unspoken understanding, a delicious promise of all the moments to come. The email, and Gavin, were instantly forgotten.

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The post-lunch haze was settling in, a comfortable warmth that permeated the living room. Eleonora, looking effortlessly chic even in her relaxed linen trousers and silk camisole, was efficiently putting the groceries that were delivered moments ago into the fridge. Her hair, still damp from the shower, was now loosely tied back, a few damp tendrils escaping to frame her face. The faint scent of her soap, mingled with the lingering aroma of fresh basil and mozzarella, made the air around her subtly intoxicating.

"Honestly, Norris, you act like I'm incapable of putting away groceries. It's not rocket science, you know. Just... spatial awareness. Something you racing drivers occasionally struggle with, I hear." Her voice was laced with her usual playful sarcasm, but her eyes, when they met mine, held a soft, loving amusement.

"Hey! I have excellent spatial awareness!" I retorted, pushing myself deeper into the sofa cushions. "It's how I avoid crashing into other cars at 300 kilometers an hour. And I was merely offering assistance. A gentlemanly gesture. You, my dear Eleonora, are simply too independent for your own good. Or perhaps you just don't trust my organizational skills." I watched her disappear into the sleek, minimalist kitchen.

She reappeared a moment later, a half-empty bag of organic apples in one hand, a carton of artisanal eggs in the other. "It's not a trust issue, Lando, it's a speed issue. You'd probably spend five minutes analyzing the optimal placement of the avocados. And then you'd get distracted by a shiny object. Like, say, your phone." She gave me a pointed look, a smirk playing on her lips.

I feigned a wounded expression. "Me? Distracted by my phone? Never." But even as I said it, my hand instinctively reached for the device on the coffee table. She was right, of course. I was trying to kill time, waiting for her to finish her domestic duties so we could properly embark on those "plans" I had for her. And the F1 drivers' group chat was always a reliable source of entertainment, or at least, distraction.

I unlocked my phone, the familiar WhatsApp interface popping up. The "F1 Grid Gang" chat was, predictably, buzzing. I scrolled back, a smirk forming on my face as I caught up on the chaos.

Agent George: Anyone else absolutely dead after that triple header? My physio is threatening to quit. Send coffee. Industrial quantities.

SuperMax: @Agent George Weak. Just train harder. Or maybe stop complaining. 🤷‍♂️

Percival: @SuperMax Easy for you to say, you just glide around. Some of us actually have to work for it. My neck feels like a concrete pillar.

Honey Badger: My neck feels like a concrete pillar that just went ten rounds with a kangaroo. Send beer. And maybe a new spine.

Chili: @Honey Badger Always with the excuses, mate. Just admit you're getting old. My neck is fine. My mind is tired from all the strategy meetings.

Agent George: @Chili You mean tired from trying to understand Max's alien race pace? We all are.

SuperMax: 😂😂😂 It's not my fault you guys are slow.

Tripod: Anyone seen the new F1 game trailer? Graphics look insane. Might actually be better than real life at this point.

SuperMax: @Tripod No way! Nothing beats real life! Especially not when you're winning.

Lando Norizz: @SuperMax He's just trying to make us all feel bad, Max. Standard Pierre tactic.

Honed Badger: @Lando Norizz Speaking of tactics, Lando, you've been suspiciously quiet lately. Everything alright in Monaco? Not gotten yourself into any trouble have we? 😉

Percival: @Lando Norizz Yeah, where've you been, mate? Missing your usual chaos in the chat.

Agent George: @Lando Norizz He's probably just been too busy trying to beat his own lap times on his sim. Or perfecting his golf swing.

Albono: @Lando Norizz Yeah, mate, spill. Is it a secret new sponsor? Or did you finally try cooking and burn down the kitchen?

Lando Norizz: @Honey Badger @Percival @Agent George @Albono Just been... occupied. Very occupied. You know, important stuff. Adulting.

SuperMax: @Lando Norizz "Adulting"? Since when do you "adult," Lando? Did you finally learn how to do your own laundry?

Lando Norizz: @SuperMax Funnier than your driving, Max. And yes, I'm practically a domestic God. You'd be surprised.

Chili: @Lando Norizz "Occupied" with what, exactly? Don't tell me you've finally bought a cat.

Tripod: @Lando Norizz Or maybe he's just discovered the joys of actual cooking. It's a revelation, mate.

Albono: @Lando Norizz Or he's just been hiding from the paparazzi. Smart move, if so.

Lando Norizz: @Chili @Tripod @Albono My personal life is classified, Muppets. Top secret. You wouldn't understand. It involves... strategic downtime. Very important for performance.

I smirked, typing out my reply, enjoying the mental image of Max rolling his eyes at my "domestic God" comment. The banter was familiar, comforting, a small slice of normality in the midst of Eleonora's current situation.

"Still trying to impress your mates with your digital prowess, Lando?" Eleonora's voice, sharp and amused, cut through my thoughts. She was back from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a small cloth. "Did you tell them you're staying at a penthouse with a private gym, or are you keeping that a secret?"

I looked up, my smirk widening. "Oh, I'm keeping a lot of things secret, Eli. You know, for competitive advantage. Can't let them know all my secrets. Especially not the ones that involve... domestic bliss." My gaze lingered on her, a playful challenge in my eyes. "And besides, I was just telling them I'm practically a 'domestic God.' You should back me up on that, you know. For my reputation."

She raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, a hint of skepticism in her gaze. "A domestic God? You? The man who ate raw bacon for breakfast? I think my reputation would suffer more than yours if I vouched for that, Norris." She walked over to the sofa, settling gracefully beside me, her hip brushing mine. The fresh scent of her soap was even stronger now, clean and inviting. "And what exactly were you 'occupied' with for three hours that made you so quiet? Don't tell me you were stuck on a particularly difficult map on Fortnite."

I chuckled, leaning closer to her, my voice dropping to a low, intimate murmur. "Oh, I was very occupied, El. With something far more... satisfying than any video game. Something that involved a lot of sweat, a little bit of playful aggression, and a very rewarding outcome." My eyes held hers, a clear reference to our time in the gym. "And as for my 'domestic God' status, I'm perfectly capable of putting away groceries. I just prefer to delegate... when there are more pressing matters at hand." I let my hand rest lightly on her thigh, my thumb stroking the soft linen.

She blushed, a lovely pink flush that spread across her cheeks, but her eyes sparkling with amusement. "Oh, I see. 'Pressing matters.' Is that what we're calling it now? And here I thought you were just being lazy." She leaned her head against my shoulder, a soft sigh escaping her. "Well, I'm glad you're no longer 'agitated.' And I suppose I can forgive your bacon-eating habits, for now. Especially if those 'plans' you mentioned involve more of that... proving."

I tightened my arm around her, pulling her closer, feeling the warmth of her body against mine. "Oh, they absolutely will, El. Much, much more proving. And no more distractions. Just us. And maybe a very long nap. Conquering the world is exhausting work, after all." I kissed the top of her head, a profound sense of contentment settling over me. The world could wait. For now, this was perfect.

September 7^th, 2023

The bedroom was a sanctuary of hushed luxury, bathed in the soft, diffused glow of the Monaco cityscape filtering through the sheer curtains. The massive bed, with its crisp white sheets and an abundance of plush pillows, was a cloud of comfort. The air was cool, thanks to the subtle hum of the air conditioning, and the only sounds were the distant, gentle lapping of the sea against the shore and the soft, steady rhythm of Eleonora’s breathing beside me.

I was deeply asleep, wrapped in the profound peace that only comes after intense physical and emotional exertion. But then, a subtle shift beside me. A restless twitch. A soft whimper.

My eyes fluttered open, instantly alert. The digital clock on the bedside table glowed 3:17 AM. I turned my head, my gaze finding Eleonora.

She was no longer still. Her body was thrashing wildly, tossing from side to side, tangling the sheets around her. Her face, usually so serene in sleep, was contorted, her features pulled taut with an agony that made my stomach clench. A fine sheen of sweat coated her forehead and neck, even in the cool room, and her breath came in short, panicked gasps, a desperate, strangled sound. Her eyes were squeezed shut, her eyebrows drawn together in a tortured line.

"Please... no..." she whimpered, her voice barely audible, raw with fear. "Don't... don't do this!"

My heart hammered against my ribs. A nightmare. A bad one. I reached for her, my hand gently touching her shoulder, trying to rouse her. "Eli? Eleonora, wake up. It's just a dream."

But she didn't respond. Her thrashing intensified, her body jerking violently, as if trying to escape an unseen attacker. The panic in her breathing escalated, becoming a frantic, desperate pant.

"Matthew... please stop!" she choked out, her voice rising, laced with a chilling plea. And then, a guttural, agonizing scream tore from her throat, a sound of pure terror and pain that ripped through the quiet of the room. It was a scream that spoke of deep, buried trauma, a sound that would haunt my nightmares for weeks to come.

My hand tightened on her shoulder, shaking her more firmly. "Eleonora! Wake up! Now!"

Her eyes snapped open, wide and unfocused, filled with a raw, primal terror. She gasped, a ragged, choked sound, her body still trembling violently. Her gaze darted around the room, disoriented, before finally landing on me. Recognition slowly dawned, but the fear didn't immediately leave her eyes.

She was crying, silent tears streaming down her temples and into her hair, mingling with the sweat. Her hand, trembling, instinctively flew to her left shoulder, her fingers pressing hard against the intricate lines of the tattoo there, as if trying to soothe an invisible wound. Her breath was still coming in panicked bursts.

Before I could even fully pull her into my arms, the bedroom door burst open with a loud thud against the wall. Two figures, large and imposing, stood silhouetted against the softer light of the hallway. John, Eleonora's head of security, was in the lead, his face grim, a small, tactical flashlight beam sweeping across the room. Behind him was another security guard, equally large, his hand already on the sidearm holstered at his hip. Their eyes, sharp and alert, immediately assessed the scene: me, half-naked, leaning over a distressed Eleonora on the bed.

"Miss Kimbel, are you alright?!" John's voice was sharp, laced with urgent concern. He took a step forward, his eyes scanning the room for any threat.

Eleonora flinched at the sudden intrusion, her body tensing. She pulled her hand away from her shoulder, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand, trying to compose herself. The raw vulnerability that had been on her face moments ago was quickly replaced by a mask of cool control, though her trembling was still evident.

"I'm fine, John," she said, her voice still a little shaky, but firm. She pushed herself up, pulling the sheet higher over her chest, trying to regain some semblance of dignity. "Just... a nightmare. A particularly vivid one." She gave a dismissive wave of her hand. "Everything's fine. You can stand down."

John hesitated, his gaze lingering on her for a moment, clearly unconvinced. His eyes flicked to me, a silent question in their depths. I met his gaze, shaking my head slightly, a silent message that I would handle it.

After a beat, John nodded curtly. "Understood, Miss Kimbel. We heard the scream. Just checking. Call if you need anything at all." He gave me another quick, assessing look, then turned, motioning to the other guard. "Let's go."

The two men exited as quickly as they had entered, the door clicking softly shut behind them, leaving the bedroom in a sudden, heavy silence. The cool air conditioning now felt almost oppressive.

I turned back to Eleonora, my heart aching for her. She was still trembling, her shoulders hunched, her gaze fixed on the spot where the security guards had stood. The mask of composure was still there, but it was fragile, barely holding. I reached for her, gently pulling her into my arms, wrapping her tightly against my bare chest.

"Eli," I whispered, my voice soft, my hand stroking her hair. "It's okay. You're safe. It's over." I felt her body shake against mine, a silent sob escaping her. She didn't say anything, just clung to me, burying her face against my shoulder, her tears wetting my skin. I held her, rocking her gently, my mind racing. Matthew. The name echoed in my head, a dark, ominous presence. And the way she'd clutched her shoulder, the tattoo. There was a story there, a painful one, that I knew I would have to help her face. But for now, all I could do was hold her, and try to chase away the lingering shadows of her nightmare.

Eleonora eventually wiggled herself free from my embrace, a subtle, almost imperceptible movement that spoke volumes. She didn't pull away entirely, but just enough to create a sliver of space between us. Her eyes, still a little wide and haunted, darted towards the bathroom.

"I... I just need a minute," she murmured, her voice barely a whisper, still raw from the scream. She slid off the bed, her bare feet padding softly on the cool, dark wood floor. She looked impossibly fragile in the dim light.

I didn't say anything, just watched her go. My heart ached with the need to comfort her, to demand answers, but I held back. I remembered my promise to myself: no pushing. Not this time. Not again.

She left the bathroom door ajar, the soft light illuminating the polished marble. I heard the faint hiss of the tap, then the splash of water. I swung my legs over the side of the bed, my bare feet meeting the cool floor, and followed her silently. I stopped just outside the open door, leaning against the frame, watching her.

She was bent over the sink, splashing cold water onto her face, again and again, as if trying to wash away the remnants of the terror. Her shoulders were still hunched, a testament to the lingering tension in her body. She straightened up, droplets clinging to her eyelashes, then reached for a glass on the counter, filling it from the tap. Her hand trembled slightly as she brought it to her lips, taking a long, shaky gulp.

As she lowered the glass, her eyes met mine in the large, illuminated mirror above the sink. The reflection showed her face, still pale, her eyes dark pools in the dim light. It also showed me, standing silently in the doorway, my expression a mixture of concern and unspoken questions.

We held each other's gaze in the mirror, a silent, intense stare-down. My eyes pleaded with her, not for details, but for reassurance, for her to know I was there, unwavering. Hers, in turn, were a complex mix of lingering fear, a hint of gratitude, and a cautious assessment. She was looking for judgment, for accusation, for that familiar pressure to explain. But she found none. Only patience. Only quiet, steadfast presence.

The silence stretched, thick with unspoken emotions. I didn't move. I didn't speak. I just held her gaze, letting her see the unwavering support in my eyes.

Finally, she broke the contact, her gaze dropping to the glass in her hand. She took another slow, deliberate sip of water, then turned from the mirror, facing me directly. Her shoulders relaxed almost imperceptibly.

"Better?" I asked softly, my voice barely above a whisper, careful not to startle her.

She nodded, a small, almost imperceptible movement. "A little." She walked past me, leaving the glass on the counter, and headed back towards the bed. The air around her was still fragile, but the raw terror had receded, replaced by a quiet weariness.

I followed her, climbing back into the bed. The sheets were still a little tangled from her thrashing, but she didn't seem to notice. She simply lay down, pulling the duvet up to her chin, her body still slightly curled in on itself.

I hesitated for a moment, then reached out, gently pulling her closer. She didn't resist, her body relaxing into mine. I wrapped my arm around her, pulling her head onto my shoulder, my hand gently stroking her soft hair.

"Just a nightmare," I murmured, my lips brushing her temple. "It's over now. You're safe." I kept my voice even, calm, offering comfort without demanding explanation. The name "Matthew" still echoed in my mind, a dark puzzle piece, but I wouldn't push. Not tonight.

She sighed, a long, shaky breath, and nestled deeper into my embrace. Her hand, almost unconsciously, found my chest, her fingers splayed over my heart, feeling its steady rhythm. I felt the faint tremor in her body slowly subside, replaced by the warmth of her presence. The silence that followed was different this time, not heavy with unspoken questions, but soft with shared understanding and a quiet, profound comfort. I held her, listening to the gentle lapping of the waves outside, and waited for sleep to claim us both again.

Chapter Text

Eleonora's POV

September 7th, 2023

The first hint of dawn was a soft, pearlescent grey seeping through the sheer curtains, painting the luxurious bedroom in muted tones. The gentle hum of the air conditioning was a constant, soothing backdrop, and the rhythmic, almost hypnotic sound of the waves against the shore below was a lullaby. I was awake, though my eyes had been open for what felt like hours, staring at the ceiling, tracing the faint patterns the light made as it slowly brightened.

The remnants of the nightmare still clung to me, a cold, clammy residue that no amount of splashing water on my face could truly wash away. Matthew. The name was a venomous whisper in my mind, a ghost from a past I desperately tried to keep buried. The raw terror, the desperate pleading, the agonizing scream that had ripped from my throat – it had all been so real, so vivid. Even now, a faint tremor ran through my body, a ghost of the fear that had consumed me. My left shoulder ached, a phantom pain mirroring the place where my fingers had instinctively clutched the intricate tattoo during my waking moments of terror. The tattoo, a constant, silent reminder etched into my skin, a secret only a few knew the true meaning of.

I shifted slightly, carefully, acutely aware of the warm weight beside me. Lando. He was still deeply asleep, his breathing soft and even, his arm loosely draped over my waist, holding me gently against him. His face, relaxed in sleep, was boyish and innocent, a stark contrast to the fierce, protective presence he had been just hours ago.

I remembered waking up, disoriented and terrified, his face the first thing I saw, his steady voice cutting through the panic. And then the security, John’s grim face, the other guard with his hand on his weapon. The sheer embarrassment of it, the loss of control, the raw exposure. I had dismissed them quickly, almost harshly, desperate to regain some semblance of my usual composure. And Lando… he hadn't pushed.

He had followed me to the bathroom, standing silently in the doorway as I splashed water on my face, trying to scrub away the lingering fear. I had met his gaze in the mirror, searching for judgment, for the inevitable questions, for the pressure to explain. But there had been none. Only quiet concern, a steady, unwavering presence that had been more comforting than any words. He had simply asked, "Better?" and when I'd nodded, he'd led me back to bed, holding me close without a single demand.

A wave of complex emotions washed over me now. Gratitude, deep and profound, for his understanding, for his patience. He hadn't pried, hadn't insisted, hadn't made me relive it in that raw, vulnerable state. He had simply been there. That was a rare thing. Most people, even well-meaning ones, would have pressed. Would have wanted to "fix" it. But Lando, with an instinct that surprised me, had known exactly what I needed: quiet, unwavering support.

And then there was the fear. The fear that this vulnerability, this raw glimpse into my past, would change things. That it would be too much. That he would see the broken parts, the scars, and decide that I was too much to handle. The "Matthew" of my nightmare was a secret I guarded fiercely, a pain I rarely allowed to surface. It was tied to the tattoo, to a chapter of my life I had painstakingly sealed away. Lando’s presence, his warmth, his steady breathing beside me, was a stark reminder of how close he was to that buried past.

I carefully, slowly, turned my head to look at him. His auburn curly hair was a little mussed against the pillow, and a faint stubble shadowed his jaw. His lips were slightly parted, and a single, long eyelash rested on his cheek. He looked so peaceful, so untroubled. It felt almost unfair that my inner world was such a tempest while his was so calm.

I traced the line of his jaw with my gaze, then the strong column of his neck, before letting my eyes rest on his chest, rising and falling with each breath. The memory of our intimacy from yesterday, the heat, the passion, the way he had claimed me, flooded my senses. He had been so fiercely possessive, so utterly there with me. And then, hours later, he had been the gentle anchor in my terror. He was a whirlwind of contradictions, and he was slowly, inexorably, becoming indispensable.

The thought scared me. Indispensable. That was a dangerous word. It implied reliance, vulnerability, a giving of control that I had fought so hard to reclaim. But lying here, feeling the steady beat of his heart against my back, the warmth of his arm around me, it was hard to deny the comfort, the safety, his presence provided.

I closed my eyes, taking a deep, shaky breath. The morning light was strengthening now, promising a new day. A new day to face the lingering shadows, and a new day to navigate this increasingly complicated, yet undeniably beautiful, connection with Lando. I still had work calls to make, a life to manage, but for a few more moments, I would simply lie here, safe in his arms, and let the quiet strength of his presence soothe the ragged edges of my soul. I knew he wouldn't push. And for now, that was enough.

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The soft, golden light of morning finally filled the penthouse, chasing away the last vestiges of the night's shadows. I slipped out of bed as quietly as possible, careful not to disturb Lando, who was still deeply immersed in sleep, his breathing soft and even. The cool air on my skin was a welcome sensation, a refreshing contrast to the lingering heat of the nightmare.

I padded barefoot into the kitchen, the sleek, minimalist space a calming presence. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee was already filling the air, a luxury I appreciated. I poured myself a mug, the warmth seeping into my hands, and carried it to the large kitchen island. With a small jump, I hoisted myself onto the cool, polished counter, swinging my bare legs back and forth like a child, enjoying the quiet solitude of the early morning.

My phone, which I'd left charging on the counter, caught my eye. I picked it up, unlocking it, and immediately navigated to my messages. A text from Isabella, predictably dramatic and perfectly timed to distract me from my own thoughts.

Isabella Richi: Eli, you will NOT believe the warzone that is my apartment right now. Marmalade has declared open season on Charles's socks. I swear, she hides them under the sofa and then just stares at Charles with this smug, feline superiority. And Charles? He's retaliating by leaving hair ties strategically placed for Marmalade to bat under the fridge. It's a full-blown Cold War, but with more fur and less diplomacy. Honestly, I'm living in a sitcom. Send wine. Or maybe a referee. How are you, by the way? Everything alright? Any news on the Fewtrell front? John's been radio silent, which usually means something's brewing. Spill!

A genuine snicker escaped me, a soft, involuntary sound that broke the quiet of the kitchen. Trust Isabella to turn domestic squabbles into high drama. The image of Charles and Marmalade engaged in a petty, passive-aggressive war over socks and hair ties was absurdly hilarious. It was a welcome, mundane distraction from the terror of the night.

I took a sip of my coffee, the rich, dark liquid a comforting warmth in my throat, and then, with a sigh that was almost a purr of contentment, I pressed the microphone icon on WhatsApp to record a voice message.

"Sounds like you need a cat therapist, not a referee, Izzy. Or maybe Charles just needs to invest in a sock drawer that's cat-proof," I began, my voice a low, amused murmur. "As for me, still standing. And yes, John is being John. No news is... well, you know. It's fine. Just trying to keep a low profile. And definitely no drama here. Just peace and quiet. Really." I emphasized the last word with a playful, sarcastic lilt, knowing Isabella would hear the subtle irony.

I was about to lift my finger from the mic when a low, husky voice startled me.

"Peace and quiet, huh?"

My head snapped up. Lando was standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame, his arms crossed over his bare chest. He was still in his sleep shorts, his dark hair tousled from sleep, and his eyes, though a little heavy-lidded, were sharp and observant. The morning light caught the faint stubble on his jaw, giving him a rugged, appealing edge. He looked utterly delicious, and entirely too awake for someone who'd been dead to the world moments ago.

A flush warmed my cheeks, a mix of surprise and a familiar spark of attraction. I quickly lifted my finger from the microphone, ending the voice message. "Norris! You're awake. I thought you were going to sleep until noon. Did the sheer lack of my constant nagging prove too unsettling?" My voice was light, deliberately sarcastic, trying to deflect from the message he'd clearly just overheard.

He pushed off the doorframe, walking towards me with a slow, deliberate stride, his eyes never leaving mine. "And miss out on your sparkling morning wit? Never. Besides," he stopped directly in front of me, his gaze dropping to my phone in my hand, then back to my face, a knowing glint in his eyes, "I heard snickering. And the sounds you were making earlier... they weren't about feline anarchy, were they?" His voice was soft, but the question was clear, unwavering, yet still without pressure. He was giving me space, but he wasn't pretending it hadn't happened.

I felt a fresh wave of heat, a mixture of embarrassment and a strange, reluctant appreciation for his directness. I looked away, staring at the condensation on my coffee cup. "That was... just a dream. Nightmares happen."

"They do," he agreed, his voice still gentle, but his presence was suddenly closer, more intense. He leaned in, placing his hands on the counter on either side of me, effectively caging me between his arms and the island. The scent of his sleep-warmed skin, a clean, masculine scent, filled my senses. "That scream, Eleonora... and the way you were clutching your shoulder... it wasn't just a bad dream, was it?" His eyes, now dark blue and piercing, held mine. He wasn't pushing, but he wasn't backing down either. He was simply there, waiting.

My heart hammered against my ribs. He was so close I could feel the warmth radiating from his bare chest. The air crackled with unspoken tension, a mix of the lingering fear from the nightmare and the potent, undeniable attraction between us. "It's... it's nothing, Lando. Just old ghosts." I tried to sound nonchalant, but my voice wavered slightly.

He leaned in further, his lips brushing my ear, sending a shiver down my spine. "Whatever it was, El, it looked like it hurt. And I don't like seeing you in pain, even when you're asleep." His voice was a low growl, laced with a possessiveness that was both unnerving and incredibly alluring. "Tell me about it. Or don't. But know that I'm here. And I'm not going anywhere."

My breath hitched. His words, so simple, yet so powerful, resonated deep within me. He wasn't demanding, he was offering. Offering himself, his unwavering presence, his patience. It was a dangerous, tempting offer.

I finally met his gaze, a small, genuine smile touching my lips, despite the lingering shadows. "You really are impossible, Norris. Always trying to get into my head. And my... classified personal life." I reached out, my fingers tracing the strong line of his bicep. "And as for 'Matthew,' he's a story for another day. A very long, very complicated story that requires more coffee, and perhaps a full English breakfast to properly digest."

He grinned, a slow, sexy curve of his lips. "A full English, huh? Sounds like a negotiation tactic. But I'm a patient man... mostly. And I'm very good at waiting for my reward." His eyes dropped to my lips, a clear promise in their depths. "But first, let's get some proper food into you. And then, we can discuss those 'plans' for the rest of your day. Plans that definitely don't involve any more nightmares. Or any more Gavin." He pressed a soft, lingering kiss to my forehead, then pulled back, his gaze warm and loving. "Ready to face the day, Eli?"

I leaned into his touch, a wave of comfort washing over me. "Ready, Lan. As long as you promise to keep the monsters at bay."

"Always," he whispered, his thumb stroking my cheek. "Always."

Just then, my phone buzzed again, a new notification. It was Isabella. I tapped the play button, and Isabella's voice, slightly distorted by the phone's speaker, filled the quiet kitchen.

Isabella Richi (Audio Message - played aloud): "Eleonora! Hold up! Rewind! Did my ears just deceive me, or did I hear a certain very familiar, very British, very never-quiet voice in the background of your 'peace and quiet' message?! And honestly, Eleonora, of all the people to be 'occupied' with, him? Now listen, Norris, you little orange menace, you human-sized fidget spinner with a penchant for questionable fashion, I thought Eleonora had finally found someone who didn't have the fashion sense of a traffic cone and whose idea of 'adulting' was more than just playing video games in a mansion! You know you're going to drive her absolutely mad with your golf analogies and your terrible TikToks. And Eleonora - don't you dare try to tell me you're just 'keeping a low profile' when you've clearly got the most high-profile secret in Monaco hiding in plain sight! You know I have a sixth sense for drama, especially when it involves you and a certain McLaren driver who's been suspiciously off the radar lately! You better not be holding out on me, Eleonora Kimbel! I expect a full debrief, and I mean full. Don't you dare try to pull a fast one on your best friend! You know I'll find out anyway! Consider yourself warned! I'm already planning my interrogation tactics, and I'm bringing snacks and a lie detector. Don't think you can escape me, not even in that fancy penthouse!"

The voice message ended with a dramatic flourish, a faint click as she stopped recording. Lando and I stared at the phone for a beat, then at each other. A slow, shared grin spread across both our faces, blossoming into full-blown laughter. My shoulders shook with it, a genuine, unburdened sound that felt like a release.

"Oh, God," I gasped between laughs, clutching my stomach. "She's going to kill me. She's going to corner me, Lando, I swear. There will be no escape. She'll bring a whiteboard and a laser pointer." I feigned a shudder, leaning dramatically against his chest. "You have no idea how terrifying Isabella is when she's on a mission for information."

Lando's laughter was deep and rich, his arms wrapping around me, pulling me into a tight hug. "Oh, I think I'm starting to get an idea," he chuckled, his breath warm against my hair. "A 'full debrief,' huh? Sounds intense. Should I start preparing my alibi now, or will I be included in this 'interrogation'?" He squeezed me playfully. "Don't worry, El. I'll protect you from the 'whiteboard and laser pointer.' Though, I'm pretty sure she's more formidable than any F1 steward."

"You have no idea," I agreed, my voice still shaky with suppressed laughter. "She's relentless. This is why I prefer the quiet life. No drama, remember?" I looked up at him, my eyes sparkling with mirth. "But seriously, she's going to be impossible. I might have to go into hiding. Can I borrow the McLaren jet? Just for a quick escape to, say, a deserted island?"

He tightened his grip, pulling me even closer. "A deserted island, you say? Sounds like a plan. But only if I get to come with you. And we leave the phones behind. No more 'classified personal life' secrets for Isabella to uncover. Just... us. And no more nightmares. Deal?" His eyes were warm, filled with a tenderness that made my heart ache in the best possible way.

"Deal," I whispered, leaning into his kiss, the laughter still bubbling beneath the surface, a joyful counterpoint to the lingering shadows of the night. With Lando, even the most terrifying moments could somehow lead to shared laughter and a sense of undeniable belonging.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

The morning settled into a rhythm of work. After a quick breakfast of toast and fruit, Lando announced he was heading to his own apartment for a simulator session. "Got to keep those reflexes sharp, El," he'd said with a wink, grabbing a fresh t-shirt. "Don't want to lose my edge, especially not with Max breathing down my neck." I watched him go, a faint sense of quiet settling over the penthouse. John, my head of security, and another guard were stationed discreetly nearby, a constant, reassuring presence that I was now accustomed to, even with Lando temporarily gone. I knew Lando would have his own security arrangements, of course, but it was John's team focused on my immediate safety.

I, meanwhile, had retreated to the study, my laptop open, the familiar hum of productivity a welcome distraction. The lingering echoes of the nightmare were still there, a faint throb beneath the surface, but the demands of my work helped to push them back. My first order of business was to address Gavin's email. I reread his overly familiar message, a small, tight smile playing on my lips. He was certainly persistent.

I composed my reply carefully, aiming for professional warmth mixed with an undeniable boundary.

To: Gavin Atterbury

Subject: Re: That 'Shame' line and a little something extra for you, Eleonora...

Dear Gavin,

Thank you so much for sending over the updated demo. I've just listened to it, and you've truly done a fantastic job of integrating the line – it sounds incredibly impactful and adds a beautiful layer to the track. I agree, it's a game-changer, and I'm very excited for you to move forward with recording and publishing the song. It deserves to be heard.

Regarding your thoughts on our collaboration, I deeply appreciate your enthusiasm and the creative spark we've found. It's always a pleasure to work with artists who are so passionate about their craft. However, I must politely clarify that our professional relationship, while creatively fulfilling, will remain strictly within the bounds of our business together. My focus, as always, is on ensuring your project's success and maintaining the highest professional standards.

Please let me know if there's anything further I can assist with on the project. I look forward to seeing this song take off!

Best Regards,

Eleonora Kimbel

I hit send, feeling a small sense of satisfaction. It was firm, polite, and left no room for misinterpretation. Let him try to read between those lines.

The rest of the late morning was a blur of video calls and emails. I reviewed marketing strategies for a luxury fashion brand, discussed potential collaborations for a new tech startup, and even fielded a frantic call from a celebrity chef whose social media manager had accidentally posted a picture of him eating instant noodles. My world was a constant, high-stakes juggling act, and I thrived on it.

Around one o'clock, my stomach rumbled in protest. I closed my laptop, stretching my arms above my head, feeling the satisfying pop of my spine. Lunch. A light salad, perhaps, and definitely another coffee. The caffeine was a necessary fuel for my demanding schedule.

I made my way to the kitchen, assembling a quick Greek salad with feta, olives, and crisp greens, and brewed another strong cup of coffee. The penthouse felt quiet, almost too quiet, without Lando's presence.

I was just carrying my plate and mug back to the island when the main door to the penthouse clicked open. Lando walked in, looking flushed and vibrant, his dark hair even more disheveled than usual. He was still in his sleep shorts, his t-shirt clinging to his damp skin, and his eyes were bright with the lingering adrenaline of his training session. He must have just come from his apartment.

"Finally done torturing yourself, Norris?" I teased, a genuine smile spreading across my face. The sight of him, healthy and alive, was a balm after the shadows of the night.

He grinned, a wide, boyish smile that always managed to disarm me. "Torture? Eli, that was pure bliss. You wouldn't understand. The thrill of shaving off those milliseconds... it's a spiritual experience." He walked over, pulling out a stool beside me, his hip brushing mine as he settled down. The scent of his exertion, clean sweat and something uniquely him, was surprisingly appealing. "What's on the menu? Looks suspiciously healthy for someone who promises 'full English breakfast' negotiations."

"It's called balance, Norris," I retorted, taking a bite of my cucumber. "Something you might want to consider between your 'spiritual experiences' and your questionable fashion choices." I winked, then took a sip of my coffee. "And don't worry, the full English is still on the table. For when the story of 'Matthew' is finally ready for public consumption." My voice was light, but my eyes held a subtle invitation, a quiet reassurance that I hadn't forgotten.

He picked up a stray olive from my plate, popping it into his mouth. "Mmm, balance. I'll remember that. And I'm a very patient man, Eleonora. I can wait for the full English. And the story." His gaze softened, a warmth entering his eyes that made my stomach flutter. "You seem... better. This morning."

I nodded, a small, genuine smile. "I am. Thank you. For... everything." My voice was softer than I intended, a rare moment of unvarnished vulnerability.

He reached out, his fingers gently brushing mine where my hand rested on the counter. "Anytime, El. Always." He held my gaze for a long moment, a silent conversation passing between us, a deepening of the bond that had been forged in the quiet hours of the night. "Right," he finally said, breaking the spell with a playful sigh. "I'm going to hit the shower. I smell like a race car that's been through a particularly aggressive qualifying session. But I'll be back out here to keep you company. Don't want you getting into too much 'peace and quiet' trouble without me." He winked, pushing off the stool.

"Don't take too long, Norris," I called after him, a smile still on my face. "I might actually finish this salad without your commentary."

He chuckled, disappearing down the hallway. The apartment felt a little emptier again, but the warmth of his presence lingered. I took another sip of coffee, feeling a sense of calm settle over me. The day was progressing, the nightmare fading, and Lando was here. Everything was going to be alright.

Just as I was about to take another bite of my salad, my phone, which I'd placed beside my coffee cup, lit up with an incoming video call. The name flashing across the screen made my blood run cold, instantly shattering the fragile peace I'd found.

Patrick Kimbel.

My hand froze, hovering over the phone. My heart, which had been beating a steady rhythm, suddenly lurched into a frantic gallop. Patrick Kimbel. My father. An online video meeting. Now. The sheer unexpectedness of it, the abruptness, sent a jolt of pure, unadulterated stress through me. My shoulders tensed, my jaw clenched, and a knot of anxiety tightened in my stomach. A cold sweat prickled my skin, despite the cool air. This wasn't a casual check-in. This was a summons.

I must have made some sound, a sharp intake of breath, or perhaps my sudden stillness was too pronounced. Because Lando, who had only just reached the end of the hallway, paused. He turned, his head tilted, his eyes immediately picking up on my sudden distress. His playful smile vanished, replaced by a look of instant concern. He didn't say anything, didn't move towards the bathroom. He just lingered, his gaze fixed on me, his presence a silent, unwavering offer of support. The playful banter was gone, replaced by the quiet, solid strength I had come to rely on. He knew, instinctively, that something was very wrong.

I took a shaky breath, forcing myself to move. I couldn't take this call from the kitchen island, exposed. I needed the privacy of the study, even if Lando was lingering. I slid off the counter, my bare feet padding silently on the cool marble. My movements were stiff, almost robotic, as I walked towards the study, my phone clutched in my hand.

Lando, still in the hallway, watched me go. He didn't follow immediately, giving me that sliver of space I seemed to crave, even in my distress. But as I reached the study door, he moved, stepping quietly into the room just behind me, positioning himself out of sight, near the bookshelf, a silent sentinel. He was there, a solid, comforting presence, without being intrusive.

I sat down at the large, curved desk, my fingers fumbling slightly as I clicked the 'Accept' button for the video call. The screen flickered, then resolved into the familiar, impeccably groomed face of my father, Patrick Kimbel. He was in his office, the minimalist, high-tech backdrop a testament to his corporate world. His hair was perfectly styled, his suit jacket sharp, and his expression, usually stern or mildly approving, was now beaming. Beaming. That was almost more unsettling than his usual intensity.

"Eleonora!" His voice boomed, clear and resonant through the speaker, a stark contrast to the hushed quiet of the penthouse. "There you are! I've been trying to reach you! Look at that smile! You look well. Good. Very good."

I forced a tight smile, my voice betraying none of the anxiety coiling in my gut. "Father. Good afternoon. I apologize, I was just finishing up some work. What's... what's all this about?" My eyes darted to the corner of the room where Lando was, a quick, almost imperceptible glance. He was watching me, his expression unreadable, but his presence was a steady anchor.

"Work, yes, of course, always working!" my father chuckled, a rare, hearty sound that made my eyebrows twitch. "But this, Eleonora, this is good news! Excellent news, in fact! Gavin is over the moon! Absolutely over the moon! He called me personally, just now. Said the demo you approved is a complete breakthrough. A game-changer! He's already pushing for recording, for release. He says it's going to be huge, Eleonora. Huge!"

He paused, leaning back in his chair, a look of profound satisfaction on his face. "And you know, Gavin sent over the usual information we need for these things, the official paperwork, the credits. And at 'creative direction' and 'strategic concept,' I see Gavin's name, of course, and then... your name, Eleonora. Eleonora Kimbel." He said my name with a certain reverence, a tone I rarely heard directed at me. "Of course, I phoned him immediately. And he told me, Eleonora, he said you were the reason for the breakthrough. That your insight, your strategic brilliance, your... vision, is what transformed the entire track. He said you have a gift, Eleonora. A true gift for elevating projects."

His praise, usually so coveted, felt heavy, almost suffocating. My stomach churned. My name on a song's credits for strategic input, a song that was going to be "huge." The very thing I had always tried to avoid, the very thing that connected me to a past I wanted to forget – the spotlight, the public recognition. I could feel Lando's eyes on me, even though I didn't look at him directly. He must have heard the "strategic brilliance" part, the echo of his own teasing words from yesterday about my "lyrical gems" now recontextualized.

"Yes, well," I began, my voice carefully neutral, "it was a collaborative effort, Father. Gavin is a talented artist. Sometimes, all it takes is a fresh perspective on market positioning to unlock a song's full potential." I avoided directly acknowledging my own contribution, trying to downplay it, to make it sound like a mere professional duty.

My father, however, seemed to barely register my modesty. "Nonsense, Eleonora! He was quite clear. This was your brilliance. And it's precisely why you're so valuable, Eleonora. Your instincts are unparalleled. This is exactly the kind of impact we expect from you. The kind of impact that elevates our entire enterprise." His blue eyes, though still smiling, held that familiar glint of expectation, of a bar set impossibly high. It wasn't just praise; it was a reminder of my role, my duty, my place in his world.

I offered another tight smile, a practiced, almost automatic response. "I'm glad I could be of assistance, Father. I'm always striving to deliver the best results for our clients." The words felt hollow, a corporate script I'd perfected over the years.

"Excellent, Eleonora, excellent!" He nodded, his smile unwavering. "Keep up the exceptional work. This is precisely what we need. I'll be in touch soon regarding the next steps for the Fewtrell situation. John has been keeping me updated, of course, but I'll want a full briefing from you directly."

And just like that, the praise transitioned seamlessly into a command, a reminder of the real reason for his call, the underlying tension that always simmered beneath the surface of our interactions. The Fewtrell situation. The reason I was in Monaco, under constant security. The reason my life felt like it was constantly on the edge.

"Of course, Father," I replied, my voice still even, my composure firmly back in place. "I'll prepare a briefing. I'll await your call."

"Very good. Goodbye, Eleonora." With a final, satisfied nod, his face vanished from the screen, replaced by the desktop on my phone.

I leaned back in the chair, a long, slow breath escaping me, feeling the tension drain from my shoulders, leaving me oddly hollow. The praise, the "strategic brilliance," the "unparalleled instincts" – it all felt like a heavy cloak, a burden rather than a compliment. It was never just about the work with him. It was always about the 'impact,' the 'enterprise,' the 'expectations.'

"Well," Lando's voice was soft, a quiet presence from behind me, "that was... a lot of praise. And a lot of 'Eleonora Kimbel, strategic visionary.' Sounds like your father is quite proud. And Gavin is quite the fan."

I turned slowly in my chair, facing him. He had moved closer, now leaning against the edge of the desk, his arms still crossed, his expression a careful blend of curiosity and concern. He hadn't missed a beat.

"Proud, yes," I said, a wry, humorless smile touching my lips. "Proud of the 'impact' on the 'enterprise.' It's always about the enterprise with him, Lando. Never just... the project. Or the person behind it." I sighed, running a hand through my hair. "And Gavin is... persistent. I sent him an email, politely clarifying that our relationship will remain strictly professional. Hopefully, that puts an end to his 'more than just professional' overtures."

Lando's eyes narrowed slightly at the mention of Gavin, a familiar flicker of possessiveness, but it was quickly overshadowed by something else, something deeper. He uncrossed his arms and pushed off the desk, walking around to stand directly in front of me. He didn't touch me, but his presence was a warm, solid anchor.

"So," he said, his voice quiet, his gaze unwavering, "your name is on the credits for the strategic concept. You're a... a project elevation specialist, Eleonora. A 'strategic visionary,' according to Gavin and your father." He paused, a soft smile playing on his lips. "Why did you never tell me about that side of your work?" His tone was gentle, curious, not accusing. There was no 'nagging,' no demand for information, just an open invitation, a quiet wonder. He was asking, not demanding.

I looked at him, truly looked at him, and for the first time since the call, a small, genuine smile touched my lips. He was so different from my father, from the world I usually inhabited. He saw me, not just the "impact" or the "enterprise."

"It's... complicated, Norris," I admitted, my voice a little softer, a hint of the vulnerability I rarely showed. "A long story. One that ties into those 'old ghosts' I mentioned. The kind of attention that comes with being credited for something 'huge' is... something I've always tried to avoid." I met his gaze, a silent question passing between us. Are you still willing to listen? Are you still patient?

He reached out, his hand gently cupping my jaw, his thumb stroking my cheek. "I told you, El. I'm a patient man. And I'm not going anywhere. I'll wait for the full English. And the full story. Whenever you're ready." His eyes were warm, filled with a tenderness that promised understanding, not judgment. "For now, let's get you out of this office. And maybe I can distract you with some truly terrible TikToks."

A genuine laugh bubbled up, light and free, chasing away the last vestiges of the stress. "Terrible TikToks? You really are a menace, Lando Norris." I leaned into his touch, feeling the tension finally melt away. "But... maybe that's exactly what I need right now."

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The evening descended upon Monaco in a blaze of orange and purple, painting the sky over the Mediterranean in a breathtaking display. The penthouse, usually a hub of quiet activity, had settled into a comfortable, intimate calm. Lando, fresh from his shower and smelling faintly of his familiar masculine scent, had returned to the living area, and we had decided on a simple, comforting dinner. I'd made a quick pasta dish with fresh pesto and cherry tomatoes, while he'd insisted on opening a bottle of crisp white wine he'd found in the cooler.

We sat at the sleek, dark wood dining table, the city lights beginning to twinkle outside the panoramic windows. The atmosphere was relaxed, a soft jazz playlist murmuring in the background. We talked easily, the conversation flowing from the mundane to the surprisingly deep. He told me about a particularly challenging sector on the sim track, and I recounted a ridiculous client request from earlier in the day. The earlier tension from my father's call had dissipated, replaced by the easy rhythm of our growing connection.

"Honestly, Norris," I said, swirling the wine in my glass, a small smile playing on my lips, "sometimes I think your life is just one long series of 'shaving milliseconds' and avoiding collisions. Is there any room for, you know, actual human emotion in there? Or is it all just apexes and downforce?"

He chuckled, reaching across the table to steal a cherry tomato from my plate. "Hey! I have plenty of human emotion! I get angry when I miss a golf putt, I get excited when I find a new meme, and I get... very focused when someone tries to steal my last piece of garlic bread." He winked, popping the tomato into his mouth. "And besides, you're the one who deals with celebrity chefs and their instant noodle crises. Sounds like your life is just one long PR disaster waiting to happen."

"It's called managing expectations, Lando," I retorted, feigning indignation. "And I handle it with grace and professionalism. Unlike some people who throw their controllers when they lose at Call of Duty." My eyes sparkled with amusement. "But fine, I'll concede. We both live lives of high-stakes drama. Yours involves actual speed, mine involves metaphorical speed. Still, I think I win on the 'most likely to need therapy' front."

"Debatable," he countered, his smile softening. His gaze lingered on me, a warmth entering his eyes that made my stomach flutter. "I think we're both doing alright. Especially when we're... well, when we're not dealing with external pressures." He reached out, his fingers gently brushing mine across the table, a silent acknowledgment of the unspoken comfort we found in each other.

The moment stretched, warm and intimate, filled with the quiet hum of the city and the soft jazz. It was a perfect, peaceful evening.

Then, a sharp, authoritative rap on the dining room door.

My body stiffened, the sudden sound jarring me from the relaxed atmosphere. Lando's hand, which had been resting on mine, tightened instinctively. We both turned towards the door, the easy smiles vanishing from our faces.

John stood in the doorway. His usual calm demeanor was replaced by a grim, focused intensity. His eyes, sharp and alert, swept the room, then landed on me. He wasn't in his usual suit, but tactical gear – a dark, fitted polo shirt, cargo pants, and a visible earpiece. Another guard, equally tense, stood just behind him, a silent, imposing shadow. The air in the room immediately thickened, heavy with unspoken urgency.

"Miss Kimbel," John said, his voice low and clipped, devoid of any pleasantries. "We have a situation. Max Fewtrell has been spotted. He's currently near your apartment building in London."

My breath hitched. The name, spoken aloud, sent a cold shock through me, instantly bringing back the terror of the nightmare, the phantom ache in my shoulder. He was another monster, another tormentor. My blood ran cold, then surged with a sudden, icy fear. He was there, in London. Not here, not in Monaco, but still too close for comfort, too close to the life I'd built.

Lando's grip on my hand tightened, his thumb stroking my knuckles, a silent reassurance. His eyes, which had been filled with warmth moments ago, were now dark and sharp, fixed on John, a protective shield already forming around me.

"Near my London building, John?" I managed to ask, my voice a little shaky, but I forced myself to maintain a semblance of composure. "Are you certain?"

"Positive," John replied, his gaze unwavering. "Our private eye, along with local London police units, has been tailing him for the past hour. He's been circling the perimeter, attempting to establish a pattern, looking for weaknesses. He's been cautious, but he's there. And we've got him."

A wave of conflicting emotions washed over me: fear, yes, but also a surge of adrenaline, and a strange, unsettling sense of relief. This was it. The end of the waiting. The final act.

"He's being apprehended as we speak," John continued, his voice calm, professional, but with an underlying current of grim satisfaction. "The plan is in motion. We've got units converging from multiple directions. He won't get far. We expect to have him in custody within the next fifteen minutes. Possibly less."

Lando leaned forward slightly, his voice firm. "Is Eleonora safe here? Is the Monaco building secure?"

"The Monaco building is secure, Mr. Norris," John affirmed, his eyes briefly flicking to Lando, acknowledging his presence. "We have multiple layers of security in place. He hasn't breached any of them. He was merely reconnoitering the London property. But we couldn't risk him getting any closer to any of your known locations."

"Good," Lando murmured, his grip still firm on my hand, his gaze returning to me, searching my face. "Are you alright, Eli?"

I swallowed hard, trying to steady my breathing. "I... I will be. Just... the shock of it. After all this time. Knowing he's... there." I looked at John. "What's the protocol once he's apprehended? Will he be brought in for questioning there, or...?"

"He'll be taken to the local precinct in London, Miss Kimbel," John explained, his voice softening slightly, sensing my distress. "He'll be processed there. We'll coordinate with the authorities to ensure all necessary statements are taken, and that he's held without bail. My team will remain on high alert throughout the night, and we'll have extra patrols around your London property for the foreseeable future, just as a precaution. And of course, here in Monaco as well."

"And you'll let me know the moment he's confirmed in custody?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. The thought of him, out there, still free, was a cold weight in my stomach.

"Immediately, Miss Kimbel," John assured me, a flicker of empathy in his usually stoic eyes. "Consider it done. We just wanted to give you the heads-up as soon as we had positive confirmation of his presence and the start of the apprehension. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to call the security team there." He gave a curt nod, then turned, and with the other guard, quickly exited the dining room, their footsteps fading down the hallway.

The silence that descended after they left was deafening, broken only by the faint jazz music and the distant hum of the city. My pasta lay untouched on my plate, my wine glass still half-full. The appetite I'd had moments ago had completely vanished, replaced by a nervous tremor that ran through my entire body.

Lando immediately slid his chair closer, pulling me gently into his side, his arm wrapping around my shoulders. He didn't say anything, just held me, his warmth a comforting anchor against the sudden chill that had gripped me. I leaned into him, burying my face against his shoulder, inhaling his familiar scent. It was over. Almost. The waiting was almost over. And for the first time in a long time, I felt a fragile sense of hope, mixed with the lingering fear of what this final confrontation would bring.

Chapter Text

Lando's POV

September 7^th, 2023

The sharp rap on the dining room door had been like a gunshot, shattering the easy, comfortable bubble Eleonora and I had built around ourselves. One moment, we were laughing about my questionable TikToks and her celebrity chef's noodle crisis, the next, the air was thick with the cold, hard reality of the threat that still hung over her. My hand had instinctively tightened on hers, feeling the sudden tension that rippled through her.

John, grim-faced and clad in his operational gear, had delivered the news with the precision of a military briefing. Max Fewtrell. Spotted in London, near her building. The words hit me with a jolt, a cold wave of dread. Even across an entire country, the proximity felt too close, too invasive. My stomach clenched, a familiar protective surge overriding everything else.

I watched Eleonora's face as John spoke, saw the subtle tremor in her hand, the way her eyes, usually so sharp and controlled, held a flicker of raw fear. She tried to maintain her composure, asking questions with a professional calm that belied the sudden pallor of her skin. But I knew her now, knew the subtle tells. The way her jaw tightened, the slight stiffness in her shoulders. She was terrified.

"He's being apprehended as we speak," John had said, and a wave of something akin to relief, mixed with a fierce, almost primal satisfaction, washed over me. Finally. This bastard.

My questions to John were automatic, driven by instinct: Is she safe? Is the Monaco building secure? The answers were reassuring, but the image of Fewtrell, circling her London home, a predator stalking his prey, made my blood run cold. Even though she was here, in Monaco, safe within these walls, the idea that he had been so near any of her spaces was infuriating.

When John finally left, the silence that fell was heavy, suffocating. The soft jazz music, which had been a pleasant backdrop, now felt mocking, a frivolous counterpoint to the sudden, stark reality. Eleonora’s pasta lay untouched, her wine glass abandoned. Her entire body seemed to deflate, the carefully constructed composure giving way to a visible tremor.

I didn't hesitate. I slid my chair closer, pulling her gently into my side, wrapping my arm around her shoulders. She leaned into me, burying her face against my shoulder, and I could feel the faint shudder that ran through her. Her hair, soft against my cheek, smelled of citrus and something uniquely her. I just held her, my hand stroking her arm, the solid weight of Eleonora against me a grounding presence. What could I say? Words felt inadequate, clumsy. So I just held her, focusing on being a steady anchor in her storm.

The minutes that followed stretched into an eternity. My internal clock, usually so precise, counting down laps and optimizing sectors, felt utterly useless. All I could do was wait, my gaze fixed on the phone on the table, willing it to buzz with John's confirmation. Every second felt like a lifetime, knowing that somewhere, across the continent, a dangerous game was playing out. My mind raced, imagining scenarios, picturing the apprehension, the struggle. I hated that I wasn't there, couldn't physically intervene, couldn't put myself between her and the threat. It was a frustrating, unfamiliar feeling of helplessness.

Then, my phone vibrated. A single, short text message from John.

John Terry: Confirmed. Fewtrell in custody. London precinct. Will send full report shortly.

A profound, bone-deep exhale escaped me, a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding. The tension in my shoulders, which I hadn't even known was there, suddenly sagged. He was caught. He was gone.

I pulled back slightly, holding Eleonora at arm's length, my hands on her shoulders, my eyes searching her face. Her eyes were still wide, a little unfocused, but the tremor in her body had lessened. The raw fear was slowly receding, replaced by a fragile, almost disbelieving relief.

"Eli," I said, my voice rougher than I intended, a mixture of relief and lingering adrenaline. "He's in custody. John just confirmed it. He's caught."

Her eyes blinked, then focused on mine. A slow, shaky breath escaped her, and then another. Her lips parted, and a soft, almost soundless sob escaped her. It wasn't a cry of pain, but of profound, overwhelming release. She leaned back into me, her body relaxing completely, and I held her tighter, pressing a kiss into her hair.

"It's over," I whispered, the words feeling heavier, more significant than I'd anticipated. "It's finally over."

As I held her, feeling the last of her tension ebb away, a different kind of realization settled over me. This wasn't just about a threat being neutralized. This was about Eleonora. The woman who was always so guarded, so composed, so fiercely independent. I had seen glimpses of her vulnerability in the nightmare, but this… this was different. This was the cumulative weight of years of living with a shadow, this constant vigilance, this underlying fear. She had carried it with such quiet strength, such unwavering determination. And now, seeing the profound relief wash over her, I understood the true cost of it all.

She wasn't just a brilliant strategist, a sharp businesswoman, a witty conversationalist. She was a woman who had been living under a constant threat, a woman who had been denied true peace for far too long. And in that moment, holding her as the last vestiges of fear left her body, I felt a fierce, undeniable surge of something deeper than attraction, stronger than infatuation. It was a profound desire to protect her, not just from external threats, but from the lingering shadows of her past. To give her the peace she deserved.

I had always admired her strength, her resilience. But now, seeing the depth of her vulnerability and the immense relief that came with this news, I realized how much I wanted to be the one who could truly make her feel safe. Not just for a night, but for always. The playful banter, the teasing, the undeniable chemistry – it was all real. But this, this quiet, protective instinct, this desire to see her truly free, felt like the most real thing of all.

What did this mean for us? For Eleonora, who guarded her past so fiercely? For me, who was just beginning to understand the layers beneath her polished exterior? I didn't know. But as I held her, feeling her breathing finally steady against my chest, I knew one thing with absolute certainty: I wasn't going anywhere. And I would do everything in my power to ensure that this fragile peace she was finally experiencing would become her permanent reality. This wasn't just about being "there" for her anymore. This was about being her safe harbor, her unwavering constant, in a world that had tried to steal her peace. And I was ready for it. More than ready.

Eleonora slowly pulled back, her eyes still a little red-rimmed, but a faint, almost disbelieving smile touched her lips. She didn't say anything, just looked at me, a silent gratitude shining in her gaze. It was a look that spoke volumes, a raw, unguarded moment that felt more intimate than any words.

I tightened my arm around her, pulling her close again, just for a moment, letting the sheer relief of the situation wash over us both. The weight that had been pressing down on her, that I had only just begun to truly comprehend, was finally lifting. I could almost feel it, a physical shift in the air, a lightness returning to the room.

"Are you hungry?" I asked softly, my voice a low murmur against her hair, trying to bring some normalcy back. The untouched pasta and wine still sat on the table, a stark reminder of the interrupted dinner.

She shook her head, a small, weary sigh escaping her. "Not really. Just... tired. So incredibly tired." Her voice was a whisper, laced with an exhaustion that went bone-deep. It wasn't just physical fatigue; it was the weariness of years of vigilance.

"I can imagine," I said, my thumb gently tracing circles on her arm. "How about we just... sit here for a bit? No more work. No more calls. Just... quiet. And maybe some terrible TikToks later, if you're up for it." I tried to inject a bit of my usual lightness, a gentle nudge back towards the familiar.

She actually chuckled, a soft, fragile sound that warmed my chest. "Terrible TikToks sound precisely like what I need to reset my brain. But yes, quiet for a bit sounds... perfect." She leaned her head against my shoulder, her body finally relaxing against mine.

We sat there for a long time, the city lights twinkling outside, the jazz music a gentle hum. I held her, feeling the slow, steady rhythm of her breathing, the gradual easing of the tension in her muscles. I thought about the implications of this. Fewtrell was caught. The immediate threat was gone. What would this mean for her life? Would she stay in Monaco? Would she finally feel truly free to live without looking over her shoulder?

I glanced down at her, her eyes closed, a faint, peaceful expression on her face. She looked utterly exhausted, but also, for the first time since I'd known her, truly at peace. It was a profound shift, a quiet transformation.

My mind, usually racing with strategy and performance data, was now filled with questions about her. About us. The layers she had, the secrets she guarded. The "Matthew" she had whispered about in her nightmare. The "old ghosts" she had alluded to. I knew this was just the beginning of understanding Eleonora, of truly seeing the woman beneath the formidable exterior. And I was ready for it. Every complicated, messy, beautiful bit of it.

I tightened my embrace, a silent promise. This wasn't just a fleeting connection, a whirlwind romance in the glamorous backdrop of Monaco. This was something deeper, something that had been forged in shared vulnerability and a fierce, unspoken protectiveness. She had faced her demons, and now, perhaps, she could finally lay them to rest. And I wanted to be there, every step of the way, to watch her finally breathe freely.

The night outside deepened, the city lights becoming more prominent against the inky sky. The penthouse, once a place of quiet solitude for her, now felt like a shared sanctuary. And in the quiet comfort of her presence, I knew that for the first time in a long time, Eleonora Kimbel was truly, unequivocally, safe. And that was all that mattered.

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Hours later, the penthouse was steeped in the deeper quiet of night. The city lights still glittered, but the hum of traffic had softened to a distant murmur. We had moved from the dining room to the bedroom, the unspoken agreement to seek comfort and closeness. Eleonora had taken a long, hot bath, and I'd put on some comfortable clothes, a soft t-shirt and track pants.

Now, we lay in her enormous bed, the crisp, cool sheets a stark contrast to the warmth of our bodies. She was curled into my side, her head resting on my chest, her breathing soft and even. My arm was draped over her, my fingers gently tracing the line of her spine, feeling the subtle rise and fall of her breath. The only light in the room came from the faint glow of the moon filtering through the sheer curtains, casting soft shadows across the ceiling.

The silence was comfortable, filled with the unspoken understanding that had grown between us. But I knew there were still things unsaid, things that needed to be brought into the light. The apprehension of Fewtrell, even from afar, had clearly shaken her more than she let on. It had opened old wounds, brought buried fears to the surface. And I wanted her to know that I was here, truly here, for all of it.

"You know," I began, my voice a low murmur in the quiet room, "when John told us about Fewtrell... I thought you were going to shatter. You held it together, but I could feel it." My fingers continued their gentle tracing on her back. "That's a lot to carry, El. For so long."

She shifted slightly, her head lifting from my chest, her gaze finding mine in the dim light. Her eyes were soft, vulnerable, stripped of their usual sharp wit. "It was. It is." She paused, a small sigh escaping her. "It's like living with a phantom limb. You know it's not there anymore, but you still feel the ache, the ghost of it. And then, sometimes, it feels like it's back, right where it used to be."

"The nightmare this morning," I prompted gently, remembering the raw terror in her scream. "Was that... him?"

She nodded, a slight tremor in her shoulders. "Yes. Matthew. He was... he was part of a very dark time in my life. A completely separate chapter from anything to do with my work or public profile, or even Max Fewtrell. Just... personal." Her voice was barely a whisper now, the name a heavy weight in the air.

I pulled her closer, pressing a soft kiss to her hair. "You don't have to talk about it, Eli. Not if you don't want to. But I'm here. For whatever you need."

She was silent for a moment, and I thought she would retreat, pull back into her usual guarded shell. But then, she spoke, her voice still soft, but with a newfound resolve. "No. Maybe... maybe it's time. Some of it, anyway. It's been a long time since I've actually... talked about any of it. Not really." She took a deep breath, and I felt her relax slightly against me. "You asked me earlier why I never told you about the strategic concept side of my work, about the credits. It's... it's all tied together. The past. The reasons I've built my life the way I have. Why I prefer the shadows to the spotlight."

My heart gave a quiet thrum. This was it. The opening. The trust she was extending. I tightened my arm around her, offering a silent invitation to continue.

"I've always been good at seeing patterns, at understanding how things connect, how to make something resonate with an audience," she began, her voice gaining a little more strength as she spoke, as if articulating it made it less daunting. "Even when I was younger, I saw things differently. Not just the art, but the impact of the art. The market. The message. My father... he recognized it. He cultivated it. He saw it as a tool, a very valuable asset for the family business. And he pushed."

She paused, a faint, almost imperceptible tension returning to her. "He pushed me into situations, into projects, where my 'vision' would be on full display. Where my name would be associated with the 'breakthroughs.' And... I hated it. The attention. The expectation. It felt like... like being a product myself. Not a person. Just a component in his grand enterprise. That kind of public exposure, the feeling of being seen and known in that way, it just... it clashed with a deep-seated need for privacy that had been forged in a very different, very painful part of my past. A part that involved Matthew, and had nothing to do with my professional life or any public figures like Fewtrell."

The connection was clearer now, a subtle but distinct separation between the professional exposure and the personal trauma. Matthew wasn't a result of her work, nor was he connected to Fewtrell, but his past actions had amplified her desire to avoid any form of public attention or vulnerability.

"So you pulled back," I murmured, understanding dawning on me. "You built your life to avoid that spotlight. To control your own narrative. To feel safe."

She nodded. "Exactly. I learned to be indispensable behind the scenes. To make the impact without being the face of it. To work in the shadows, where I could be effective, but also... safe. From the expectations. From the scrutiny. And from the kind of unwanted attention that can follow you, no matter what you do. Matthew... he taught me a very hard lesson about vulnerability and trust. That some people, if they find a way in, will take everything, and that feeling of being exposed, even professionally, just amplified that fear."

The name hung in the air, heavy with unspoken history. I didn't press for details on Matthew. Not yet. That was her story to tell, when she was ready. I just held her, giving her the space to continue, or to stop.

"It's why I've always been so... guarded," she continued, her voice barely audible. "Why I don't trust easily. Why I keep my distance. Because when you're exposed, when you're vulnerable, you become a target. And I learned that lesson the hard way."

I thought about the Eleonora I had first met – sharp, witty, a wall of polite distance. I thought about the way she had slowly, reluctantly, let me in. The playful jabs, the shared laughter, the quiet moments of comfort. It all made so much more sense now. Her fierce independence isn't just a personality trait; it's a survival mechanism, reinforced by past pain.

"I get it, El," I said, my voice soft, sincere. "Completely. And I'm sorry you had to go through that. That you've had to live with that weight." I squeezed her hand gently. "It's a lot different from my past relationships, I guess. Mine were... simpler. More about trying to juggle a demanding career with someone who understood it, or at least tolerated it. Or, sometimes, someone who just wanted to be part of the 'F1 lifestyle' without understanding the actual work involved." I chuckled, a self-deprecating sound. "I've definitely had my share of 'girlfriends' who were more interested in the paddock passes than the actual race strategy. Like, remember Oliveira? The model? Her Instagram was basically a live feed of my life, but with more filters and fewer actual cars. Every outfit, every meal, every whisper of a holiday was dissected online. 'Are they still together? Is Lando cheating? Why is she wearing that to a Grand Prix?' It was exhausting. And when we broke up, it was like a public spectacle. The internet had a field day, analyzing every single post, every deleted comment, trying to find the 'clues.' It just made me even more guarded, even more wary of who I let close, and how much of my life became their content."

I felt her stiffen slightly against me, a subtle shift in her posture. Her head lifted, and she turned to look at me, her eyes, even in the dim light, holding a glint that was sharper, more assessing. A faint, almost imperceptible narrowing of her gaze.

"Oliveira, huh?" she murmured, her voice smooth as silk, but with an edge I hadn't heard before. "The one with the perpetually pouty lips and the strategically placed designer bags in every photo? Yes, I seem to recall the internet's obsession with her 'curated' existence. Must have been so fulfilling for you, Norris. Sharing your life with someone whose primary goal was apparently to turn it into a high-fashion reality show." Her tone was light, almost teasing, but there was a definite undercurrent of something else – a playful, possessive bite. "Though, I'm sure my own life, with its distinct lack of public outfit reveals and 'spontaneous' poolside photo shoots, provides far more interesting and exclusive content, wouldn't you agree? Content that isn't splashed across every gossip blog, I might add. Just for your discerning eyes, of course." She nudged me with her elbow, a mischievous glint in her eyes, a challenge in her smile.

A slow grin spread across my face. Oh, she was good. Very good. A flicker of jealousy, cloaked in her signature wit and a subtle, almost imperceptible puffing up of her own 'exclusivity.' It was unexpectedly hot.

"Is that a hint of possessiveness I detect, Eleonora Kimbel?" I teased, my voice low and amused, pulling her closer, my fingers tracing the curve of her hip. "Or just a subtle, highly effective marketing pitch for your own 'superior content' that only a select few get to experience?" I leaned in, my lips brushing her ear. "Because I'm definitely subscribing to that exclusive channel. And for the record, your 'distinct lack of public outfit reveals' is precisely one of your many, many charms. Far more intriguing than any designer bag, I assure you. And definitely less... high-maintenance." I added the last part with a playful emphasis, knowing it would hit just right.

She let out a soft gasp, then a sharp, delighted laugh, a genuine burst of mirth that vibrated through my chest. "High-maintenance, Norris? Is that what you're saying? You think I'm not high-maintenance? Oh, you sweet, naive man. You haven't even scratched the surface. Just wait until I demand a personal chef for my midnight snack cravings and a dedicated pit crew to tie my shoelaces." She poked my chest, her eyes dancing with amusement. "But fine. I'll take 'intriguing' over 'curated' any day. And as for subscribing... I'll consider your application. You'll need to pass a rigorous interview process, of course. And prove your loyalty. No more reminiscing about past 'glamour,' understood?" Her voice dropped to a mock-serious whisper, her fingers digging playfully into my side.

"Oh, I understand perfectly, Eli," I said, my grin widening, a knowing glint in my eyes. "And I also understand that little spark in your eyes when I mentioned Oliveira. A tiny flicker of... dare I say it? Jealousy?" I raised an eyebrow, challenging her playfully. "Don't deny it, Kimbel. It's written all over your suddenly very intense gaze. And frankly, it's rather adorable."

Her eyes widened for a fraction of a second, then narrowed dangerously. The playful glint intensified, but now it was mixed with a hint of genuine indignation. "Jealousy? Me? Lando Norris, are you insane? I'm merely assessing the competition, and quite frankly, my dear, the competition was... lacking. Wildly so. I'm a strategic visionary, remember? I analyze data. And the data on 'Oliveira' suggested a high-risk, low-reward investment with questionable long-term returns. I'm simply confirming my initial assessment." She scoffed, a tiny, dismissive sound. "Adorable? You are utterly, completely, and irrevocably insufferable!"

Before I could even respond to her dramatic pronouncement, she moved. With a sudden burst of speed, she snatched the pillow from beneath my head.

WHUMP!

The soft, fluffy pillow, still warm from my head, collided with my face, muffling my surprised yelp. Feathers, or at least the sensation of them, exploded around me in a soft cloud.

"Hey!" I sputtered, pulling the pillow away, a laugh already bubbling up, mixed with genuine surprise. "What was that for, you menace?!"

She was already scrambling, a wild, uninhibited grin on her face, her eyes alight with pure, unadulterated mischief and a triumphant gleam. She grabbed another pillow, her movements fluid and quick, a blur of dark hair and quick limbs. "That, Norris," she declared, launching the second pillow, a direct hit to my chest, "was for your insufferable confidence! And for daring to imply I could be jealous! And for mentioning 'Oliveira' while I'm trying to have a heartfelt moment! Take that, you orange-loving, golf-obsessed, TikTok-making fiend!"

This was it. The gauntlet had been thrown. My competitive instincts, usually reserved for the track, flared to life. "Oh, it's on, Kimbel!" I roared, grabbing my own pillow, a wide, boyish grin splitting my face. "You asked for it!"

The bed instantly transformed into a battlefield of down and cotton. She was surprisingly agile, ducking and weaving, her laughter echoing through the room, a bright, unburdened sound. I swung my pillow, aiming for her, but she twisted, a blur of dark hair and quick movements, and my blow met only air. She retaliated with a flurry of rapid-fire jabs, each one landing with a soft thud against my arms and chest. She was relentless, her attacks precise and surprisingly effective.

"You're surprisingly coordinated for someone who spends all day in front of a laptop!" I gasped between laughs, trying to block a particularly well-aimed strike that nearly knocked my own pillow from my hand.

"And you're surprisingly slow for a Formula 1 driver!" she shot back, her voice breathless with laughter, her eyes sparkling with a fierce, joyful light. She was a whirlwind of energy, her usual composure completely abandoned. Her hair, which was usually so perfectly styled, was now a delightful mess around her face, and her cheeks were flushed with exertion and pure, unadulterated joy. This was a side of Eleonora I haven`t seen in years – uninhibited, playful, utterly free. And it was intoxicating. This wasn't the guarded, strategic Eleonora; this was the raw, vibrant woman beneath, letting loose, completely in the moment. It made me want to see it all the time.

I feigned a stumble, letting her get a few more hits in, enjoying the sheer delight on her face, the way her entire being lit up with mischievous glee. Then, with a sudden burst of speed, I lunged, wrapping my arms around her, pinning her against the mattress, my pillow still clutched in one hand. She squirmed, laughing, trying to break free, her own pillow trapped between us.

"Gotcha!" I puffed, breathless, my chest heaving with laughter. Her body was soft and warm against mine, her scent filling my senses. Her heart hammered against my ribs, matching the frantic beat of my own.

"No fair, Norris!" she giggled, her voice muffled against my shoulder. "That's cheating! You can't just... use your F1-trained reflexes to pin me down in a pillow fight!"

"All's fair in love and pillow wars, El," I whispered, my voice rough, the laughter slowly fading, replaced by a different kind of intensity. Her eyes, still sparkling with mirth, were now darkening, a silent invitation in their depths. Her lips, slightly parted, were a tempting curve.

I shifted, letting the pillow fall to the side, my hand moving to cup her jaw. Her skin was warm, flushed from the playful fight. Her breath hitched as my thumb stroked her cheek. The lingering scent of her bath, mixed with her own unique fragrance, was intoxicating.

"You know," I murmured, my gaze locked on hers, "you're even more beautiful when you're completely uninhibited. When you let go like that."

Her eyes fluttered, her playful smile softening into something utterly vulnerable and open. "And you're... surprisingly endearing when you're not trying to be so annoyingly charming," she whispered, her voice husky.

I leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead, then her temple, then lingered at the corner of her mouth. "Good. Because I'm not going anywhere. And I'm pretty good at scaling walls, you know. Especially when there's something this good on the other side." I pulled her closer, wrapping my arms around her, holding her tight. The relief of Fewtrell's capture, the quiet intimacy of our conversation, the profound understanding that had deepened between us – it all coalesced into a powerful sense of rightness.

"Just try not to fall off, Norris," she murmured, her voice laced with her usual playful sarcasm, but with an underlying tenderness that made my chest ache. "It's a long way down."

"Never," I whispered, holding her closer, feeling the warmth of her body against mine, the steady beat of her heart. "Not when I've finally found my landing pad." The night, once filled with shadows, now felt utterly, beautifully, safe.

Just as the last vestiges of the pillow fight faded into the soft hum of the air conditioning, and our breaths mingled in the quiet space, a sudden, sharp, insistent buzz vibrated from the bedside table. It wasn't Eleonora's phone, nor a tablet. It was the secure satellite phone John had given her, the one reserved for critical, off-grid communications. It rarely rang, and when it did, it meant something significant.

Her body stiffened in my arms, the sudden tension returning with a jolt. Her eyes, which had been half-closed in contentment, snapped open, wide and alert. The soft glow of the moon was instantly overshadowed by the urgent, pulsing blue light emanating from the device.

I glanced over, my own heart giving a jolt. The caller ID was simply "JOHN - SECURE." The name, combined with the specific device, meant this wasn't a casual check-in. This was immediate, and likely, serious.

Her face, which had been soft and flushed from our playful fight, hardened instantly. The playful glint in her eyes vanished, replaced by a formidable, razor-sharp focus. Her fingers, which had been resting lightly on my chest, now twitched, reaching for the phone. It was like watching a switch flip, the carefree woman of moments ago transforming into the formidable strategist I knew her to be.

She slid out of my embrace with a fluid, almost imperceptible movement, grabbing the satellite phone. Her thumb swiped the answer button, and she immediately brought it to her ear, pushing herself up to sit on the edge of the bed, her back to me. The sudden coolness where her body had been left a stark contrast to the warmth of moments before.

"John," she said, her voice low and clipped, completely devoid of any pleasantries. "What is it?"

I watched her, my own senses on high alert. I couldn't hear John's end of the conversation, but Eleonora's reactions told a story. Her shoulders tensed further. She ran a hand through her already disheveled hair, a gesture of frustration. Then, she let out a sharp, incredulous breath.

"What? Are you certain?" Her voice was barely a whisper, but the shock in it was palpable. "How... how is that even possible?"

She listened for a few more beats, her posture rigid. Then, she slowly lowered the phone, her hand trembling slightly as she stared at the dark screen. Her face was ashen, her eyes fixed on something I couldn't see, a distant, horrified realization dawning on her features.

"He... he escaped," she finally said, her voice flat, hollow, as if the words themselves were a physical blow. She didn't turn to me, just stared straight ahead, into the dark room. "Max. He escaped custody. From the London precinct. Less than an hour after he was brought in."

The air in the room immediately thickened, heavy with a chilling, impossible reality. The fragile peace we had found, the sense of safety, shattered into a million pieces. The relief from moments ago, the quiet intimacy, felt like a cruel, fleeting dream. He was gone. And I knew, in that moment, that the fight for her peace was far from over. In fact, it had just begun again, with a terrifying, unpredictable new chapter.

September 8^th, 2023

The first hint of dawn was a soft, pearlescent grey seeping through the sheer curtains, painting the luxurious bedroom in muted tones. The gentle hum of the air conditioning was a constant, soothing backdrop, and the rhythmic, almost hypnotic sound of the waves against the shore below was a lullaby. I stirred, my arm still draped possessively over the space where Eleonora had been moments ago.

My eyes fluttered open, adjusting to the dim light. The place beside me felt... empty. My arm was still extended, but it met only cool sheet. A faint, almost imperceptible ripple of unease ran through me. Had she gotten up? Already? After the bombshell last night, I'd expected her to be restless, but I'd hoped she'd stay close.

I pushed myself up onto an elbow, blinking sleep from my eyes. The bed was still warm where she had been, the sheets slightly rumpled. The room was quiet, save for the distant murmur of the city beginning to stir. No sound from the en-suite, no rustle from the dressing room.

My gaze swept the room, searching. That's when I saw it. The bedroom balcony door, usually sealed tight against the elements and any unwanted intrusions, was slightly ajar. A sliver of cooler, fresher air drifted in, carrying the faint, salty scent of the sea.

A knot of concern tightened in my stomach. After everything, after the news about Fewtrell's escape and the raw vulnerability she'd shown last night, my first instinct was to check on her. I swung my legs over the side of the bed, my bare feet landing softly on the cool, polished marble floor. I moved quietly, careful not to disturb the stillness, my senses on high alert.

The cool air from the balcony was a welcome sensation as I stepped through the open door. The Monaco skyline, usually a dazzling spectacle of lights, was now softened by the pre-dawn light, a muted tapestry of buildings. The air was crisp, carrying the faint, invigorating tang of the Mediterranean.

And there she was.

Eleonora was curled in one of the deep-seated outdoor armchairs, positioned perfectly to face the rising sun, though the first rays hadn't quite breached the horizon. Her head was laid back against the soft, oversized pillow of the chair, her eyes closed, her face serene. A pair of sleek, wireless earbuds were nestled in her ears, their tiny white tips almost invisible against her dark hair. She was humming, a low, melodic sound that was barely audible over the gentle lapping of the waves below. It wasn't a song I recognized, but it was soft, almost melancholic.

Her right hand was resting on the armrest, and between her fingers, I saw it. A sleek, silver vape pen. As I watched, she lifted it to her lips, took a slow, deliberate drag, and then exhaled a thin, almost invisible plume of vapor into the cool morning air. The scent, faint and sweet, drifted towards me – something like berries and mint.

My eyebrows raised slightly. I'd seen her with it before, tucked away in her bag or on her desk, a subtle presence I hadn't given much thought to. But since she'd been effectively locked down here with me, for her safety, I hadn't seen her use it once. Not during the long days of work, not during our dinners, not even when she was clearly stressed. This was the first time since our forced proximity that I'd witnessed her turn to it. It was another crack in the formidable facade, another glimpse into the woman beneath. It wasn't a judgment, just an observation, a quiet revelation. It spoke of a deeply ingrained habit, something she turned to in moments of quiet reflection, or perhaps, lingering stress after the shock of Max's escape. It was a coping mechanism, a quiet release.

She looked utterly peaceful, almost ethereal, bathed in the soft, pre-dawn light. Her lips were slightly parted as she continued to hum, lost in her own private world of music and thought. The tattoo on her left shoulder, usually hidden, was partially visible beneath the strap of her silk camisole, a dark, intricate design that hinted at the "Matthew" she'd spoken of, the "dark time" she'd endured.

I stood there for a long moment, just watching her. The Eleonora I knew was sharp, witty, a formidable force. The Eleonora in my arms last night was vulnerable, passionate, and fiercely protective. But this Eleonora, bathed in the quiet dawn, lost in her music and the soft ritual of her vape, was something else entirely. She was raw, unguarded, and utterly captivating in her solitude. It was a privilege to witness.

A profound tenderness swelled in my chest. This woman, with all her complexities, her hidden pains, her fierce independence, was slowly, irrevocably, carving out a space in my life I hadn't known was empty. The pillow fight, the confessions, the shared vulnerability – it had all chipped away at the walls she'd built, and in doing so, had revealed a depth and beauty that was breathtaking.

I didn't want to disturb her. This moment of quiet introspection, this private ritual, felt too sacred to interrupt. I just stood there, leaning against the cool railing, watching the city slowly awaken, and watching her, a silent sentinel to her fragile peace. The sun was just beginning to peek over the horizon, painting the sky in vibrant hues, and for the first time in a long time, I felt a quiet certainty that everything, eventually, would be alright. As long as I was here, watching over her.

Just as I was about to quietly retreat, to leave her to her solitude, a low, haunting melody began to drift from her earbuds, barely audible at first, then gaining strength as she started to sing along, her voice a soft, clear alto.

"O, death"

My breath hitched. The words, even in her gentle hum, were a stark, chilling contrast to the serene picture she presented. Death. After everything last night, after the news of Fewtrell's escape, the word hung heavy in the pre-dawn air.

"O, death"

My chest tightened. It wasn't a cheerful tune, not a pop song. This was something ancient, mournful. A chill, unrelated to the morning air, prickled my skin. What was she listening to? What was she singing?

"Won't you spare me over 'til another year?"

The plea in the lyrics, even in her quiet delivery, was undeniable. Spare me. It was a desperate, almost raw request. I felt a pang in my gut. Was this how she truly felt? Was this the depth of the fear that still lingered beneath her composure?

"Well, what is this, that I can't see?"

My gaze locked on her, her eyes still closed, her face still peaceful, yet the words coming from her lips were anything but. It was unsettling, this disconnect. The beautiful, strong woman I knew, singing about unseen forces.

"With ice cold hands taking hold of me"

Ice cold hands. The image was vivid, chilling. My mind flashed back to her nightmare, the way she'd clutched her shoulder, the terror in her scream. Was this song a reflection of those "old ghosts" she spoke of? Was she reliving them, even in this quiet moment of supposed peace?

"When God is gone, and the Devil takes hold"

A shiver ran down my spine. This wasn't just a sad song; it was dark, existential. It spoke of abandonment, of a struggle against overwhelming, malevolent forces. The contrast between the soft, almost angelic sound of her voice and the grim lyrics was jarring, creating a profound sense of unease.

"Who'll have mercy on my soul?"

The question hung in the air, a desolate echo. Her soul. Was she truly feeling that lost, that alone, despite everything? Despite me? A sudden, fierce protectiveness surged through me, a desire to reach out, to pull her close, to tell Eleonora that she wasn't alone, that I would have mercy on her soul, on her.

"O, death, o, death, consider my age"

Her voice was a little stronger now, a faint tremor of emotion underlying the melody. It was a plea, a desperate negotiation with an inevitable force. It painted a picture of a battle, a struggle for survival.

"Please don't take me at this stage"

This stage. The words hit me. She was fighting. Still fighting. Even after Max, even after everything, there was a deeper, internal battle she was waging. A battle against the shadows that still clung to her, the fear that still whispered in the quiet moments.

"O, death, o, death"

The repetition was haunting, a mournful refrain. My heart ached for her, for the burden she carried, for the demons she faced in her solitude.

"Won't you spare me over 'til another year?"

The final line faded into the gentle hum of the waves, leaving a profound silence in its wake. She remained still, eyes closed, lost in the aftermath of the song. I thought it was over. The chill in the air, the heavy weight in my chest, told me I should retreat, give her space. I took a quiet step back, about to turn.

Then, just as I was about to pivot, her voice, still soft, still melodic, began again. It was the same haunting tune, but the lyrics had shifted, becoming even more chilling, more definitive.

"O, I am death, and none can tell"

My entire body froze. The air on the balcony, already cool, seemed to drop several degrees. This wasn't a plea anymore. This was a voice claiming the role of death, a chilling shift in perspective. My blood ran cold.

"If I open the door to Heaven or Hell"

Heaven or Hell. The words were delivered with an almost detached, ancient power. Was this her, speaking from a place of profound despair? Or was it the song's character, a personification of the very force she had just pleaded with? The thought that she might feel such a deep connection to something so bleak, so final, twisted something in my gut.

"No wealth, no land, no silver, nor gold"

The gentle hum of the waves, the distant city sounds, all faded into insignificance. All that existed was her voice, carrying these heavy, absolute truths. It spoke of a power beyond human control, a force that stripped away all earthly possessions. Was this how she felt about her own life, her own immense wealth and influence? That it offered no protection from the deeper, darker forces?

"Nothing satisfies me but your soul"

That line. Your soul. It was so possessive, so absolute. It wasn't just about death taking a life; it was about consuming the very essence of a person. It was chillingly resonant with the idea of a predator, like Fewtrell, trying to consume, to take everything. Was she singing from the perspective of the victim, or was there a part of her, the strategic, ruthless part, that understood this kind of absolute, unyielding desire?

"I'm death, I come to take the soul"

The conviction in her voice, though still quiet, was terrifying. It was almost a declaration. She was embodying the very thing she feared, the force that took. It was a profound, unsettling performance, even if she was only singing to herself.

"Leave the body and leave it cold"

My breath hitched. The image was stark, visceral. A cold body. It brought back the phantom ache in her shoulder, the raw terror of her nightmare. It was a reminder of vulnerability, of the ultimate powerlessness against such a force.

"O, death, O, death"

The refrain, now imbued with a terrifying new meaning, echoed in the quiet dawn. It was no longer a plea, but a recognition, an almost resigned acceptance of this powerful, inescapable entity.

"Won't you spare me over 'til another year?"

The final question, a desperate, hopeful plea, returned. But now, after the chilling declaration of "I am death," it felt different. It felt like a brief moment of humanity, a flicker of hope, against an overwhelming, inevitable darkness.

Her voice finally faded, leaving a profound, aching silence in its wake. She remained perfectly still, eyes closed, head still laid back, the vape pen still clutched in her hand, a thin wisp of vapor curling into the air. The first sliver of the sun finally broke over the horizon, painting the sky in fiery oranges and deep purples, a beautiful, violent contrast to the dark, haunting song that had just filled the air.

I stood there, rooted to the spot, a cold sweat prickling my skin despite the rising warmth of the sun. The air was still heavy with the echoes of her voice, the weight of those words. This wasn't just a song. This was a window into the deepest, darkest corners of Eleonora's mind, a raw expression of the fear, the trauma, the constant battle she waged within herself. The Fewtrell escape – it was all connected to this profound sense of vulnerability, this feeling of being pursued by an inescapable force.

She was so much more complex, so much more scarred, than I had ever fully comprehended. The witty banter, the sharp intellect, the fierce independence – they were all armor, carefully constructed to protect this fragile, deeply wounded core. And now, hearing her sing those words, I understood the true depth of her pain, the constant shadow she lived under. My desire to protect her, to be her safe harbor, intensified tenfold. It wasn't just about external threats anymore. It was about facing the internal ones, the ones that haunted her soul. And I knew, with a chilling certainty, that this journey with Eleonora was going to be far more profound, and far more challenging, than I had ever imagined. But I wouldn't back down. Not now. Not ever.

The chill of the balcony air, despite the rising sun, clung to me. I stood there for a few more minutes, the echoes of Eleonora's haunting song still vibrating in my bones. Every instinct screamed at me to go to her, to pull her into my arms, to demand she tell me everything. But something held me back. The profound, almost sacred solitude of her moment. The raw vulnerability she'd unknowingly displayed. I knew, deep down, that pushing her now would only make her retreat further. She needed space, time to process whatever this song, whatever her demons, were stirring within her.

With a heavy sigh, I quietly backed away from the balcony door, pulling it almost shut, leaving just a tiny crack for the fresh air. I returned to the vast, empty bed, the warmth of her absence a stark contrast to the comfort of moments before. Sleep, I told myself. I needed to clear my head, to think. But the lyrics of "O, Death" played on a loop in my mind, a chilling soundtrack to my growing unease. I tossed and turned, the soft sheets feeling like a tangled web, the luxurious mattress suddenly uncomfortable. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw her serene face, heard that haunting alto, and the words "Nothing satisfies me but your soul" echoed with a sinister resonance. Sleep was a long time coming, and when it finally did, it was shallow, restless, filled with fragmented images of shadows and cold hands.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

When I finally woke up, it was to the blinding glare of sunlight filtering through the curtains, no longer soft and pearlescent, but bright and insistent. My internal clock, usually so precise, had completely failed me. I fumbled for my phone on the bedside table, squinting at the screen.

11:03 AM.

My eyes snapped open fully. Eleven?! I bolted upright, a jolt of adrenaline shooting through me. I never slept this late. Not ever. And Eleonora... she was an early riser, always. A cold dread began to coil in my stomach.

I swung my legs over the side of the bed, the cool marble a shock against my bare feet. I threw on a pair of track pants and a t-shirt, my movements rushed, clumsy. I splashed cold water on my face in the en-suite, trying to shake off the lingering grogginess and the haunting melody from the balcony. My reflection in the mirror looked tired, my eyes still a little shadowed.

"El?" I called out, my voice echoing slightly in the quiet apartment. No answer.

I moved through the penthouse, my steps quickening. First, to her study. The door was open. The room was immaculate, her laptop closed, no papers scattered, no sign of her characteristic organized chaos. Empty. A faint scent of her perfume lingered, but it was a ghost, not a presence.

Next, the living room. The grand space was bathed in sunlight, highlighting the dust motes dancing in the air. The coffee machine on the counter was off, but a faint, lingering aroma of freshly brewed coffee hung in the air – her usual strong, dark roast. My gaze landed on the sink. There, nestled amongst a few other discarded glasses, was her favorite ceramic mug, a sleek, minimalist design, still bearing faint rings of coffee. She'd been here. She'd had coffee. And then she'd left.

A wave of frustration, sharp and immediate, washed over me. Left? Without a word? After last night, after the conversation, after Max's escape? It felt like a betrayal, a sudden re-erection of the walls she had just started to lower.

I checked the kitchen, the guest rooms, even the small gym. Nothing. The penthouse felt vast and hollow, amplifying the sudden emptiness. My phone was already in my hand, my thumb hovering over John's contact.

I hit dial. It rang once, then twice.

"Mr. Norris," John's voice was immediate, crisp, and surprisingly calm, as if he'd been expecting my call.

"John, where is she?" I didn't bother with pleasantries, my voice tight with a mixture of frustration and mounting anxiety. "I just woke up, she's not here. The balcony door was open, her vape was out there, but she's gone. What's going on?"

There was a beat of silence on John's end, a pause that stretched my nerves taut. "She's out, Mr. Norris. With security. She left about an hour ago."

"An hour ago?!" My voice rose, incredulous. "Why wasn't I told? Why didn't she wake me? After last night? After Fewtrell escaped, she just decides to... go for a stroll?" The frustration was boiling over, laced with a familiar helplessness. I was supposed to protect her, to be her anchor, and she'd just vanished.

"It wasn't a stroll, Mr. Norris," John said, his tone still calm, but with an underlying firmness. "She insisted on going to Dog's Head. She said she had to see something. Alone. We have a full perimeter established, and she has two of our best operatives with her, discreetly, of course."

My blood ran cold. Dog's Head. I knew the place intimately. Eleonora had taken me there herself, late one night in the middle of August. I had insisted on going, curious about this "thinking place" she spoke of, and she'd reluctantly, indulged me. The moon had cast a silver sheen over the rugged promontory, the cliffs stark against the inky blackness of the sea. She'd shared a quiet vulnerability with me then, a sense of peace she rarely allowed herself. She'd called it her "thinking place," where she went to clear her head and make big decisions, a place of profound contemplation she only shared with those she trusted deeply. The memory of our quiet intimacy there, the wind whipping around us, the vast expanse of the Mediterranean stretching out before us, was vivid in my mind.

But right now, after Fewtrell's escape, solitude felt like a dangerous luxury. And the thought of her being there, alone with her thoughts and that haunting song, sent a fresh wave of terror through me.

And then, the lyrics of the song she'd sung on the balcony, the chilling second verse, slammed into my mind with a terrifying clarity:

"O, I am death, and none can tell"

"If I open the door to Heaven or Hell"

"No wealth, no land, no silver, nor gold"

"Nothing satisfies me but your soul"

"I'm death, I come to take the soul"

"Leave the body and leave it cold"

A wave of icy fear washed over me, far colder and more visceral than the frustration. Nothing satisfies me but your soul. I'm death, I come to take the soul. She had been singing about death personified, about a force that takes everything. And now she was at Dog's Head, her place of profound contemplation and decision-making, a place of stark, beautiful isolation. Was she going there to make a decision about her own life, about how to face this renewed threat? Or was the song a darker omen? Was she contemplating something more drastic, something born of the sheer exhaustion and terror of living under this constant shadow?

"John," I said, my voice barely a whisper, the blood draining from my face. "You have to get her out of there. Now. Tell me you can get her out. Tell me she's safe." The words were a desperate plea, the chilling connection between the song and her chosen destination painting a horrifying picture in my mind. Was she going there to confront something within herself, to offer herself up to the 'death' she sang about? To finally lay her demons to rest, or to succumb to them? The thought was unbearable. My fear was no longer just about Fewtrell. It was about Eleonora herself, and the dark path she might be walking.

Chapter Text

Eleonora's POV

September 8^th, 2023

The wind, a relentless, invisible force, whipped around me, tugging at the silk of my blouse, trying to tear the earbuds from my ears. It carried the sharp, invigorating tang of the Mediterranean, a scent that usually cleared my head, brought me a sense of fierce, untamed freedom. Not today. Today, it felt like a mocking whisper, a reminder of a vitality I no longer possessed. My hair, usually so meticulously styled, was a chaotic storm around my face, strands sticking to the dampness of my cheeks, but I didn't bother to push them away. The chill of the morning, despite the sun, seeped into my bones, mirroring the cold emptiness that had settled deep within my chest.

I stood at the very edge of Dog's Head, the rugged promontory jutting out into the vast, indifferent expanse of the sea. Below me, the waves crashed against the ancient cliffs, a rhythmic, hypnotic roar that swallowed all other sounds. This was my sanctuary, my "thinking place," where the sheer scale of nature usually dwarfed my problems, putting them into perspective. But today, the vastness of the ocean felt less like freedom and more like an invitation. An end.

It had been over an hour since I arrived, the discreet presence of John's security detail a faint, almost imperceptible hum in the periphery of my awareness. They were good, perhaps the best. Their eyes scanned the horizon, searched the winding path behind me, vigilant for any external threat. They thought I needed air, a moment to process the fresh horror of Fewtrell's escape. They believed the danger was out there, circling. Unbeknownst to them, the true threat was here, within me, a silent, corrosive force that had finally reached its breaking point. They would be powerless if I made that final decision.

The weight of everything was simply unbearable. It wasn't just Fewtrell, though his escape was the latest, most agonizing twist of the knife. It was the cumulative burden of years. Years of looking over my shoulder, of meticulously constructing a life in the shadows, of sacrificing every semblance of normalcy for safety. Every time I thought I could finally breathe normally again, every time a sliver of peace dared to bloom, something more agonizing happened, stripping me more and more of my will to move forward despite everything. The constant vigilance, the paranoia, the knowledge that I was a target – it had hollowed me out, leaving behind only a fragile shell.

My gaze drifted over the shimmering expanse of the sea, unfocused, seeing not the beauty but the endless, inviting depth. My mind, usually a whirlwind of strategic calculations and complex solutions, was now a quiet, desolate landscape.

Would they miss me? The thought, detached and clinical, floated through the emptiness. My mother, my grandparents – they were the only people I was truly sure cared for me, unconditionally. They would grieve, I knew, with that quiet, profound sorrow that only family can feel. But they had Nick. My brother. The favorite son. Always the favorite. They would cling to him, like always. He was the solid, dependable one, the one who would carry the family name, the legacy. He would be their comfort, their strength, as he always had been. My absence would be a wound, but not a fatal one. They would heal around him.

And Isabella. My fiery, brilliant Isabella. She had Charles now. He was her anchor, her joy. I had seen it in her eyes, heard it in her laughter. She was happy. Truly, deeply happy. He would bring her comfort, a steady presence to lean on. She deserved that happiness, that peace. My leaving would be a shock, a pain, but she had found her own path, her own strength, her own love. She would be alright.

Then Lando. My Lando. The thought of him brought a sharp, unexpected ache, a flicker of warmth in the icy void. He was so full of life, so vibrant, so utterly, beautifully good. He deserved a life unburdened by shadows, a future free from threats, a love untainted by the ghosts of my past. He would find someone else. Someone without baggage, without the constant threat of a predator lurking in the periphery. Someone who could give him the uncomplicated, joyful life he deserved. He would find someone else, and he would be happy. He deserved it, to live a happy, full life. A life I could no longer provide, a life I was too broken to share without dragging him down into my own personal hell.

A single, traitorous tear escaped my eye, tracing a cold path down my cheek, a stark contrast to the warmth of the sun that was kissing the cliffs. It wasn't a sob, not a cry of despair, but a quiet acknowledgment of the bittersweet irony. Despite the rough past, despite the present agony, despite the constant fight for survival, we had found each other again. He had made his way into my heart again, slowly but surely, chipping away at the reinforced concrete walls I’d built around it. I had thought I would never experience love again, never allow myself that vulnerability, that dangerous connection. And yet, with Lando, I had. It was a silver lining, really. A profound, unexpected accomplishment. I had achieved something I thought I would never accomplish. I had loved, and been loved, truly.

My eyes, heavy with unshed tears, lingered on the vast, churning expanse below me. The waves beckoned, a final, definitive embrace. The wind howled, a mournful dirge, or perhaps, a final lullaby. The cold emptiness within me felt complete, a quiet resignation.

It was time.

With a slow, deliberate movement, I reached up, my fingers finding the sleek, white earbuds nestled in my ears. I pulled them out, one by one, the haunting melody of "O, Death" fading into the roar of the wind and waves. I set them carefully on the rough, sun-warmed rock beside my phone, a small, neat pile of discarded connections to a world I was about to leave behind. I had no need of these things anymore.

I pushed myself up from the rock, my limbs feeling heavy, yet strangely light, as if gravity was already loosening its hold. I took one final, sweeping look at the beautiful, wild place I was at. The jagged cliffs, the endless blue of the sky meeting the deeper blue of the sea, the distant white sails of boats that looked like specks of dust. It was perfect. The perfect place to finally let go.

I took a slow, tentative step forward, my sneakers finding purchase on the uneven ground at the very edge of the precipice. The wind clawed at my clothes, trying to push me, or perhaps, to hold me back. I closed my eyes for a fraction of a second, letting the sun warm my face, letting the wind carry away the last vestiges of my breath.

And then, a sound.

A sound that tore through the roar of the ocean, through the howling wind, through the desolate quiet of my mind. A bone-freezing, agonizing scream.

"ELEONORA!"

My eyes snapped open, wide and disbelieving. The sound was raw, filled with a terror that ripped through the cold resignation in my chest. It was Lando's voice. Shattered. Unhinged.

I spun around, my heart lurching, a sickening jolt of something akin to fear, but also a strange, desperate hope. He was there. Not a phantom, not a hallucination born of my despair. He was real.

He stood perhaps twenty feet away, frozen in place, his body angled as if he'd been running at full tilt and then slammed into an invisible wall. His face was a mask of pure, unadulterated horror. His usually vibrant eyes were wide, bloodshot, fixed on me with an intensity that made my breath catch. His auburn hair was disheveled, plastered to his forehead with sweat, and his jaw was clenched, a muscle twitching violently. He wasn't just afraid; he was the embodiment of fear, a primal, visceral terror that radiated off him in waves. Behind him, John, ever the professional, was also moving fast, though with more controlled urgency, his hand already reaching for his comms.

"Eleonora, don't move!" Lando's voice was a desperate rasp, barely audible over the wind, but the urgency in it was unmistakable. He held his hands up, palms facing me, as if trying to physically halt my progress, or perhaps, to show me he meant no sudden movements. His eyes, however, were glued to my feet, to the mere inches separating me from the sheer drop. The fear of startling me, of sending me over the edge, was palpable.

He took a slow, agonizingly deliberate step forward, then another, his movements stiff, almost robotic. Each footfall seemed to weigh a ton, each breath a struggle. "Please, El," he pleaded, his voice cracking, "just... just stay there. Don't move. Just... talk to me." His gaze flickered to my face, then back to the precarious edge, a desperate calculation in his eyes. He was trying to close the distance, but every fiber of his being screamed caution.

And then, his voice, thick with desperation, carried on the wind, a whisper that somehow cut through the roar of the ocean and the turmoil in my mind. "Little bird. Please."

Little bird.

The nickname, so tender, so familiar, hit me with the force of a physical blow. It was the name he'd used for me when we were teenagers, a secret shared between us, etched into the fabric of our youthful bond before everything had fallen apart. Before the shadows, before the threats, before the world had tried to break me. It was a reminder of the soft, intimate moments we'd stolen amidst the chaos, of the playful innocence we'd once shared. And "our song" – the actual song "Little Bird" that we'd hummed together, and now the silly, off-key tunes from his TikToks, the quiet melodies we'd shared in the penthouse – the contrast between that memory and the grim reality of "O, Death" still echoing in my soul was jarring, a cruel twist of the knife. He was trying to pull me back to that light, to that shared joy, but I was so far gone.

My eyes, which had been fixed on his tormented face, flickered, a momentary hesitation. A tiny, almost imperceptible tremor ran through me. But the pull of the abyss was still so strong, the promise of peace so seductive.

"What... what were you doing?" he choked out, his voice raw with emotion, his eyes searching my face, wide with a desperate, pleading question. He was still a few feet away, close enough for me to see the sheen of tears in his eyes, but far enough that I could still make that final, solitary choice. His gaze dropped to the phone and earbuds on the rock, then back to my face, a horrifying understanding dawning in his eyes. The song. He knew. He had heard.

My own voice felt stuck in my throat, a dry, rasping sound. The cold emptiness that had consumed me moments before was suddenly fractured, replaced by a chaotic storm of shock, guilt, and a terrifying, unwelcome surge of life.

"Lando," I whispered, my voice barely audible over the wind, my gaze fixed on his terrified face. "How... how did you know?"

He took another slow, deliberate step, his eyes never leaving mine. "The song, Eli. I heard you. On the balcony. The lyrics... and then you were gone. And John told me you came here. I knew. I just knew." He was closer now, perhaps ten feet. His hands were still outstretched, a silent plea. "God, Eleonora. Don't you ever do that to me again. Don't you ever think... that you're alone in this."

He took another step, then another, slowly, cautiously, like approaching a wild, wounded animal. The wind whipped his hair, but his eyes remained locked on mine, a desperate, raw plea in their depths. "Please, El. Just... come here. Away from the edge."

He was close enough now, just a few feet. His hands, still outstretched, were trembling. He reached for me, his fingers closing around my arms, his grip bruisingly tight, a physical anchor. He pulled me back, away from the edge, his body a solid, trembling shield against the wind and the abyss. His arms wrapped around me, crushing me against his chest. His breath hitched against my hair.

I stood stiffly in his embrace, the warmth of his body a shocking contrast to the coldness that had enveloped me. The scent of his familiar perfume, mixed with the salt of the sea and the faint tang of his fear, filled my senses. The finality I had felt moments ago was shattered, replaced by the overwhelming, undeniable reality of his presence, his terror, his desperate love.

John reached us, his face grim, his eyes assessing the scene. He didn't say anything, just placed a comforting, yet firm, hand on Lando's shoulder. His gaze met mine, a silent message of relief, but also a warning.

Lando pulled back slightly, his hands still on my shoulders, his eyes still searching mine, pleading. "Eli, please. Talk to me. What was going on? Why here? Why... that song?" His voice was softer now, but the desperation was still there, raw and exposed.

I looked at him, at the fear etched into every line of his face, at the desperate love shining in his eyes. He had seen me at my absolute lowest, at the precipice of my despair. And he had come. He had screamed my name, and he had pulled me back. The walls I had so painstakingly built, the ones I thought were impenetrable, had crumbled under the sheer force of his terror, his love.

"Let me go, Lando," I said, my voice a hollow whisper, the words feeling heavy and foreign on my tongue. My gaze drifted past his shoulder, back towards the endless blue. I tried to take a step away from him, a small, almost imperceptible shift of my weight, a desperate attempt to reclaim the finality I had been so close to. The thought of the wind, the waves, the quiet oblivion, still held a powerful, seductive pull. "Please. Just... let me go. I'm so tired. So utterly, completely exhausted." The wind seemed to echo my plea, a mournful sigh across the cliffs. "The nightmare... it never ends. Every time I think I can breathe, every time I glimpse a moment of peace, something else happens. Fewtrell. His escape. It's just... it's too much. I'm done. I'm defeated. I just want to be free."

His grip on my arms tightened even further, his fingers digging into my skin, a physical anchor. His eyes, still wide with fear, now held a fierce, unyielding resolve, a tormented anguish that mirrored the storm within me. His jaw was clenched so tightly I could see the muscle jump. "No," he said, his voice rough, shaking, but firm, his gaze burning into mine. "No, Eli. I won't. This isn't freedom. This is... this is giving up. And you are not a quitter, Eleonora. You're the strongest person I know. You fight. You always fight." His voice was raw, laced with a pain that tore at my own heart. "Don't you understand? This isn't freedom. This is the ultimate prison. And I won't let you trap yourself there. I won't let you leave me."

Even as he spoke, even as his words hammered against the last vestiges of my resolve, a perverse, almost irresistible urge pulled at me. The cliff edge, the vast, empty space, still beckoned with a siren's call. I felt a faint tremor in my legs, a ghost of the step I had almost taken. My body, despite his iron grip, subtly shifted, a barely perceptible lean towards the precipice, a silent, desperate lunge for the oblivion I craved. It was a desperate act of defiance against the endless fight.

Lando felt it instantly. His eyes, already wide with terror, dilated further, becoming black pools of pure dread. A strangled sound, a choked gasp, escaped his throat. His entire body stiffened, and with a guttural cry, a sound of pure, raw anguish, he pulled me back with a sudden, violent force that nearly knocked us both off balance. He stumbled, dragging me with him, away from the very edge, until we were several feet inland, away from the immediate danger. He didn't release me, but spun me around, his hands gripping my shoulders, his face inches from mine, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

His eyes, swimming with unshed tears, were wild, desperate. His face was a roadmap of torment – the deep lines etched around his eyes, the pallor of his skin, the way his lips trembled uncontrollably. He was utterly, completely undone, stripped bare of his usual composure, a raw nerve ending exposed to the harsh wind. "What was that, Eleonora?!" he choked out, his voice a raw, broken whisper. "What was that?! Don't you dare! Don't you ever do that again! Do you hear me?" His grip was still bruising, but it was born of sheer, unadulterated terror, a desperate attempt to imprint his refusal onto my very being. "I can't... I can't lose you. Not like this."

The wind howled, a furious counterpoint to his tortured voice. My gaze, despite his proximity, drifted again, drawn by the magnetic pull of the void. The vastness below. The promise of nothingness. My mind, a battlefield of despair and the sudden, overwhelming reality of Lando's pain, felt fractured. One more step, a voice whispered in the depths of my exhaustion. One more step and it's over. Freedom. Just the quiet. Finally, the quiet.

I tried to move again, a subtle, almost imperceptible shift of my weight, a lean, a desperate, final lunge towards the edge, towards the oblivion that promised an end to the ceaseless torment. My muscles tensed, a silent, internal struggle against his desperate hold. It was a primal urge, the deepest part of me screaming for release, for the cessation of pain, for the blessed, final quiet. The roaring in my ears, the relentless thoughts, the constant fear – I craved for it all to simply stop.

Lando saw it. He felt it. His eyes, already wide with a terror that bordered on madness, widened impossibly further. A choked sob tore from his chest, a sound so raw, so utterly broken, it was worse than any scream. His grip on my shoulders became a vice, his fingers digging in, painfully, as if trying to fuse me to him. He shook his head violently. He was trying to avoid the inevitable, to physically hold back a force that felt stronger than both of us, a force that was pulling me towards the end. His entire being was geared towards stopping me, to preventing the unthinkable, and the sheer desperation of his efforts was heartbreaking.

"No, Eleonora! NO!" he roared, his voice ripped from his very soul, a desperate, primal sound that echoed off the cliffs. He pulled me even tighter against him, crushing me, his body trembling uncontrollably. His face was buried in my hair, his shoulders shaking with silent, desperate sobs. "Please, El. Please. Don't... don't do this. Not to me. Not to us." His voice was a broken plea, thick with tears, utterly devoid of any pretense of strength. He was just a man, terrified, holding onto the woman he loved, begging her to stay. "I can't... I can't live without you. Please. Just... stay. Fight with me. Don't leave me here."

My head lifted, my eyes, still blurred with tears, met his tormented gaze. The wind whipped my hair around my face, mimicking the chaos within me. The words of the song, the ones I had been singing, the ones that had become my mantra so many years ago, rose to my lips, a bitter, desperate echo. "You have to let that little bird die, Lando," I whispered, my voice raw, a chilling contrast to the tenderness of his nickname and the memory of our song, "Little Bird." "It's the only way for the nightmare to end. For me to truly be free. You're fighting the inevitable. It was always meant to end like this."

His eyes widened even further, if that were possible. The words, my chilling echo of the song, struck him like a blow. His jaw dropped, and a fresh wave of agony washed over his face. He shook his head, a violent, desperate movement. "No! No, Eli! That's not freedom! That's... that's silence! That's nothingness! That's not the little bird I know! My little bird sings! My little bird fights! She doesn't... she doesn't give up! Not like this!" His voice was a desperate roar, a primal scream of denial and pain. He pulled me even closer, his arms a vise, as if he could physically force the life back into me, force the despair out. He was fighting against the very concept of my surrender, against the inevitability I felt. He was trying to stop the un-stoppable, to deny the undeniable, and his struggle was a raw, agonizing spectacle of love and fear. His knuckles were white where they gripped my arms, his entire frame vibrating with the effort to hold me, to keep me grounded. He was a man utterly broken, yet still fighting with every fiber of his being, his eyes pleading with me, begging me to see what he saw – a future, a life, us.

His words, his raw and unvarnished agony, finally broke through. The image of the cliff, the siren song of oblivion, began to recede, replaced by the crushing reality of his pain. His trembling body, his broken voice, the sheer, unadulterated torment radiating from him – it was a force more powerful than any despair I had felt. He wasn't just fighting for my life; he was fighting for us. For the fragile, unexpected connection we had found. And in that moment, seeing the depth of his suffering, the thought of inflicting that kind of agony on him, on the one person who truly saw me, truly cared, was more unbearable than my own pain.

My body, which had been rigid with the urge to escape, finally went limp in his arms. The desperate lunge towards the void ceased. The tears that had been stinging my eyes now flowed freely, hot and fast, not just from my own pain, but from the overwhelming, agonizing realization of his.

"Lando," I whispered, my voice a broken sob, burying my face in his chest, clutching at his shirt, letting his warmth, his strength, seep into my trembling body. The thought of stepping off that cliff, of finding that final, cold freedom, still lingered, a dark shadow. But now, it was accompanied by the terrifying, beautiful reality of Lando's arms around me, pulling me back, anchoring me to life. He was my silver lining, and I couldn't, wouldn't, extinguish his light. Not now. Not when he was fighting so hard for mine.

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The journey back from Dog's Head was a blur, a fragmented sequence of sensations I barely registered. Lando's arms were a constant, grounding presence, not crushing, but a firm anchor. I felt the cold metal of John's hand on my back as he guided me, the subtle pressure of the security team surrounding us like an impenetrable wall. The deafening roar inside my own head had replaced any external sounds.

I didn't speak. I couldn't. My throat felt raw, constricted. I didn't look at anyone. Not Lando, whose tormented face I could still feel burned into my eyelids. Not John, whose grim silence spoke volumes. Not the impassive faces of the security detail. I just stared straight ahead, my gaze fixed on nothing, my mind a swirling vortex of despair and a profound, aching sense of loss.

I had been so close. So incredibly close to a final freedom, to the quiet oblivion that had promised an end to the ceaseless torment – a luxury I craved, luxury, that they denied me. And now, I was being dragged back, tethered once more to a life that felt like a living nightmare. The thought was a fresh agony, stripping me more and more of the last vestiges of my will to move forward. The shame of being seen, of being pulled back from that precipice, burned a hot, humiliating path through my cold despair.

The sterile, controlled environment of the penthouse felt suffocating after the wild, untamed expanse of the cliffs. The hushed efficiency of the security team as they closed the doors, secured the perimeter, felt like the tightening of chains around my soul. I was back in my gilded cage, the bars reinforced by Lando's desperate love and John's unwavering duty.

I moved with a singular, desperate purpose, heading straight for the sanctuary of my bedroom. The expensive fabrics, the soft lighting, the familiar scent of lavender from the diffuser – none of it registered. I just needed to be alone, to hide, to disappear. My fingers fumbled with the buttons of my blouse, tearing at them in my haste, the silk a sudden irritant against my skin. I shed my clothes quickly, letting them fall in a crumpled heap on the polished marble floor. I grabbed one of my oversized t-shirts from the closet, its soft cotton a comforting weight, swallowing my trembling frame. The familiar scent of my laundry detergent and my perfume was both a comfort and a fresh wave of guilt.

I crawled into the vast expanse of my bed, burrowing deep under the cool, crisp sheets and the heavy duvet, pulling them up over my head, desperate to block out the world. The darkness was a small comfort, a temporary reprieve. My mind, however, offered no such escape. The image of the cliff edge, the vast, empty space, replayed relentlessly. The shame of being found, of being stopped, was a physical weight on my chest. I had been so sure. So utterly convinced that it was the only way. And now, I was still here, still trapped, still facing the endless fight. The guilt of what I had almost done, the agony I would have inflicted on those who cared, consumed me. I just wanted to vanish, to dissolve into the mattress, to become invisible, unheard, untouched. To finally let the quiet consume me.

Lando entered the room. He didn't speak, didn't rush. He simply moved to my side of the bed, the mattress dipping slightly as he carefully, gently, climbed in beside me. He didn't pull me close, didn't demand anything. He just lay there, a warm, solid presence beside me, his own breathing ragged, a silent testament to his recent terror. The weight of the duvet shifted as he pulled a corner over himself, a shared blanket in a shared nightmare.

After a long, agonizing silence, his voice, soft and raw, finally broke the stillness. "El," he whispered, his voice thick with unshed tears, "Eleonora. Please. Talk to me. What happened?" His voice was barely above a whisper, laced with an almost unbearable fragility, the tremor in it a constant reminder of his lingering terror. "I... I don't understand. We were... we were okay. You were finally feeling safe. And then..." His voice trailed off, unable to articulate the horror of what he had witnessed, the sheer, unadulterated dread that had consumed him. He ran a trembling hand through his hair, leaving it even more disheveled.

His face was pale, almost translucent in the light filtering through the panoramic windows, his eyes still bloodshot, shadowed with an exhaustion that mirrored my own. The vibrant spark that usually danced in their depths was extinguished, replaced by a profound, almost unbearable anguish, a raw, exposed wound. His hair was still disheveled, a chaotic halo around his tormented face. He looked utterly broken, a reflection of the shattered pieces of myself. His lower lip trembled almost imperceptibly, a constant battle against a fresh wave of tears. My own sadness was a heavy cloak, an internal landscape of utter devastation.

His lips moved again, forming more words, questions, pleas. I saw the desperate rise and fall of his chest, the subtle clenching of his jaw, the way his hands, resting on his knees, were clenched into white-knuckled fists, the skin stretched taut over his knuckles. He was trying to bridge the chasm that had opened between us, trying to pull me back from the silent, desolate world I had retreated into. But his voice was just a distant hum, his words meaningless sounds in the roaring silence of my mind. The quiet I craved, the quiet of oblivion, was still a powerful pull, a seductive promise.

"Eleonora," he tried again, his voice cracking, a desperate plea. He reached out, his hand hovering uncertainly, not quite daring to touch me, as if I might shatter or recoil. "Please, El. Just... tell me. Anything. I need to understand. I need to know you're... you're still here. With me." His eyes, filled with a raw, pleading agony, searched mine, begging for a sign, any sign, that the woman he knew was still within this broken shell.

My gaze finally, slowly, shifted, focusing on his face. For a brief moment, his features sharpened, coalescing from a blur into the vivid reality of his pain. The sight of his torment, the raw, unmasked agony in his eyes, was a fresh stab to my already bleeding soul. It was a pain I was inflicting, a pain I wanted to spare him from, even if it meant my own cessation.

"I was so close, Lando," I whispered, my voice a dry, rasping sound, barely audible above the soft hum of the air conditioning. It held no emotion, no anger, no fear. Only a profound, bone-deep weariness. "So close to the quiet. To finally being free." My eyes, dull and lifeless, drifted away from his, to the ceiling, to the internal landscape of my despair.

His breath hitched, a sharp, ragged intake of air. He flinched as if I had struck him. "No, Eli," he choked out, his voice thick with unshed tears, "that's not freedom! That's... that's the end. That's letting them win. Letting it win. And you don't give up. You don't surrender. Not you." He leaned closer, his body trembling, his hand tightening slightly on my hip, a desperate plea to connect. "You're not defeated. You can't be. Look at me, Eleonora. Please, look at me!"

I turned my head slowly, my eyes meeting his again. The raw, unadulterated pain in his gaze was almost unbearable. His lower lip trembled, and a single tear finally escaped, tracing a shimmering path down his cheek, a stark contrast to the faint stubble on his jaw.

"Fewtrell. He's out there. Again. He'll always be out there. And there will always be another. Another ghost. Another shadow. I can't live like this anymore. I don't want to live like this anymore." My voice was barely a whisper, the last reserves of my energy draining away. "Just let me go. Let me finally be free."

His eyes squeezed shut for a moment, a spasm of pure agony contorting his face. He let out a low, guttural sound, a strangled moan of despair. When his eyes opened again, they were swimming, but they held a fierce, desperate light, a desperate refusal to accept my words. "No! That is not freedom! Don't you dare say that, Eleonora! Don't you dare believe that! You were not meant to be consumed by silence! You are life! You are vibrant! You are... you are everything! And I won't let you be quiet. Not like that. Not ever." He finally reached out, his hand trembling as he gently, tentatively, laid it over mine under the blanket. His skin was cold, clammy, but his touch was a desperate plea, a fragile connection.

He held me for a long time, his arms a desperate vice, his body still trembling, but slowly, imperceptibly, his ragged breaths began to even out. The faint hum of the air conditioning replaced any lingering sounds of the outside. I was still curled on the bed, the blanket a soft cocoon, but his presence beside me was a stark, undeniable reality.

He slowly loosened his grip, pulling back just enough to look at me, his eyes still red-rimmed and shadowed, but with a flicker of something akin to relief, mixed with a profound, aching vulnerability. "Eli," he whispered, his voice hoarse, "why? Why did you go out there? Why... why that song?" His hand, still trembling, reached out to gently brush a stray strand of hair from my tear-streaked face. "Tell me everything. Please. I need to understand. I need to know what you're carrying. What's been... what's been eating at you this whole time."

I looked at him, truly looked at him, for the first time since he'd arrived. His face, usually so bright and carefree, was etched with a raw, profound pain that I had caused. The guilt was a fresh, sharp sting. But beneath the guilt, there was also a strange, fragile sense of relief. He wasn't letting go. He was demanding answers, yes, but not with anger, only with desperate love.

My throat was still tight, but the words, once trapped, now felt like they needed to escape. "It's... it's always been there, Lando," I began, my voice barely a whisper, my gaze fixed on the intricate pattern of the blanket, unable to meet his eyes. "The shadow. The fear. Since... since I was young, I learned that being seen, truly seen, meant being exposed. It meant giving someone the power to hurt you. I built walls, Lando. So many walls. Brick by painful brick, around my heart, around my life. To protect myself. To feel safe. To control my own narrative. To disappear behind the scenes, where no one could truly see me, truly reach me."

I paused, a shaky breath escaping me, the memory of those years a heavy weight, pressing down on my chest. "Fewtrell... he was just the latest manifestation of that fear. A physical embodiment of the constant threat. A reminder that no matter how many walls I build, no matter how carefully I hide, someone will always find a way in. Someone will always try to take something. When John said he was caught, I felt a moment of lightness, a fleeting hope. A glimpse of a life I thought I could finally have, a life where I could breathe freely, openly. But then... then he escaped. And it was like the universe was laughing at me. Telling me there's no escape. No true freedom. That I'm destined to live like this forever. Always looking over my shoulder. Always fighting. Always waiting for the next blow. Always anticipating the next betrayal." My voice cracked, tears streaming down my face again, wetting the cashmere blanket. "I just... I don't have any more fight left, Lando. The well is dry. I just wanted the quiet. The blessed, final quiet. To finally let the silence consume me. To finally be free of the constant terror."

He listened, his eyes never leaving my face, his thumb gently stroking the back of my hand, a silent, unwavering comfort. He didn't interrupt, didn't offer platitudes. Just listened, his own pain a silent echo of mine. When I finished, the only sound was the faint hum of the air conditioning and the distant murmur of the city.

"And the song?" he asked, his voice soft, almost hesitant, as if treading on sacred ground. "O, Death. You were singing it on the balcony. The second verse... What did that mean, El?" His eyes were wide, vulnerable, seeking understanding, a desperate plea for clarity, for the map to my darkest corners.

I closed my eyes, the lyrics still vivid in my mind, a chilling soundtrack to my despair. "It's... it's from a game, Lando. 'Until Dawn.' I found it when I first started playing it, years ago. The opening sequence, the atmosphere... it just captivated me. The song was so haunting, so powerful. I remember thinking, even then, that it captured a certain kind of ultimate peace, a surrender to something bigger than yourself, something that could finally bring an end to all the noise." My voice was a raw whisper, the admission a heavy burden, each word a shard of my broken soul. "And the second verse... it's about surrender. About the ultimate powerlessness. About giving in to the inevitable. It felt like... it felt like the only truth left. That the only way to truly be free was to let that force take me. To finally be quiet. To stop existing, and therefore, stop being a target. To finally be free of the constant threat, the constant pain."

He squeezed my hand, his grip firm, grounding. His eyes, still glistening, held a fierce, unwavering determination. "But you're not powerless, Eleonora. You're not. And you're not alone. I won't let you be alone in this. We'll find a way. We have to." His voice was filled with a fierce, unwavering determination, a stark contrast to my utter defeat. He leaned down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to my forehead, then to my tear-soaked cheek. "We'll fight for that quiet, El. But we'll fight for it here. Together. A quiet that's filled with peace, not silence. A quiet that's earned, not taken. A quiet where you can finally rest, truly rest, without looking over your shoulder."

He shifted, pulling me closer, his arms wrapping around me once more, but this time, his embrace was less about pulling me back from the edge and more about holding me, truly holding me, in the aftermath. My head rested against his chest, and I could feel the steady beat of his heart, a comforting rhythm against my own still-frantic pulse. His fingers gently threaded through my tangled hair, stroking, soothing.

"I know it's a lot," he murmured, his voice soft, barely audible. "More than I ever imagined. But you don't have to carry it alone anymore. Let me carry some of it. Let me share the weight." He pressed another kiss to my hair. "We'll figure this out. Every single piece. The security, Fewtrell, the past... all of it. We'll build that safe place, El. Together. Brick by brick, if that's what it takes. But you have to promise me. Promise me you'll stay. Promise me you'll fight. Not for me, not for anyone else, but for you. For the little bird who sings and fights." His voice was a fragile plea, a desperate hope.

I didn't answer immediately. The quiet I craved, the quiet of oblivion, still whispered from the edges of my mind. But now, Lando's voice, his desperate love, his unwavering presence, was a louder, more insistent sound. His warmth, his strength, his raw vulnerability for me – it was overwhelming, a lifeline I hadn't realized I was clinging to.

"Lando," I whispered, my voice a broken sob, burying my face in his chest, clutching at his shirt, letting his warmth, his strength, seep into my trembling body. "I... I don't know if I can fight anymore. I truly don't." My voice was muffled against his shirt, the words heavy with the weight of my exhaustion. "It's so much. And Fewtrell... he's out there. He'll always be out there. How do we fight a ghost that keeps coming back?"

He pulled back slightly, his hands cupping my face, his eyes searching mine with an intensity that burned through my despair. His face was still pale, etched with the memory of his terror, but a fierce resolve was hardening his features. "Then we hunt the ghost, Eleonora," he said, his voice low and firm, a new steel in his tone. "We don't just react anymore. We go after him. We make sure he can't hurt you, or anyone else, ever again. We find him. We stop him. Permanently." His jaw was set, his eyes blazing with a protective fury I hadn't seen before. "But we do it together. You and me. And John. We have resources, Eli. We have power. We're not helpless. We're not just waiting to be hit. We hit back."

I stared at him, stunned. This was a side of Lando I hadn't fully anticipated. The playful, charming F1 driver, usually so focused on his sport, was now a man consumed by a fierce, almost dangerous protectiveness. He wasn't just offering comfort; he was offering a war.

"But... how?" I whispered, the word barely escaping my lips. "He escaped from a high-security precinct. He's a phantom. He knows how to disappear." The sheer impossibility of it felt suffocating.

"Then we make him visible," Lando countered, his gaze unwavering. "We use every contact, every resource. My team, your team, John's network. We put out feelers. We make it impossible for him to hide. We make him regret it. We expose him to the light, Eleonora. We strip away his shadows." He paused, his thumb gently stroking my cheek, his eyes softening slightly. "But first, you rest. You heal. And then, when you're ready, we plan. We strategize. And we execute. Together."

He pulled me back into his embrace, holding me close, his body a warm, solid presence against mine. The weight of the blanket, the scent of his perfume, the steady beat of his heart – they were anchors, slowly, tentatively, pulling me back from the abyss. The thought of fighting, truly fighting, didn't feel entirely impossible anymore. Not when he was fighting so hard for me. Not when he was offering to fight for both of us, to build a future where the quiet was truly peace, a peace earned through a battle we would face, side by side.

September 9^th, 2023

The first thing I registered was the profound, almost unnatural stillness. No phantom screams, no racing heart, no gnawing anxiety. Just a deep, heavy quiet that settled over me like a thick blanket. My eyelids felt weighted, sluggish, and it took a conscious effort to pry them open. Sunlight, diffused and gentle, filtered through the sheer curtains, painting the vast bedroom in muted hues of cream and gold. It was morning, finally. A new day.

I blinked, the unfamiliar ceiling slowly coming into focus. Then, the memory of the previous night crashed over me: the escape, the terror, the desperate need for the final flight, Lando's steady presence, the hushed hours spent huddled together. I'd had that conversation with Lando, convinced I would finally drift off, exhausted beyond measure. But sleep had stubbornly escaped me, leaving me staring at the ceiling, every shadow a potential threat. Eventually, with a sigh of defeat, I'd taken two sleeping pills from the medicine cabinet in my bathroom. The pleasant lethargy that still clung to my limbs now was their lingering effect.

I turned my head slowly on the pillow, my gaze falling upon Lando. He was still deep in slumber, sprawled out on his side, facing away from me. He was right at the edge of the bed, almost as if he were pulling away, creating a subtle, unsettling distance despite the shared duvet. The memory of his warmth, his steady breathing beside me, brought a soft, aching tenderness to my chest, quickly followed by that familiar flicker of self-doubt. Was I too much? Too broken?

Careful not to disturb him, I slipped out of bed, the carpet a soft caress beneath my bare feet. The room was cool, a gentle chill that made me shiver slightly. I moved quietly to the en-suite, splashed cold water on my face, and then quickly changed into a pair of denim shorts and a simple black tank top. Comfortable, unassuming.

I exited the bedroom, padding softly across the polished marble floor of the penthouse. The living area stretched out, brightened by the morning light, leading into the sleek, modern kitchen part of her living room. My stomach rumbled faintly, a hollow, insistent ache. I hadn't eaten the whole day yesterday, fear and adrenaline having completely suppressed any appetite. A cold knot tightened in my gut – I didn't want to go down that road again. That dark, isolating path I'd fought so hard to leave behind. I needed to eat. I needed to be strong.

I walked straight to the gleaming coffee machine, the rich, earthy aroma of brewing coffee quickly filling the air, a small comfort. While it brewed, I pulled out a bowl and whisk, along with eggs, milk, and a box of pancake mix. The rhythmic whisking of the batter was a soothing sound, a small act of control in a world that often felt chaotic. The smell of cooking pancakes soon joined the coffee, a warm, inviting aroma spreading through the quiet space. I was lost in thought, the gentle sizzle of the griddle and the distant hum of the city forming a muted backdrop to my swirling anxieties, when the quiet was abruptly broken.

Suddenly, I heard the rapid thump-thump-thump of footsteps, and Lando jumped down the last few stairs from the floor above. He landed with an easy grace, already dressed in a fresh t-shirt and track pants, his hair still damp, a towel slung over his shoulder. He looked refreshed, radiating an easy, comfortable energy that instantly filled the expansive living space.

Lando paused at the foot of the stairs, his eyes, still slightly heavy with sleep, taking in the scene. The aroma of coffee and pancakes must have hit him first, drawing a slow, pleased smile to his lips. He pushed the towel further over his shoulder and began walking towards me, his movements fluid, easy.

"Well, well, well," he drawled, his voice a low rumble that always sent a shiver down my spine. "What's this? The formidable Eleonora Kimbel, trading her power suits for... domestic bliss? My eyes must still be adjusting to the light, or perhaps I'm dreaming of a very appealing chef." He leaned against the counter opposite me, his gaze sweeping over me, lingering on the simple denim shorts and tank top, a warmth entering his eyes that had nothing to do with the griddle. A familiar playful glint danced in their depths, but beneath it, I could sense something deeper, a quiet intensity. He wanted me close. I felt it, a palpable pull.

I managed a soft chuckle, a genuine one that felt foreign after the night's terrors. "Hardly a goddess, Norris. Just a woman who hasn't eaten in twenty-four hours and has rudimentary cooking skills." I flipped a pancake expertly, the golden-brown disc landing perfectly on the stack. "Hungry?"

He pushed off the counter, moving closer until he was standing right beside me, the heat radiating from his freshly showered skin a sudden, welcome warmth. "Starving," he murmured, his voice dropping an octave. His eyes weren't on the pancakes now; they were on my face, searching, open, undeniably desperate for a kind of intimacy that transcended words. He took a slow breath, as if inhaling my presence, and a faint, almost imperceptible tremor ran through his hand as he reached for a fresh pancake. "But not just for breakfast, El."

My breath hitched. He was so direct, so... Lando. Usually, I’d have a sharp retort ready, a witty parry to his flirty thrust. But this morning, the usual defenses felt flimsy, softened by the lingering fog of the pills and the raw vulnerability of the night. I found myself simply meeting his gaze, a slight blush creeping up my neck. "Oh?" was all I managed, my voice softer than I intended, a little breathless.

He took a bite of the pancake, his eyes still on mine, a slow, deliberate chew. "Mmm. Delicious. But you know," he leaned in, his voice a low murmur, "this is a far cry from the 'full English' I'm usually subjected to. No greasy bacon, no questionable sausages... are you trying to convert me to a healthier, more aesthetically pleasing lifestyle, Eleonora?" His smile was teasing, but his eyes were serious, filled with a longing that made my chest ache.

I almost smiled, a faint one. "It's not exactly an English breakfast, I know," I said, a faint, self-deprecating chuckle escaping me, gesturing to the pancakes. "But it's the best I can do on short notice. And besides, I thought you might appreciate the lack of grease after yesterday's... excitement." I tried for my usual sarcasm, but it came out more as a gentle observation, almost a question, my gaze dropping to the griddle.

He just shrugged, his gaze unwavering, leaning in slightly, his arm brushing my shoulder. "This is infinitely better. More authentic. And definitely more captivating." His voice was low, for my ears only. "You clean up nicely, Eli, even at this ungodly hour. Though I must admit, I rather enjoyed the 'just rolled out of bed, terrified but still beautiful' look too." His hand, which had been holding the pancake, now gently settled on my waist, his thumb stroking the denim of my shorts. His touch was light, but firm, a silent question. A promise.

The weight of his gaze, the quiet intensity in his eyes, the subtle pressure of his hand on my waist... it was all too much, and yet, exactly what I needed. The brittle shell I usually presented felt like it was dissolving, leaving me exposed, raw. The silence stretched, thick with unspoken thoughts, his longing mirroring a deep, burgeoning need within me. I knew then that this was the moment. The fragile peace I felt, his unwavering presence, it gave me the courage.

I felt his hand on my waist, the warmth seeping through the denim, and the intensity of his gaze was almost overwhelming. My breath caught in my throat. I needed a moment, a tiny bit of space to gather myself. With a small, almost imperceptible wiggle, I gently shifted away from his touch, turning fully towards the gleaming stainless steel of the fridge. My fingers fumbled for the handle, pulling it open.

"Do you... do you take anything else with your pancakes?" I asked, my voice a little too quick, a little too bright, trying to deflect the sudden, overwhelming intimacy. My gaze darted over the contents of the fridge, as if the answer to my emotional turmoil lay hidden amongst the organic yogurts and sparkling water. "Fruit? More syrup? Or are you a purist?" My back was to him, but I could feel his eyes on me, heavy and warm.

"Wiggling away from me, are we, Eli?" Lando's voice was closer now, a low rumble right behind my ear. I felt the warmth of his breath on my neck, and a shiver traced a path down my spine. His hand, which had been on my waist, didn't follow me. Instead, it moved to the counter beside me, bracing himself, effectively boxing me in slightly against the open fridge door. "You know, for someone who claims to be a 'master chef,' you're suddenly very interested in my pancake preferences. What's got you so flustered, El? Is it the sheer pressure of culinary perfection, or perhaps... something else?" His tone was teasing, but there was an underlying current of genuine curiosity, a desire to understand why I was creating this sudden, subtle distance. I could practically feel his gaze on my back, tracing the line of my spine.

I closed the fridge door with a soft click, turning to face him, the cool metal a welcome anchor against my back. My cheeks felt hot. "Flustered? Me? Never, Norris," I retorted, trying to inject my usual sharpness, but it came out softer, more breathless. "Just ensuring my esteemed guest has a truly bespoke breakfast experience. Not everyone appreciates the nuances of pancake artistry, you know." I gestured vaguely at the stacks of pancakes, then at the various jars and bottles on the counter. "So? Options. Speak now or forever hold your peace. And your syrup."

He chuckled, a soft, amused sound that vibrated through the air between us. He leaned in slightly, his eyes sparkling, his gaze dropping to my lips. "Oh, I'm definitely not a purist, El," he drawled, his voice a low murmur. "Especially not when it comes to you. I like... options. All the options." His eyes met mine again, intense and unwavering, filled with that raw, undeniable desire. "And I'm pretty sure whatever you add will be perfect. Just like you." He paused, his gaze sweeping over my face, searching. "But you're still avoiding the question, aren't you? What's going on in that brilliant head of yours? You're a million miles away, even when you're right here." His voice softened, losing its playful edge, becoming earnest and concerned. "Talk to me, El."

"Let's... let's sit," I murmured, my voice barely audible. I gestured to the breakfast bar stools. I needed to be grounded, to feel solid.

He nodded, his hand gently guiding me towards the stools. We settled onto the high stools, the pancakes and coffee between us. The morning light streamed in, illuminating the subtle dust motes dancing in the air. He picked up his fork, but his eyes remained on me, patiently waiting.

"It's not an English breakfast, Lan," I said, my voice a little steadier now, looking down at my plate, then up at him, grabbing my coffee mug with both hands, the warmth of the ceramic a small comfort against my trembling fingers. "But it will have to do."

Lando's fork, halfway to his mouth with a piece of pancake, froze. His eyes, which had been casually drifting between me and his plate, snapped to my face. The easy, playful glint vanished, replaced by a look of immediate, intense focus. He slowly lowered his fork, placing it carefully on the edge of his plate, his full attention now entirely on me. The silence in the kitchen stretched, punctuated only by the distant hum of the city. He didn't say anything, just waited, his gaze unwavering, his presence a solid, reassuring anchor.

"Lando," I began again, my voice barely above a whisper, the previous lightness completely gone. "There's something I... I need to tell you. Something I haven't told anyone outside of the people closer to me." I felt the familiar tremor start in my hands, a cold dread creeping into my stomach, but I forced myself to continue. He deserved to know. He deserved all of me, even the parts that were broken.

I took a shaky breath, forcing myself to meet his eyes. "When I was younger, months after you left without a word," I began, the words feeling heavy on my tongue, "a person who I thought loved me, started to play with my head. It started with a few remarks: 'Are you sure you want to eat that? Maybe you are better off with just a salad? You should skip meals, it will do you good.' Over time things took a turn for the worse: 'You are getting chubby, how can someone love you if you eat like that and intentionally want to gain weight?'"

My voice cracked, and a single tear escaped, tracing a hot path down my cheek. "I was desperate for love, stupid and naive to think that someone who says that to me can love me or ever loved me. I was ashamed, I wanted to hold on to this person. I started skipping meals, counting calories, starving myself. Of course, this led to dizziness and profound hunger. Every night, I woke up, went to stuff myself because the hunger I felt was so intense. And there was the immediate regret. I shot to the bathroom and made myself throw up what I ate. It became a pattern, a sick, twisted circle. Until it was a sickness, bulimia. I fought to beat it, and I managed. I was never fat nor chubby, but the mind games... I truly believed it. After I was finally well, I made a promise to myself – not to go down that road ever again. That's why if I skip a meal unintentionally or I think of skipping a meal, I am immediately pulled back to this awful time of my life. There you have it – a glimpse of my dark past."

Lando's face, which had been a mask of intense concentration as I spoke, slowly crumpled. His eyes, usually so bright and full of life, clouded with a profound sadness, then a fierce, almost dangerous anger. His jaw tightened, a muscle clenching visibly. He didn't interrupt, didn't move, just absorbed every agonizing word, his gaze never leaving my face. When I finished, the silence in the kitchen was deafening, broken only by the frantic beat of my own heart.

Then, slowly, he reached out, his hand covering mine where it still clutched the coffee mug. His touch was gentle, almost reverent, but his grip was firm. His thumb began to stroke the back of my hand, a slow, comforting rhythm.

"Eli," he whispered, his voice rough, thick with emotion, a raw ache in the single syllable. He shook his head slowly, his eyes still fixed on mine, brimming with unshed tears. "God, Eli. I... I am so, so sorry. That anyone, anyone, could ever say those things to you. Could ever make you feel like that." His voice was barely audible, laced with a pain that mirrored my own. "And... and I'm so sorry that I wasn't here. That I left you. That I wasn't here to protect you from that. That I contributed to a time when you were so vulnerable." The guilt in his eyes was palpable, a crushing weight.

He squeezed my hand, his gaze unwavering, a fierce protectiveness now burning in their depths. "You are not, and have never been, anything less than absolutely perfect, Eleonora. And that person... they were a monster. A cruel, manipulative monster. What they did to you... it was abuse. Pure and simple. And it had nothing to do with you. Nothing at all." His voice hardened slightly, the anger simmering beneath the surface.

He shifted on the stool, turning his body more fully towards me, his knee brushing mine. He reached out with his free hand, gently cupping my cheek, his thumb tenderly wiping away the tear that had escaped. His touch was warm, reassuring. "You are the strongest, most resilient woman I know, El. To have gone through that, to have fought your way out of it, to be standing here now, making pancakes, talking to me... it's incredible. Truly incredible." His eyes searched mine, pleading, desperate for me to believe him. "And you are so far from broken. You are... you are magnificent. And I love you. Every single part of you. The strong, the vulnerable, the brilliant, the kind, the one who makes pancakes. All of it."

He leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to my forehead, his lips warm against my skin. "You never have to be ashamed with me, El. Never. And you never have to fight this battle alone again. I'm here. Always. And I'm not going anywhere. Not this time." His voice was a solemn promise, a vow whispered in the quiet morning, sealing the space between us with an unwavering love. The pancakes sat cooling on the counter, forgotten for now. All that mattered was the warmth of his hand, the sincerity in his eyes, and the profound, comforting weight of his presence.

I felt the gentle pressure of his lips on my forehead, the warmth seeping into my skin, and a wave of something akin to disbelief washed over me. This was Lando. The Lando who had left without a word, the Lando who had inadvertently triggered so much of this pain. And yet, this Lando was here, now, holding me as if I were the most precious thing in his world, his words a balm to wounds I thought would never heal. The shame, the raw vulnerability, still burned, but his unwavering gaze, his fierce conviction, started to chip away at it.

My grip on the coffee mug loosened slightly, my fingers unclenching. I could feel the rhythmic pulse of his thumb stroking the back of my hand, a steady, grounding beat. I slowly lifted my head from his chest, my eyes, still blurred with tears, meeting his. His face was etched with a raw, empathetic pain, but also with an undeniable adoration that made my breath catch.

"Lando," I whispered, my voice hoarse, "you don't have to say that. You don't have to... pretend." The words were a reflex, a deeply ingrained defense mechanism, a fear of pity or a fleeting kindness that would eventually vanish.

He shook his head, a slight, almost imperceptible shake, his gaze intensifying. "Pretend? Eli, look at me." His eyes bored into mine, unwavering, demanding that I see the truth in them. "There's no pretense here. There's just... you. And everything you've just told me, it only makes me see how incredibly strong you are. How much you've fought. How much you've overcome." His free hand, still cupping my cheek, moved to gently trace the line of my jaw, his thumb brushing over my still-damp skin. "And it makes me want to be here for you, even more. To help you fight those shadows, whenever they try to creep back in."

He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a low, earnest murmur. "I know I messed up before. I know I hurt you. And I will spend every day trying to make up for that, Eleonora. But what that person did to you... that wasn't your fault. That was their sickness, their cruelty. And it doesn't define you. Not one bit." He paused, his gaze dropping to my lips, then back to my eyes, a silent question. "Do you believe me?"

The question hung in the air, heavy with unspoken history. Did I believe him? Could I truly let myself believe that someone could see all of that darkness, all of that shame, and still look at me with such profound love? The rational part of my brain screamed caution, whispered doubts. But the raw, aching part of my heart, the part that had been starved for genuine connection for so long, yearned to say yes.

I took a shaky breath, the warmth of his hand on my cheek, the sincerity in his blue eyes, slowly melting away some of the icy fear. "I... I want to," I finally managed, my voice barely a whisper. "I want to believe you, Lando." It was a fragile admission, a tiny step into the unknown, but it was a step nonetheless.

A soft, relieved sigh escaped him, a sound I barely heard. His eyes softened further, a profound tenderness replacing the fierce intensity. He leaned in, pressing his forehead gently against mine, his breath warm on my face. "Then start there, El," he murmured, his voice a low, comforting rumble. "Start with wanting to. I'll be here, every step of the way, to help you get to 'I do.'" His hand, still on my cheek, moved to gently cup the back of my head, pulling me just a fraction closer, into the safe, comforting space between us. The pancakes, still untouched, sat on the counter, a silent witness to the fragile, beautiful dawn of a new understanding between us.

He pulled back just enough to look into my eyes again, his thumbs gently caressing my temples. His gaze was unwavering, filled with a quiet determination. "And we're going to eat these pancakes, El," he said, his voice firm but gentle, gesturing to the cooling stack on the counter. "Every single one. No skipping, no counting, just... nourishment. For your body, and for your soul. We'll do it together." He offered a small, reassuring smile, a hint of his usual playful charm returning, but softened by the profound seriousness of the moment. "Consider it our first joint mission. Operation: Pancake Recovery."

I almost laughed, a watery, shaky sound that escaped me despite the tears still clinging to my lashes. The absurdity of "Operation: Pancake Recovery" after such a raw confession was pure Lando, a way to inject a touch of lightness without diminishing the gravity of the moment. It was his way of showing me that he wasn't just hearing my pain, but actively, immediately, trying to help.

"Operation: Pancake Recovery," I echoed, a faint smile finally touching my lips. My eyes, still glistening, met his. "You're ridiculous, Norris." But there was no heat in my words, only a burgeoning sense of gratitude and a fragile hope.

He grinned, a genuine, uninhibited grin that crinkled the corners of his eyes. "Only for you, Eleonora. Only for you." He released my face, his hand sliding down to gently take my coffee mug from my trembling hands, placing it safely on the counter. Then, he picked up his own fork, spearing a piece of pancake. "Alright, first bite. For strength. For healing. For... a peaceful future." He held it out to me, a small, perfect piece, dripping with syrup and adorned with a single, glistening berry.

My gaze flickered from the pancake to his face. His eyes were warm, encouraging, completely devoid of judgment. Just pure, unwavering support. The thought of eating, after so long, after so much fear, still sent a tremor through me. But the sight of his outstretched hand, the trust in his gaze, was a powerful antidote to the old anxieties.

I took a shaky breath, then slowly, tentatively, leaned forward and took the bite from his fork. The pancake was soft, warm, sweet, the berry a burst of freshness. It tasted... good. Truly good. A small, almost imperceptible sigh of relief escaped me.

"Good girl," he murmured, his voice soft, a gentle encouragement that made my chest warm. He didn't push, didn't demand. He just watched me, a quiet satisfaction in his eyes. He then took a bite of his own pancake, chewing slowly, allowing me the space.

We ate in a comfortable silence for a few moments, the gentle clink of forks against plates the only sound. Each bite felt like a small victory, a deliberate act of defiance against the shadows of my past. His presence beside me, his quiet support, was a tangible comfort.

"Thank you," I whispered, finally breaking the silence, my voice still a little raw, but stronger now. I looked at him, my eyes filled with a gratitude that words couldn't fully express. "For... for listening. For understanding. For not running."

He reached out, his fingers gently intertwining with mine on the counter, his thumb stroking my knuckles. "Never, El. Never running. Not from you. Not from this." His gaze was steady, unwavering, a silent promise that settled deep in my soul, a new foundation built on honesty and unwavering love. The morning sun, now higher in the sky, seemed to shine a little brighter, illuminating the path forward.

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The morning's raw confessions had left me feeling both utterly drained and strangely, delicately lighter. Lando had stayed, holding me, listening, his presence a solid, comforting anchor. We had finished our pancakes in a quiet truce, the unspoken understanding between us a fragile bridge over the chasm of my past. But by early afternoon, Lando had reluctantly departed for his own apartment, the insistent call of his sim rig and the demands of his training schedule pulling him away. He had kissed my forehead before he left, a lingering, tender touch, promising to call, to return.

Now, the penthouse felt vast and hollow without him. The fragile peace from the morning had begun to fray at the edges, replaced by a restless, buzzing energy that refused to settle. I tried to read, but the words blurred. I tried to watch TV, but the images flickered meaninglessly. My mind, despite the earlier release of my confession, still churned with anxieties, with the lingering shadows of Fewtrell and the deep-seated fear of falling back into old, destructive patterns. I couldn't put my mind to rest. I needed a distraction, something physical, something that would demand my full attention and silence the relentless whispers in my head.

Suddenly, an idea, cool and clear as a mountain spring, popped into my mind. The indoor swimming pool. I hadn't used it recently, preferring the open sea or the private beach club. But now, the thought of the cool, enveloping water, the rhythmic exertion of swimming laps, felt like a desperate craving. It was a clean, healthy escape, a way to exhaust my body and hopefully quiet my mind.

A surge of almost frantic energy propelled me from the couch. I sprinted to my sprawling walk-in closet, the soft carpet muffling my bare feet. My eyes scanned the meticulously organized shelves, bypassing the designer gowns and tailored suits, landing on a small section dedicated to swimwear. I grabbed a simple, sleek black one-piece bathing suit, its fabric cool and smooth against my fingertips. I shed the denim shorts and tank top in a flurry, the clothes dropping unceremoniously to the floor. The bathing suit slid on easily, a second skin that felt both liberating and strangely vulnerable.

Next, my gaze fell upon a vibrant, sheer pareo, a kaleidoscope of blues and greens, a souvenir from a forgotten island getaway. An impulsive thought struck me. Instead of tying it around my waist, I draped it around my neck, knotting the two top corners together. The lightweight fabric flowed down my back, creating a surprisingly elegant, light, and feathery dress that billowed softly with every movement. It felt airy, almost ethereal, a stark contrast to the heavy weight on my soul. I grabbed an oversized white towel from a stack, its softness a comforting presence against my arm.

Sliding my feet into a pair of simple black flip-flops, I took a deep breath, the scent of lavender still faintly clinging to my skin from the morning shower. My heart still thrummed with a nervous energy, but the anticipation of the cool water was a powerful draw.

I walked purposefully towards the main entrance of the penthouse, where the security detail was always stationed. John's most trusted men were on duty, their presence a constant, reassuring hum in the background. As I approached, one of the guards, a tall, imposing man with kind eyes named Mark, straightened from his post.

"Mark," I said, my voice still a little softer than usual, but with a newfound determination. I met his gaze, a faint, almost shy smile touching my lips. "I... I'm going to the indoor pool. Would you mind escorting me?" My request was phrased as a question, but my stance conveyed a quiet resolve. I needed this. The unspoken plea hung in the air between us.

Mark's expression, usually impassive, softened almost imperceptibly. He recognized the subtle shift in my demeanor, the underlying fragility beneath my request. He knew the significance of my seeking out a distraction, especially after the events of the previous day. "Of course, Miss Kimbel," he replied, his voice a low, steady rumble, devoid of any surprise or judgment. He gave a slight nod, his eyes briefly sweeping over my light attire, assessing the situation with practiced efficiency. "Right away." He moved with quiet competence, signaling to another guard, who took his place at the door. Mark then opened the main door for me, stepping out first, his posture alert but respectful.

The elevator descended silently, the soft hum of its mechanics the only sound. With every floor we passed, a tiny sliver of the tension in my shoulders eased. The air grew subtly cooler, carrying a faint, clean scent of chlorine as we approached the pool level. The thought of submerging myself, of letting the water embrace me, felt like the only thing that could truly wash away the lingering shadows.

The elevator doors opened directly into the hushed, expansive pool area. The space was bathed in a soft, ethereal glow from the cleverly designed lighting fixtures embedded in the high ceiling, mimicking natural daylight. The air was warm, humid, carrying the comforting, sterile scent of chlorine. The large, rectangular pool shimmered with an inviting cerulean blue, its surface barely disturbed. A few residents, perhaps three or four, were scattered around the perimeter: an elderly couple doing slow, steady laps at one end, a woman reading on a lounge chair by the far wall, and a young man quietly doing stretches near the shallow steps. It was not crowded, which was a relief. The quiet hum of the filtration system and the gentle lapping of water against the tiled edges created a soothing, almost meditative atmosphere.

I felt a deep sigh escaping me, a release of tension I hadn't realized I was holding. Mark gestured subtly towards a row of empty lounge chairs near the entrance. I nodded my thanks, my bare feet padding softly on the cool, non-slip tiles. I tossed her white towel onto the nearest chair, its soft fabric a small, familiar anchor. With a fluid movement, I slipped off her black flip-flops, the cool tile a pleasant shock against my soles.

Without a moment's hesitation, without even dipping a toe to test the temperature, I walked to the edge of the deep end. The sheer pareo billowed softly around me as she moved, then I untied it and tossed it. I took a single, deep breath, the scent of chlorine filling my lungs, a sharp, clean contrast to the emotional turmoil I carried. Then, with a quiet, almost desperate grace, I immediately dove in.

The water enveloped me, a cool, immediate embrace that shocked my senses and momentarily silenced the relentless chatter in my mind. It was a physical cleansing, a sudden, complete immersion that felt like a baptism. The initial chill quickly gave way to a refreshing coolness as I propelled myself forward, my body slicing through the water with practiced ease. I pushed off the wall, the powerful strokes sending me gliding effortlessly through the length of the pool.

Underwater, the world was muted, a blur of blue and light. The sounds of the room, the distant splashes of other swimmers, the hum of the filtration system – all faded into a soft, indistinct murmur. It was just me, the water, and the rhythmic pull and push of my limbs. I focused on my breathing, on the sensation of the water rushing over my skin, on the burn in my muscles as I pushed myself harder. Each stroke was a release, each kick a defiant assertion of control. The physical exertion was a welcome distraction, a way to channel the restless energy that had plagued me. With every lap, a tiny fraction of the tension in my shoulders eased, a sliver of the shame and guilt began to dissipate, replaced by the simple, undeniable reality of my body moving, strong and capable, through the water. Here, in this cool, blue sanctuary, I was just Eleonora, a woman finding a moment of reprieve, a quiet, desperate fight for peace.

I swam until my muscles ached with a satisfying burn, until my lungs felt raw, and every ounce of restless energy had been expended. I pushed off the far wall for the last time, my stroke faltering slightly, a pleasant exhaustion settling deep in my bones. My body felt heavy, but my mind, for the first time in what felt like days, was quiet. The constant hum of anxiety had faded, replaced by the gentle thrum of my own heartbeat.

I surfaced near the shallow end, my hair plastered to my head, water streaming down my face. I reached for the edge, pulling myself out of the pool with a tired but fluid motion. The cool air of the pool area felt invigorating against my wet skin. I walked slowly to my lounge chair, the tiles cool beneath my bare feet. Grabbing my white towel, I wrapped it tightly around myself, the soft terry cloth absorbing the excess water. The pareo, still draped over the back of the chair, was retrieved and tied around my neck once more, a splash of vibrant color against the stark white of the towel. I slid my flip-flops onto my damp feet, the familiar slap of rubber against tile a comforting sound.

"Ready to head back, Miss Kimbel?" Mark's steady voice broke the peaceful quiet. He stood a respectful distance away, his posture attentive.

I nodded, a small, genuine smile touching my lips. "Yes, Mark. Thank you." My voice was still a little hoarse from exertion, but it held a newfound lightness. The swim had done its work. My body was tired, but my mind felt clearer, calmer.

We walked towards the elevator, the quiet hum of the pool area fading behind us. The ride up was swift and silent, the numbers on the display panel ticking upwards. I leaned against the cool wall of the elevator, my eyes closed for a moment, savoring the feeling of physical exhaustion and mental peace.

The doors chimed softly, opening directly into the familiar hallway. As I stepped inside my penthouse, the air, though still climate-controlled, felt warmer, more personal than the sterile coolness of the pool area. Mark gave a small nod, his presence a reassuring anchor before he returned to his post.

I took a deep breath, the scent of my apartment – a faint mix of lavender, the lingering sweetness of pancakes, and something distinctly familiar – filled my lungs. I pulled the towel tighter around me, my hair still dripping, leaving faint damp spots on the polished marble floor as I walked further into the living area. I was about to head to my bedroom for a proper bath and to change into something warm, when my eyes landed on the grand piano in the corner of the living room.

And there, seated at the bench, his back to me, was Lando.

He was wearing a fresh, soft grey hoodie and dark track pants, his hair still damp from a recent shower, but neatly combed. His shoulders were relaxed, his head tilted slightly, and his fingers, long and elegant, were moving over the keys with a quiet, almost reverent grace. He wasn't playing anything grand or complex, just a simple, melancholic melody, a series of soft, arpeggiated chords that filled the vast space with a haunting beauty. It was a tune I didn't recognize, but it resonated deep within me, a quiet lament that spoke of unspoken sorrows and tender hopes. He hadn't heard me enter, completely lost in the music, his entire being poured into the gentle notes. The sight of him, so unexpected, so utterly at peace with the instrument, sent a jolt through me. It was a surprise, a quiet, profound one, that filled the emptiness of the penthouse with something warm and unexpectedly beautiful.

I took a step back, then another, my bare feet silent on the cool marble. The soft drip-drip-drip of water from my hair onto the towel wrapped around me was the only sound I made, a counterpoint to the gentle, flowing melody from the piano. I pulled the towel tighter, almost instinctively, as if to make myself smaller, less noticeable. My eyes, wide and fixed on his back, absorbed the unexpected tableau. His posture, the way his head was bowed slightly, the complete absorption in the music – it was a moment of profound peace, a stark contrast to the chaos of the previous day, and to the turmoil that still simmered within me.

I didn't want to break it. Not yet. Not the fragile, beautiful calm he was creating. The music was a balm, a quiet invitation into a space of shared vulnerability that felt both terrifying and deeply comforting. I carefully, almost reverently, backed away further, my movements slow and deliberate, a silent retreat. The flip-flops remained on my feet, but I lifted them slightly with each step, ensuring they made no sound against the hard floor. I edged around the perimeter of the living area, keeping my gaze on him, a silent observer of his private moment. The scent of chlorine from my body mingled with the faint, sweet notes of the piano, creating an odd, poignant blend in the air.

I continued my silent retreat until I reached the arched doorway leading to my bedroom. With one last, lingering look at Lando, still lost in his melody, I slipped through the opening, the carpet of my bedroom muffling my steps completely. The door clicked softly shut behind me, a barely audible whisper that sealed me back into my private sanctuary. The music, though fainter now, still reached me, a gentle echo through the thick walls, a promise that he was still there, still creating beauty, still a presence in my world. I leaned against the closed door for a moment, my chest rising and falling with a quiet sigh, the surprise of his presence and the unexpected beauty of his music settling deep within me. It was a moment of grace, a quiet unexpected gift.

I pushed off the door, moving towards my bathroom. The sound of the piano, though muffled, still reached me, a soft, comforting presence. I turned on the tap, the rush of water into the large, freestanding bathtub a louder, more immediate sound that began to drown out the faint melody from the living room. Steam immediately began to curl upwards, a soft, inviting mist. I reached for a small, iridescent sphere from a basket on the counter – a lavender and chamomile bath bomb. With a gentle plop, I dropped it into the filling water. It immediately began to fizz and dissolve, releasing a fragrant cloud of purple and white, the scent of calming herbs filling the air, mingling with the lingering chlorine from my swim.

As the tub filled, I leaned against the cool marble counter, my gaze fixed on the swirling colors in the water. My mind, which had been a whirlwind of frantic thoughts and anxieties for days, was finally starting to quiet. The physical exhaustion from the swim had drained away the restless energy, leaving behind a profound sense of calm. I thought of Lando, playing the piano. The unexpected tenderness of the moment, the raw vulnerability he had shown me this morning, his fierce promise to fight for me. It was overwhelming, almost frightening in its intensity, but it also felt like a lifeline. He was truly here, not just physically, but emotionally. He wasn't running. He was staying.

The tub was finally full, the water steaming invitingly. I discarded my damp bathing suit and the pareo, letting them fall to the floor in a heap. I picked up my phone, plugged in my earbuds, and carefully placed the device on the small, waterproof shelf just out of reach of the splashing water. I scrolled through my playlist, my finger hovering, then tapping. The first notes of Emeline's "Cinderella's Dead" started in my ears, a defiant pulse that immediately resonated with the quiet strength stirring within me.

I stepped into the warm water, a soft sigh escaping me as my muscles relaxed, the heat seeping into my tired limbs. I sank down, letting the water rise to my chin, my hair fanning out around me like a dark halo. The scent of lavender and chamomile enveloped me, a soothing embrace. My body, finally drained, felt heavy and anchored. My mind, for the first time in what felt like an eternity, was truly quiet.

The lyrics began to play, a defiant whisper in my ears, each line a sharp, poignant echo of my past:

“I was nineteen in a white dress”

“When you told me I'm your princess”

A bitter smile touched my lips, quickly replaced by a quiet sense of triumph. Nineteen. So young, so eager to believe in fairy tales, in the promise of a perfect love. I remembered the heady rush of being called a "princess" by Matthew, the illusion of being cherished, of finally being seen. It was a deceptive lure, a sweet poison. The "white dress" a metaphor for innocence, for the blank canvas I had presented, ready to be painted by someone else's ideal of me. The memory of Matthew, the man who had used such saccharine words to slowly chip away at my autonomy, flickered and then faded, replaced by the quiet strength humming within me.

“So I played right in to your fantasy”

“Was your good girl, so I'd sit tight”

“And if I don't speak, then we can't fight”

The words were a brutal mirror, reflecting the desperate girl I had been, so desperate for acceptance that I had twisted myself into someone else's ideal. I had become so complacent, so afraid of disrupting the fragile illusion of peace that I had silenced my own voice. The compliance, the fear of conflict – it all resonated with the suffocating pressure of trying to maintain a false reality. I had been a puppet, indeed, dancing to someone else's tune, believing that my silence was the key to holding onto a love that was never truly mine. The shame that had clung to me for so long began to dissolve into the steaming water.

“Looked in the mirror, now I can't believe”

“I forgot I was a bad bitch, tragic”

A fierce, almost defiant spark ignited in my eyes. I lifted a hand, tracing the delicate line of my jaw, feeling the warmth of the water against my skin. The reflection in the mirror now showed not just the tired, scarred woman, but also the fighter, the survivor. The "bad bitch" – the part of me that was strong, independent, unyielding, even rebellious – had been buried, forgotten under layers of self-doubt and external manipulation. The tragedy wasn't just the past, but the forgetting of my own inherent power, the suppression of my true, vibrant self. A low, soft exhale escaped my lips, a cleansing breath.

“Breaking all the rules 'cause they were only habits”

“Cinderella's dead now, casket”

“You thought the shoe fit but I...”

A profound sense of liberation washed over me, a deep, cleansing wave. Cinderella was dead. The naive, desperate girl who had sought love in all the wrong places, who had allowed herself to be manipulated and shamed, was gone. I had actively broken free from the "rules" and "habits" – the self-destructive patterns, the people-pleasing, the yearning for a validation that never truly came. The "casket" was a final, definitive end to that version of myself, a burial of the lies and the pain. The "shoe" – the perfect fit, the fairy tale ending – had never truly belonged to me. It had been a trap, a gilded cage, designed to keep me small.

The music swelled, a powerful anthem of self-reclamation. I was free. Not from the world's dangers, not from the lingering shadows of my past, but free within myself. And with Lando, who saw me, truly saw me, scars and all, perhaps this new kind of quiet, this peace, was finally within my grasp. A peace earned through defiance, through survival, through the unwavering belief of someone who truly loved me. I closed my eyes, the warm water embracing me, the music pulsing softly in my ears. The scent of lavender filled my lungs, a deep, calming breath. I had survived. And I was ready to start living, truly living, on my own terms.

Chapter Text

Lando's POV

September 9^th, 2023

The sterile hum of the sim rig usually brought me a sense of focused calm, a familiar escape into the digital world of circuits and lap times. But today, the roar of the virtual engine was just noise, the familiar turns a blur, and the telemetry data meaningless squiggles on a screen. I'd left Eleonora's penthouse a couple of hours ago, a reluctant departure forced by the ironclad demands of my training schedule. I'd kissed her forehead, a tender, lingering touch, trying to convey a fraction of the profound relief and aching love that swirled inside me. But the moment I'd stepped out of her door, the hollow ache in my chest had returned, amplified by the raw confessions she'd shared that morning.

Her past, the insidious cruelty of Matthew, the bulimia – it had hit me like a physical blow. The fury that simmered beneath my skin was a hot, dangerous thing. How could anyone, anyone, inflict such pain on someone so vibrant, so utterly perfect? The thought of her, so young and vulnerable, suffering in silence, trying to disappear, made my gut clench. And the guilt, the crushing, suffocating guilt that I hadn't been there, that I had inadvertently contributed to her despair by leaving, was a relentless tormentor.

I tried to focus on the sim, to lose myself in the rhythm of the track, but my hands felt clumsy on the wheel, my mind a million miles away, replaying her whispered words, the tremor in her voice, the unshed tears in her eyes. Every simulated corner felt wrong, every braking point off. My usual precision was gone, replaced by a restless, agitated energy that made sitting still unbearable. I slammed my fist on the steering wheel, the plastic groaning in protest. This was useless. I couldn't train. I couldn't breathe. Not when she was still hurting. Not when the ghosts of her past were still circling.

The pull back to her penthouse was a physical ache, a magnetic force I couldn't resist. I needed to see her, to know she was truly okay, to simply be near her. The thought of her alone, wrestling with those demons, was unbearable. I stripped off my racing gloves, tossed them onto the console, and stood up, the chair scraping loudly against the floor. My apartment felt cold, empty. Her penthouse, even with its vastness, felt like the only place I could truly be.

A quick shower, a desperate attempt to wash away the lingering tension, left me feeling only marginally better. I pulled on a soft grey hoodie and dark track pants, the familiar comfort of the fabric a small reassurance. My hair was still damp, but I ran a comb through it, trying to impose some order on the chaos.

I didn't call. I just went. The elevator ride up to her floor felt interminable, each second stretching into an eternity. I used my key, the soft clinking echoing in the quiet hallway.

The penthouse door swung open silently, revealing the vast, sunlit living area. The first thing that hit me was the quiet. A profound, almost sacred quiet. I looked around, my eyes falling on the grand piano in the corner. My breath hitched. Eleonora had a piano. I hadn't known, hadn`t registered it at all. Does she play?

I walked towards the piano, my steps slow, deliberate. I sat down on the bench, my back to the entrance, my fingers finding the familiar keys. I didn't play the tune, but I let my own emotions guide my hands, weaving my own silent lament into a non-existing melody, a quiet conversation between my soul and hers. The smooth, cool ivory felt grounding, a tangible connection to something beautiful and real.

I lost myself in the music, the soft chords a release for the turbulent emotions swirling inside me. The sim rig had offered no such solace, but the piano, with its deep, resonant tones, allowed me to express the inexpressible. I played, my head tilted slightly, my shoulders relaxed, pouring every ounce of my love, my regret, my fierce protectiveness into the notes.

Then, a subtle shift in the air. A faint, clean scent of chlorine, mingling with the familiar lavender of her apartment. A soft drip-drip-drip that was too rhythmic to be accidental. I didn't turn. I didn't need to. I felt her presence, a quiet, almost ethereal energy. She was here. She had been to the pool. A small, almost imperceptible smile touched my lips. She was seeking solace, just like me.

I heard the faint, almost imperceptible sound of her bare feet on the marble, then the soft, rustling sound of fabric. She was moving, slowly, carefully, retreating. I knew she was trying not to disturb me, trying to preserve this moment of quiet beauty. My heart swelled with a fierce tenderness. She was still guarded, still hesitant to fully embrace the intimacy we shared, but she was here. She was present. And she was finding her own way to heal.

The soft click of her bedroom door, barely audible, confirmed her silent retreat. The music from the piano, which I had been playing, still lingered in the air, a gentle promise. I continued to play for a few more minutes, letting the melody slowly fade, a quiet benediction. I understood. She needed her space, her own sanctuary. But she was no longer alone in it. I was here. And I wasn't going anywhere.

I rose from the piano bench, the silence of the room suddenly vast again, but no longer hollow. It was filled with the lingering echoes of my music, and the quiet understanding that had passed between us. I walked towards the kitchen, a new purpose forming in my mind. She had made pancakes for me this morning, a small, brave step towards normalcy. Now, it was my turn. I needed to make sure she ate, truly nourished herself. And perhaps, while she was in her bath, I could prepare something warm, comforting, something that spoke of care and unwavering presence. I opened the fridge, my mind already running through possibilities, a quiet, domestic hum replacing the melancholic melody in my head.

My gaze swept over the pristine, gleaming surfaces of Eleonora's kitchen. It was impeccably organized, everything in its place, a reflection of her meticulous nature. I moved to the pantry, pulling out a box of chamomile and lavender tea, remembering the faint, soothing scent that had clung to her this morning. It was a small detail, but it spoke volumes about her need for calm. I filled the electric kettle, the soft whir of the water heating a gentle counterpoint to the quiet hum of the refrigerator.

While the water boiled, I opened the refrigerator again, searching for something light, something that wouldn't trigger any of her past anxieties. My eyes landed on a small basket of fresh berries – strawberries, blueberries, raspberries, vibrant jewels against the muted tones of the kitchen. Perfect. I gently washed a handful of each, arranging them carefully on a small, white porcelain plate. I found a delicate teacup and saucer, and a small, silver spoon. Each movement was deliberate, infused with a quiet reverence. This wasn't just about making food; it was about creating a moment of peace for her.

I glanced towards the bedroom door, listening. The faint sound of running water, then the soft splash of a bath bomb, confirmed she was in the tub. Good. She needed this. I remembered the feeling of her cold skin, the subtle tremor in her hands this morning. Warmth. She needed warmth.

The kettle clicked, signaling the water was ready. I poured the steaming water over the tea bag, watching the delicate tendrils of color unfurl. The aroma of chamomile and lavender filled the air, a soothing counterpoint to the lingering scent of chlorine from her earlier swim. I placed the teacup and the plate of berries onto a small, antique wooden tray I found tucked away in a corner cupboard. I even added a few tiny, perfectly formed macarons I found in a decorative jar – a sweet indulgence, a small, non-pressuring offering.

I carried the tray carefully, my steps silent on the marble, moving into the living room. The grand piano stood majestically in the corner, a silent testament to the melody I had just played. I looked around, searching for the perfect spot. Not the kitchen counter, too stark. Not the dining table, too formal. My gaze settled on an armchair by the large panoramic window, bathed in the soft, diffused afternoon light. It offered a breathtaking view of the city, now sparkling under the gentle sun.

I gently placed the tray on the small side table beside the armchair. I adjusted the soft cashmere throw blanket draped over the back of the chair, smoothing it out, making it inviting. I even dimmed the overhead lights slightly, letting the natural light from the window create a soft, tranquil ambiance. I wanted her to feel completely at peace, completely safe.

I settled into the opposite armchair, not directly facing her, but at an angle that offered both presence and space. I waited. The silence of the penthouse was profound, broken only by the distant, muffled sounds of the city and the gentle ticking of a clock in the hallway. My own heart beat a steady rhythm, a quiet anticipation. I wasn't going to push, wasn't going to demand. I would simply be here, a silent, unwavering presence, ready to offer comfort and support, whenever she was ready to emerge from her sanctuary.

A few minutes later, I heard the soft click of her bedroom door. My head turned almost imperceptibly, my gaze fixed on the staircase.

And then she appeared.

She was wrapped in a fresh, fluffy white bathrobe, her hair still damp, a few strands clinging to her cheek. Her face, though still a little pale, had lost some of its earlier tension. Her eyes, usually so guarded, held a soft, almost vulnerable serenity. She looked utterly relaxed, a profound sense of peace radiating from her. She paused at the foot of the stairs, her gaze sweeping over the living room, taking in the dimmed lights, the soft throw, the tray on the side table. Her eyes widened slightly as they landed on me, a flicker of surprise, then a slow, gentle smile spread across her lips. It was a genuine smile, one that reached her eyes, softening their edges, chasing away the last vestiges of shadow.

"Lando?" she whispered, her voice soft, a hint of genuine surprise and warmth in her tone. She hadn't expected me to still be here, let alone to have created this quiet haven for her.

My heart swelled. That smile. That quiet, peaceful look in her eyes. It was everything. "Hey, El," I replied, my voice gentle, a soft smile mirroring hers. I gestured to the armchair and the tray. "Thought you might need a little... post-swim, post-bath pick-me-up. No pressure, just... comfort." I kept my voice low, my movements slow, giving her all the space in the world. The surprise on her face, the dawning realization of my thoughtfulness, was a reward in itself. It was a new melody, a quiet, hopeful one, playing between us.

She walked slowly towards the armchair, her movements fluid and graceful, the bathrobe billowing softly around her. The scent of lavender and chamomile, now stronger, followed her, a soothing aura. She sank into the cushions, letting out a soft sigh as she nestled into the warmth of the cashmere throw. She picked up the teacup, her fingers wrapping around it, and inhaled deeply, her eyes closing for a moment in pure contentment.

"You're full of surprises today, Norris," she murmured, her eyes still closed, a faint, amused smile playing on her lips. Her voice was soft, laced with a warmth that made my chest ache in the best way. "First the impromptu concert, now a spa service. Are you trying to put my actual staff out of a job?" She opened her eyes, a playful glint dancing in their depths as she met my gaze.

I chuckled, leaning forward slightly, my elbows resting on my knees. "Just diversifying my portfolio, Eli. You know, multi-talented. Formula 1 driver, amateur pianist, and now... luxury concierge. Though I must say, the pay is terrible, the client is exceptionally demanding." My smile widened, a teasing challenge in my eyes. "And besides, I thought you might appreciate a break from the usual 'security escort to the pool' routine. A little less formality, a little more... me."

She took a slow sip of her tea, her gaze lingering on mine over the rim of the cup. "A little more you, indeed," she echoed, her voice a low, knowing murmur. "And what exactly is 'more you' in this scenario, Norris? The thoughtful gesture, or the self-deprecating humor?" She raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, a hint of her usual sharp wit returning, but softened by the genuine affection in her eyes. "Because I'm pretty sure my staff doesn't mock my demanding nature, even if they think it."

"Ah, but that's where I excel, isn't it?" I countered, a mischievous grin spreading across my face. "The perfect blend of impeccable service and brutal honesty. It's a niche market, really. And as for 'more me'..." I paused, letting my gaze drift from her eyes to her lips, then back again, a silent, lingering flirtation. "It's the part that wants to make sure you're okay. The part that couldn't stand the thought of you being alone, even for a moment, after everything. The part that just... wants to be here." My voice dropped, losing its playful edge, becoming earnest and soft. "The part that loves you, Eleonora."

Her eyes softened, the playful glint fading, replaced by a profound vulnerability. A faint blush crept up her neck, a delicate flush against her pale skin. She looked down at her teacup, her fingers tracing the rim. The sudden shift in tone, the raw declaration, always had that effect on her. It was a testament to how deeply she felt it, how much it still surprised her.

"You're... you're not supposed to say things like that when I'm still recovering from a near-death experience and a grueling swim," she mumbled, her voice barely audible, a feigned exasperation that couldn't quite mask the tremor of emotion. She finally looked up, her eyes glistening, but a small, genuine smile still played on her lips. "It's unfair. My defenses are down." She reached for a strawberry from the plate, her fingers brushing against the cool, smooth skin of the fruit.

I reached across the small table, my hand gently covering hers where it rested on the berry. My thumb stroked the back of her hand, a silent comfort. "Good," I whispered, my voice thick with emotion. "Because I'm done fighting your defenses, Eli. I'm just here to hold you. And to remind you that you're not alone. Not anymore. And that powerful woman I know you are? She's got me in her corner. Always." My eyes held hers, a silent promise, a profound, unwavering love that transcended words. The air between us hummed with a quiet intimacy, a new melody, a new beginning.

She took another slow sip of her tea, her gaze still soft, but a flicker of her usual mischief returned. "Speaking of 'powerful women' and their 'corners'," she began, her voice a low, teasing purr, "I seem to recall John mentioning he brought over a few more boxes from London. Including, if my memory serves me correctly, a certain… console." She lifted an eyebrow, a silent challenge in her eyes. "One that might be more your speed than a grand piano, perhaps?"

My eyes widened, a genuine grin splitting my face. "No way," I breathed, sitting up straighter. "He actually brought the PS5? And you didn't tell me?" I had my own PS5 back at my apartment, of course, but the thought of having one here, in her space, already set up and ready to go, was a sudden, delightful realization. It was a convenience I hadn't even considered, a familiar piece of my world seamlessly integrated into hers. My competitive instincts, usually reserved for the track, flared to life. "Ari, that's a breach of international gaming protocol! You know how much I miss having a proper console setup when I'm over here." I pushed myself out of the armchair, my earlier calm replaced by a sudden surge of boyish excitement. "Where is it? Is it set up? We have to play!"

She laughed, a clear, melodic sound that filled the room, a sound I hadn't heard enough of lately. "Calm down, Norris," she teased, taking another bite of a berry. "It's not going anywhere. And yes, John, in his infinite wisdom and perhaps a subtle hint from me, made sure it was included. It's in the media room, I believe. He had the tech team set it up this morning." She watched my barely contained enthusiasm with an amused glint in her eyes. "Though I warn you, my skills are not to be underestimated. I may not be a professional racer, but I've certainly logged my hours."

"Oh, I'm sure you have, Eleonora," I retorted, a playful jab, using her full name with a mock-serious tone. "But 'logged hours' and 'championship-winning talent' are two very different things. And when it comes to competitive gaming, I'm practically a national treasure." I strode towards the media room, my steps light, my mind already racing through game possibilities. "What's on there? Any racing games? F1 23? Or are we talking something more... casual? Like, I don't know, Mario Kart?" I threw the last suggestion over my shoulder, knowing it would elicit a reaction.

Her laugh followed me, a rich, full sound. "Mario Kart is a sacred art, Norris, don't you dare disrespect it!" she called out, her voice filled with mock indignation. "And as for 'championship-winning talent,' you might find yourself eating those words. I've been known to surprise a few arrogant drivers in my time. Besides, I prefer games where strategy and cunning outweigh brute speed." I heard her set down her teacup, the soft clink of porcelain indicating she was getting up. I looked back to see her taking her cup and plate from the small table.

I pushed open the heavy media room door. The room was dark, the massive screen a black rectangle on the wall. "Strategy and cunning, huh?" I mused, flicking on the lights. The room sprang to life, revealing a sleek, minimalist space with a huge, comfortable sectional sofa facing the screen. And there, on a low console beneath the TV, sat the gleaming white PS5, controllers neatly arranged beside it. "So, no F1 then? Pity. I was looking forward to showing you how it's really done." I grabbed two controllers, tossing one to her as she entered the room.

She caught it with practiced ease, a small, knowing smirk on her face. "Oh, I'm sure you were," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "But I think we'll start with something that levels the playing field. Something that requires a little less... ego." She walked towards the sofa, her bathrobe still wrapped around her, but her posture now held a playful defiance. "How about It Takes Two? Or perhaps a round of Overcooked? Let's see how well your 'championship-winning talent' translates to cooperative chaos."

My jaw dropped. It Takes Two? Overcooked? "Cooperative chaos?" I echoed, genuinely surprised. "Ari, I'm a professional athlete. My life is about precision, control, winning. Not... chaos." I tried to sound indignant, but a laugh was bubbling up inside me. This was going to be brilliant. "You're trying to sabotage me, aren't you? You know I thrive on competition, not... shared objectives."

She settled onto the sofa, pulling the throw blanket over her legs, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "Exactly," she purred, a triumphant glint in her gaze. "Consider it a character-building exercise, Norris. Besides, it's not always about winning. Sometimes, it's about not burning the kitchen down while trying to chop tomatoes." She held up her controller, her thumb already hovering over the buttons. "Ready to learn a new kind of victory, Lan? The victory of not yelling at your teammate for dropping the mushroom?"

I shook my head, a wide, genuine smile on my face. "You're a menace, Eleonora," I declared, but there was no heat in my words, only affection. I settled onto the sofa beside her, the soft cushions molding around me. The scent of lavender and chamomile was still faint, but now it was mingled with the subtle, comforting scent of her skin, of her. This was better than any sim rig. Better than any track. This was real. "Alright, fine. But if we lose, it's on you. And I get to pick the next game. And it will be F1. And I will lap you twice." I picked up my controller, my fingers already twitching, a competitive fire now burning bright, but it was a playful fire, fueled by the joy of simply being with her, of seeing her light up, truly light up, for the first time in days. This was a new kind of race, one I was more than happy to lose, just to see her smile.

The "Overcooked" menu screen glowed on the massive TV, a deceptively cheerful cartoon kitchen. "Alright, Chef Eleonora," I announced, my voice laced with mock authority, "what culinary disaster are we attempting first?"

She giggled, a light, genuine sound that made my chest warm. "Let's start with the classic 'Soup Kitchen' level. Simple enough, right? Chop vegetables, cook broth, serve." Her tone was innocent, but I knew better.

The level loaded, and immediately, chaos erupted. The kitchen was split by a river, ingredients floating down one side, cooking stations on the other. "Right, you chop, I'll cook!" I yelled, my fingers already flying over the controller, grabbing a tomato.

"Lando, the pot's on fire!" Eleonora shrieked, her character, a small, frantic chef, running in circles.

"What?! How?! I just put the tomato in! And I didn't even leave it on the stove that long!" I spun my character around, seeing a small, alarming blaze on the stove. "Get the extinguisher! Where's the bloody extinguisher?!"

"It's on your side of the river! You have to throw it over!" She was trying to grab a mushroom, but her path was blocked by a pile of dirty plates. "And we need to wash these dishes, Norris! They're piling up!"

"I'm trying to put out a fire, Eleonora! Priorities! We're burning down the restaurant!" I yelled back, frantically mashing buttons, trying to aim the fire extinguisher across the river. My character, in its haste, slipped and fell into the river, sending a splash of water across the screen. "NO! I FELL IN! THE EXTINGUISHER'S GONE!"

"You clumsy oaf!" she shrieked, a mix of genuine exasperation and pure amusement. Her character, meanwhile, was expertly navigating the floating platforms, grabbing a mushroom and chopping it with lightning speed. "This is worse than a pit stop with a cross-threaded wheel nut! We're never going to get three stars at this rate! And you're just letting the dishes pile up!"

"Hey! My pit stops are legendary for their efficiency! This is... this is a different kind of pressure! It requires entirely different motor skills!" I argued, my character now revived, soaked and useless. "And you're not exactly a culinary genius yourself, are you, letting the soup burn while you're busy admiring your virtual chef hat? Someone needs to wash those plates!"

"It's called multitasking, Norris! Something you clearly need to work on! Unlike your 'multitasking' which involves setting fire to the kitchen and then drowning! And I'm getting the ingredients!" She tossed a perfectly chopped onion into her own pot. "Just focus! We need one more mushroom soup!"

We dissolved into a fit of laughter, the frantic button mashing and shouted instructions filling the penthouse. The tension that had clung to her, to both of us, slowly dissipated with each shouted order and each ridiculous mistake. It wasn't about winning, not really. It was about the shared chaos, the easy laughter, the simple joy of being together, truly present, in a moment that felt light and free. This was a different kind of fight, a fun one, and for the first time in a long time, it felt like we were winning.

After finally achieving a respectable, if not stellar, two-star rating on the 'Soup Kitchen' level, Eleonora leaned back, wiping an imaginary bead of sweat from her brow with the back of her hand. "See? Teamwork makes the dream work, Norris. Even if the dream involves a near-arson and a mountain of unwashed dishes."

I grumbled playfully, tossing my controller onto the sofa cushion. "Teamwork, my arse. I did all the heavy lifting, literally. You just pointed and laughed while I nearly drowned in digital broth." I picked up the other controller and started scrolling through the game library, my thumb flicking the joystick. The sheer volume of games was something else. My brow furrowed in genuine surprise.

"Woah, woah, woah," I muttered, my voice trailing off as I scrolled past title after title. "Diablo IV? Assassin's Creed Valhalla? The Witcher 3? Doom Eternal?" My head snapped up, my eyes wide with genuine flabbergast. "Are you secretly a medieval knight or a demon slayer in your spare time? Because this is... this is not what I expected from the woman who just spent an hour failing to chop virtual tomatoes."

Eleonora snorted, a soft, amused sound. She picked up a macaron from the plate, taking a delicate bite. "And what exactly did you expect, Norris? A vast collection of knitting simulators? Perhaps 'My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic'?" Her eyes, still sparkling with amusement, held a challenge. "Just because I appreciate the finer points of cooperative culinary chaos doesn't mean I can't enjoy a good demon-slaying spree after a particularly taxing day."

"A 'good demon-slaying spree'?" I echoed, still scrolling, seeing even more intense titles. "Ari, this isn't just a 'spree.' This is a full-blown, apocalyptic arsenal. I'm starting to think John brought the wrong boxes. Are you sure you're not secretly a retired mercenary with a penchant for high-rise living?" I gestured vaguely at the expansive penthouse. "This pristine apartment, the calming lavender, the delicate macarons... it's all a front, isn't it? You're actually a hardened warrior who just happens to enjoy a nice bath after a day of brutally dispatching pixelated monsters."

She leaned back, a slow, knowing smile spreading across her lips, her eyes narrowing playfully. "Perhaps," she purred, the sound a low, seductive challenge. "Or perhaps, Lando, it means I'm a woman of many layers. A woman who can appreciate both the delicate beauty of a perfectly brewed tea and the visceral satisfaction of a well-aimed headshot." She took another bite of her macaron, her gaze never leaving mine, a silent dare. "Besides, you're the one who thrives on 'precision and control,' remember? These games require immense precision, tactical thinking, and a very steady hand. Something you might find... challenging."

"Challenging?" I scoffed, though a competitive gleam had already entered my eyes. "Ari, I navigate a carbon-fiber missile at 300 kilometers an hour inches from other carbon-fiber missiles. I think I can handle a few digital demons. In fact," I leaned forward, a predatory grin on my face, "I think I could probably clear Doom Eternal in a single sitting. Blindfolded. With one hand."

She laughed, a full, unrestrained sound that made the penthouse feel alive. "Oh, I'd pay good money to see that, Norris," she chuckled, shaking her head. "But I'm afraid your ego might not survive the first five minutes. These aren't your typical arcade racers, you know. They demand patience, endurance, and a willingness to die... repeatedly." She gestured to the screen. "So, what's it going to be, Mr. National Treasure of Gaming? Are you brave enough to step into my world of 'cooperative chaos' and 'brutal honesty,' or are you going to stick to your predictable race tracks?" Her eyes twinkled, a silent invitation to a new kind of adventure, one where the stakes were higher than points, but the rewards were far more profound.

I burst out laughing, a genuine, uninhibited roar that echoed through the media room. "Predictable? My race tracks are anything but predictable, Eleonora! They're a symphony of controlled chaos, a ballet of precision and raw speed!" I threw my hands up in mock surrender, letting the controller fall back onto the cushion. "Alright, alright, you win. For now. But this... this library is a goldmine. I need to see all of it." I leaned back against the sofa, my gaze sweeping over the endless rows of game titles on the screen, a genuine, boyish wonder on my face. "Seriously, how many hours have you sunk into these? Are you, like, secretly a professional gamer when you're not busy being a brilliant businesswoman and, you know, surviving assassination attempts?"

She smirked, a slow, knowing curl of her lips. "A lady never reveals her secrets, Norris. Especially not her gaming hours. But let's just say I've had ample time to 'hone my skills' over the years." She mimed air quotes around the phrase, her eyes glinting. "And as for the 'assassination attempts,' I'd say those have only sharpened my reflexes. You'd be surprised how much Doom Eternal prepares you for real-life threats." She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, a playful challenge in her gaze. "Care to test that theory, Mr. Formula One?"

"Oh, I'm always up for a test, Eleonora," I countered, my voice equally low, leaning in until our shoulders almost brushed. The scent of her, clean and warm from the bath, was intoxicating. "But I prefer tests where I know the rules of engagement. And right now, I'm just trying to wrap my head around the fact that the woman who looks like she stepped out of a high-fashion magazine spends her evenings obliterating demons with a shotgun." I nudged her playfully with my elbow. "It's a lot to process, you know. My entire worldview is shifting."

"Perhaps your worldview needed a little... expansion," she retorted, her eyes dancing with amusement. She picked up a berry, holding it up like a tiny, edible trophy. "And besides, who says a woman can't be both? Delicate and deadly. Elegant and utterly ruthless in a virtual battlefield." She popped the berry into her mouth, a triumphant chew. "It's called balance, Norris. Something you F1 drivers could probably use a bit more of, instead of just 'go fast, turn left.'"

I burst out laughing again, shaking my head. "You are utterly ridiculous, you know that?" I said, but it was pure affection in my voice. "Alright, alright, fine. Tell me about your favorite weapon in Doom. For research purposes, obviously. And then," I paused, a mischievous glint in my eye, "you can explain to me why on earth someone with this kind of gaming library is still playing Overcooked."

She grinned, a genuine, uninhibited smile that made her entire face light up. She leaned back, her bathrobe rustling softly against the sofa cushions, her eyes fixed on the glowing screen, but her attention entirely on me. "Okay, so in Doom Eternal," she began, her voice taking on a rapid-fire, almost academic tone, her hands gesturing excitedly as if holding the weapons themselves, "you have to appreciate the Super Shotgun. It's just... chef's kiss. The grapple hook attachment? Genius! It pulls you right into the demon's face for a glory kill. It's all about aggression, getting up close and personal. But then, you've got the Ballista for those longer range, heavy hits, and the Plasma Rifle for crowd control. Oh, and the Chainsaw! Nothing beats the Chainsaw for ammo regeneration, it's just so satisfying, brrr-chick-chick!" She made sawing motions with her hands, her eyes wide with a child-like enthusiasm. "It's a dance, Lan! A brutal, bloody, beautiful dance of death and dismemberment!"

My jaw was practically on the floor, but I couldn't stop the grin that stretched across my face. The sheer, unadulterated passion radiating from her was captivating. She was like a completely different person, animated and uninhibited, her usual composure replaced by a fierce, joyful intensity. "A 'brutal, bloody, beautiful dance of death and dismemberment'," I repeated slowly, my voice thick with amusement. "Right. So, not exactly 'tea and macarons' then, is it?"

She waved a dismissive hand. "Details, details. It's all about the artistry of it, Norris. The flow. The precision. It's like... like a perfectly executed overtake, but with more guts and less carbon fiber." She paused, her brow furrowing slightly, a hint of genuine exasperation creeping into her tone. "But honestly, the real tragedy, the absolute crime against gaming, is that Blizzard still hasn't released World of Warcraft for console."

My eyebrows shot up. "World of what now? Is that another demon-slaying thing?"

"No, you absolute philistine!" she exclaimed, playfully swatting my arm. "It's the greatest MMORPG of all time! Massively Multiplayer Online Role-Playing Game, Lando! Think of it like... a virtual world, but with actual lore, and quests, and dungeons, and raids, and thousands of other players! It's epic! And it's been around for decades! And they still won't put it on console!" Her voice rose in pitch, a genuine, almost childish whine. "It's infuriating! I have to go back to my old PC in London just to play my character!"

"Your character?" I prompted, leaning in, utterly hooked by her passionate rant. This was gold. Pure, unadulterated Eleonora.

"Yes! My character!" She sat up straighter, her eyes gleaming with pride. "She's a Night Elf Hunter, Beast Mastery spec. Her name is Ariaina, of course. She's got this incredible bow, and her main companion is a giant, spectral wolf named Shadowfang. We track down enemies, lay traps, unleash a volley of arrows, and Shadowfang just devours anything that gets too close!" She made a fierce, clawing motion with her hands. "She's got these amazing glowing eyes and long, purple hair, and she's always fighting for justice in the forests of Kalimdor. Maxed level, almost maxed out in her professions, and she's got some really rare transmog gear from old raids." She gestured wildly with her hands, painting a vivid picture in the air. "I've spent years with Ariaina! She's basically my alter-ego, but with more magic, a loyal beast companion, and less... well, less international intrigue."

I stared at her, utterly charmed. The way her eyes lit up, the rapid-fire explanation, the genuine passion in her voice – it was like watching a completely different person. This was the Eleonora I was falling for, the one who was fiercely intelligent, endlessly surprising, and utterly captivating in her unfiltered enthusiasm. My heart swelled with a mixture of amusement and profound adoration.

"So, you're telling me," I began, a slow, teasing smile spreading across my face, "that the elegant, sophisticated Eleonora, who runs a global empire, spends her downtime as a purple-haired, bow-wielding elf with a spectral wolf, fighting for justice in a virtual forest?" I reached out, gently tucking a damp strand of hair behind her ear, my fingers lingering on her warm skin. "And you're upset because you can't bring your magical elf and her ghostly dog with you on your console?"

She narrowed her eyes at me, but the smile never left her face. "Exactly, Norris! It's a logistical nightmare! And don't you dare mock Ariaina or Shadowfang! They've saved countless lives, defeated ancient evils, and probably have more actual combat experience than you do on your little go-kart tracks!" She poked my chest playfully, then leaned in, her voice dropping to a low, conspiratorial whisper. "But if you ever want to see a real raid, Lando, I might just be persuaded to fire up the old PC. You could be my tank. You seem like you'd be good at just... hitting things very hard."

I chuckled, a warm, contented sound. "Hitting things very hard? You wound me, Eleonora. I'm a master of precision, remember? But for Ariaina, I suppose I could make an exception." I squeezed her hand, my gaze fixed on hers, a silent promise of endless adventures, both real and virtual. This was going to be fun. More than fun. This was going to be us.

"Alright, Ari," I said, pulling my hand back from hers, but only to grab the PS5 controller again. "Since you've so eloquently explained the nuances of virtual demon-slaying and spectral wolf companions, how about we put that 'brutal, bloody, beautiful dance of death and dismemberment' to the test? Doom Eternal it is. Prepare to witness a true master at work." I selected the game, the ominous title screen filling the massive display.

She scoffed, a playful roll of her eyes. "Oh, please. You're going to last five minutes, tops, before you're screaming for your mum and wondering why your carbon-fiber missile can't just drive over the demons." She leaned back, crossing her arms, a smug look on her face. "But by all means, Mr. National Treasure. Impress me."

The game loaded, and the familiar, aggressive metal soundtrack of Doom Eternal filled the room, a stark contrast to the calming lavender scent that still lingered. I felt a surge of adrenaline, a familiar rush that reminded me of a race start. "Alright, Eleonora," I said, my voice dropping into a mock-serious announcer tone, "this is where the real skill comes in. No pit crews, no telemetry, just pure, unadulterated demon-slaying prowess."

I started the first level, the Doom Slayer appearing on screen, his iconic green armor gleaming. I moved him forward, my fingers already finding the rhythm of the controls, the muscle memory from countless hours of gaming kicking in. "See? Smooth. Efficient. Like a perfectly executed qualifying lap." I boasted, effortlessly dodging a projectile from a low-level demon.

"Oh, you're facing a Zombie, Lando. My grandmother could beat a Zombie," she deadpanned, her voice laced with dry amusement. "Wake me up when you actually encounter something that requires more than a single button press."

A larger demon, a 'Cacodemon,' floated into view, its single eye glowing menacingly. "Ah, speak of the devil," I grinned, switching to the combat shotgun. "Alright, Eleonora, watch and learn. This is where the dance begins." I fired, then dodged, then fired again, a flurry of precise movements.

"You missed the weak point!" she shrieked, sitting up abruptly, her earlier calm completely forgotten. "Shoot its eye, Lando! Its eye! You're wasting ammo! This isn't a spray-and-pray simulator!"

"I'm establishing dominance, Ari! It's psychological warfare! And I'm pretty sure a Cacodemon doesn't have a 'weak point' when it's about to eat your face!" I yelled back, narrowly avoiding a fiery projectile. "And don't tell me what to do! I'm the one with the controller!"

"You're the one who's about to be demon chow!" she retorted, leaning forward, her face inches from the screen. "Just aim for the eye! It stuns them! Then you can glory kill it!"

I grumbled, but, against my better judgment, I listened. I aimed for the glowing eye, fired, and the Cacodemon staggered, momentarily vulnerable. "Oh. Right. It does stun them," I admitted, a flicker of surprise in my voice as I moved in for the brutal glory kill animation. "Alright, fine. Point taken. But don't get used to it. I'm still the master here."

"The master of getting lectured by his co-op partner, maybe," she muttered, but there was a wide, triumphant grin on her face. Her eyes were bright, completely absorbed in the game, her earlier anxieties seemingly forgotten in the thrill of the virtual battle.

As I progressed, the banter became a rapid-fire exchange of tactical advice, playful insults, and genuine excitement.

"Lando, behind you! The Imp! Use the flame belch!"

"I'm out of fuel for the flame belch, Eleonora!"

"You are not using them efficiently! You're just a resource hog! And watch out for the Pinky! It's got a shield!"

"A Pinky? What even is a Pinky?! It looks like a giant, angry boar with a bad attitude!"

"Just shoot its tail! Its tail, Norris! It's the only weak spot!"

Then it happened. A monstrous 'Baron of Hell', all muscle and fire, lunged from a shadowy corner. I panicked, fumbling with the weapon wheel. My Doom Slayer was engulfed in green flame, his health bar plummeting. The screen flashed red, then faded to black with a stark, brutal "YOU DIED" splashed across it.

"NOOOO!" I yelled, slumping back against the sofa cushions, throwing my head back dramatically. "Are you kidding me?! That was completely unfair! He just appeared out of nowhere!"

Eleonora burst into a fit of giggles, clutching her stomach. "Oh, Lando," she gasped, wiping a tear of laughter from her eye. "You are such a noob! You walked right into that! Did you not hear the roar? It's like you've never played a game where things actually fight back!" She leaned over, poking my arm with her finger, her grin wide and unapologetic.

I glared at her, but my lips were twitching, fighting a smile. "A noob?! Excuse me, Eleonora, I am merely... adapting to the unique combat mechanics of this particular demon-infested hellscape. And for your information, my ears are finely tuned to the roar of a V8 engine, not some overgrown, flaming pig!" I straightened up, turning my body fully towards her, my arm still casually draped behind her on the sofa. My gaze dropped from her laughing eyes to her lips, then back up, a slow, deliberate sweep. "Besides," I murmured, my voice dropping to a low, playful growl, a mischievous glint entering my eyes, "if I'm a noob, then you're clearly the expert. And I've always found that the best way to learn from an expert is to get... very close. Perhaps a private tutoring session is in order, Professor Eleonora?" I leaned in, just a fraction, my eyes holding hers, the challenge and the flirtation hanging in the air between us. The scent of lavender and berries was suddenly much stronger, a sweet distraction from the digital carnage on screen.

Her laughter died down, replaced by a soft, breathless exhale. Her eyes, still wide with amusement, now held a deeper, more intense spark as she met my gaze. The playful challenge in her expression shifted, softening into something warm and inviting. She didn't pull away. Instead, a slow, deliberate smile curved her lips, a silent acceptance of the unspoken invitation.

"A private tutoring session, you say?" she purred, her voice a low, husky murmur that sent a shiver down my spine. "And what exactly would this 'tutoring' entail, Norris? Because I'm quite a strict teacher. I expect full attention. And perhaps... a little extra credit for exceptional effort." Her gaze dropped to my lips, then back to my eyes, a silent, powerful invitation.

Before I could even formulate a witty retort, she moved. It was fluid, graceful, a seamless transition from playful banter to undeniable intimacy. She shifted on the sofa, her knees bending, and in one smooth motion, she swung her right leg over my lap, then her left, straddling me. The soft fabric of her bathrobe whispered against my jeans, a gentle friction that sent a jolt of electricity through me. Her weight settled lightly on my thighs, a warm, comforting pressure that felt exquisitely right.

My breath hitched. My hands, which had been resting on the sofa arm, instinctively moved, one finding the small of her back, the other gently cupping her hip, steadying her, pulling her just a fraction closer. Her damp hair, still smelling faintly of lavender, brushed against my cheek as she leaned in, her eyes, dark and luminous, fixed on mine. The soft, plush bathrobe enveloped us both, creating a private, intimate cocoon.

"Full attention, Professor," I whispered, my voice a little rougher than I intended, my gaze locked with hers. The playful glint in her eyes had intensified, now mixed with a raw, undeniable desire that mirrored my own. "You've got it. And I'm always up for 'exceptional effort.' Especially when the rewards are... so clearly defined." My thumb stroked the soft fabric of her bathrobe over her hip, a light, teasing caress.

She chuckled, a soft, breathy sound that vibrated against my chest. Her hands, which had been resting on her own knees, now moved, one tracing the line of my jaw, her fingertips cool against my skin. The other slipped around my neck, her fingers tangling in the hair at my nape, pulling me gently closer. "Oh, they're very clearly defined, Lando," she murmured, her voice a silken thread, her lips hovering just inches from mine. "And I expect you to be a very diligent student. No distractions. No excuses. Just... learning."

Her eyes, dark and full of unspoken promises, held mine. The space between us, already minimal, evaporated as her lips finally met mine. It was a soft, tentative touch at first, a question more than a demand. I responded immediately, deepening the kiss, pouring all the unspoken words, all the relief and adoration and fierce protectiveness that had been building inside me, into the tender pressure. Her lips were soft, tasting faintly of chamomile tea and the sweet macaron.

Her fingers tightened in my hair, pulling me closer still, her body molding against mine. The bathrobe, a soft barrier, shifted, and I felt the warmth of her skin through the thin fabric of my hoodie. Her scent, a unique blend of clean freshness, lavender, and something distinctly her, filled my senses, intoxicating me. I felt her sigh into the kiss, a soft, contented sound that resonated deep in my chest. It was a sigh of release, of comfort, of trust.

My hands moved, one sliding from her hip to rest gently on her waist, pulling her even more securely against me. The other hand, still at the small of her back, pressed her closer, feeling the delicate curve of her spine. Her fingers, still tangled in my hair, tugged gently, urging me deeper. The kiss became more urgent, more passionate, a silent conversation of longing and relief. Her mouth opened slightly under mine, and I felt the soft, yielding pressure of her lips, the gentle sweep of her tongue.

Time seemed to dissolve. The aggressive soundtrack of Doom Eternal from the TV became a distant, muffled thrum, a forgotten world. The soft glow of the screen cast a warm, intimate light over us, painting her features in shades of amber and shadow. All that existed was the taste of her lips, the soft sounds of our breathing, the exquisite sensation of her body pressed against mine. Every touch, every breath, every gentle movement spoke of a connection that went far beyond words, a profound sense of belonging that settled deep in my soul. This wasn't just a kiss; it was a reaffirmation, a promise whispered without sound, a new melody taking root in the quiet space between us.

As looked up at her. Eleonora`s eyes were blazing with a primal, raw need that matched my own. She had taken control, and I was more than willing to let her set the pace. Her hands gripped my shoulders, her nails digging into my skin, marking me as hers. I could feel the heat radiating from her body, the wetness between her legs, and it drove me wild with desire.

"Fuck, El," I groaned, my voice hoarse with need. "You're so fucking sexy."

She leaned down, her lips crashing onto mine in a fierce, passionate kiss. Our tongues dueled, our breaths mingled, and our hearts pounded in sync. I could taste her desire, her need, and it fueled my own hunger for her. My hands roamed her body, gripping her hips, her ass, her breasts, needing to touch every inch of her.

She broke the kiss, her lips trailing down my jaw, my neck, her teeth nipping at my skin, marking me. I could feel her hot breath on my ear as she whispered, "I need you, Lando. Now."

I didn't need to be told twice. I reached down, positioning myself at her entrance, my cock throbbing with anticipation. She lifted her hips, and in one swift movement, she impaled herself on me, taking me all the way in. We both moaned in pleasure, our bodies fitting together perfectly.

"Fuck, you feel amazing," I groaned, my head falling back, my eyes closing in ecstasy.

Eleonora began to move, her hips rolling, her body taking control, setting a fast, urgent pace. She rode me with abandon, her breasts bouncing with her movements, her head thrown back, her eyes closed, lost in the pleasure. I could do nothing but lie there and take it, my hands gripping her hips, urging her on.

"That's it, El," I panted, my voice a low, guttural growl. "Fuck me. Use me. I'm all yours."

She moaned, a low, sexy sound that spurred me on. Her movements became more frantic, more desperate, her body chasing its pleasure, her inner muscles clenching around me, milking me. I could feel my own release building, my balls drawing up tight, but I held on, wanting to draw this out, wanting to watch her come undone on top of me.

"Lando," she gasped, her voice a desperate plea. "I'm close. So close."

I opened my eyes, my gaze locking onto hers, a fierce, intense stare that seemed to push her over the edge. Her body tensed, her movements stuttering, and then she was crying out, her orgasm ripping through her, her body convulsing, her inner muscles clamping down on me.

The sight of her, the feel of her, the sound of her was too much. I let go, my body tensing, my cock pulsing as I spilled into her, filling her with my release. It was raw, primal, a claiming, a promising, a testament to the depth of my feelings for her.

She collapsed onto my chest, her body slick with sweat, her breaths coming in ragged gasps. I wrapped my arms around her, holding her close, feeling her heartbeat against mine. The room was quiet, the only sound the soft rustling of our bodies as we moved slightly, our souls connected.

"That was... intense," I murmured, a satisfied smile on my lips.

Eleonora nodded, a small, contented smile on her lips. "It was. You're amazing, Lando."

I pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, a tender, loving gesture. "So are you, Eli. So are you."

Chapter Text

Eleonora's POV

September 10^th, 2023

The first thing I registered was the quality of the silence. Not the oppressive, heavy silence that had often suffocated me in this vast penthouse, but a soft, contented quiet, broken only by the gentle rhythm of a steady breath beside me. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, I woke without the familiar knot of anxiety tightening in my stomach, without the immediate, crushing weight of past traumas or the gnawing emptiness of a future I couldn't quite grasp. I was… rested. Truly, deeply rested. It was a sensation so foreign, so profoundly comforting, that I almost didn't dare to move, fearing I would shatter the fragile peace.

Sunlight, soft and golden, streamed through the panoramic windows, painting warm stripes across the plush carpet and the crisp white duvet. The air was cool, carrying the faint, lingering scent of lavender from my bath last night, mingled now with something else – something warm, masculine, and utterly familiar. Lando.

I turned my head slowly on the pillow, my eyes fluttering open to the sight of him. He was sprawled beside me, one arm flung carelessly above his head, the other tucked beneath his pillow. His dark hair was a charming mess, falling across his forehead, and a faint, almost imperceptible smile played on his lips, as if he were dreaming something pleasant. His chest rose and fell with a steady, even cadence, a testament to his deep, untroubled sleep.

A wave of tenderness, so potent it almost brought tears to my eyes, washed over me. He looked so young, so innocent, stripped of the competitive fire and witty bravado that usually defined him. In this moment, he was just Lando, peaceful and vulnerable, completely trusting. My heart ached with a love so profound it felt like a physical weight in my chest, heavy and sweet. This was what peace felt like. This was what being truly, unequivocally loved felt like.

I reached out, my fingers trembling slightly as I traced the strong line of his jaw, the soft stubble that had grown overnight. He stirred faintly, a soft murmur escaping his lips, but didn't wake. I let my hand rest on his cheek, feeling the warmth of his skin, the soft flutter of his eyelashes against my thumb. Every cell in my body hummed with a quiet, joyous contentment. The night before, the silly, chaotic game, the shared laughter, the raw confessions, and then… the kiss and the intimacy. It had been everything. A complete surrender to the connection that had been building between us, a silent promise of something real and enduring.

My gaze drifted from his face to the window, where the Mediterranean glittered under the morning sun, a vast, calm expanse. It was a perfect Sunday morning, a picture of serenity. And then, like a sudden, icy breath, the thought struck me.

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow was Monday. Tomorrow, he would have to leave.

The tranquil image of the sea shattered, replaced by a terrifying montage in my mind: the screaming engines, the blur of speed, the unforgiving barriers, the ever-present danger that lurked beneath the glamour of Formula 1. He was a racer. It was his life, his passion. And it was inherently, terrifyingly dangerous.

My hand, which had been so tenderly caressing his cheek, clenched into a fist, pressing against his skin. He stirred again, a soft groan escaping him, his eyes fluttering open.

"Hmm? Eli?" he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep, a soft, sleepy smile forming on his lips as he saw me. His blue eyes, still heavy-lidded, were soft and warm, full of the lingering affection from the night before. He reached up, his hand covering mine on his cheek, his thumb stroking my knuckles.

My carefully constructed peace, the fragile bubble of happiness, popped. The fear, cold and sharp, pierced through me. How could I have forgotten, even for a moment, the precariousness of his world? The world where he willingly strapped himself into a machine designed for speed, a machine that could, in an instant, become a twisted wreck of carbon fiber and fire.

But it wasn't just the inherent danger of racing that sent a fresh wave of dread through me. It was Fewtrell. He was still out there. Still free. Still a ghost in the shadows, a threat that could materialize anywhere, at any time. My own security was tight, a fortress around me, but Lando… Lando was a public figure. He traveled constantly, to different cities, different countries, exposed to thousands of people at every turn. The thought of him, so open, so trusting, being a potential target for Fewtrell’s twisted vengeance, made my blood run cold.

Fewtrell knew about Lando now. He knew Lando was important to me. That made him a vulnerability, a weapon Fewtrell could try to wield against me. The idea of Fewtrell, that monster, even looking at Lando, let alone touching him, made my stomach churn with a sickening fear. My love for Lando was boundless, but it also felt like a gaping wound, a soft spot that Fewtrell could exploit.

And this time, the next Grand Prix was in Singapore. The thought of the night race, the intense heat, the unforgiving street circuit, made my stomach clench even tighter. But it was more than just the track; it was the distance. I was Max Verstappen's PR, which meant I would also be flying to Singapore, but not until Thursday. That left three agonizing days – Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday – where Lando would be in a foreign country, exposed, and I would be stuck here, unable to protect him. The time difference would make even a simple phone call a logistical nightmare, our already scarce contact during race weekends becoming almost impossible. The thought of those long, silent hours, knowing he was in danger, made my chest tighten with a suffocating dread. The three days apart with Fewtrell on the loose scared me more than anything.

I forced a smile, a brittle, strained thing. "Hey," I whispered, trying to keep my voice light, to mask the sudden tremor that had seized me. "Did you sleep well, Mr. National Treasure?" The playful jab felt hollow, a desperate attempt to cling to the lightness of the night before. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat of dread. Tomorrow. He was leaving tomorrow. And I was terrified. Not just for the race, but for the insidious, unseen threat that followed me, and now, by extension, followed him, into the vast, unbridgeable distance.

Lando's sleepy smile widened, a slow, sensual curve of his lips. He pulled my hand from his cheek, intertwining our fingers, and brought my knuckles to his mouth, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to them. His eyes, still heavy-lidded, held a deep, knowing warmth, a silent promise of all the intimacy we'd shared, and more.

"Sleep well?" he murmured, his voice a low, husky rumble that vibrated through my bones. "Eli, with you beside me, I think I actually dreamed of winning a championship. And then... other things. Very, very good things. So, yes, 'well' doesn't even begin to cover it. More like... exquisitely. Profoundly. Sensually." His thumb stroked the back of my hand, a slow, deliberate caress that sent shivers through me, a silent invitation to linger in the warmth of the bed. His gaze drifted to my lips, then back to my eyes, a silent question. "How about you, El? Did the night's... lessons prove beneficial?"

My cheeks flushed, a deep, undeniable heat spreading across my face. He was so utterly, shamelessly Lando, even half-asleep. My usual sharp retort felt caught in my throat, softened by the lingering tenderness of the morning. I managed a weak, almost breathless chuckle. "Lessons, Norris? I believe I was the one attempting to teach you the finer points of cooperative chaos. And if I recall correctly, you ended up drowning in virtual soup." I tried to inject my usual bite, but my voice was still too soft, too yielding.

He grinned, a flash of white teeth against his tanned skin. "Ah, but a good student learns from his mistakes, Eleonora. And I'm a very quick learner, especially when the subject matter is this... engaging." He squeezed my hand, his eyes dancing with amusement and something far deeper. "Besides, I'm fairly certain I taught you a few things too. Like how to truly relax. How to let go. How to... sleep without a single nightmare, perhaps?" His voice dropped to a whisper, intimate and knowing, as his gaze swept over my face, searching for confirmation of the peace he hoped I'd found.

The casual mention of nightmares, of the peace I had felt, hit me with a fresh wave of vulnerability. He saw so much, too much sometimes. My usual instinct would be to deflect, to throw up a witty barrier. But the raw honesty in his eyes, the genuine concern beneath the playful banter, made it impossible.

"Perhaps," I conceded, my voice barely audible, my gaze dropping to our intertwined hands. "Perhaps some lessons were indeed learned. On both sides. Though I've had my fair share of 'loosening up' on the field, you know." I added, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk playing on my lips, a flicker of my old defiance.

His thumb, which had been gently stroking my knuckles, paused. His head tilted slightly, his eyes narrowing in playful curiosity, a subtle shift in his demeanor. "Oh? 'Loosening up on the field,' you say, Kimbel?" His voice was still a low rumble, but now it held a distinct edge of intrigued amusement, a challenge in its tone. He lifted an eyebrow, a silent dare. "Do enlighten me. Because from what I've observed, your 'field' is usually a meticulously controlled environment. What exactly constitutes 'loosening up' for a woman of your... calibre?" He emphasized the word "calibre" with a mock-serious tone, his gaze sweeping over me again, a silent question in his eyes, hinting at his desire for more than just a playful answer. He wanted details. He wanted my details.

I chuckled, a low, throaty sound that was still a little soft, but held a definite spark of mischief. My eyes, still glistening faintly from the earlier fear, now danced with a playful glint. "A woman of my calibre, Norris, has many hidden talents. And 'loosening up' doesn't always involve champagne and corporate mergers, believe it or not." I paused, letting the silence hang, watching the intrigue build in his eyes. His grip on my hand tightened almost imperceptibly, his thumb still tracing patterns on my skin, a silent demand for more. His gaze was fixed on my face, a mixture of fascination and something else – a burgeoning possessiveness, a flicker of something akin to jealousy.

"Are we talking... late-night karaoke sessions?" he pressed, his voice a little more eager now, a hint of desperation in his tone. "Impulsive tattoos? Or perhaps a daring escape from a particularly dull charity gala?" He leaned closer, his breath warm on my cheek, his eyes wide with genuine curiosity, clearly desperate for me to elaborate. The idea of me, the poised Eleonora, engaging in anything truly "wild" seemed to genuinely surprise and excite him.

I leaned in, my lips brushing his ear, the scent of his skin, clean and warm, filling my senses. My voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, barely audible, a playful secret shared only between us. "Sometimes, Norris," I breathed, my voice a silken thread, "it involved... a threesome." I pulled back slightly, just enough to see the immediate, visceral reaction in his eyes.

His eyes, which had been sparkling with amusement, immediately widened, then a shadow flickered across them – a flash of surprise, quickly followed by a sharp, almost painful jolt of something that looked suspiciously like jealousy. His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, and his thumb, which had been stroking my hand, pressed down harder for a second before relaxing, as if he were trying to rein in an immediate, possessive instinct. His gaze snapped from my eyes to my lips, then back again, searching, questioning.

I watched his reaction, a small, knowing smirk playing on my lips. It was a risk, a deliberate push of his boundaries, but also a test. To see if he truly meant what he said about accepting all of me.

"And it was good," I added, my voice still a whisper, but now laced with a genuine, almost defiant truth. "Liberating. A way to explore, to feel completely free, completely in control of my own desires. To take back some of what had been taken from me." My eyes held his, challenging him to reconcile the poised woman before him with the raw, uninhibited past I had just revealed. The playful glint was still there, but beneath it, a profound vulnerability, a silent question: Can you handle this? Can you still love this part of me? The air between us crackled with a new, complex tension.

Lando's jaw was tight, a muscle ticking subtly beneath his tanned skin. His eyes, usually so open and expressive, were narrowed, a dark, possessive storm brewing in their depths. The playful glint was gone, replaced by a raw, almost feral intensity. He didn't pull away, but his grip on my hand tightened, almost painfully so, a silent claim.

"A... threesome," he repeated, the word a low, guttural sound, as if testing its taste on his tongue. His voice was laced with a dangerous edge, a blend of disbelief and something that was undeniably, fiercely jealous. "And 'good'? 'Liberating'?" His gaze swept over my face, searching for any hint of a lie, any sign that I was teasing him more than telling the truth. The question in his eyes was almost a demand: With whom? How? Why wasn't it me?

I met his gaze, my own eyes holding his, a defiant spark in their depths. The vulnerability was still there, but now it was tempered by a deliberate provocativeness. "Oh, yes, Norris. Very good. Exceedingly liberating, in fact." I leaned in slightly, my voice dropping to a husky whisper, my lips almost brushing his ear. "It was a long time ago, of course. Back when I was still figuring things out. Still trying to reclaim pieces of myself." I pulled back, just enough to see the flicker of raw emotion in his eyes, the way his pupils dilated. "And it involved... two men. Both very attentive. Both very eager to please." I watched his throat bob as he swallowed hard, a visible effort.

His eyes, dark with a mixture of longing and barely suppressed frustration, locked onto mine. "Two men," he repeated, his voice strained, a low growl. The possessiveness was radiating off him in waves, a palpable heat. He shifted closer, his body subtly angling towards me, as if trying to bridge the invisible gap between us. "And they were... attentive? Eager to please? More so than I could be, Eleonora?" His voice was a challenge, a plea, a desperate desire to prove himself. His thumb, still intertwined with my fingers, began to trace the delicate bones of my hand, a restless, seeking touch.

I let out a soft, knowing laugh, a low, playful sound that was pure mischief. "Oh, Lando. My dear, sweet, competitive Lando." I reached up, my free hand gently touching his jaw, feeling the tension in his muscles. "You're asking for details, aren't you? You want to know if they were better than you. If they could make me feel what you haven't." My eyes sparkle, teasing him mercilessly. "And you're absolutely seething with jealousy, aren't you? It's quite adorable, actually."

His eyes flashed, a brief, sharp glint of annoyance, quickly replaced by a resigned, almost pained admission. "Adorable? El, I'm practically vibrating with the urge to throw those two hypothetical men off your balcony." His voice was a low, dangerous growl, but his hand on mine tightened, pulling my fingers closer to his lips, as if he wanted to taste them. "Yes, I'm jealous. Incredibly, ridiculously jealous. Because I want to be the one who makes you feel liberated. I want to be the one who explores every single part of you. I want to be the one who gives you everything you desire. And the thought of anyone else doing that... it makes my blood boil." He brought my knuckles to his lips again, pressing a hot, lingering kiss to them, his gaze never leaving mine, a silent, burning declaration of his longing and possessiveness. "So, tell me, Eleonora. What did they do? What made it so 'liberating'? Because I'm a very fast learner, and I'm quite confident I can surpass any previous 'lessons' you've had." His eyes were dark, hungry, promising a future where only he would be enough.

I savored the moment, the raw jealousy in his eyes a potent elixir. It was a dangerous game, but a necessary one. He needed to see all of me, the light and the shadows, the past and the present. And I needed to know he could handle it.

"Oh, Lando," I purred, my voice a silken thread, a low, teasing hum. I leaned in, my lips brushing his ear, my fingers still tracing the tense line of his jaw. "Well, for starters, they understood the art of anticipation." I pulled back, just enough to watch his eyes, the flicker of impatience, the desperate longing. "They knew how to build the tension, how to make every touch, every breath, a promise of something more. One was all about the slow, deliberate exploration, tracing every curve, every sensitive spot, with a feather-light touch until I was practically begging for more. His lips, his tongue, everywhere. And the other... he was pure fire. Intense. Demanding. He knew exactly how to push me to the edge, to make me lose control in the most exhilarating way, his body pressing into mine, taking me deeper, faster."

I watched his pupils dilate, his breath hitch. The muscle in his jaw ticked furiously. His grip on my hand was now a vice, but I welcomed it. It was a sign of his raw, unbridled desire.

"Imagine," I continued, my eyes fixed on his, a playful challenge in their depths, "being caught between two such opposing forces. The slow burn, the exquisite torture of being teased, and then the sudden, overwhelming release, a crescendo of pleasure that left me breathless, completely undone. It was a symphony of sensations, Lando. A complete surrender to pure, unadulterated pleasure. And the best part? It was all about my pleasure. My desires. My body, finally, truly mine to command." I leaned back slightly, a triumphant, almost defiant smile on my lips, my gaze challenging him to respond. The air between us was thick, heavy with unspoken desire, the scent of his arousal mingling with the lingering lavender.

Lando's breath came in short, sharp gasps. His eyes were blazing, a mixture of torment and a fierce, burning hunger. He ripped his hand from mine, not to push me away, but to cup my face, his fingers tangling in my hair, pulling me closer, forcing my gaze to hold his. His thumbs stroked my cheekbones, his touch surprisingly gentle given the storm in his eyes.

"A symphony of sensations, you say?" he growled, his voice raw, strained, a low, desperate plea. "Anticipation? Slow burn? Exquisite torture? Pure fire? Eleonora, you are absolutely killing me right now." His eyes were dark, almost black with desire and a possessiveness that was breathtaking in its intensity. "The thought of anyone else touching you like that... making you feel that... it's a torment I can barely breathe through."

He leaned in, his lips hovering just inches from mine, his breath hot against my face. "But understand this, El," he whispered, his voice a fierce, unwavering vow. "I am a quick study. And I am insatiably competitive. Whatever 'symphony' they played, I will compose an entire orchestra for you. Whatever 'liberation' they offered, I will give you absolute freedom. I will explore every inch of you, slowly, deliberately, until you are begging. I will push you to the edge, and beyond, until you lose control in ways you never even imagined possible."

His gaze dropped to my lips, then back to my eyes, burning with a promise that was both sensual and deeply possessive. "And it will be all about your pleasure, Eleonora. Only yours. Your desires, your body, completely yours, but given freely to me. Because I want to be the only one who makes you feel that kind of liberation. The only one who makes you forget everything else. The only one who makes you scream." His voice was a low, dangerous growl, filled with a primal longing that made my core clench. "Tell me, Eli. Tell me what else they did. Tell me everything. And then let me show you how much better it can be. With just me." His lips brushed mine, a light touch that promised a firestorm. The tension was almost unbearable, a tangible force pulling us together.

I felt the heat of his words, the raw intensity of his gaze, and a primal thrill shot through me. This was the Lando I recognized, the one who fought for what he wanted, the one who pushed boundaries. The jealousy was a potent aphrodisiac, a testament to how deeply he felt, how much he wanted me.

"Oh, Norris," I whispered, my voice a husky breath, my eyes sparkling with a dangerous delight. "You think you can handle more details? You think you can truly surpass that?" My fingers, still tangled in his hair, tightened, pulling his head fractionally closer. "They knew how to use their hands, Lando. Their mouths. They knew how to make every single nerve ending in my body sing. One would focus on the delicate parts, the inner thigh, the curve of my hip, the soft skin behind my ear, leaving a trail of fire. And the other... he would take me with a raw, almost desperate hunger, his lips on my neck, his teeth gently nipping, his fingers digging into my skin, claiming me. There was no hesitation, no holding back. Just pure, unadulterated passion, a beautiful, overwhelming force that consumed me entirely."

My gaze dropped to his lips, then back to his eyes, watching the storm brew. His breath was coming in ragged gasps, his chest heaving. The possessiveness in his eyes was almost frightening, but exhilarating.

"They made me feel seen, Lando," I continued, my voice softening slightly, a hint of the vulnerability returning, "in a way I hadn't felt in years. Completely exposed, completely desired, without judgment. They made me feel beautiful, powerful, in my own skin. And when it was over, I felt... cleansed. Reborn. Like I could finally breathe again." I leaned in, my lips almost touching his. "Can you do that, Norris? Can you make me feel that kind of absolute, undeniable rebirth? With just you?" The challenge was clear, the invitation undeniable. The tension was a living thing between us, a vibrating current of raw desire and unspoken promises.

And then, he came undone.

His eyes, already dark with desire, now burned with a ferocity that stole my breath. The last vestiges of his playful restraint shattered, replaced by a raw, primal hunger that was both terrifying and utterly captivating. His grip on my face tightened, his thumbs digging into my cheekbones, not painfully, but with a desperate, possessive claim.

"Can I do that?" he snarled, the words a low, guttural growl torn from deep within his chest. His voice was rough, almost unrecognizable, stripped bare of all his usual charm, leaving only pure, unadulterated need. "Eleonora, I will make you forget their names. Their faces. Every single touch. I will erase them from your memory with every breath, every kiss, every single part of me that I give to you."

He didn't wait for an answer. His lips crashed down on mine, a fierce, hungry kiss that was utterly consuming. It wasn't gentle, not teasing, but a desperate, demanding claim. His mouth moved against mine with a bruising intensity, his tongue immediately plunging, seeking, ravaging. I gasped, a soft, helpless sound lost in the depths of his kiss.

His hands, still cupping my face, slid into my hair, tangling in the strands at my nape, pulling my head back, tilting it to give him deeper access. My fingers, which had been resting on his chest, instinctively clenched, gripping the fabric of his t-shirt, pulling him closer, as if I could somehow fuse our bodies together.

He broke the kiss for a split second, just long enough to drag his lips along my jawline, leaving a trail of fire, down my neck, to the hollow of my throat. "You want to feel seen?" he breathed, his voice ragged, his teeth gently nipping at my skin, sending shivers through me. "I will see every single part of you, El. Every secret. Every scar. And I will worship it." His lips moved lower, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses to the sensitive skin of my collarbone, his breath hot against my bare shoulder.

His hand, which had been cupping the back of my head, slid down, tracing the curve of my spine, pressing me flush against his body. I could feel the hard ridge of his arousal against my stomach, hot and insistent through the thin fabric of our clothes. His other hand, still gripping my waist, pulled me forward, tilting my hips against his, a silent, desperate grind that made a soft whimper escape my throat.

"You want to feel powerful?" he rasped, his lips returning to my ear, his voice a raw, vibrating whisper that sent a jolt of pure electricity through me. "I will make you tremble with a power so profound, so utterly yours, that you won't know where you end and I begin. I will make you command me, beg for me, until you are screaming my name, and nothing else." His teeth gently scraped my earlobe, sending a fresh wave of sensation through me.

He pulled back slightly, his eyes, dark and stormy blue, locking onto mine. His chest was heaving, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. The raw desire emanating from him was almost overwhelming, a physical force. "And rebirth, Eleonora?" he growled, his voice thick with emotion. "I will make you feel reborn a thousand times over. Every time I touch you. Every time I taste you. Every time I make you come undone. Because with me, El, you will always be new. Always free. Always mine."

He didn't wait for my response. His mouth descended again, not with the initial ferocity, but with a deep, consuming hunger, a promise of every word he'd just uttered. His hand slid from my waist, down my hip, to the curve of my thigh, his fingers digging into the soft skin, pulling me even closer against him. There was only Lando, and the fire he had ignited within me.

When we finally separated, it was a slow, reluctant untangling of limbs and lips. My body was humming, every nerve ending alive, tingling. My breath came in ragged gasps, my lips swollen, and my hair was a tangled mess from his fingers. Lando looked equally disheveled, his eyes still dark with a raw, insatiable hunger, his chest heaving. The air around us was thick with the scent of our combined arousal, a heady, intoxicating perfume.

He didn't immediately move away. Instead, he simply held me, his arms wrapped tightly around my waist, pulling me flush against his body, our legs still tangled in the bed. His chin rested on the top of my head, and I could feel the rapid, frantic beat of his heart against my ear. A soft groan escaped him, a sound of profound satisfaction mixed with a lingering, almost painful longing.

"See?" he murmured, his voice still rough, a low rumble against my hair. "Better. Infinitely better. And that was just the appetizer, Kimbel. A mere glimpse of the syllabus." His hand, which had been resting on my back, slid lower, his fingers gently tracing the curve of my bottom, a possessive, lingering touch that sent a fresh shiver through me. "No other 'teachers' needed, I think. Just me. All of me. All for you."

I leaned back slightly in his arms, my head tilting to look up at him. My lips curved into a slow, satisfied smile. "Oh, Norris," I purred, my voice still a little husky, "you're certainly... persuasive. And very, very competitive." My fingers absently traced the damp patch on his t-shirt where my face had been pressed against his chest. "Though I'm not entirely convinced you've surpassed the 'cleansed and reborn' part yet. That might require a few more... practical demonstrations." My eyes twinkled, a playful challenge now back in their depths, despite the lingering haze of desire.

He let out a low, triumphant laugh, a sound that vibrated through my entire body. "Oh, I assure you, El, the practical demonstrations are precisely what I excel at." He tightened his grip around my waist, pulling me even closer, his gaze dropping to my lips. "And I'm a very thorough teacher. We'll keep demonstrating until you're absolutely, unequivocally convinced. Until you can't even remember what 'cleansed and reborn' felt like before me." His eyes held a fierce, possessive gleam, a silent vow to erase all past comparisons.

He lowered me gently back onto the mattress, but kept one arm firmly around my waist, pulling my side flush against his.

As Lando's words hung in the air, a promise of raw, all-consuming passion, I could feel the heat radiating from his body, the urgency of his need matching my own. The room seemed to spin around us, the world outside fading into insignificance as we were drawn into a vortex of desire and longing.

And then he kissed me. A kiss that was a maelstrom, a furious, desperate claiming that left me breathless and utterly pliant. His lips devoured mine, his tongue a relentless force, mirroring the hunger that now raged within my own body. I clung to him, my fingers digging into the firm muscles of his shoulders, my head swimming with the intensity of his touch, the sheer force of his desire.

When he finally broke away, it was only for a moment, his forehead resting against mine, his breath ragged, hot against my face. His eyes, still dark and dilated, were blazing with a possessiveness that was almost frightening, yet thrilling. He looked utterly undone, his hair disheveled, his lips swollen, a faint flush high on his cheekbones.

"Mine," he breathed, the word a low, guttural growl, a primal sound of ownership. His thumbs, still cupping my face, moved to trace the outline of my lips, his gaze fixed on them as if he wanted to devour them whole. "Only mine. You understand, Eleonora? Only me." His voice was a desperate plea disguised as a command, a raw vulnerability beneath the possessive edge. He was demanding reassurance, a confirmation that his jealousy, his overwhelming need, was justified.

I was still gasping for breath, my body humming with a thousand lingering sensations. My mind, usually so sharp, felt hazy, consumed by him. I lifted a trembling hand, my fingers tracing the sharp line of his jaw, feeling the pulse throb beneath my touch.

"Lando," I whispered, my voice barely a thread, "you... you are absolutely insane." A soft, shaky laugh escaped me, but it was laced with a profound adoration. "And yes. Only you." The words were a surrender, a complete and utter giving in to the overwhelming force of his desire, and my own.

His eyes flared with triumph, a flash of raw, unadulterated pleasure. A slow, predatory smile spread across his face, a smile that promised endless nights of exploration and claiming. He leaned in, his lips brushing mine again, a feather-light touch that was both a reward and a renewed promise.

"Good," he murmured against my mouth, his voice thick with satisfaction. "Because I'm not letting you go. Not now. Not ever." His hand, which had been cupping my face, slid down, tracing the curve of my neck, his fingers tangling in the hair at my nape.

With a swift, decisive movement, Lando stood up, his arms sweeping me off the mattress and into his embrace. I wrapped my legs around his waist, feeling the hard, insistent press of his arousal against me, a promise of what was to come. His lips never left mine as he carried me across the room, his steps purposeful and determined. He held me effortlessly, his gaze burning into mine, a silent, powerful declaration of his victory. I could feel the carpet beneath my bare feet for a brief moment before he pressed me against the wall, his body pinning me in place.

I gasped, my arms flying around his neck, my body molding against his. Everything vanished from my awareness. There was only the solid strength of his body, the fierce possessiveness in his eyes, and the intoxicating scent of him.

"Now," he growled, his voice a low, possessive rumble against my ear, "let's finish this 'lesson,' Kimbel. And I promise you, by the time I'm done, you won't remember a single detail about anyone else." His eyes held a dangerous, exhilarating promise, and I knew, with a certainty that settled deep in my soul, that he would make good on every single one of them. The morning, which had begun with fragile peace and a dark confession, was now ablaze with a fierce, consuming passion, a testament to the raw, undeniable connection between us.

The impact sent a shiver of excitement through me, the hardness of the wall contrasting with the softness of his body pressing against mine. I moaned into his kiss, my fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer, urging him on. His hands roamed my body, gripping, exploring, claiming every inch of me as if he were trying to memorize me, to imprint himself on my very soul. I could feel his heart pounding against my chest, his breath coming in ragged gasps, mirroring my own heightened state of arousal.

"You want to make me forget, Lando?" I teased, my voice a low, sultry purr as I ground against him, feeling his hardness press against my most sensitive spot. "Then show me. Show me what you've got."

A low growl escaped his throat, a sound of pure, unadulterated desire. "With pleasure, Eleonora," he rasped, his hands tightening on my hips, urging me on.

He didn't waste any time. With a swift, sure movement, he positioned himself at my entrance, his eyes locked onto mine, a silent question, a request for permission. I nodded, a small, eager smile on my lips, my hips lifting, urging him on. He entered me with a single, powerful thrust, filling me completely, his body pressing me firmly against the wall.

"Fuck, El," he groaned, his head falling back, his eyes closing in ecstasy. "You feel so good. So perfect."

He began to move, his hips thrusting against mine, his body taking control, setting a fast, urgent pace. The sound of our bodies slapping together filled the room, a primal, erotic symphony that spurred us both on. I could feel every inch of him, hard and hot, stroking me from the inside, building the pleasure, the tension, the desperate need for release.

"That's it, El," he panted, his voice a low, guttural growl. "Take it. Take all of me. You're mine. All mine."

His hands gripped my hips, his fingers digging into my flesh, holding me in place as he pounded into me, his body a machine, a relentless, delicious torture that had me crying out, my nails digging into his back, my head thrown back, my eyes closed in sheer bliss.

"Lando," I moaned, my voice a desperate plea. "Yes. Right there. Don't stop. Please don't stop."

He obliged, his movements becoming more frantic, more desperate, his body chasing its pleasure, his hips slamming against mine, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his eyes locked onto mine, a fierce, intense stare that seemed to push me over the edge.

"Lando," I cried out, my voice a desperate plea. "I'm coming. I'm coming so hard."

He let out a low, triumphant growl, his body tensing, his cock pulsing as he spilled into me, filling me with his release. It was raw, primal, a claiming, a promising, a testament to the depth of his feelings for me.

But Lando was not done. With a low, primal growl, he pulled out of me, leaving me feeling empty and aching for more. He scooped me up effortlessly, my body wrapped around his as he carried me to the bed, his lips never leaving mine. He tossed me onto it, the soft, cool sheets a stark contrast to the heat of our bodies. I bounced slightly, a soft, surprised laugh escaping my lips as I looked up at him, my eyes wide with anticipation.

He didn't waste any time. He flipped me onto my stomach, his hands gripping my hips, pulling me up onto my knees. I could feel his hard, aching length pressing against my entrance, teasing me, promising more. I pushed back against him, urging him on, a soft, desperate moan escaping my lips.

He leaned down, his voice a low, dangerous rasp in my ear, "Is this what you want, El? You want me to take you from behind? To make you mine completely?"

"Yes," I gasped, my voice a desperate plea. "Yes, Lando. Please. I need you."

With a low, satisfied growl, he entered me from behind, his hands gripping my hips, holding me in place as he began to move. The angle was different, deeper, more intense, sending waves of pleasure crashing through me, my body already sensitive and primed from our earlier encounter. He pulled on my hair, tilting my head back, exposing my neck to him. He leaned down, his teeth gently nipping at my skin, marking me, claiming me as his.

"Fuck, you're so tight, El," he groaned, his voice a low, guttural growl. "So perfect. I could stay like this forever."

He began to move faster, his hips slamming against mine, his body taking control, setting a relentless pace.

"Lando," I moaned, my voice a desperate plea. "I'm close. So close."

He reached around, his fingers finding my clit, rubbing in tight, fast circles, pushing me over the edge. I cried out, my orgasm ripping through me, my body convulsing, my inner muscles clamping down on him, milking him for all I was worth.

The sight of me, the feel of me, the sound of my pleasure was too much for him. He came with a roar, his body stiffening, his cock pulsing as he spilled into me.

As we collapsed onto the bed, our bodies slick with sweat, our breaths coming in ragged gasps, Lando pulled me close, his body spooning mine, a perfect, exhausted fit. His arms wrapped around me, holding me tightly, possessively. I could feel his heart pounding against my back, his breath hot on my neck.

"That was... incredible," I murmured, a satisfied smile on my lips, my eyes fluttering closed as I reveled in the aftermath of our passionate encounter.

Lando pressed a soft kiss to the back of my neck, a tender, loving gesture, but his voice, when he spoke, was still laced with a hint of jealousy, a possessiveness that sent a thrill through me.

"You're mine, El," he growled softly, his arms tightening around me. "All mine. And I'll be damned if I let anyone else have you. You're it for me. The only one I want. The only one I need. I want to erase every touch, every kiss, every memory of those other men. I want to be the only one in your mind, your body, your soul. Forever."

I smiled, a soft, contented smile, my eyes still closed, my body relishing in the feel of his strong, protective arms around me. "I know, Lando," I whispered back, my voice soft and sated. "And I feel the same way about you. You're all I want. All I need. Forever."

---------------------------------------------------------------------

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee mingled with the sweet scent of warm waffles, a comforting blanket over the lingering warmth of the morning. Sunlight, sharp and bright, streamed through the panoramic windows, illuminating the pristine kitchen and casting long shadows across the polished marble floor. I was perched on one of the high stools at the massive kitchen island, a plate of golden-brown waffles drizzled with maple syrup in front of me. Lando sat opposite, equally at home, leaning back on his stool with an ease that had become dangerously familiar.

He was wearing a fresh, charcoal-grey t-shirt that stretched smoothly across his chest, and a pair of dark track pants. His hair, still damp from a quick shower, curled playfully at his temples, and his eyes, usually so bright with competitive fire, held a softer, more contented glint. A faint flush high on his cheekbones betrayed the intensity of the morning's earlier 'discussions.' My own sleek black dress, a simple yet elegant slip of silk that clung to my curves, felt wonderfully comfortable, a stark contrast to the tailored armor I usually wore. It had a delicate spaghetti strap and a subtle side slit, a quiet statement of effortless sophistication even in the early hours.

"So," he said, his voice returning to its more usual, teasing tone, but still underscored by that deep, possessive rumble. "About these 'two men.' Were they British? Because I'm fairly certain British men are inherently superior in... well, in most things. Especially when it comes to pleasing a woman." His eyebrow raised, a playful challenge, but the underlying jealousy was still a palpable current, a subtle tightening around my waist, a slight possessive shift in his posture.

I laughed, a clear, melodic sound that felt genuinely light for the first time all morning. "Oh, Norris, you're incorrigible. And yes, one was. The other was Italian, actually. A charming rogue, if I recall correctly." I watched his face, the subtle flicker of annoyance, the way his jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. It was a fascinating game, this push and pull.

"Italian, huh?" he grumbled, taking another bite of his cold waffle, as if trying to chew away the phantom image of another man. "Figures. Always trying to be flashy. But you know what they say about Italian cars, El. All style, no substance. Unlike, say, a well-engineered British racing machine." He winked, but the underlying possessiveness was still there, a fierce, unspoken claim. His eyes, though teasing, held a clear message: You're mine now. And no past experience, no matter how 'liberating' will ever compare to what I will give you. The tension, though lighter, still hummed between us, a constant reminder of the raw emotions that had just been laid bare.

"You know, Norris," I mused, pushing a perfectly stacked forkful of waffle into my mouth, savoring the crisp texture, "for someone who claims to be utterly incompetent in the kitchen, these are remarkably good. Almost like someone else made them. An invisible culinary fairy, perhaps?" My voice was a playful purr, enjoying the subtle flush that spread up his neck.

He took a slow, deliberate sip of his coffee, his gaze never leaving my face. "Ah, but a true connoisseur, Kimbel, understands that the art of preparation is only half the battle. The true magic lies in the appreciation. And I, for one, have a profound appreciation for a well-cooked waffle. Especially when it's... served by you." His eyes dropped to my lips, a slow, sensual smile playing on his own, promising a future 'serving' that had nothing to do with breakfast. "Though I admit, the original chef was quite efficient. I just added some... personal touches."

I snorted, a laugh bubbling up. "Personal touches? You mean you threatened the poor automatic waffle iron into submission with your charming British accent? Because I'm fairly certain those things only respond to gentle persuasion." I gestured with my fork towards his plate. "And try not to spill syrup on that pristine top, Mr. 'I-just-won-a-championship-in-the-bedroom.' It wouldn't do for your fans to think you've been engaging in anything less than perfect decorum."

His grin widened, a flash of white teeth. "Oh, I assure you, my fans would be far more impressed by what I've been engaging in. And as for decorum, El, you shattered any illusions of that hours ago." He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the counter, his gaze intense. "Speaking of impressions, how am I doing so far? Am I creating a... lasting mark? Or are you still thinking about those 'flashes' from your past, comparing my endurance to some Italian rogue?" His voice was light, but the underlying possessiveness was palpable, a subtle clenching of his jaw, a slight darkening of his eyes. He picked up a berry from his plate, slowly tracing the rim of his coffee mug with it, his eyes fixed on mine.

"My, my, Lan," I drawled, taking another bite, feigning nonchalance. "Still obsessed with the competition, even over breakfast? It's almost... endearing. Like a territorial puppy." I met his gaze, a challenge in my eyes. "And as for lasting marks, my dear, it's far too early to tell. One needs extensive data for such conclusions. Multiple trials. Varied conditions." I let the double meaning hang in the air, watching his pupils dilate. "Though I will concede, your initial performance was... highly promising. Certainly warrants further investigation."

He dropped the berry into his mug with a soft plink, his eyes sparkling with a mix of frustration and hunger. "Multiple trials, huh? Varied conditions?" he scoffed, a low, amused growl. "Eleonora, I am a man of science, and I assure you, I'm ready to conduct all the necessary research, day and night. And my 'prototypes' are built for consistent, unparalleled results. No 'flashes' or 'sprints' required when you have the superior engineering for an endurance run." His voice was low, laced with a promise that made my stomach flutter. He reached across the counter, his fingers brushing against mine, a lingering, casual touch that sent a jolt through me.

"Careful, Norris," I warned, my voice still light, but a definite hum now vibrating through me. "Too much overconfidence can lead to... unexpected malfunctions. Even in the most finely tuned machines." I pulled my hand back, reaching for the syrup, not because I needed more, but to break the escalating intensity.

"Malfunctions?" he challenged, his eyebrow quirked, a disarming grin spreading across his face. "Never. My systems are robust, Kimbel. Designed for optimal performance under pressure. And I thrive under... demanding conditions." His gaze was locked onto mine, a silent, heated battle of wits and wills. The air was thick with unspoken possibilities, the kitchen a silent witness to our private, electric dance.

Just as I was about to deliver a particularly snarky retort about his 'systems' being perhaps too robust for casual Sunday mornings, a sharp, authoritative rap echoed through the penthouse. It wasn't the usual gentle knock of a house cleaner, but a firm, decisive series of knocks on the living room door.

My head snapped up, the easy banter instantly evaporating. Lando's casual posture stiffened, his eyes losing their playful glint, replaced by an alert, almost guarded expression. We both knew that knock.

"Miss Kimbel? Mr. Norris? Are you decent?" John's voice, usually so calm and almost understated, cut through the quiet kitchen, carrying a distinct note of urgency.

"Just a moment, John!" I called out, my voice a little breathless, trying to compose myself. My cheeks felt warm, and I knew my lips were swollen from Lando's kisses. I quickly grabbed my coffee mug again, taking a large swallow, trying to project an air of normalcy. Lando, meanwhile, had already slid off his stool, running a hand through his damp hair in a futile attempt to smooth it, a faint scowl on his face at the interruption.

The sleek, minimalist front door slid silently open, revealing John. He stood there, impeccably dressed as always, a tablet clutched in one hand, his expression serious. His gaze swept over the kitchen, taking in the waffles, our slightly disheveled appearances, and the lingering tension in the air. A flicker of something unreadable crossed his features – perhaps a hint of knowing amusement, quickly overshadowed by intense seriousness. His eyes lingered for a fraction of a second on my black dress, noting its subtle cling and the way it hinted at the morning's activities, before his professional mask settled firmly back into place.

"Apologies for the intrusion, Miss Kimbel, Mr. Norris," John said, his voice calm, but resonating with an undeniable gravity. He stepped further into the kitchen, his presence immediately shifting the atmosphere. The scent of fresh air and something metallic, almost like gun oil, seemed to cling to him, a stark contrast to the warm, domestic smells of breakfast. "But I've just gotten off a rather lengthy call with the Singapore Grand Prix security team. Given recent events, they're taking the threat of Fewtrell very seriously."

He paused, his gaze sweeping between Lando and me, his expression grim. "Effective immediately, there will be mandatory, stringent security checks for everyone entering the paddock. And I mean everyone. Drivers, team personnel, media, even VIPs. No exceptions. They're implementing full body scans, extensive bag searches, and enhanced credential verification at every single entry point. Every single day. They are not taking any chances. Not with Fewtrell on the loose, and certainly not after what happened." John's voice was firm, resolute, leaving no room for argument. The casual banter, the flirty teasing, evaporated into the sudden, heavy silence. The world outside, with its threats and its demands, had just crashed back in, cold and inescapable. My stomach clenched, and the delicious taste of waffles turned to ash in my mouth.

Lando, who had been listening intently, finally broke the silence, a low sigh escaping him. "Right. More security. Just what I needed, John, another layer of bureaucracy before I can even get to my car." His tone was laced with his usual dry sarcasm, but there was an underlying tension in his voice, a recognition of the severity of the situation. He ran a hand through his hair again, a gesture of mild frustration.

John's expression remained unyielding. "Necessary precautions, Mr. Norris. Your team's security detail will be significantly bolstered. They will accompany you on your flight to Singapore, ensuring your safety from the moment you leave Monaco until you're safely within the highly secured paddock perimeter. And during the week, they will be with you at all times, for every media appearance, every team meeting, every step outside your hotel room. Your apartment here in Monaco will also remain under constant surveillance, just as a precaution. We're not taking any chances with your personal space, even when you're not in it."

Lando nodded slowly, his gaze moving to me, a flicker of concern in his eyes. He knew this wasn't just about his safety; it was about the ripple effect of Fewtrell's obsession. "Understood," he said, the sarcasm replaced by a grudging acceptance. "And Eleonora?" His voice was softer now, laced with a possessiveness that was both comforting and, in this context, a little terrifying.

John turned his gaze to me, his expression softening imperceptibly, but the gravity in his eyes remained. "As for Miss Kimbel," he began, his voice firm and reassuring, "when she needs to be present for her work with Max, she will also have high security flying with her. And yes," he added, meeting my gaze directly, a subtle, almost imperceptible nod, "that includes me. I will be on her flight, and I will be with her at all times within Singapore. Her estate here in Monaco, and her residence in London, will continue to be under constant surveillance, both physical and electronic. We have increased patrols and monitoring systems at both locations. Every angle is covered, Miss Kimbel. We are not taking any chances."

The words were meant to reassure, and a part of me felt a flicker of relief. John was, as always, meticulously thorough. But another part of me felt a chilling sense of confinement, a stark reminder that my life, Lando's life, had been irrevocably altered. The thought of being constantly watched, constantly protected, was a heavy cloak, smothering the last embers of the playful morning. The intimacy we'd just shared, the raw vulnerability I'd exposed, now felt fragile, exposed to the harsh light of a world that was suddenly far more dangerous than I had allowed myself to believe. The waffles on the counter, once a symbol of comfort and indulgence, now seemed like a forgotten relic of a simpler time.

September 11^th, 2023

The pre-dawn light was a muted grey against the panoramic windows, painting the vast living room in soft, indistinct shadows. The city below was still largely asleep, a quiet hum replacing the usual vibrant buzz. The air in the penthouse felt heavy, thick with unspoken goodbyes and the chill of impending separation. I stood by the kitchen island, a half-empty mug of coffee cooling in my hands, its warmth doing little to thaw the knot of dread in my stomach.

Lando moved through the space with a quiet efficiency, his duffel bag already packed and waiting by the door. He was dressed in comfortable travel clothes – a soft hoodie and dark jeans – but even in casual wear, his presence filled the room, a stark contrast to the emptiness that would soon follow his departure. His team's security detail would be arriving any moment to escort him to the helipad.

He walked over to me, his steps soft on the marble floor, and gently took the mug from my hands, placing it on the counter. His blue eyes, usually so bright and full of life, held a subdued, almost melancholic glint, mirroring the ache in my own chest. The playful banter of yesterday, the raw confessions, the intense intimacy – it all felt like a fragile dream now, poised to dissipate with the morning light.

"It's time, El," he murmured, his voice low, a gentle caress that still managed to send a shiver through me. He reached out, his hands cupping my face, his thumbs stroking my cheekbones, a tender farewell. His gaze searched mine, a silent question passing between us: Are you okay? Can you handle this?

I leaned into his touch, closing my eyes for a brief moment, trying to memorize the feel of his skin, the warmth of his hands. "I know," I whispered, my voice barely audible, a raw ache in my throat. The words felt like sandpaper, scraping against the lump that had formed there. "Just... be careful, Lan. Please. Fewtrell..." The unspoken fears hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. The thought of him being out there, vulnerable, without me to protect him, was a cold, sharp knife twisting in my gut.

He nodded slowly, his thumbs gently wiping away the single tear that escaped and traced a path down my cheek. His eyes hardened slightly, a fierce protectiveness entering their depths. "I will, El. I promise. I'll be careful. John's already got everything locked down in Singapore. No one's getting near me, or Max, or anyone in the paddock, without going through a gauntlet. And I'll have my team with me, every step of the way." He paused, his gaze softening as he saw the lingering anxiety in my eyes. "And don't worry about the car, love. I won't be in it until Friday for practice. These next few days are just travel and prep. No immediate danger there." His voice was firm, reassuring, a desperate attempt to quell my anxieties, specifically addressing my deepest fears.

He pulled me closer, his arms wrapping around my waist, pulling me flush against him. I buried my face in his chest, inhaling his scent – a clean, masculine mix of his shower gel and his own unique musk. His arms tightened around me, holding me as if he never wanted to let go, his chin resting on the top of my head. I could feel the steady beat of his heart, a comforting rhythm against my ear.

"I hate this part," he mumbled into my hair, his voice muffled, a rare admission of vulnerability from him. "Leaving you. Especially now." His grip tightened further, a silent plea for me to stay in his arms, to somehow stop time.

"Me too," I whispered back, my voice thick with unshed tears. My arms wrapped around his neck, my fingers digging into the soft fabric of his hoodie, clinging to him as if he were my last anchor. The thought of the three days apart, of the vast distance and the looming threat of Fewtrell, was unbearable.

He pulled back, just enough to look into my eyes, his own filled with a profound sadness, a longing that mirrored my own. He reached up, his hand cupping my jaw, his thumb tracing the curve of my bottom lip. His gaze dropped to my mouth, then back to my eyes, a silent question, a desperate plea for one last taste.

"One more," he murmured, his voice husky, almost a groan.

I didn't hesitate. I leaned in, meeting him halfway, my lips finding his. The kiss was slow, deep, and utterly heartbreaking. It was a kiss of longing, of promises whispered without words, of a future we both desperately hoped for. His tongue swept into my mouth, a tender exploration, a desperate attempt to commit every sensation to memory. I responded with equal fervor, pouring all my fear, all my love, all my desperate hope into the embrace. His hand slid from my jaw to the nape of my neck, holding me firm, pulling me closer until there was no space left between us. The taste of him, of coffee and a lingering sweetness, filled my senses.

When he finally broke the kiss, it was with a soft, reluctant sigh, his lips lingering against mine for a long moment before pulling away. His eyes were dark, still hazy with emotion, but a flicker of determination returned. He pressed a quick, firm kiss to my forehead, then to each eyelid, as if trying to seal me safe in his memory.

"I'll call you as soon as I land," he promised, his voice low and earnest, his gaze unwavering. He squeezed my shoulders, a final, reassuring touch. "Stay safe, El. And don't you dare forget about me while I'm gone. Or those 'lessons' we were discussing." A faint, teasing smirk touched his lips, a last attempt to lighten the mood, but his eyes remained serious, full of a fierce possessiveness.

I managed a watery smile. "As if I could, Norris. You're far too... memorable." My voice cracked on the last word.

He gave me one last, lingering look, a silent promise in his eyes. Then, with a deep breath, he turned, grabbed his duffel bag, and walked towards the living room door. I watched him, my heart clenching with every step. The door slid open, revealing the faint outline of John and another security guard waiting outside. Lando paused, glancing back at me over his shoulder, his eyes holding mine for a final, poignant second. A small, almost imperceptible nod.

And then, he was gone. The door slid shut with a soft, almost imperceptible hiss, leaving me standing alone in the quiet, suddenly vast kitchen, the scent of his perfume still lingering in the air, a ghost of his presence. The silence that followed was no longer comforting; it was heavy, cold, and utterly empty. The three days stretched before me, an eternity of waiting and worrying, with Fewtrell's shadow looming over every hour.