dendon

The girl blinked. “Huh?”

You smiled at her, small, real, tired. “You’re right.”

She grinned, satisfied, and hopped off the swing. “Okay! Bye!”

She ran back toward the noise and laughter, disappearing into the crowd.

You sat there for another moment then you stood.

You walked home alone, unaware of the figures that kept their distance, shadows that moved when you moved, stopped when you stopped.

By the time you reached the door, the sun was lower.

The door closed quietly behind you.

Not slammed, not rushed. Sebastian and Lewis stood where you’d left them, like they hadn’t moved at all. Like the house had been holding its breath the entire time you were gone.

No one spoke.

Your hands shaking slightly, heart still thudding from everything you’d felt outside. The silence pressed in, thick and waiting.

Lewis was about to open his mouth but you talked first “I’m sorry.”

Both of them stiffened.

“I...” Your voice cracked immediately, and you hated that it did. You swallowed hard. “I shouldn’t have run, I shouldn’t have yelled, I didn’t even tell you why I was upset, I just...” You rubbed your arms, hugging yourself. “I acted really bad.”

Lewis took a step toward you, Sebastian mirrored him, slower, cautious, like he was afraid you’d bolt again.

“You don’t need to apologize for being scared” Lewis said quietly.

“I wasn’t scared” you said quickly. “I was mad.” You looked up at them, eyes bright with unshed tears. “Because you didn’t tell me. And I hate that I didn’t say that. I just… exploded.”

Sebastian’s jaw tightened. “You had every right to be angry.”

“No.” you shook your head. “I had the right to ask and I didn’t do that. I just shut down and ran.”

Lewis exhaled slowly. “You were given something you were never prepared for. That’s on us.”

The words hung there. You nodded, taking a breath. “I just needed…to know that you see me as someone who deserves the truth. Not something you protect by lying.”

Sebastian closed the distance then, stopping just in front of you. “We never lied to you.”

“You didn’t tell me” you whispered.

His shoulders slumped, the smallest movement, but devastating on him. “Because once you know, you can’t unknow.”

Lewis spoke next, voice low, steady. “And the moment you know, you become leverage.”

You flinched. “I don’t want to be leverage” you said softly. “I want to be…Included. Even if it’s ugly.”

Silence again then Lewis nodded once. “Okay.”

Sebastian looked at him sharply.

Lewis didn’t look away. “She deserves it.”

Sebastian turned back to you. “We were wrong” he said quietly. “Not for what we did. But for deciding alone what you could handle.”

Your chest loosened a little at that.

“We thought..” Sebastian continued, “that if we kept your world soft enough, clean enough, you’d never have to touch the parts of us that are…unforgivable.”

Lewis added, “But love doesn’t work like that.”

You let out a shaky breath. “I don’t need you to be perfect.”

Sebastian smiled faintly. “We know.”

“I just need you to trust me” you said. “Even when I’m mad, even when I don’t react well.”

Lewis stepped closer, lifting your chin gently. “You running today?” His voice was calm, but his eyes searched your face. “That scared us.”

“I know,” you whispered. “I won’t do that again without telling you why.”

Sebastian nodded. “And we won’t keep things from you that directly touch you.”

You blinked. “Really?”

“Yes” Lewis said firmly. “That’s the line.”

You stood there for a moment longer, then your shoulders finally dropped.

“I’m tired” you admitted.

Sebastian’s expression softened completely. “Come sit.”

They guided you to the couch, gentle hands, familiar warmth, you curled into the space between them without thinking, knees tucked up, head resting against Lewis’s chest while Sebastian draped an arm around you.

For the first time in days, you felt…held honestly...without secrets.

Lewis pressed his chin lightly to the top of your head. “You still mad?”

You considered it. “A little.”

Sebastian huffed softly. “Fair.”

You shifted, getting more comfortable, fingers absentmindedly tracing the seam of Lewis’s shirt.

“…Do I get to rant...” you asked innocently, “without you killing them?”

Lewis laughed, like actually laughed, the sound surprising all three of you.

Sebastian raised a brow. “That depends.”

You tilted your head up. “On what?”

“On how angry you get” Lewis said, amusement dancing in his voice.

You smiled for the first time that day. “I’ll try to keep it reasonable.”

Sebastian pressed a kiss to your hair. “We’ll try not to be mad.”

You snorted. “Good luck with that.”

The house felt warmer after that.

Not because everything was fixed, but because, finally, the truth had somewhere to sit. And this time, it wasn’t alone.

You stayed curled between them on the couch, listening more than speaking at first. The city outside hummed faintly, distant and irrelevant, while Sebastian and Lewis explained the world they lived in, the rules they survived by.

Lewis spoke carefully. “There are lines you don’t cross.”

Sebastian added, “And consequences when you do.”

You nodded, fingers idly tracing patterns into the fabric of the couch. “So it’s not chaos,” you said softly. “It’s…structure.”

Lewis glanced at you. “Very controlled structure.”

“And loyalty” Sebastian said. “That’s everything.”

You looked up at him. “Even when it’s wrong?”

He didn’t answer immediately.

Lewis did. “Especially then.”

That sat with you. You were quiet for a moment, then asked casually, like it didn’t matter much, “What’s the organization called?”

Both of them froze not in fear, but in surprise.

Sebastian frowned faintly. “Why?”

You shrugged lightly. “Curiosity. If I’m learning the rules, I might as well know the name?.”

Lewis studied you, then sighed. “It doesn’t usually matter to outsiders.”

“I’m not an outsider” you said simply, poutinh

Sebastian held your gaze for a long second then nodded.

“Regnum” It landed cleanly, sharp, familiar in a way you couldn’t explain.

You repeated it once under your breath, testing how it felt on your tongue. “Huh.”

Lewis tilted his head. “You’ve heard it before?”

You smiled, shaking your head. “Nooo, why would I?”

The conversation drifted after that was about logistics, boundaries, what they would and wouldn’t tell you yet. It was strangely domestic for something built on violence.

Eventually, you shifted, stretching slightly. “I’m going to the bathroom.”

Sebastian’s arm tightened around you for a brief second before he let go. “We’ll be here.”

You smiled. “I know.”

In the bathroom, you locked the door out of habit, then leaned against the counter, staring at your reflection. Your face looked the same, eyes clear and lips neutral.

Normal.

Your phone notifies, an unknown number.

You stared at it for a moment, then answered without hesitation.

“Yes?”

There was a pause on the other end just long enough to be deliberate.

“Boss...” a man said quietly.

You closed your eyes.

“Speak” you replied, voice steady, unremarkable like this was any other call.

“There’s unrest” he continued. “After what happened to the beach incident. Some people think...”

“They’re wrong” you interrupted calmly.

Silence, then “Orders?”

You looked at yourself again in the mirror. At the person Sebastian and Lewis thought they knew.

“Do not touch the Regnum” you said softly, precisely.

“Yes, boss.”

“And make sure” you added, almost gently, “Other organization hears exactly what I want them to hear.”

Another pause. Reverent this time. “As you wish.”

The call ended.

You slipped the phone into your pocket, washed your hands, and stared at the water running over your skin.

Your heartbeat was steady.

What unsettled you wasn’t what you’d just done. It was the timing.

You had spent so long loving men who ruled an empire you had already marked for collapse, patiently, quietly, from the inside out. You weren’t shocked because the world was darker than you thought. You were shocked because the organizations you wants to destroy is what your boyfriends run.

You turned off the light and unlocked the door.

In the living room, Sebastian and Lewis looked up at you at the same time.

You smiled.

There's no reason for them to know.

Fin.

Lewis watched you closely. “Why’s that?”

You padded toward the vanity, opening drawers with practiced ease. “Because my makeup’s running out.”

Sebastian’s gaze flicked to the counter.

The blue jars were lined up neatly. He knew exactly which ones were lighter than they should be.

Lewis leaned against the doorframe. “Which ones?”

You didn’t even look back. “The La Prairie cream mostly. And the foundation’s almost empty.” You shrugged lightly. “I think I have maybe a week left.”

A week, Lewis repeated internally.

Sebastian already had the date logged. “You like those?” Sebastian asked gently.

You nodded. “They’re nice. I don’t really know what’s good or bad though.” You smiled sheepishly. “I just use whatever you give me.”

“You never buy your own, don't you, love?” he asked.

You shook your head. “I wouldn’t know what to get. And you always replace them before I run out anyway.” you said, pouting

Sebastian stepped closer, brushing a thumb along your jaw. “We take care of you.”

You leaned into the touch instinctively. “I know.”

You didn’t even know how much it costs.

When you three arrived at the mall, it's empty

You blinked at the quiet. “Is it early?”

Lewis smiled. “Something like that.”

Sebastian placed a guiding hand at your back as you entered, subtle but constant. You drifted from store to store, touching fabrics, laughing softly when Lewis held something dramatic up against you.

“This is ridiculous” you giggled.

Lewis grinned. “You say that every time.”

“And every time?” Sebastian added, “you end up wearing it.”

You changed outfits without thinking, stepping out to show them, turning slowly when they asked.

“How about this?”

Lewis’s eyes darkened. “That stays.”

Sebastian nodded. “Get it.”

You blinked. “I didn’t even say I liked it.”

“You don’t have to” Sebastian replied calmly.

Shopping bags accumulated quietly.

You didn’t count them. Halfway through, Lewis said he had to call.

You were too busy admiring a sweater to care.

Lewis stepped away, voice dropping the moment he answered.

“She's trying out clothes but we'll go La Prairie next”

Another pause. “Remove the price tags.”

Sebastian glanced over once.

He hung up and returned to you like nothing had happened.

“What was that?” you asked lightly.

“Just logistics” Lewis said.

Sebastian added, “So you won’t feel rushed.”

You smiled. “That’s sweet.”

If you knew what it cost to make the world slow down like this, you might have stopped smiling.

The moment you stepped inside the La Prairie, the staff stood at attention, eyes respectful, careful not to look at you for too long.

You breathed. “It’s empty.”

Lewis squeezed your hand. “early”

You walked slowly along the shelves, fingertips brushing the familiar blue jars.

“This one’s my favorite” you said softly, lifting a cream. “I think I’m almost out.”

Sebastian nodded. “we know.”

You paused. “huh?”

Lewis smiled gently. “That's a good foundation for you?”

You laughed, forgetting what seb had said “yeah, this fits my face well”

You moved on, picking up another bottle. “I haven’t tried this one.”

“Then you will” Lewis said.

You hesitated. “Isn’t that too much?”

Sebastian crouched slightly so he was eye-level with you. “You never have to worry about that.”

The manager hovered nearby, nodding at every silent instruction Lewis gave with a glance.

Duplicates were added, then triples.

You frowned at the growing pile. “I’ll never finish all of this.”

Lewis leaned close, murmuring, “mhm”

At the counter, you reached for your bag then froze.

“I forgot my wallet.” you said softly.

Sebastian smiled faintly. “You never need it.”

Lewis pressed a kiss to your temple. “That’s not your concern, we said we'll take you to shopping don't we?”

You relaxed immediately. “Okay.”

And that more than anything was what unsettled them, how easily you trusted them.

On the drive home, you leaned back, content, shopping bags is what fills the car

“Thank you” you said quietly. “For today.”

Lewis glanced at you. “Anytime.”

Sebastian watched the road ahead. “You never have to ask”

You smiled, watching the city pass by, unaware of the quiet finality in his voice.

Because the beach had been a lesson and this was their correction.

You would be indulged, protected and you would be watched over so closely that nothing would ever reach you again and you would never, ever need to know what it cost to keep your world this soft.

—

Another morning came quietly.

You barely registered Sebastian brushing a kiss to your temple, or Lewis murmuring something soft as he adjusted the sheets around you. You were still half-asleep, tangled in warmth, drifting somewhere pleasant and vague.

“We’ll be back later” Lewis whispered.

“Mhm” you murmured, eyes still closed. “Be careful.”

Sebastian smiled faintly at that. “Always.”

The door closed without a sound and you slept on.

The afternoon light was different when you woke, heavier, slanting across the room like it had been waiting. You blinked slowly, stretching, disoriented by how empty the penthouse felt.

“They must be busy” you mumbled to yourself.

You padded through your routine lazily. Shower, skincare, one of the La Prairie creams, the one in the blue jar, smoothed over your skin without a second thought. Coffee brewed, music low.

The doorbell rang.

“They’re back.” you said aloud, smiling.

You didn’t even check the camera, you simply opened the door.

No one stood there.

The hallway was empty and silent. You frowned slightly, stepping forward and then you saw it.

An envelope.

Plain, white, resting neatly on the floor just past the threshold.

“That’s odd” you murmured, bending to pick it up.

There was no return address. No handwriting you recognized.

You shrugged lightly. “Probably for them.”

You closed the door, set the envelope on the coffee table, and returned to your mug. Steam curled upward as you took a sip, settling into the couch, legs tucked beneath you.

Then you noticed it, your name.

Printed cleanly on the front of the envelope.

Not Sebastian’s, not Lewis but yours

Your stomach tightened, not fear yet, just confusion.

“…Why would someone...?”

You reached for it, the paper slid open easily.

Inside were photographs.

You frowned, pulling one out.

It was you.

From behind, walking then another you laughing, head tilted, sunlight on your face.

Another, sitting at a café.

Different days, different clothes, on different angles.

Your breath caught, your fingers trembled as you flipped through them faster now.

“what…?”

There was a note tucked beneath the stack.

You unfolded it slowly.

________

Your boyfriends messed up one of my men. So I’ll take revenge on you, I'm warning you, so kind of me right? Do you even know what they even do?

________

Your vision blurred.

“No...” you whispered. “No, this isn’t...”

Another photo slipped free as your hands shook, this one was different, aman.

On the floor.

Blood staining the concrete beneath him, dark, unmistakable.

You stared at it, detached, your mind refusing to catch up.

“I’ve seen him” you murmured faintly.

Your heart began to race. You leaned closer, studying the face, the jaw, the hairline, the expression frozen in something ugly and final.

And then it clicked.

The beach, the voice.

The way your stomach had turned, your breath broke sharply in your chest.

“That’s...” Your hand flew to your mouth. “It's him.”

You dropped the photos like they burned.

They scattered across the table and floor.

“No” you whispered again, backing away. “No, no, no...”

Your coffee tipped, spilling across the table unnoticed.

Your ears rang, you felt cold all at once.

The lock clicked, you didn’t hear the door open.

You only felt the presence, heavy, immediate.

“Hey” Lewis said gently. “We’re back.”

You turned slowly.

They stopped the moment they saw your face.

Your colorless skin, your shaking hands and the photographs on the floor.

Sebastian’s eyes dropped, everything in him went still.

Lewis followed his gaze, the air changed.

“What is that?” Lewis asked quietly.

You stared at them like they were strangers.

“You left” you said, voice trembling. “And someone....someone left this at the front door”

Sebastian stepped forward, then froze when he saw the image of the man on the floor.

Lewis’s jaw clenched.

“You weren’t supposed to see this” Sebastian said softly, not angry but horrified...?

Your voice broke. “That man…from the beach…”

The silence is thick and suffocating.

Lewis closed the door slowly behind him.

Sebastian swallowed. “You should sit down” Lewis said carefully.

“No” you whispered. “No, you don’t get to...” Your breath hitched. “You did this behind my back”

You laughed weakly, hysterical. “That’s him. That’s his face.”

Lewis looked at Sebastian, a single glance that said we failed.

“You weren’t meant to be dragged into this,” Lewis said.

Your eyes filled with tears. “Dragged into what?”

Sebastian stepped closer, hands open, gentle. “Listen to me.”

“Do I even know you?” you whispered.

That hurt more than anything else ever could. Lewis inhaled sharply and Sebastian closed his eyes.

The world you lived in had just cracked open. And this time, they couldn’t close it fast enough.

Next Part (Last Part) >

Sebastian ruled with precision, calm, lethal, eyes always calculating three steps ahead while Lewis ruled with presence, the commanding, unreadable, a smile that never reached his eyes unless he wanted it to. Together, they're unstoppable.

Mid-meeting, a man across the table was explaining himself badly. Sweat clung to his temple, his voice trembling as he listed excuses. Sebastian listened without interrupting, fingers steepled beneath his chin, expression empty.

“...and I swear, the shipment delay wasn’t intentional” the man finished, breath hitching.

Sebastian’s gaze was sharp enough to flay skin. “You expect me to believe...” he said calmly, “that three separate mistakes occurred without incompetence or betrayal?”

The man was about to be defensive but it all stopped.

“Seb?” your voice drifted outside the doorway, light and unguarded. “I think I took the wrong elevator again.” you say to yourself.

The room changed instantly, the door opened and there was you looking at surroundings inside the room

“Oh...hello there lady”

The man watched, stunned, as Sebastian’s shoulders relaxed and his voice gentled like you’d flipped a switch.

You stepped inside, smiling at everyone like this wasn’t a room full of men who’d ordered violence before breakfast. “Sorry” you added, almost shy. “Lewis said he’d be up here.”

Lewis, who had been leaning against the far wall with his arms crossed, straightened immediately. “I’m right here” he said, already moving toward you. “You okay?”

You nodded quickly. “Yeah! I just got lost. This building is huge.” You laughed quietly, like it amused you more than anything else.

Sebastian walked around the desk, stopping in front of you. “You shouldn’t wander alone.”

“I wasn’t wandering” you protested gently. “I was just exploring.”

Lewis snorted. “That’s wandering.”

You smiled at him, completely unbothered. “Well, nothing happened, see?”

Sebastian sighed and brushed a thumb over your wrist like he needed to reassure himself you were real.

Behind, the man cleared his throat.

Sebastian didn’t even look back. “You can go.”

The man hesitated. “but...sir, about the-”

“Go” Lewis said calmly.

The door shut fast as the man went out so fast it made you blinked. “Was he in trouble?”

Sebastian hesitated. “He won’t be.”

You accepted that answer immediately, nodding like that was explanation enough. “Okay.”

Lewis shook his head with a fond exhale. “You hungry?”

“A little” you said brightly. “I saw a pastry cart downstairs. It smelled really good.”

Lewis smiled despite himself. “We’ll get you something better.”

Later, in the elevator, you stood between them, hands clasped behind your back, humming quietly to yourself as the city descended beneath your feet.

“You’re smiling” Lewis observed.

“I am?” You tilted your head. “I guess I’m just in a good mood.”

Sebastian watched you carefully. “Why?”

You shrugged. “The sun’s out.”

Lewis exchanged a look with Sebastian, that look, the one filled with disbelief that someone like you existed in their world.

Back at your room, you wandered barefoot across the marble floors, pausing at the balcony doors.

“Oh!” you said suddenly. “That reminds me.”

Sebastian looked up from his phone. “What does?”

You turned, hands clasped in front of you, expression hopeful. “Can we go to the beach tomorrow?”

Lewis froze. “The beach.”

“Mhm” you nodded eagerly. “Like a real one.”

Sebastian frowned faintly. “We have a private coastline, love”

You waved a hand dismissively. “That’s such a hassleeee, booking it, clearing it, guards everywhere…” You scrunched your nose. “It makes it feel like work.”

Lewis stared at you. “You want a public beach?”

“Yessss” you said simply. “With peopleee, ice cream stands towels everywhere, kids yelling. It sounds nice.”

Sebastian’s jaw tightened. “People stare.”

You blinked. “At what?”

Lewis laughed under his breath. “At you.”

You looked genuinely confused. “Why would they?”

Sebastian opened his mouth then closed it again.

“You don’t notice” he said slowly.

“Notice what?”

Lewis stepped closer, tilting your chin up gently so you’d look at him. “The way people look at you.”

You flushed faintly. “They’re just…looking.”

Sebastian rubbed his temples. “That’s the problem.”

You reached out and took his hand, smiling softly. “Please? Just once, no planning. No shutting things down. Just…us...?”

Lewis searched your face for something, calculation, manipulation, awareness.

There was none, it's nust warmth, trust, that same open smile.

Sebastian exhaled, defeated. “We won’t be able to relax.”

You squeezed his hand. “You can relax with me.”

Then Lewis sighed. “Public beach” he said carefully. “But we stay close.”

You beamed. “Deal.”

Sebastian muttered, “This is a terrible idea.”

You laughed, leaning up to kiss his cheek. “You say that about everything.”

Lewis watched the interaction, heart tight, instincts screaming because the world didn’t deserve to see you like this.

—

The beach was louder than you expected.

Waves crashed in steady rhythm, children laughed somewhere down the shore, music crackled from a nearby speaker, imperfect, messy, alive. You loved it immediately.

“Oh, this is nice” you said, smiling as you slipped off your sandals and let your toes sink into the warm sand. “See? Way better than a private one.”

Sebastian didn’t answer right away.

He stood just behind you, sunglasses on, body angled slightly toward the crowd not the water. Lewis was to your other side, arms crossed, scanning without looking like he was scanning.

You didn’t notice, you were too busy looking at the ocean.

“I’m going in” you announced cheerfully, already tugging your cover-up over your head.

Lewis’s jaw tightened while sebastian’s hand shot out on instinct, fingers curling briefly around your wrist before he stopped himself.

“Stay where we can see you” Sebastian said evenly.

You laughed. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You weren’t lying, you waded into the water, gasping softly at the cool temperature before laughing again, splashing a little like this was the most ordinary thing in the world.

From the shore, Lewis exhaled through his nose. “This was a mistake.”

Sebastian didn’t look at him. “She’s happy.”

“That’s the problem.”

Eyes followed you, too many.

A group of men further down the beach, someone pretending to adjust a towel but not looking at the sand, apair of sunglasses that didn’t turn away fast enough.

Sebastian’s jaw clenched and Lewis’s posture changed, subtle, but lethal. Like a predator pretending to be at rest.

You came back after a while, cheeks warm, eyes bright. “The water’s perfect! You should come.”

Lewis smiled, controlled, careful. “In a minute.”

Sebastian handed you a towel, draping it around your shoulders himself. His touch lingered a fraction longer than necessary.

You didn’t question it, you laid back on your towel, basking in the sun, eyes closed, completely unaware of the silent war being fought ten meters behind you.

Lewis leaned closer to Sebastian, voice low. “He’s been staring for five minutes.”

Sebastian’s gaze was locked on a man standing near the drink stand. “I know.”

“You want me to...”

“No” Sebastian said calmly. “Not unless she notices.”

Because the worst thing would be ruining your smile.

You sat up suddenly. “I’m going to get a drink.”

Lewis straightened immediately. “I’ll go get it”

“Noo, I can do it” you said quickly, already standing. “It’s right there.”

Sebastian hesitated but then nodded. “We’ll be right here.”

You walked toward the stand, still smiling at nothing in particular.

You didn’t notice the way a man detached himself from the crowd.

“Hey” a voice said behind you.

You turned, polite as always. “...hi?”

He was too close. Lewis noticed instantly. Sebastian’s fingers curled at his sides.

“I’ve been watching you” the man said, grin lazy, eyes wrong. “You here alone? May I have your number?”

Your smile faltered, just a little. “No.”

“Bodyguards?” he asked, glancing past you dismissively.

“They're my boyfriends” you said softly, firmly. “So…no.”

You turned back, he stepped closer.

“Come on” he said, voice lowering, thick with something that made your stomach turn. “Just your number, I won’t bite.”

You took a step back, shaking your head. “I said no.”

That was when Lewis moved, not fast, not loud, just suddenly there.

His presence cut between you and the man like a wall.

“Is there a problem?” Lewis asked calmly.

Sebastian joined them a heartbeat later, hand resting lightly at the small of your back, grounding, protective.

The man scoffed. “Didn’t realize she needed bodyguards to be honest”

“I think she'll be needing some knowing there's man like you” Sebastian said coolly. “She said no.”

Lewis smiled, the kind that never reached his eyes. “You should listen.”

The man hesitated, like something in their voices finally registered. “I was just talking.”

Sebastian leaned in slightly. “You were insisting.”

Silence stretched, people nearby shifted uncomfortably and the man’s bravado faltered.

“I didn’t mean anything,” he muttered, backing away. “Forget it.”

Lewis held his gaze. “We will.”

The man left quickly, you blinked, looking between them. “That was weird.”

Lewis turned to you instantly, expression softening like a switch had been flipped. “Are you okay?”

You nodded. “Yeah. He was just...”

Sebastian brushed sand from your shoulder. “You did nothing wrong.”

“Oh” you smiled again, relieved. “Good.”

You went back to your towel like nothing had happened.

Like the world hadn’t just tried to take something it wasn’t allowed to want, the sun dipped lower, laughter continued.

And somewhere beyond the edge of the beach far from you, far from innocent eyes, the man learned exactly what happened when you were touched by the wrong kind of attention.

Sebastian adjusted his watch and Lewis checked his phone once.

Because the moment the three of you came home, the moment you fell asleep, the two of them went out and both returned with the blood of another on their hands.

Next Part >

The noise, the radios around you fades in and out, replaced by the echo of something much quieter, something from earlier in the day that slips into your thoughts without warning.

You stared at the screen for a long moment, heart aching at the way he’d already prepared himself for this possibility, even while the world expected him to fight it to the very end. You hadn’t known what to reply then, either.

The memory shifts, overlapping with another.

Lando, earlier that same day, voice low and earnest as he’d leaned his forehead against yours, hands warm where they rested on your waist. “I’ve wanted this for so long, he’d said quietly, like admitting it out loud might somehow make it more fragile. If it happens…I just hope you know what it means to me”

Now, with Charles hovering stubbornly in P4 and the gap refusing to close, those words sit heavy in your chest.

“Charles isn’t closing” someone says behind you, not unkindly, but with a finality that makes your stomach drop.

You nod without turning around, afraid that if you do, the mask you’ve been holding in place will crack. The final lap approaches in a blur of noise and colour, the crowd on their feet, the atmosphere tipping from tense to explosive. Max takes the last corners with surgical precision, the kind of driving that would usually guarantee more than just a race win, and when he crosses the line first, the Red Bull garage erupts in celebration that feels strangely muted, like everyone understands the cost of this victory even as they cheer.

Then Lando crosses the line.

Third.

The McLaren pit wall explodes in a way that makes your ears ring, years of waiting and frustration breaking free all at once. Lando’s voice comes through the radio, cracked and breathless, and the words from Zak, from the garage echoes.

Your husband has just achieved the dream of his life and your brother has just lost his chance to get his fifth title without doing anything wrong.

The broadcast camera finds you almost immediately, as it always does when the story demands it. You feel its presence like a physical weight, capturing the way your hands tremble where they’re clasped together, the way your smile doesn’t quite reach your eyes. You clap when everyone else does, but it feels mechanical, hollow, like you’re playing a role you don’t fully understand how to inhabit.

It's is chaos, champagne spraying into the air in glittering arcs, laughter and shouting blending together into a single, overwhelming roar. Lando pulls you into a hug, strong and warm and shaking with adrenaline, and you return it because you love him, because you are proud of him, because this moment deserves joy.

You smile but it isn’t the kind of smile that reaches your eyes.

It doesn’t erase the image of Max sitting alone in his car on the cool-down lap, or the quiet resolve in his message from that morning. It doesn’t untangle the knot of guilt in your chest, or make the celebration feel simple.

When the immediate frenzy begins to fade, you lean in close to Lando, your voice low so only he can hear you.

“Go celebrate with your team, baby” you tell him gently. “You’ve earned that. I’ll see you later.”

He hesitates, concern flickering across his face, but you squeeze his hand, reassuring him even as you feel anything but steady.

You do the same with Max later, finding him briefly amid the noise and the cameras, offering a quiet embrace and the same soft words. “Celebrate the win. I gotta go first”

You leave the track before the night fully settles in, before the champagne dries on the asphalt and the world decides what this story is supposed to mean. The drive home is quiet, the city lights blurring past as the weight of the day finally sinks in, and for the first time since the checkered flag fell, you allow yourself to sit with the truth of it.

Max won the race and Lando won his first world championship title, and you loved them both enough to walk away before either of their moments could be overshadowed by the war happening silently inside your chest.

The moment you arrived at the house, you watch it all from your phone, sitting in the dark of your living room with your heels kicked off by the door and the noise of the world muted to a low hum. The house feels too big without him, too quiet for a night that’s supposed to be historic, and every new notification makes your chest tighten just a little more.

The trophy looks heavy in Lando’s hands. Not in a bad way, just real and earned.

You set the phone down, face-up on the coffee table like it might accuse you if you turn it over, and let your head fall back against the couch. You tell yourself you did the right thing by leaving, by not letting your conflict bleed into their moments, but the doubt creeps in anyway, insistent and exhausting.

You wonder if they had noticed yet.

redbullofficial

liked by zendaya, spiderman, ironman and others

redbullofficial P1, Great team, good team, failed to get his fifth title but we're gonna get there🔥

user: AHHHHHH😭😭

user: tHat FUCKING SF-25 COULDN'T CATCH MCLAREN😭

user: it's okay maxieee, we can bounce back next season!!!

user: A win is a win❤‍🩹

The silence feels safer than the explanations everyone thinks they’re owed. You take a shower you barely remember, change into clothes that don’t feel like celebration, and sit by the window watching the city glow with reflected victory. Somewhere out there, Lando is laughing, being lifted onto shoulders, living inside the moment he’s chased his entire life.

You want that for him, you really do. And that’s what makes this ache so sharp.

Your phone lights up again.

This time, it’s Lando. You hesitate before answering, already knowing he’ll hear everything you’re trying not to say in your voice.

“Hey” he says softly. The noise in the background is gone now, no cheering, no music, just him.

“Hey.”

A pause stretches between you, heavy but familiar. “I didn’t want to pressure you” he finally says. “I know today was…complicated.”

You close your eyes, fingers curling into the couch cushion.

“I’m proud of you” you tell him, and you mean it so much it almost hurts. “I just didn’t trust myself not to cry for the wrong reasons.”

He exhales slowly on the other end. “There are no wrong reasons” he says. “But okay. We’ll talk when I’m home, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You see the post minutes after it goes up, and something about how empty the photo feels makes your throat tighten. You imagine him alone in a hotel room later, adrenaline finally fading, the weight of everything settling in just like it has for you.

The world got its champion.

But tonight, the people behind the story are all sitting alone with their thoughts.

You don’t know yet that this silence won’t last, that the boys will show up, that comfort is already on its way whether you’re ready or not. All you know is that loving two people who just ended the same day on opposite sides of history feels lonelier than you ever expected.

And as you finally set your phone to silent and let the night close in around you, the question you’ve been avoiding presses in at last:

How do you celebrate a win that cost someone else everything?

Someone knocked. You don’t hear the knock at first.

It takes a second, maybe two before it registers as something real and not just the echo of everything pounding inside your head. You’re curled up on the couch, knees pulled to your chest, phone face-down beside you like it might burn if you look at it too long.

The knock comes again. Softer this time, uou know who it is before you open the door.

Charles stands there first, helmet hair still damp, eyes tired in the way only this sport seems capable of doing to people. Oscar is beside him, hands shoved into his hoodie sleeves, expression gentle and unsure. Carlos lingers just behind them, familiar and grounding, and Lewis, steady, calm waits like he knew you’d need a second before letting anyone see you like this.

You don’t say anything, you just step back and let them in.

The house fills with quiet bodies and unspoken understanding. No one mentions the race. No one says congratulations or I’m sorry. Lewis hands you a glass of water like it’s the most important thing in the world, and when your fingers shake around it, no one comments.

“I didn’t know where else to be” you finally admit, voice small in the space between you. “I didn’t feel like I belonged anywhere tonight.”

Oscar looks at you, brows knitting together. “That doesn’t mean you didn’t.”

The words hit harder than you expect.

Your phonr once again lits up, it's your brother.

You step into the kitchen to answer it, pressing the phone to your ear like it might ground you.

“I heard they’re with you” he says quietly. No accusation.

“Yeah.” A pause stretches between you, familiar and heavy.

“You don’t have to be sad for me” Max adds. “I can handle losing. I just don’t want you thinking you have to disappear to make it easier.”

Your throat tightens.

“I didn’t know how to stand there and be happy” you whisper. “Not when I could see it on your face.”

Another pause, longer.

“I didn’t want you to look at me” he admits. “Because I knew you’d see it. And I didn’t want that to be your problem.”

You close your eyes.

“I love you, brother” you tell him, the words raw and instinctive.

“I know” he says. “That’s the problem.”

Lando arrives later.

You hear him before you see him, the soft click of the door, the familiar sound of his shoes being kicked off with less care than usual. The room stills when he steps in, every conversation dissolving into silence.

He looks exhausted. Not the good kind. The kind that comes when adrenaline wears off and reality hits all at once.

His eyes find you immediately.

You stand without thinking, crossing the room in three steps, and when he wraps his arms around you, it feels like the first time you’ve breathed properly all day. He doesn’t say anything at first. He just holds you, forehead pressed to your temple, grounding you in a way no one else can.

“I didn’t like celebrating without you” he murmurs eventually. “Didn’t feel like a win.”

You pull back slightly, searching his face. “Lando...”

“I know” he cuts in gently. “I know today was hell for you. And I know everyone keeps saying this is my moment.” His thumb brushes over your knuckles, slow and steady. “But you’re my moment too.”

The room stays quiet, respectful, like everyone knows this isn’t for them.

“I don’t want tonight to be about sides” he continues, voice firmer now. “Or winners and losers. I don’t want Max alone, and I don’t want you feeling like you don’t belong anywhere.”

Your heart stutters.

“So” he says, taking a breath, like he’s about to step off a cliff. “I was thinking…”

Everyone looks up. “What if we don’t do this the way everyone expects?” Lando says. “What if we celebrate together. All of us. No teams. No titles. Just…us.”

The words land heavy and electric all at once.

Impossible, messy, perfect.

Mo one speaks, you don’t either.

Because suddenly, everything feels like it’s balanced on your answer and you’re not sure yet whether you’re brave enough to give it.

You look between the people in the room, the ones who saw the cost, not just the win and for the first time since the checkered flag fell, the pain doesn’t feel quite so isolating.

—

Same evening, the restaurant is closed to the public.

No flashing lights, no phones held aloft, no strangers shouting names like they own them. Just warm lighting, polished wood, and a long table set with too many glasses and not enough expectations. It smells like good food and quiet conversations, like a place where people come to breathe rather than perform.

You arrive first with Lando, others are probably in a traffic or wherever. Your hand tucked into his sleeve like it belongs there, like it always has. He keeps glancing at you as if he’s checking you’re real, that you didn’t disappear again the moment he looked away.

“Are you sure?” you murmur as the host leads you to the private room.

Lando squeezes your fingers. “Yeah. For the first time today, I am.”

The door closes behind you with a soft click, sealing the room off from the world, and the silence inside feels intentional rather than heavy.

Max arrives next, surprisingly.

No fanfare, no cameras. Just him, dressed simply, hair still damp from a rushed shower, eyes tired but steady when they land on you. For a moment, none of you move. The history between you childhoods, championships, late-night phone calls, shared griefs and rivalries sits thick in the air.

Then Max exhales and opens his arms.

You cross the room before your brain can catch up, folding into him like it’s instinct rather than choice. His hug is solid, grounding, familiar in a way nothing else is.

“You didn’t have to do this” he says quietly.

“Lando wanted to” you answer just as softly.

Lando watches the exchange, something easing in his posture, and when Max turns to him, the tension you expect doesn’t come. Instead, there’s a nod, not a challenge, not a concession, just understanding.

“Congrats” Max says. “You earned it.”

Lando swallows. “You drove a hell of a race.” It’s not loud. It doesn’t need to be.

One by one, the rest of them arrive, Charles with his familiar grin, Carlos all warmth and easy presence, Oscar quieter but observant, George polite and earnest, Lewis bringing with him a calm that seems to settle the room the moment he steps inside and some who couldn't arrive because of some situation.

There are no assigned seats, no hierarchy. Max doesn’t sit at the head of the table. Neither does Lando. They end up one seat apart from each other, close enough to talk without raising their voices, far enough that neither feels crowded, you sit between them.

The food comes out slowly, beautifully plated, like the kitchen understands this isn’t a night to rush. Conversation starts haltingly at first, light comments about the race, jokes that almost land but eventually it finds its rhythm. Lewis laughs, Charles refills a glass. The weight of the day loosens its grip, just a little.

At one point, Lando lifts his glass, hesitating.

“I don’t want to make this weird” he says, earning a few soft chuckles. “But I also don’t want to pretend today didn’t matter.”

The room quiets.

“I’m proud of what I did” he continues, eyes flicking to you before meeting Max. “And I’m proud of what you did too. This isn’t about who ended up with what. It’s about the fact that we’re here.”

Max nods slowly, lifting his own glass. “To showing up” he says simply.

The clink of glass against glass is gentle, unceremonious and somehow more meaningful than any podium celebration earlier that day.

Your wine glass doesn't have a wine on it, you don't drink, your glass is filled with strawberry juice.

You watch them from your seat, the way the sharp edges have dulled just enough to let warmth through, and something in your chest finally settles. The smile that curves your lips this time feels different not loud, not performative, but real in a way the cameras never would have captured.

Lando notices, he leans closer, voice low. “That one reached your eyes.”

You huff a quiet laugh. “Don’t get used to it.”

Across the table, Max catches your gaze and raises an eyebrow in silent question.

You nod.

And for the first time since the championship slipped through his fingers, his shoulders relax.

The night stretches on, the restaurant holding your secrets as gently as it can. Outside, the world still debates winners and losers, but in here, none of that matters. What matters is that you stayed. That you didn’t choose. That you let the people who love you share the weight instead of carrying it alone.

You told them you're going to the bathroom, and as soon as you enter, you close the door behind you and lean your palms against the marble counter, staring at your reflection like it might tell you what to do. Your smile from earlier is gone now, replaced by something fragile and unsure, eyes searching for certainty that hasn’t existed all day.

You hadn’t planned this.

That’s the thing that keeps looping through your head. You hadn’t planned to bring it with you. Hadn’t planned to think about it tonight of all nights. And yet, when you slipped your bag over your shoulder before leaving the house, your fingers had brushed against the familiar plastic shape, tucked into the side pocket like it belonged there.

The pregnancy test.

Positive.

You pull your bag onto the counter, unzipping it slowly as if the answer might disappear if you take too long. But it’s there, exactly where you left it, the small window unmistakable even under the soft bathroom lights.

Your breath catches. You don’t know why you brought it. Maybe part of you needed proof that something good could exist alongside all this mess. Maybe you needed a reminder that the world doesn’t stop turning just because one day feels too heavy to carry.

Or maybe you were already answering the question you’re pretending to ask now.

Is this the right time?

Your brother just lost a championship he fought for all year.

Your husband just won the one he’s chased his entire life.

Emotions are raw, fragile, still bleeding at the edges. This night was supposed to be about balance, about healing, about not taking up too much space.

You close your eyes, pressing the test gently between your fingers. And then another thought surfaces, quieter but steadier than the rest.

There will never be a perfect time.

There will always be something, another race, another loss, another high, another moment that feels too big or too delicate to interrupt. If you wait for the world to be ready, you’ll be waiting forever.

You look at yourself again, Not the woman torn between two sides of a championship.

But the woman standing at the beginning of something entirely new.

You smile despite yourself.

Your fingers curl around the test, and you slip it back into your bag, this time more deliberately, like a decision rather than an accident. You wash your hands slowly, grounding yourself in the motion, and take one final breath before opening the door.

The room quiets the moment you step back inside.

Lando looks up first, eyes searching your face with the kind of concern that makes your chest ache. Max follows a second later, instinctive as always, reading you the way he’s done your entire life.

“You okay?” Lando asks softly.

You nod, moving back to your seat, but instead of sitting, you rest your hands on the back of the chair, steadying yourself.

“I was wondering...” you begin, voice calm despite the way your heart is racing, “if we could have one more toast.”

Brows lift. Glasses are reached for. The mood shifts, expectant but gentle.

Lando’s smile is small, careful. “You sure?”

You meet his eyes. Then Max’s.

“I am.”

The glasses rise.

And for the first time all night, you don’t feel like you’re about to disappear.

You take a breath.

“I know today was complicated” you say, the words slow and intentional. “I know it hurt. And I know it mattered, to all of us in different ways.”

Max’s gaze sharpens, attentive. Lando’s hand finds yours under the table.

“But I also know that this room” you continue, gesturing softly around you, “is proof that we don’t only exist in wins and losses.”

Your fingers tighten around the stem of your glass.

“There’s something else” you say quietly. “Something I wasn’t planning to share tonight…but I think maybe I brought it with me because part of me already knew.”

The room goes completely still.

You reach into your bag.

Lando’s breath stutters while freezes.

And as you place the test gently on the table between you, the world seems to tilt on its axis, just slightly enough to make space for something entirely new.

For a heartbeat, nothing happens.

No one moves, no one speaks. The test sits between the glasses like it doesn’t belong to the same universe as champagne flutes and championship jackets, like it wandered in from a different life entirely and decided to stay.

You become acutely aware of every sound, the low hum of the restaurant, the faint clink of ice somewhere far away, the uneven rhythm of Lando’s breathing beside you. His hand is still holding yours, but it’s gone rigid, like his body hasn’t caught up to what his eyes are seeing.

Max is the first one to move.

Not forward, not back, just a slow blink, like he’s recalibrating the world in real time. His jaw tightens, then loosens, and when he finally exhales, it sounds almost like a laugh sharp, disbelieving, overwhelmed.

“…You’re serious” he says, quietly.

You nod, once, that’s all you can manage.

Lando’s fingers tighten around yours suddenly, enough that you feel it in your chest. He doesn’t look at the test again. He looks at you, like he’s trying to memorize your face, like if he blinks too long you might disappear.

“You’re...” He stops. Swallows. Starts again. “You’re pregnant?”

The word lands heavier than the test ever could.

“Yes.”

It’s soft, but it’s real.

For a second, you think he might stand up too fast, knock something over, do something dramatic but instead, his free hand comes up to his mouth, knuckles pressing against his lips as his eyes glass over in a way you’ve only ever seen after the hardest races.

“Oh my god” he whispers, a breathless, stunned sound. “Oh my god.”

Max sits down slowly, like his legs have finally remembered how to work. He leans back in his chair, one hand dragging down his face, then looks at you again really looks at you this time.

“You carried this” he says, voice low, incredulous, “through today?”

You give a weak smile. “I didn’t know how not to.”

Something in his expression breaks not loudly, not dramatically, just a quiet crack behind his eyes.

“You shouldn’t have had to” he says.

The waiter appears, hesitates when he senses the shift in the room, then quietly retreats. No one notices. The world has narrowed to the three of you and the fragile future sitting on polished wood.

Lando finally lets go of your hand, only to move closer, his chair scraping softly against the floor as he turns toward you fully. His hand comes to rest on your knee, grounding, protective, like he’s afraid you’ll float away.

“I don’t even know what I’m feeling” he admits, voice unsteady but honest. “I’m happy, terrified. I keep thinking I’m going to wake up...I'm going to be a dad...”

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. “Me too.”

Max watches the two of you, something unreadable passing over his face before he leans forward, elbows on the table.

“So” he says, quieter now, steadier. “What do you need?”

The question catches you off guard.

Not what happens next, not why didn’t you say something sooner.

You glance between them, your husband and your brother, the two pillars your life has been built around for as long as you can remember.

“I need us” you say finally. “All of us. Not split down the middle. Not today.”

Lando nods immediately, like there was never another option. “We celebrate together.”

Max’s lips twitch despite himself. “You stole my line.”

Lando exhales a laugh, shaky, real and for the first time since the test hit the table, the tension eases just enough to let warmth seep back in.

Lando, reaching for his glass again. He hesitates, glancing at you. “You’re…not drinking.”

You shake your head, smiling softly “That's why I asked for strawberry juice earlier for me”

He lifts his glass anyway. Max does the same.

“To family” Max says.

Lando swallows hard. “To what comes next.”

You raise your glasses once again and for the first time all night, the smile you give them doesn’t feel forced.

It reaches your eyes.

Fin.

Inside the jet, the door sealed with a soft hiss, and Lewis finally exhaled. He kicked his shoes off, socked feet resting against the seat opposite him, shoulders dropping as the tension of public eyes slipped away.

“You good?” you asked, already unclasping your bracelet and placing it carefully on the tray table between you.

He smiled, not the public one, not the media-trained curve of his mouth, but the real one.

“Now I am.”

A flight attendant approached.

“Ms. YN” she said first, gentle and certain, “your champagne.” Then, turning slightly, “Mr. Hamilton, your tea.”

Lewis blinked, amused. “She remembered.”

You smiled faintly. “I told her.”

He noticed everything, always had.

You were the one they deferred to. The one they checked with, the one whose preferences were memorized, whose quiet nods carried weight.

Once you reached, the doors opened before you reached them.

“Welcome back” the manager said smoothly. “Ms. yn, your preferences have been applied. Mr. Hamilton, greetings, always a pleasure.”

Lewis clocked it instantly, they greeted him out of courtesy, they listened to you.

The penthouse was already prepared, sunlight pouring across white stone, glass walls framing the harbor like art. The balcony doors were open, sea air drifting in. His favorite incense burned faintly in the corner. A photograph of the two of you from Tokyo sat on the side table, carefully placed.

Lewis whistled low. “Every time I forget how ridiculous this is.”

You slipped your heels off, toes sinking into the rug. “You love it.”

“I do” he admitted.

What he didn’t say was how strange it felt, in the best way...to arrive instead of arrange, to simply exist inside something already done.

He hadn’t signed anything, hadn’t approved a bill, he even hadn’t seen an invoice.

You both reached the bedroom, he stopped short because the wardrobe was open.

Inside, he sees a tailored shirts in his exact measurements. A linen jacket he’d admired once offhand, months ago, shoes lined neatly, arranged by color and purpose. On the dresser, a watch box sat open.

His breath hitched. Inside lay a vintage piece he’d walked away from at auction. Rare, Impossible to find.

He picked it up carefully. “You’re unreal” he called, half-laughing.

You leaned against the doorway, already in one of his hoodies like it belonged to you. “You liked it?”

“I said it was impossible.”

You shrugged. “And?”

He slipped it onto his wrist, perfect fit. Of course it was.

No receipt, no explanation. Just there, like it had always belonged to him.

lewishamilton

liked by mclarenofficial, landonorris and others

lewishamilton my peace

user: is your wallet at peace too💔

⤷user: another vacation funded by lewis hamilton’s wallet😩

user: when will it be my turnnnn

user: man works hard and spoils yn

user: the view is fantastic tho

You two decided to go on a yacht. Just a change of scenery of the same night.

The city hummed below you, yachts glowing like constellations in the harbor. Lewis lay beside you, arm around your waist, thumb tracing idle patterns into your skin.

“They think I spoil you” he murmured.

You hummed, half-asleep. “Mm.”

“And you don’t correct them.”

You turned, pressing your forehead to his. “Do you want me to?”

He smiled, slow, private, protective.

“No.” Because there was something delicious about letting the world believe the version that made sense to them.

And something even better about knowing the truth.

Lewis Hamilton didn’t need to be the richest man in the room, he just needed to be yours.

—

Just a media duty day, Charles had learned, over the years, to pay attention.

He was good with patterns on track and eveb off it. The way things repeated, the way they didn’t. And standing in the paddock in Monaco, espresso cooling in his hand, he watched Lewis and you move through the space like it had been built around you.

Not him.

You.

The hospitality suite was filled with noises, team staff and drivers drifting in and out, conversations overlapping. Lewis leaned against the counter, relaxed, laughing at something a mechanic had said. You stood a few steps away, talking quietly with a woman Charles vaguely recognized as someone important, not PR and definitely not a staff in f1.

Money-adjacent.

Charles frowned slightly.

The woman nodded as you spoke, tablet in hand. “We’ll adjust the timeline as you prefer miss.”

Lewis wasn’t even looking at them.

That was the first thing.

Later, Charles noticed something else...the car.

The ride was waiting, sleek, discreet, blacked out. The driver stepped out, walked past Lewis entirely, and opened the door for you.

Lewis followed you in, one hand briefly at your waist, like second nature.

Charles raised an eyebrow.

“Since when does Lewis let someone else run the show?” a mechanic whispered beside him.

Charles didn’t answer.

He was still watching the way the driver spoke to you, not respectfully but carefully.

Inside the car, Lewis stretched his legs, glancing at you. “Everything good?”

“hm” you said, already scrolling. “I moved dinner, quieter place.”

“Perfect.”

No discussion, no checking prices and no hesitation.

Week passed, a small gathering happened, just a small dinner with drivers and their partners with some team principals included.

It went exactly smooth, conversations about lap times and sponsorships but when the check arrived, Charles paid attention.

It didn’t land near Lewis, hell it didn’t even land near anyone.

It disappeared.

The waiter didn’t ask, didn’t hover, didn’t explain, just a quiet nod toward you before walking away.

Charles felt something click into place.

Later, on the team meeting where there is no you, Charles took a seat beside Lewis

“Can I ask you something?” Charles said carefully.

Lewis smiled, already knowing. “You’re going to anyway.”

Charles hesitated. “Who handles your...you know..?”

Lewis smile didn’t change.

“I do” he said easily.

Which was true but not just the way people thought.

Charles studied him for a long moment. “Right.”

Lewis looks at Charles. “Does it matter?”

Charles exhaled, slow. “No. But… it’s interesting.”

Lewis laughed quietly. “You should stop overthinking.”

But Charles didn't. For the first time since Monaco began, the story everyone believed started to feel wrong.

user: you're not alone!!! noticed this too!! like staff literally waits for her nod before moving

user: private jet logs show last minute changes approved under her name👀

user: and how tf did you get that information bro

user: I work there😭

user: guys!!!! he’s lewis hamilton. he’s rich rich. stop this😭👎

user: not saying he’s broke!! just saying dynamics seem flipped?

user: power couple stuff. he spoils her, she handles logistics, just those typical rich couple things.

user: exactlyyyy I mean if i had lewis money I wouldn’t lift a finger either

Lewis scrolled through the headlines in silence, thumb flicking lazily.

“Apparently I spent a million dollars yesterday” he said mildly.

You glanced up from your laptop. “Did you?”

He smiled. “Not that I remember.”

You hummed, unimpressed. “They always need a narrative.”

He watched you for a moment, calm, composed, completely unbothered by being erased from your own story.

“Does it bother you?” he asked.

You met his eyes. “No. Does it bother you?”

Lewis thought about it.

The way the world insisted he be the provider. The way masculinity and money were stitched together in expectations he’d carried his whole life.

“No, love” he said honestly. “It protects you.”

You smiled, soft but knowing. “Good.”

On another day, the question came, not from the internet, not from the media but from the paddock, from George Russell that caught up to you near the hospitality exit, helmet under his arm, expression carefully neutral.

“Hey” he said. “Can I ask you something?”

You tilted your head slightly. “Of course.”

He hesitated, clearly aware he was stepping into territory that didn’t belong to him. “Everyone keeps saying Lewis is…you know. Taking care of everything.”

You waited. “And I just wondered,” he added, awkward now, “is that…true?”

You smiled. Not sharp, not defensive, just polite.

“Lewis takes care of a lot of people” you said. “That’s who he is.”

George nodded, relieved. “Yeah. That tracks.”

He smiled back, reassured. Walked away with the answer he expected.

And missed the one you didn’t give.

Same night, you and Lewis sat on the balcony again, city glowing below, the world convinced it understood you.

“They almost figured it out, you said?” Lewis said quietly.

“Almost” you confirmed.

“And still landed on me being the one spoiling.”

You leaned into him, resting your head against his shoulder. “Does that surprise you?”

“No” he said. “It comforts them.”

You smiled. “Yeah.”

Lewis wrapped his arm around you, fingers lacing with yours.

Because the truth was heavier than the assumption.

More disruptive, more dangerous and for now, the world was happier believing that Lewis Hamilton, the seven-time world champion, cultural icon, one of the richest men in sportwas exactly who he’d always been.

The provider, the spender, the one in control.

And you? Just the woman lucky enough to be loved by him.

—

An invitation arrived embossed, heavy in Lewis’ hand.

THE GLOBAL ARTS & SUSTAINABILITY GALA

An evening honoring benefactors

You are invited: YN LN and Lewis Hamilton

We hope to see you there.

Lewis skimmed it, then paused.

“Why am I a guest” he asked slowly You didn’t look up from your phone. “Uh huh”

He laughed under his breath. Neither of you considered what the rest of the world might think.

The gala unfolded like every elite event did. Discreet, opulent, insulated from noise. Old money elegance. New money restraint. People who didn’t need to introduce themselves because their names carried weight long before they entered the room.

A mistake, the very first mistake.

Lewis wore black, clean lines, nothing loud. You wore something softer, silk, understated, deadly. When you arrived, the host greeted you first.

“Ms. yn” she said warmly, taking both your hands. “We’re honored.”

Lewis stood beside you, unbothered, invisible in the way only powerful men could afford to be.

Until the acknowledgements began.

You were mid-conversation when the lights dimmed.

The host took the stage, voice smooth, practiced.

“Tonight, we celebrate individuals whose generosity has reshaped entire industries,” she said. “People who believe in impact over attention.”

Lewis’ attention sharpened.

“Among our principal benefactors...” She paused, smiling.

“Ms. YN.”

Applause filled the room.

You didn’t flinch, didn’t smile wider, didn’t wave. Just nodded once, gracious, like this wasn’t the first time your name had been said into a microphone like it belonged there.

Then came the line that changed everything.

“Through her foundation and private investments” the host continued, “she has funded sustainable aviation initiatives, global arts preservation, and multiple education programs often anonymously.”

A pause. “Tonight, we thank her for simply being here.”

The room erupted.

Lewis didn’t clap right away, not because he was shocked, he had always knew you're rich but it's the realization, that suddenly, everything made sense.

user: she’s not just involved. she’s loaded asf

user: still doesn’t mean she’s paying for lewis😭

user: GUYS. HE’S LEWIS HAMILTON. HE SPOILS HER. PERIOD.

user: fr, I'll stick to this belief😔

By the time you returned to the penthouse, Lewis was silent.

Not tense, just houghtful.

You slipped off your shoes, glanced at him. “You okay?”

He looked at you then, really looked. Lewis stepped closer, hands settling at your waist.

“I’ve built my life being the visible one...” he said. “I never stopped to think what it would be like to love someone who have someone like...you.”

You leaned in, forehead to his. “Does it change anything?”

He smiled, slow, proud, unmistakably fond. “No, love he said. “It explains everything.”

Lewis Hamilton was finally understanding the full weight of the woman he loved, and the internet? still clinging to the safest conclusion of all, that Lewis Hamilton was rich, rich enough to spoil anyone, even now.

—

Another day on the briefing room, an article suddenly dropped.

TRENDING TODAY

by: f1officialnews

Quiet Power: The Woman Behind Formula One’s Most Influential Private Portfolio

While Lewis Hamilton’s wealth has long been public knowledge, recent disclosures and philanthropic acknowledgements reveal that his partner, Ms. YN independently controls assets and investments estimated to surpass several current Formula One drivers combined.

Sources confirm diversified holdings across sustainable aviation, technology, real estate, and luxury conglomerates, many of which predate her relationship with Hamilton. Notably, several recent private travel arrangements and luxury acquisitions attributed to Hamilton were, in fact, financed under entities registered to Ms. YN

user: okay this is officially not normal rich

user: the moment I watched the I gala, I know yn ain't normal richy person

user: ok so what, lewis is still rich tho?? like why are we acting like he’s not😭

user: no one said he isn’t but she’s funding half the stuff we thought he was...

user: so in short, Lewis is the trophy husband

user: bro😭

The drivers’ briefing room was unusually loud, phones vibrating, murmurs rippling through the space. Lewis sat relaxed in his chair, legs stretched out, sunglasses on, entirely unbothered.

George stared at his screen like it had personally offended him.

Lando broke first. “Mate” he said, turning his phone around, “why is F1 official news talking about your girlfriend like she’s a small nation state?”

Lewis didn’t even look. “Oh” he said lightly. “That came out?”

Silence...

Charles slowly lowered his phone. “You knew?”

Lewis smiled. “Of course I knew.”

“AND YOU JUST...” Lando gestured wildly. “LET US ALL THINK-”

“That I was paying?” Lewis finished. “You never asked.”

Fernando leaned back, arms crossed, sharp eyes finally satisfied.

“I told you” he said. “You all see what comforts you.”

Isack looked up, stunned. “So the jet. Monaco. The watches...”

Lewis shrugged. “Not mine.

Oscar, quietly wshipers but enough for everyone to hear “So you’re…being spoiled.”

Lewis smiles, that kind of smile that makes people in awe “Sounds about right.”

Later on, press conference was supposed to be about racing.

It lasted four minutes before someone ruined that.

“Lewis” a reporter said, barely containing herself “there’s been a lot of attention on your partner’s financial profile this week. Some fans are calling you...” she hesitated, smiling nervously, “...a kept man. Care to respond?”

The room froze while the cameras zoomed in.

Lewis leaned back in his chair, thoughtful. Then he smiled.

Soft, easy and unbothered.

“I think it’s funny” he said.

A ripple of laughter.

“And?” the reporter pressed.

Lewis glanced sideways, toward where you stood just off-camera, arms folded, expression unreadable.

“I’ve spent my life being the provider...” he continued. “If someone I love wants to take care of me too…I don’t see the problem.”

He paused, then added “Sounds like balance.”

That night, back in the quiet of the penthouse, the noise finally faded.

Lewis loosened his watch, the one you gave to him, and set it on the table.

“You okay?” you asked.

He smiled, coming to sit beside you. “Never been better.”

“You don’t mind?”

He took your hand, pressed a kiss to your knuckles. “I mind that the world thinks it’s entitled to us.”

Then, softer...“I don’t mind being loved, yn my love”

You leaned into him, city lights blinking beyond the glass.

Outside, the world rewrote its headlines, Inside tho is nothing had ever felt more settled.

Lewis Hamilton didn’t need to prove anything while you never had to explain.

Fin.

Your blood runs cold.

Lewis goes very, very quiet.

“...Love” he says gently, “that's not the other account...”

You stare at the screen.

He bursts out laughing, like, full-on, shoulders-shaking laughter.

“You typed that right in front of me” he manages. “On your main account.”

You cover your face. “Lew! Omg!”

Lewis wipes his eyes from laughing too hard, still smiling. “I feel very defended.”

You can't help but groan “I'm deleting the app”

user: and the basis of this is the comment y/n made right?😭

user: it indeed sound crazy, mate but it make sense, but on the other hand, y/n is too calm for it right?

user: does her comment looks like calm to you?

user: but the account always sounded peronal, not a stan so I agree with OP

user: and the slip up made it possible to ignore

user: the timing of the tweets is weird too, it always pops up when Lewis is getting dragged

user: I watched some replays and compate the time of the posts, it disappears during races, the posts happened before and after races and busy time where she is present with Lewis

user: that would actually make sense

user: guys let's not assume, what if she really just defended Lewis because she's now his fiancee😭

user: Okay, this might be the thing that seals it for me, that account once posted a photo of Lewis. Not from a race weekend, not from a press event. Just a casual, candid, never reposted anywhere else. I saved it back then because it felt sooo cute and boyfie material and just now, I ran it through Google Lens. It doesn't exist anywhere on the internet, the only result google gives me is the account post.

user: that's a crazy observation wtf

user: explains why the account always sounded so certain.

user: these crazy peeps, she did commented once and you connceted all the dots😭

user: crazy mfs, at this point it's not even speculation, that account didn't just support Lewis, it protected him. and only someone who loves him and knows him too well like that would bother tbh🤷‍♀️

You typed on your phone, you don't need to hide it anymore, you're all in.

After days, it didn't die down, everyone continues to spiral and already convinced it's you on the same account

Media Duty arrives, it included your fiance, Max and Gabi

The three of them are seated side by side, branded backdrop behind them, cameras clicking nonstop. Lewis sits relaxed, legs crossed, hands folded neatly in his lap. Max is leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, already looking mildly entertained. Gabi sits forward, attentive, eyes flicking between them.

The interviewer smiles warmly. “Lewis, before we get into the race weekend, congratulations on your engagement.”

Lewis's smile softens instantly. “Thank you. I really appreciate that.”

Max glances sideways at him, lips twitching.

“And..” the interviewer continues, tone casual but curious, “the internet's been... very invested. Especially after some recent activity online involving your fiancee.”

Lewis exhales through his nose. He knows exactly where this is going.

The interviewer laughs nervously. “There was a lot of discussion about her being..how should I put it-less quiet than people initially thought?”

Lewis nods slowly. “Yeah. I think people made assumptions. I mean I found our about her account that very same day so..”

The interviewer grins, encouraged. “So, Lewis...how did you feel seeing her defend you so... passionately?”

Lewis looks up again, expression warm, unbothered. “Honestly? Loved it.”

Max lets out a sharp laughh. “Of course you did.”

Lewis shrugs. “I mean, I didn't ask her to. But knowing someone cares enough to speak up when things are unfair-yeah. That means a lot.”

Gabi smiles. “That's kind of cool actually.”

The interviewer hesitates, then asks the question everyone's waiting for.

“Do you think this changes how public she'll be going forward?”

Lewis shakes his head immediately. “No. She doesn't owe anyone access to her. That was never the point.”

Days after, race morning is quiet.

You move through the paddock without hurry, credentials tucked neatly against your chest, sunglasses perched on your nose. There's no rush in your steps, no trace of the chaos you unleashed online the night before. You stop to greet a couple of team staff, thank someone who hands you a coffee, exchange a few soft smiles.

Calm, polite, almost serene.

Lewis spots you from across the garage and his expression changes instantly-shoulders loosening, mouth curving into that small, private smile he only ever wears for you. You slip beside him, fingers brushing his arm.

“Morning” you murmur.

“Morning” he replies, leaning in just slightly. “tell me if you need anything okay?” he says, kissing your forehead before going to Adami.

You sit in the familiar spot during pre-race, legs crossed, hands folded in your lap. You listen more than you speak. When someone addresses you, you answer gently, briefly. No dramatics. No hint that less than twenty-four hours ago you were publicly causing chaos.

You heard an impact, it was sudden, too sudden.

You see the flash of carbon, the sickening angle of the cars, the way Lewis's car jolts and then, nothing. The screens fill with yellow, then red. Your breath catches painfully in your chest before you even register you've stood up.

“what the hell” you whisper, uselessly, eyes locked on the monitors.

Leclerc's car is stopped too.

DNF

Both of them

The garage goes quiet in that heavy, hollow way that only comes after hope snaps clean in half.

Headsets come off, engineers stare at screens that won't change the outcome. You don't move until you're told it's safe, until someone gently gestures you forward.

Lewis climbs out of the car slowly. He's fine. You can see that immediately. No limp, no visible frustration, just that familiar, unreadable calm he gets when things don't go his way. But you know him too well to be fooled by it.

You meet him just beyond the barriers. “Hey” you say softly.

He looks at you and smiles, areal one, small, tired, accepting.

“That's racing, love” he says quietly, before you even ask. “Nothing to do now”

Your hand finds his instinctively, fingers curling around his like it's the only solid thing left in the moment. You squeeze, grounding both of you.

“I know” you murmur. “I'm just glad you're okay.”

He nods. “Me too.”

You walk with him back through the paddock, the noise fading into the background. Cameras follow for a bit, then peel away when they realize there's no explosion to capture, no anger, no outburst.

Just you, steady at his side.

At home later, the apartment is quiet again.

Shoes kicked off near the door. The race replay muted on the TV, images flickering without sound. Lewis drops onto the sofa with a tired sigh.

You sit beside him, leaning your head against his shoulder.

“You really okay?” you ask. He presses a kiss to your hair. “Yeah. It happens. I've had worse.”

You huff softly, unconvinced but not pushing it. He's calm, peaceful, even.

That's when you reach for your phone.

Lewis glances at you. “Don't” he says, already smiling.

You're already typing.

Later on, the room is dark except for the glow of Lewis's phone.

You're stretched out on the bed beside him, half under the covers, your head resting against his shoulder. One of his hands is absentmindedly tracing slow lines along your arm while the other scrolls. It's quiet again-the good kind of quiet that comes after a long, emotionally exhausting day.

You're almost asleep when he exhales. Soft and amused.

“Told you” he says.

You hum, confused. “Told me what?”

He tilts the phone slightly so you can see the screen.

A message. From someone you recognize immediately.

Mate...your fiancee might need a PR team. Like...Immediately.

You squint at it, then groan dramatically and bury your face into the pillow.

“Nooooo, Lewww” you mumble. “Absolutely not.”

Lewis laughs, the sound vibrating gently through his chest. “They're not wrong.”

You lift your head, frowning. “I apologized! I even tagged Alex. That was mature.”

“That was” he agrees easily. “Very mature.”

You eye him suspiciously. “You're enjoying this.”

He smiles, unapologetic. “A little.”

You sigh and roll onto your back, staring at the ceiling. “I don't want a PR team. They'll tell me not to tweet.”

“They will definitely tell you not to tweet” Lewis says.

“That's inhumane!”

He chuckles, then grows softer. ”You don't have to change. Just...maybe someone to hit pause for you.”

You glance at him, he's not teasing now. Just calm and supportive. Still smiling at you like you didn't just publicly scold a Ferrari driver.

“...do I really need one?” you ask quietly.

Lewis shrugs. “Well...”

You groan again.

He leans down and kisses your forehead

You stare at his phone one more time, then grab yours with a defeated sigh.

“Fine” you mutter. “But if they try to rebrand me, I'm quitting.”

He laughs softly. “Deal.”

You’re curled up on the bed, phone in hand, staring at the message from your PR like it personally offended you. Outside the window, a foreign city glows, unfamiliar lights, unfamiliar sounds. You should be excited.

Instead, you’re sulking. “This is sick” you announce.

Lewis looks up from the armchair, legs stretched out, phone forgotten in his lap. “What now?”

“They said if I want to post anything nice about you, it has to be on my main.” You turn the screen toward him like evidence. “My main, Lewis.”

He blinks. Then laughs. Soft, warm, helpless laughter.

“That’s not so bad.”

“It is!” you insist. “That’s where I’m quiet and well-behaved.”

He stands, crosses the room, and sits beside you on the bed. “You are quiet and well-behaved.”

You squint at him. “Don’t lie to me!”

He grins and bumps his forehead against yours. “Post whatever you want. It’s still you.”

You sigh dramatically, then glance at your camera roll.

“…I do have a really good picture of you.”

He groans. “Love...”

“You know” he says, glancing down at you, “they really love you.”

You scoff softly. “They loved the chaos.”

“They love you” he corrects easily. “Chaos included.”

You think about that for a moment. About the secret account, the late-night tweets, the way you defended him like it was second nature. About how loud you were online, and how quiet you are like this, just you and him, no audience.

“I didn’t mean to make things… complicated...” you admit.

Lewis tilts his head, considering. Then he smiles, warm and sure. “You didn’t. You were just being honest.”

You breathe out, the tension you didn’t realize you were holding finally loosening.

“I can be quieter” you say. “If that’s what you need.”

He reaches for your hand, fingers lacing with yours. “I don’t need quieter. I need you, safe and Happy, still yourself.”

Your thumb brushes over the ring on his finger, over yours. Solid, real. Not something that exists only on a screen.

The world outside will keep watching, speculating, talking but here, in this room, you don’t have to perform.

Your phone lights up once, an old habit urges you to reach for it. You don’t.

Lewis notices and smiles anyway. “Proud of you” he murmurs.

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling too.

“Don’t get used to it” you say. He laughs, low and soft, pulling you closer as the city keeps glowing beyond the glass.

And somewhere out there, the time keeps spinning.

and you know that you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.

Fin.

You’re older than him. Established. Settled in ways he isn’t yet. You learned patience early, learned that wanting something too openly scares it away. You learned that if you want something to last, you watch first.

And you watched him for years.

Not as a fan. Never that. Fans are emotional. Sloppy. They want to be noticed. You wanted to understand.

By the time you became his girlfriend. Quietly, easily, slipping into place so naturally no one questioned it, you already knew him better than most people ever would. You knew his tells before he knew he had them. The way he eats less when expectations rise. The way his humour sharpens when he’s overwhelmed. The way he goes quiet when he’s about to spiral, not because he wants space, but because he doesn’t know how to ask for help.

You knew how much he needed someone steady.

Someone older.

Someone who could hold the weight of him without flinching.

You don’t remember a dramatic beginning. There was no sharp line between before and after, just comfort accumulating over time. Conversations that felt familiar too quickly. Touch that grounded him without startling. A presence that didn’t demand anything from him.

That’s why he trusted you so easily.

Sometimes, you know too much. You finish his sentences without thinking. Mention travel details he doesn’t remember telling you. Adjust your plans around his schedule before he’s even checked it.

He notices, occasionally. “You’re really good at remembering stuff” he says once, laughing.

You smile. “I pay attention.”

It doesn’t alarm him.

He’s used to people knowing too much. Used to attention bleeding into his life whether he wants it or not. Compared to that, you feel safe. Warm. Familiar. Like something solid he can lean on.

Normal.

You fit into his routine seamlessly. You remind him to eat. You tell him when he’s pushing himself too hard. You know when to distract him, when to let him talk, when to let him sleep.

He never asks how you know, he doesn’t need to. From Lando’s perspective, it feels like relief. He’s never had to explain himself to you. Never had to justify why something drains him or why something matters. You just know. And in a life where everyone wants something from him, that feels rare.

Comforting.

He tells people you’re grounding. “she keeps me sane” he jokes.

They laugh. You don’t.

At night, when he sleeps beside you unguarded, loose-limbed, trusting, you let yourself think freely. You watch the rise and fall of his chest, the way he reaches for you even in his sleep, fingers curling instinctively into your side.

He’s safest when he’s unaware.

You’ve always known that and you don’t feel guilty for how closely you watch him. Love, real love, requires vigilance. Someone has to notice when he’s slipping. Someone has to decide what’s best for him when he can’t.

That someone is you.

He murmurs your name in his sleep, soft and unthinking. You smile in the dark.

Lando thinks this is just what it feels like to be loved by someone older. Someone attentive. Someone who cares enough to notice everything.

He’s bad at noticing his limits, always has been. Pushes until his body forces him to stop, laughs it off like exhaustion is just another badge to wear. You watch it happen enough times that stepping in feels less like interference and more like responsibility.

So you start small. You tell him when to sleep.

Not directly, you phrase it as concern, as advice, as something he’ll thank you for later. You dim lights without asking. You steer conversations toward quiet. You say “Just lie down for a minute” and he does, because it’s easier than arguing and because you sound like you know better.

You do.

You adjust his eating next. You don’t ask what he wants, you simply bring what he needs. Protein when he’s irritable. Sugar when he’s flat, water always within reach. He jokes that you’re treating him like a child.

You smile and say nothing.

Soon, he stops making choices about those things altogether, he waits, lets you decide and lets you handle it.

It calms him.

That’s what he tells himself when he realises he hasn’t eaten unless you put something in front of him all day. When he notices he sleeps better when you tell him to. When the tightness in his chest eases the moment you say, “It’s okay. I’ve got it.”

The paddock hums the way it always does—alive, charged, restless.

You’re standing with Lando near the hospitality unit, one hand lightly hooked into his arm as he talks. He’s animated, smiling, words tumbling over each other the way they do when he’s relaxed. You watch his face instead of the people around him, catching the way his energy spikes, the way he forgets to breathe when he’s excited.

You step closer without thinking. Your fingers press into his forearm.

“Slow down” you murmur. “You’ll tire yourself out.”

“Oh...yeah,” he laughs, immediately lowering his voice. “Sorry.”

Behind you, a few drivers linger near the coffee station.

George tilts his head slightly, eyes following the movement of your hand. “She’s… very attentive” he says under his breath.

Oscar snorts quietly. “That’s one way to put it.”

“She always with him like that?” someone else asks.

“Every time I’ve seen him.” George replies. “Doesn’t really leave his side.”

Oscar watches Lando for a moment. “He doesn’t seem to mind.”

“No” George says. “That’s the part that’s weird.”

They fall quiet when you glance their way.

Not because you glare. You don’t.

A little later, you step away, bathroom, you tell Lando softly, thumb brushing his wrist as reassurance.

“I’ll be right here” he says, like it’s automatic.

The moment you’re gone, the space around him shifts.

Max takes the opening first, drifting over like it’s casual. “You good?” he asks.

Lando nods. “Yeah. Why?”

Max gestures vaguely. “People were talking.”

Lando blinks. “About what?”

Max hesitates, then commits. “About her.”

Lando’s expression tightens, not angry, just confused. “What about her?”

Max lowers his voice. “She manages a lot for you. Your schedule. Who you talk to. Seems… intense.”

Lando laughs softly. Not defensive. Almost fond. “She just cares” he says. “I don’t see the problem. I love it”

Max studies him. “You don’t ever feel…controlled?”

Lando thinks about it genuinely then shakes his head, smiling

“No, mate” he says. “It actually makes things easier. I don’t have to think as much.”

A beat. “That’s normal in a relationship, isn’t it?” Lando adds, smiling like he’s solved something.

Max doesn’t smile back.

“Ha..” he says instead.

You return then, slipping back into place beside Lando like you never left, he brightens instantly.

“There you are” he says. “I was telling Max you keep me sane.”

You smile politely. “Someone has to.”

Max’s eyes flick between you and Lando. He steps back. “Right. Good luck today.”

As he walks away, you feel Lando relax again.

By the garage, Andrea watches from a distance.

You hand Lando his helmet before he asks. Adjust the strap. Check it twice.

“You ready?” you ask.

“Yeah” he says, calm now. Focused. “Thanks.”

Zak clears his throat. “Everything alright, Lando?”

“Perfect” Lando replies easily.

You meet Zak's gaze. There’s nothing sharp in your expression, nothing aggressive, just certainty.

Zak nods slowly. “Okay then.”

Later, when the session’s over and the paddock begins to thin, Lando leans into you as you walk.

“People are weird” he says suddenly.

You hum. “How so?”

“I think some of them don’t get us” he says with a shrug. “But that’s fine. They don’t have to.”

He squeezes your hand. “I like how things are.”

You squeeze back.

From behind, someone murmurs, “He doesn’t even see it.”

Another voice replies, quieter, “That’s what is scary.”

Lando doesn’t hear them, he just walks beside you, smiling, trusting, letting you guide him through the noise.

Completely certain that this is what love is supposed to feel like.

Fin.

Sebastian shifts behind you, arms tightening with interest. “If it involves string lights and another house project, I’m saying no.”

Lewis scoffs. “You wound me. No. It’s something better. I think we should do a gift exchange.”

You blink. “Between us?”

“Between the three of us,” Lewis says. “Properly. Secret Santa-ish. Except… not secret. Or Santa.”

You laugh into his chest. “So just… gift-giving.”

“Yes” he insists, clearly proud of himself. “But planned.”

Sebastian snorts. “You mean organized.”

“Yeha yeah whatever” Lewis nods. “We put our names on slips. Everyone picks one! No cheating.”

“I feel like you’re explaining the concept of math to toddlers” you tell him.

Sebastian hums in agreement, warm chest vibrating behind you. “Also Lewis, you cheat every game because you get impatient.”

Lewis gasps, offended. “I do not!”

“You absolutely do” both you and Seb say at the same time.

Lewis glares, then breaks into a smile because he can never stay annoyed when you’re pressed against him like this. “Okay, fine. But this time I won’t cheat.”

You raise a brow. “Promise?”

He lifts a hand solemnly. Sebastian pats his shoulder. “Now it’s serious.”

Lewis reaches for the coffee table where a small ceramic bowl sits waiting, filled with three folded slips of paper.

Written in neat handwriting, YOUR NAME, LEWIS, SEBASTIAN.

You laugh. “You had this ready?”

Lewis beams proudly. “Manifesting a yes from both of you.”

Sebastian reaches from behind to steal one of the mugs of cocoa and hands it to Lewis, then takes one for himself, leaving the third for you.

The gift exchange bowl sits between the three of you like it's sacred.

Sebastian takes the first move, reaching forward dramatically, shaking the bowl with the seriousness of a man performing a ritual. Lewis groans as he shakes it for too long just to be dramatic.

“Seb” Lewis whines. “Just pick.”

Sebastian lifts a finger. “This is the anticipation stage.”

You burst out laughing.

Finally, he plucks one paper, unfolds it quietly, eyes flicking up for a second before a tiny smile tugs his lips, subtle, soft.

He folds it back. Says nothing.

Lewis narrows his eyes. “Suspicious.”

“My face is perfectly neutral” Seb says, and it absolutely isn’t.

Your turn next.

You lean forward, digging your hand into the bowl. Lewis is staring like a hawk and immediately gets flicked on the forehead by Sebastian.

“Ow!”

“Stop trying to see.”

You pull a slip, hold it to your chest dramatically, then open it.

Your heart jumps, a warm spark rising behind your ribs. Try as you might, your smile is impossible to hide.

“Why are you blushing?” Lewis asks immediately.

“I’m not.”

“You definitely are” Sebastian murmurs behind you, sounding very smug.

You hide your face in Lewis’s shoulder while holding your slip to your chest. “I’m allowed to blush.”

Lewis kisses your cheek for being adorable. “My turn.”

Lewis reaches for the bowl like he’s grabbing destiny itself.

He unfolds the slip, his eyebrows shoot up.

Then he tries, tries so hard to wipe the grin off his face. It doesn’t work. He beams like a man who just won a small emotional lottery.

“Oh he likes that one” you whisper to Sebastian.

Seb nods sagely. “Very much.”

Lewis tucks the slip into his sweater pocket like he’s protecting precious treasure.

“Okay” he says with a smug inhale. “Everyone has their people. Nobody swaps. No bribing, no peeking, no interrogating, no trying to seduce information out of anyone.”

You and Sebastian stare at him.

Sebastian says “…you’re literally the only one who does that.”

Lewis shoots back “And I’m getting ahead of the accusations.”

You dissolve into laughter, leaning fully into him. Sebastian pulls you even closer from behind, hands warm against your waist, lips brushing your shoulder in soft, lazy affection.

The three of you melt together into one big, sleepy tangle limbs intertwined, blankets shifting, cocoa mugs half-finished on the table.

Lewis nuzzles into your neck. “This is going to be the best Christmas.”

Sebastian murmurs against your skin. “Because you’re here.”

Your heart squeezes.

You shift, turning your head enough to kiss each of them, first Sebastian over your shoulder, then Lewis leaning up to meet your lips.

The kind of kiss that doesn’t rush, doesn’t assume, just exists with love. You settle back into their arms, feeling them breathe with you, around you.

Christmas lights twinkle, the fireplace glows.

Three hearts beat in slow, perfect harmony.

And in that quiet, glowing moment, you think that this is going to be the best Christmas you've ever had.

The morning arrives wrapped in soft winter silence, the kind that sinks into the house and makes everything feel gentle.

Lewis wakes first, this isn’t unusual.

What is unusual is the way he freezes halfway out of bed, staring at the empty space on the rug near the bedroom door, the place Roscoe used to nap during the mornings.

A faint, sad smile flickers over his face.

A memory brushed with tender ache.

He whispers, “Good morning, buddy....” under his breath, the same way he always does then quietly slips out of bed so he doesn’t wake you or Sebastian.

He doesn’t notice Sebastian’s eyes flutter open the second he leaves. Or how your hand instinctively reaches for the warmth in the middle.

Standing in the hallway, Lewis pulls on his boots and hoodie, runs a hand through his curls, and tries to hype himself up.

One gift. You only need to find one gift. One.

Then his brain immediately starts sprinting But what if I get something too boring? What if it’s too basic? What if they’ve already seen it? What if it’s not meaningful enough? What if Seb buys something handmade and thoughtful and I show up with socks or something? Should I buy two? No. The rules say one. But… it’s them. I should buy both of them gifts...?

He sighs into his own palms.

“…I’m already failing the rules.”

But the thought of both you and Sebastian opening something from him, something chosen with love warms him so deeply that he grabs his keys and leaves before he can talk himself out of it.

—

The moment Lewis is gone, you open your eyes.

“Is he gone?” you whisper.

Sebastian is still half-asleep, hair sticking up in every direction, but his voice is soft and warm. “Mm. He left like he didn’t want to wake us.”

You stretch. “He’s going to get his gift.”

Seb sighs, rubbing his face. “He is. And now I have to go before he buys something too perfect.”

You laugh. “You think too much.”

“I do” he admits without shame, sitting up.

His thoughts begin running immediately One gift. One gift only. For the name I picked. Simple. But… what if the other one feels left out? They shouldn’t. They know the rules. But I love them both. So shouldn’t I… maybe… yes. Two gifts. That makes sense. Right? Right?

He looks at you suddenly, eyes narrowed.

He hugs you from behind, warm, slow, soft then heads out, mumbling to himself “One gift only. Only one. Absolutely one. Definitely one. Maybe two...?”

Moments later when the house is finally silent, you sit up and feel the echo of warmth where both men lay moments before.

You think about the slip of paper you drew.

One name, one gift and yet...

How do I buy a gift for only one of them when I love both? When they both give me different pieces of warmth? When Lewis holds me like sunlight and Sebastian holds me like home?

Your heart is already betraying the rules.

You pull on your coat, your scarf and your gloves and leave the house knowing exactly what you’re not supposed to do.

—

Lewis walks into a boutique and instantly panics, he stares at a shelf full of necklaces.

“No. Too romantic. Too obvious.”

He picks up a leather bracelet.

“Too subtle? Maybe? I oh my God.”

He stares at a row of rings and his soul leaves his body for a second.

“No. No no no. Relax. Please. Get a grip.”

He paces, he mutters.

He’s two minutes away from adopting a plant out of panic.

And then he sees something small, personal, meaningful.

Something that makes his breath stop.

That one. That’s perfect. I need it. And maybe something else. Yes. Two. Definitely two.

Lewis buys both before he can talk himself out of it.

Meanwhile Sebastian wanders into an artisan market and immediately softens.

Handmade items, those damn warm colors and gentle craftsmanship.

He touches a carved piece and his heart stirs.

They’d love this. I think. Maybe. Or maybe not. But it feels right.

He hesitates for five full minutes before buying it.

Then sees something entirely different simple, but deeply symbolic and his chest tightens.

“Oh no” he whispers, realizing he wants to buy this one too.

He's gonna buy it.

He leaves the stall muttering, “This is not according to the rules. But neither is my heart, so what can I do?”

Lastly, you.

You walk through a glowing Christmas market, hands tucked into your pockets.

You pass scarves, books, jewel-like ornaments, handmade gifts tied with twine.

Everything reminds you of them.

A wool beanie that screams Seb, apiece of jewelry that whispers Lewis.

You stop and breathes.

Then your gaze lands on something small something delicate, intimate, and quietly beautiful.

Something that feels like a piece of each of them.

Your chest warms.

One each. I have to. I can’t choose just one.

You bought both, hands shaking with excitement.

—

Lewis returns first. He hides his gifts on the top shelf of the bedroom closet, then moves them twice because he suddenly fears someone will see.

Sebastian returns second. He hides his two gifts under the mattress, then panics and relocates them inside a winter boot.

You return last. You hide your gifts somewhere in the bedroom.

The house becomes a maze of hidden secrets.

Night come by Lewis walks into the bedroom and spots Sebastian acting suspicious around the bed.

“Why are you hovering over that boot?” Lewis asks.

Sebastian freezes. “Why are you looking guilty?”

“I’m not!”

You walk in with a blanket and immediately trip over your own hidden gift bag.

All three of you freeze, look at each other.

Then you sigh.

“So…we all bought two gifts, didn’t we?”

“…yes.” sebastian slowly says

“…maybe.”

“Definitely.” you sigh with a smile

A silent beat, then all three of you burst into warm, uncontrollable laughter.

Lewis pulls you in first.

Sebastian wraps his arms around both of you.

A perfect, ridiculous, loving tangle.

Snow outside and warmth inside.

Three hearts, three secrets annd six gifts waiting for Christmas Eve.

—

Christmas Eve.

The living room sparkles with fairy lights and poor decision-making.

A mountain of badly wrapped presents litters the floor, some with perfect corners (Sebastian), some held together by hope (you), and some that look like they were wrapped by a blindfolded raccoon (Lewis).

Lewis plops onto the floor beside you and Sebastian, holding a mug of something that is definitely 80% marshmallow.

“Alright” he announces, “rule review! one gift each...”

“which none of us followed” Sebastian interrupts, already judging.

You point at the pile. “That’s six gifts.”

Lewis shrugs. “We’re generous.”

Sebastian “We’re dishonest.”

You then shot back smiling “We’re in love and stupid.”

All three of you nod in agreement.

The opening of gifts started with Lewis

Lewis dramatically cracks his knuckles. “I’m ready to be adored.”

Sebastian throws him a gift. “Open mine first so you stop talking.”

Lewis undoes the ribbon with all the grace of a toddler unwrapping a banana.

Inside is a sleek, black custom-made watch with the words that says Stop Being Late

Lewis lets out the most offended gasp you’ve ever heard. “I AM NOT LATE.”

Sebastian then rolls his eyes“You were late to this conversation.”

Lewis opens his mouth, closes it accepting defeat.

Then he opens yours.

He pulls out a hoodie that says If Lost, Return to Y/N & Seb.

Lewis blinks and Sebastian laughs so hard he actually falls sideways.

Lewis presses the hoodie to his chest.

“No one’s returning me anywhere. I’m never taking this off.”

“That’s the point.” you answered

Next is Sebastian.

Sebastian sits up straight like he’s preparing for an oral exam, you hand him your gift first.

He opens it carefully, too carefully like he’s defusing a bomb.

Inside is a handmade photo book labeled Reasons You’re the Best (Even When You’re Grumpy).

Featuring many photos you definitely took secretly and stickers you definitely added at 2 AM

Sebastian hides his face behind the book.

Lewis pats his back. “It’s okay, Seb. Crying is natural.”

“I’M NOT CRYING.”

Lewis hands him his gift, a small box.

Seb opens it —

Inside is a tiny wooden carving of the three of you…holding hands… horribly crafted but adorable.

“Did you make this?”

Lewis, whispers “Yes. I was looking at some different store but I thought you'll appreciate the carving more...”

Seb, staring at its crooked faces “…I love it.”

You whisper “It has my eyebrows.”

Lewis then responded “It has mine too.”

“Mine looks like it wants to start a revolution.”

“Accurate.”

After seb, you’re barely seated before Lewis shoves a gift into your hands like an overexcited golden retriever.

“OPEN MINE FIRST!”

It’s wrapped with duct tape. Because of course.

Inside is a pair of matching rings, simple, silver, sleek.

Yours engraved with Trouble #1 Sebastian’s Trouble #2 Lewis’s is engraved with Victim

You wheeze laughing.

“Why are you the victim?” Sebastian complains

“I live with two chaotic disasters. I deserve a medal.”

“This is a ring.” you say

“It’s a small medal.”

Sebastian groans but is smiling.

Then Seb hands you his gift, beautifully wrapped, annoyingly perfect.

Inside is a soft, oversized sweater in your favorite color, embroidered with tiny stitched versions of Lewis and Sebastian hugging you.

“Woahh. You embroidered?!” Lewis said in amazement

“Someone in this throuple has to have a real skill.” Sebastian answered proudly

Lewis points to himself. “I made a sculpture.”

“That doesn’t count.”

Lewis gasps again, the dramatic kind.

You slip on the sweater.

It’s cozy, warm and too big in the best way.

Sebastian beams like he just won a championship. Lewis looks like he’s trying not to say “mine looked better.”

As everything settled down, at the end of it, you’re all surrounded by disrupted wrapping, mugs half-finished, gifts unboxed and a blanket that Lewis keeps pulling over the three of you

Sebastian leans against your shoulder while Lewis leans against your other. You’re squashed between two grown men who cuddle like it’s a competitive sport.

Lewis quietly says “This was fun.”

“We failed the rules of Secret Santa.” Sebastian says

“But we won the love.” you quickly stated

“and I got a hoodie that marks me as property.” Lewis while laughing

“Good. People need to know.”

The three of you dissolve into laughter, warm, messy, real.

The fire crackles and the snow keeps falling.

And the night ends with all three of you tangled on the floor, surrounded by gifts that aren’t really gifts, just love, packaged terribly.

Fin.