#angstlando

ꜰ1 x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ʟᴀɴᴅᴏ ɴᴏʀʀɪꜱ ᴀᴜ | ꜱᴇᴄᴏɴᴅ ᴄʜᴀɴᴄᴇꜱ + ʜᴇᴀʀᴛᴀᴄʜᴇ + ʜᴇᴀʟɪɴɢ

⚠️ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ:

ᴜɴʀᴇꜱᴏʟᴠᴇᴅ ʙʀᴇᴀᴋᴜᴘ ᴛᴇɴꜱɪᴏɴ

ᴄᴏɴꜰʀᴏɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ʙᴇᴛᴡᴇᴇɴ ᴇx-ʟᴏᴠᴇʀꜱ

ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ᴘʀᴇꜱꜱᴜʀᴇ ɪɴ ᴀ ᴘʀᴏꜰᴇꜱꜱɪᴏɴᴀʟ ꜱᴇᴛᴛɪɴɢ

ꜱᴜᴘᴘʀᴇꜱꜱᴇᴅ ɢʀɪᴇꜰ ᴀɴᴅ ʟᴏɴɢɪɴɢ

The following week passed in a blur of meetings, site visits, and endless emails. Business was booming. Spring in Monaco meant an influx of luxury weddings, royalty, celebrities, the ultra-wealthy, each expecting perfection. And (Y/n), as always, delivered.

But in the quiet moments, those rare pauses between the chaos, she found her mind wandering back to that morning with Max, Kelly... and Lando.

She hadn’t expected to see him. Not like that.

And certainly not as part of a long-term project that would have him in and out of her studio for the next several months.

Her heart had thudded painfully during that first consultation, but she’d kept her professional mask in place, giving nothing away. Not to Lando. Not to Celeste. Not to anyone.

She told herself it would get easier. That seeing him again, being around him, would stop affecting her so much.

But deep down, she wasn’t so sure.

Exactly one week later, the second consultation was scheduled. Kelly had emailed in advance, Max was traveling for a sponsor event, but she and Lando would be coming in to review venue options and finalize their short list.

The pit in (Y/n)’s stomach returned the second she read the message.

Emma, one of her senior coordinators, caught the slight tension in her expression. “Big client stress?” she asked, leaning on the edge of the desk.

(Y/n) forced a small smile. “Something like that.”

But she didn’t elaborate. Even Emma didn’t know the full history with Lando. No one did. And she intended to keep it that way.

By 10:50 a.m., the studio was ready. The space glowed with late-morning sunlight, and the scent of fresh florals filled the air. (Y/n) had dressed carefully, tailored black slacks, a soft silk blouse in muted sage. Effortlessly professional. Untouchable.

She was reviewing the portfolio of French Riviera venues when the door chimed.

Kelly entered first, all smiles. “Morning, (Y/n)! So sorry Max couldn’t make it. He got pulled into last-minute promo stuff.”

“No problem at all,” (Y/n) replied smoothly. “We’ve got plenty to cover.”

Then Lando stepped in behind her.

Different today, jeans again, a charcoal sweater that made his blue eyes stand out even more. His hair slightly tousled.

And that flicker of something, uncertainty, guarded tension, the moment his gaze met hers.

He gave a small nod. “Hey.”

(Y/n)’s heart jumped, but outwardly, she remained calm. “Welcome back.”

They took their seats. Kelly dove straight in, pulling out a folder of saved venue inspiration.

Lando, meanwhile, remained quiet at first, studying her with quick, darting glances when he thought she wasn’t looking.

(Y/n) focused on the task at hand, presenting three potential venues in Provence and Côte d’Azur, each tailored to Kelly’s style: understated, elegant, intimate.

“I love this one,” Kelly said, pointing at a restored chateau outside Avignon. “Can we arrange a visit?”

“Absolutely,” (Y/n) replied. “I can coordinate with the venue manager. Are you both available next Friday?”

Kelly nodded. “Perfect.”

Throughout the meeting, Lando gradually thawed, offering the occasional opinion, asking a question or two. But his eyes kept drifting toward (Y/n), as if trying to read between the lines of her polished professionalism.

Was she really as composed as she seemed? Did seeing him again mean nothing?

The answer, of course, was far more complicated.

By noon, the session wrapped.

Kelly stood, gathering her things. “Thanks again, (Y/n). You’re making this so easy for us.”

“It’s my pleasure,” (Y/n) replied warmly. “I’ll confirm the site visit details by the end of the day.”

Kelly smiled, then glanced at Lando. “I’ll be out front, need to take a quick call. Catch you in a sec?”

“Yeah,” Lando said casually. “Just gonna use the bathroom.”

Kelly gave him a thumbs-up and exited toward the car waiting outside.

(Y/n), meanwhile, began tidying the consultation table, sliding sample books back onto the shelf.

She didn’t notice, at first, that Lando hadn’t gone to the bathroom.

He’d followed her, quiet, deliberate, as she moved toward her private office at the back of the studio.

She pushed the door open, stepping inside... and froze when a shadow crossed the threshold.

Turning sharply, she saw him, Lando, leaning casually in the doorway, though his tense shoulders betrayed the effort.

“Lando,” she said carefully. “Did you need something?”

His eyes were locked on hers now, intense, unreadable.

“I need a minute,” he said simply.

(Y/n)’s pulse quickened. “You should catch up with Kelly. She’s waiting—”

“I’m not leaving,” he said firmly, stepping fully into the room, closing the door behind him. “Not until we talk.”

Her heart hammered in her chest.

“Lando, this isn’t the time—”

“Then when?” he cut in, voice rough. “When do I get the chance? After another meeting? Another polite smile while you pretend none of this means anything?”

She swallowed hard, spine straightening. “It’s not about pretending. We’re professionals now. You’re a client—”

“Stop.” His jaw clenched. “I’m not a fucking client to you, (Y/n). And you know it.”

The words hung in the air between them.

Silence.

Lando stepped closer, slowly, deliberately, until only a few feet separated them.

“I didn’t know you were here,” he said quietly. “Didn’t know you were doing this. Walking in last week, seeing you there, I didn’t know what the hell to do.”

(Y/n) drew a slow breath, keeping her expression calm. “It was... unexpected. For both of us.”

He gave a bitter laugh. “Unexpected? You vanish for over a year, no word, no nothing, and now I’m sitting across from you planning someone else’s wedding like none of it happened.”

Her heart squeezed painfully. But still, she kept her composure.

“That was my choice,” she said softly. “And you have to respect it.”

Lando’s eyes burned. “Respect it? You didn’t give me a fucking choice, (Y/n). One day we were fine, and the next, you were gone. You never even told me why.”

She closed her eyes for a moment, centering herself. “That’s not a conversation we should have here.”

He shook his head, voice low. “Then when? Tell me when. Because seeing you now... seeing you like this... it’s driving me fucking insane.”

For a moment, just a moment, the mask slipped. (Y/n)’s eyes shone with something raw.

But then she drew herself up again. Professional. Untouchable.

“I have work to do,” she said quietly. “You should go.”

Lando exhaled sharply, raking a hand through his hair.

“This isn’t over,” he said, voice tight. “We’re going to talk, (Y/n). You owe me that much.”

And without another word, he turned and left, door clicking softly behind him.

(Y/n) stood frozen for a long moment, chest heaving, hands trembling slightly.

When she finally sank into her chair, her heart was still racing.

She’d known this wouldn’t be easy.

But she hadn’t expected to be cornered. Not so soon. Not like that.

And worst of all—

She wasn’t sure how much longer her composure would last.

To be continued...🧡

💍ᴛɪᴇꜱ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ꜱᴛɪʟʟ ʙɪɴᴅ - ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 3: ᴄʀᴀᴄᴋꜱ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀʀᴍᴏʀ💍

📝 Note from the Author: My dear Alarwynnites, let’s talk.

This story? Yeah. I didn’t mean for it to go there. And yet, here we are: one mildly devastating wedding consultation later, a locked door, a man in a sweater too powerful for his own good, and a woman barely holding it together behind designer slacks and emotional barricades.

Inspired, unintentionally but powerfully, by the brilliant mind of everlovingdeer, this piece sort of exploded out of me like a wedding cake dropped in slow motion: beautiful, messy, and a little bit tragic.

If you're everlovingdeer reading this, or just someone who feels this resembles something personal or precious to you, please let me know. I’ll take this down faster than (Y/n) puts on her professional mask. No harm intended, this was created with admiration, not imitation.

To everyone who read, reacted, or even just paused to wonder what kind of man corners his ex in a boutique office like it’s the climax of a rom-dram, thank you. Truly. Your support means more to me than Lando’s blue eyes in that damn charcoal sweater.

Feel free to comment, scream into the void, or gently tell me to touch grass. I welcome it all.

Until next time, where someone might actually communicate like an adult (but let’s not get our hopes up),

With love, me 🧡

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