š§” į“É“į“Źį“É“É“į“į“ ā į“Źį“į“į“į“Ź 20: į“Źį“ į“Ź ź±į“į“Źį“ š§”
ź°1 x Źį“į“į“ į“Ź | Źį“É“į“ į“ É“į“ŹŹÉŖź± į“į“ | į“É“É¢ź±į“ + į“ Źį“į“į“
ā ļø į“į“É“į“į“É“į“ į“”į“ŹÉ“ÉŖÉ“É¢ź±:
į“į“į“ ÉŖį“ ź±į“į“į“į“Źį“į“ÉŖį“É“ į“É“į“ į“xį“į“ź±į“Źį“
į“É“xÉŖį“į“Ź į“į“ į“Ź į“ŹÉŖį“ į“į“Ź Źį“ź±ź±
Źį“ź°į“Źį“É“į“į“ź± į“į“ į“Ź į“į“É“ÉŖį“į“Źį“į“ÉŖį“É“
ź±į“Źį“Źį“ į“į“į“į“ÉŖį“É“į“Ź į“ ÉŖź±į“Źį“ź±ź±
The flat was eerily quiet that morning, too quiet for a world that had just begun to stir around them like a restless tide. (Y/n) stared at the closed laptop on the table, its screen dark but its implications loud. She still felt the phantom scroll under her fingertips, Reddit comments, blurry photos, usernames speculating about āLandoās girl,ā and timestamped sightings no one should have been able to link together.
Lando stood by the window, arms folded, watching the street like someone waiting for a storm that had already started. His hoodie was still on from the night before, and his hair was a mess, he hadnāt slept. Neither of them had.
āThey donāt know itās you,ā he said after a long stretch of silence, though his voice lacked conviction. āCould be anyone.ā
She turned slightly to look at him. āBut it is me.ā
He looked away.
A flicker of something bitterāregret, maybeāsettled in her chest. Not for the pregnancy. Not for the mess. But for the sharp change in tone. The easy banter, the playful sarcasm, it had all gone silent. Replaced now by damage control and tension she couldnāt quite name.
Landoās phone vibrated against the windowsill.
A message from his PR team.
Another from his manager.
He didnāt pick it up.
She sat back on the couch, pulling the blanket tighter around her legs, her eyes scanning the blank television. āDo you think this ruins your season?ā
His head whipped toward her. āWhat? No. Donāt say that.ā
āI meanā¦ if people start talking. If they get ugly about it. Youāre still fighting for podiums.ā
His expression twisted, caught between frustration and heartbreak. āThis doesnāt ruin anything. You donāt ruin anything. They can talk all they want. Iām not going anywhere.ā
She nodded once, but the knot in her throat didnāt budge.
Later that day, a knock echoed through the flat again. (Y/n) tensed, but Lando checked the door this time. A courier. A small envelope marked confidential.
Inside was a note from the team. A scheduled meeting. No official reprimand, but it was coming. A āconversation,ā they said. About privacy, optics, timing.
āIāll handle it,ā Lando said, throwing the envelope onto the counter like it offended him. āThey donāt get to tell me how to live.ā
But (Y/n) wasnāt sure they had a choice anymore.
That evening, Amara called. She kept her voice low and calm, but her words were urgent.
āYou need to prepare. The boutiqueās getting calls. Some press pretending to be customers. Some justā¦ nosy fans.ā
(Y/n)ās stomach turned. āTheyāre looking for me?ā
āNot directly,ā Carla said. āBut theyāre circling.ā
By nightfall, her name hadnāt trended, but the internet had become a minefield. She stopped opening Instagram. She muted tags. She shut off push notifications. And yet, it was Oscarās quiet warning from the day before that echoed louder than anything else:
āIf I noticed, others might too.ā
The next morning, Lando was already dressed when she woke up. Black hoodie, cap low over his brow, car keys dangling from his fingers.
āTeam meeting,ā he said. āShouldnāt take long.ā
She nodded from her place on the bed. āBe honest with them?ā
He paused at the door. āDepends on how they ask.ā
When the door clicked shut behind him, (Y/n) exhaled shakily. The world outside their flat wasnāt just watching, it was sharpening its claws.
She made herself tea. Turned on a soft playlist. Tried to pretend the headlines werenāt inching closer to the truth.
But around noon, the headline finally changed.
āNorris linked to mystery woman after clinic visit. Sources suggest sheās been staying at his Monaco residence.ā
Her breath caught.
No name yet. But the tone had shifted.
The comments were wild.
Who is she? Is this the same woman from the boutique sighting? PR stunt or real girlfriend? She's pregnant. Iām calling it now.
(Y/n) slammed the laptop shut again.
When Lando came back that afternoon, his expression was grim.
āTheyāre not thrilled,ā he admitted. āThey want to shape a narrative. Maybe say weāre just dating. Not confirm anything else yet.ā
āAnd you?ā
āI told them I wasnāt lying to make things easier for them.ā
She looked at him. āSo theyāre gonna go along with it?ā
āFor now.ā
Silence fell between them again. This one heavier than before.
She placed a hand gently on her belly, barely showing, but impossible to ignore now.
āYou think we can survive this?ā she asked softly.
Lando crossed the room in three strides and knelt before her, one hand on her knee, the other covering hers.
āWe already are.ā
But as the noise outside grew louder, and the whispers turned into questions, neither of them said the one thing that hovered like a shadow:
What happens when the world stops speculating, and starts knowing?
To be continued... š§”
š§” į“É“į“Źį“É“É“į“į“ ā į“Źį“į“į“į“Ź 21: Qį“ÉŖį“į“ į“Źį“į“Źź± į“É“į“ į“ÉŖį“į“ź± į“Źį“į“ į“į“į“É“į“ š§”
š Note from the Author: And just like that, the quiet ended.
This chapter marks the beginning of the unraveling, not of their bond, but of their anonymity. Itās no longer just whispers behind closed doors. The stormās on its way. And Lando and (Y/n) will have to face it togetherā¦ or not at all.
If you felt the weight of that last line, āWe already are,ā drop a š«¶ or š§ļø in the comments. Iād love to know how youāre feeling as everything slowly tilts into the spotlight.
Thank you endlessly for reading. Your support fuels every single word I write, and Iām beyond grateful.
With love, me š§”
