#bigreputation

As we walked out of the bathroom, we were hit by the suffocating heat of the club. The air conditioning was on full blast, but with that many people packed inside, it was impossible to feel it.

We pushed our way through the crowd, and with some effort, we managed to reach the bar, where—miraculously—we found two empty seats. I gestured to the bartender and silently mouthed, “water.” Luckily, he understood and immediately handed us a couple of bottles.

“Here, drink as much as you can—you’re a fucking mess,” I said, unscrewing the cap and placing the bottle in his hand.

“Thanks.” He grabbed it with slightly trembling hands and immediately started chugging the entire bottle.

Sometimes I thought Ethan might have a serious problem with alcohol. He drank so much that there were times when he wouldn’t remember a thing the next day. Anyway, that’s a conversation for another time, because right now, I kind of wish I could get to that same state myself.

You see, until recently, I was a different person. I had a stable relationship, a stable job, and a life that—even if it wasn’t always happy—was comfortable and worked for me. All of that changed when I found my boyfriend, my future husband, in bed with a woman younger than me, prettier than me, and with a more glamorous and successful career than mine.

It hit me so hard that I ended up leaving everything familiar and safe behind, to travel aimlessly with my best friend.

“THIS IS MY FUCKING SONG, LET’S FUCKING DANCE BITCH” Ethan shouted over the music, immediately grabbing my arm and pulling me toward the dance floor.

We blended into the crowd and started dancing right away. Ethan, still consumed by the alcohol in his system, began putting on one of his shows.

One of those where he dances in a provocative, almost inventive way, like he’s in one of those L.A. dance videos where everyone just start doing random shit just for the sake of it. In another situation, I might've felt a little bit embarrassed, but since I’m also a drunk mess and in a place where no one knows us, I couldn’t care less.

The atmosphere was so good and so lively that I don’t even know when we ended up on the other side of the club. There, the two of us danced together, and after a while, other girls joined us. The moment couldn’t have been better—I was with my best friend of many years, enjoying what we loved most, without having to worry about cheating boyfriends, homewreckers, or people with nothing better to do than justify the harm done to someone who has been betrayed.

My mind wandered so much between my pain and my drunkenness that, when I came back to my senses, I was leaning against a wall, kissing a complete stranger. I pulled my lips away from the man who had his hands on my waist, and immediately he opened his eyes, silently asking what was wrong.

Very light blue eyes looked at me questioningly, but I was still a bit out of it and, for a moment, I couldn’t even remember how to speak. I studied his face a little longer, and something about it felt familiar—not in a “I know you from before” kind of way, but in a “I’ve seen you somewhere” kind of way.

“Do I know you from somewhere?” I asked, almost shouting over the loud music.

The guy laughed softly and just replied, “I don’t think so,” shrugging.

I shrugged too and thought, anyway, I probably won’t see him again, so what does it matter if we just give eachother a few kisses tonight?

We went back to what we were doing, this time with a little more passion. His hands tightened around my waist, and I placed mine around his neck—a very strong neck, by the way. His lips were a bit rough, but that only added spice to the moment. His kisses began to move from my mouth to my neck, and I let out a small moan as I felt them sending signals straight to my core.

That sensation was suddenly interrupted by Ethan’s unmistakable shout. I opened my eyes abruptly, and the first thing I saw was my best friend practically lifeless on the floor.

“ETHAN” I shouted, pulling away from the blue-eyed guy and rushing toward my friend. “What the fuck?”

“Y/N, I think I’m really drunk,” I managed to hear as I tried to lift him, with help from the pretty-eyed guy and another girl who had been dancing with us earlier.

“Your friend doesn’t look too good. If you want, I can take you to your hotel or wherever you’re staying,” the guy whispered in my ear.

I looked at him for a moment, unsure whether to accept or decline. In a situation like this, I would normally say no immediately. I mean, I don’t really know this person, and there’s a high chance something could go wrong given our state. I don’t know if it was his familiar face or the fact that dealing with Ethan alone would be a headache, but I ended up saying yes.

Between him and one of his friends (who appeared out of nowhere), we carried Ethan to the club’s parking lot, where the guy’s car was parked. Somehow, we managed to get Ethan into the back seat, and the guy and I got into the front.

“Aren’t you too drunk to drive?” I asked, a bit concerned.

“Don’t worry, I can drive even with my eyes closed,” he said with a slight laugh. I wasn’t entirely convinced, but he seemed fully aware of himself, and at that point, getting Ethan out of the car again would’ve been a challenge.

I gave him the name of the hotel, and he put it on the GPS. In what felt like the blink of an eye, we arrived. We got Ethan out of the car and I managed to sit him on the curb—completely passed out, as he normally ended up when he went clubbing.

“Thanks for your help and for bringing us here.”

“What do you mean, thanks? You need to pay me,” he said playfully, pulling me by the arm. Still surprised, I let him kiss me again. He pressed me against one of the car’s rear doors, and I just foolishly went along with it—all while my best friend laid unconscious no more than two meters away.

There, in the hotel parking lot, in that brief moment, I realized that maybe my life wasn’t so bad after all.

(…)

My life was bad after all.

In my attempt to heal from the disaster of my last relationship, I ended up making many mistakes, mistakes that were now catching up with me.

Opening Twitter had become my daily dose of torture, a place that constantly reminded me that, somehow, I could look even more pathetic than I already felt. Countless tweets from people talking about how awful I was for trying to ruin my ex’s career and his new girlfriend’s reputation by accusing them of being cheaters and homewreckers.

All of this witch hunt started because, Í “accidentally” (though it was actually very intentional), shared a TikTok video where someone exposed everything that had (supposedly) happened in our relationship. It was, to be fair, a very accurate summary.

My ex-boyfriend is a football player for one of the biggest clubs in Spain. He’s not Cristiano or Messi, but he has a solid reputation and stats to back him up. We met many years ago, when he was a nobody. Even so, from the very beginning, he became everything to me. I supported him when he needed it the most, I went to his games, celebrated his victories, and comforted him in his losses.

Unfortunately for me, I could've given him heaven and all it's fucking glory, and it still wouldn’t have been enough for someone as ungrateful as him. The moment he signed his big contract in Spain, he started to think I was no longer on the level of a “great” footballer like him. Little by little, he began replacing me and leaving me out of things. At first, I tried to understand, it was a new environment with new people. I told myself I just had to wait for him to adjust, go through his process, and then things would go back to normal.

That “normal” never came.

Because sooner than I expected, he made his final move, and while we were still together, he started going out with a “singer”, more than a singer, is one of those influencers who suddenly thinks she’s an artist just because she releases a song with a recycled beat and lyrics written by a Jack Antonoff wannabe. But oh well, who am I to judge? Maybe I’m just speaking from my very poorly hidden bitterness.

The point is, I found them both in the apartment we shared, in a position that left no room for excuses or justifications.

That same situation is what the girl in the video I shared was explaining. Of course, she didn’t know that I had actually caught them tangled up together on my couch. But she could guess—based on the number of “likes” they exchanged on social media, how they always seemed to be in the same places with the same group of friends, and, not least of all, how shamelessly they were photographed holding hands, walking through the streets of Madrid just a week after he made our breakup official.

But despite all of this, according to the entire internet, I’m the lunatic trying to destroy them for no reason and therefore I deserve hell in the form of cyber harassment.

With a sigh, I set my phone face down on the table so I could get a break from the chaos. I sipped my coffee while waiting for Ethan to come back from taking photos around the restaurant.

After the Oslo fiasco, Ethan woke up the next day and, as expected, didn’t remember a thing—neither the vomiting in the bathroom, nor the ridiculous dancing, nor the cute stranger who had taken us back to the hotel in his SUV. About a month and a half had passed since then, and during that time my friend and I had been traveling a bit. Right now, we’re in Mexico.

“Alright, sweetheart, I’m back,” Ethan said, sitting down across from me.

“How were the photos?” I asked flatly.

“Beautiful. Honestly, it’s a gorgeous place, and it’s going to look amazing on my Instagram feed.”

“I can imagine.”

Ethan is a content creator. Thanks to that job, we’d been able to afford all the trips we’d taken over the past few weeks. With my current situation, my savings wouldn’t have lasted nearly as long. I knew that at some point I’d have to go back to Spain and get my life in order, move out of the country, preferably, and find another job that actually gave my life some meaning. But for now, that was a problem for my future self.

My present self was enjoying her stay at a hotel in Mexico City, drinking coffee and eating chilaquiles at one of its many restaurants.

“Hello, miss,” one of the waiters said, interrupting my train of thought.

“Hi, yes?”

“Yes, I just wanted to let you know that your bill has been paid by another guest.”

What? I repeated the waiter’s words in my head, unsure if I’d suddenly forgotten Spanish or if I was just struggling to process it.

“Uh, someone here wants to eat you up,” Ethan said, wiggling his shoulders and dramatically tucking his nonexistent long hair behind his ear.

“Shhh, Ethan. Sorry—who?” I asked, finally finding my voice again.

“It’s the gentleman over there,” the waiter said, subtly pointing to one of the tables in front of me.

It took me a moment to figure out who he was, but after my eyes wandered around the room for a second, they landed on a very familiar pair.

My breath caught in my chest, and I immediately felt the blood rush to my cheeks. Of all the places in the world, of all the people in the world—this had to happen to me.

It was the same guy from the nightclub in Oslo. The same blue eyes, the same blond hair, the same slightly crooked smile. The. Same. Damn. Person.

And not just that—now that I was fully sober and could really study his face, I understood why he had looked so familiar.

Oh my God, I’m so screwed.

It’s fucking Max Verstappen.

Fucking Max Verstappen.

I hadn’t even gotten out of one mess before stumbling into another. Jesus, just take me already.

“Um… tell him I said thank you” I managed to say awkwardly to the waiter.

“He also asked me to give you this,” the waiter added, handing me a folded note.

“Thanks.”

“What the hell is it? Open it—I want to see it too,” Ethan said, already being his usual nosy self.

“No, Ethan. I don’t want to cause a scene. I’ll open it later.”

I looked back toward the no-longer-stranger stranger. He was smiling slightly as he watched me. When he saw me looking again, he lifted his coffee cup in greeting.

I rolled my eyes, a small laugh escaping my lips, and returned the gesture by raising my own cup. He just laughed.

I quickly finished my food and stood up to head back to my room, Ethan right behind me. When I glanced discreetly at his table again, he was no longer there.

(…)

Back in my room, after spending thirty minutes in a full-blown panic attack while Ethan kept insisting I should just open it and get it over with…

I opened it.

Text me +XX (XXX) XXX XXXX

That was all the note said.

“Girl, what the hell?” Ethan said, reading the same thing as me.

“I don’t know.”

“Sorry, but I don’t believe for a second that this guy just saw you and decided he wanted to talk to you.”

I let out a deep sigh at Ethan’s words, because obviously he had no idea this was the same person I’d ended up kissing in a club while completely wasted—and then finished the job by kissing him again in the hotel parking lot while he was slumped off to the side.

“I know him.”

“What?” Ethan said, full of disbelief.

“I mean… yeah. He’s the guy I was with at the nightclub in Oslo.”

“The guy who took us back? Damn, this is exactly the kind of thing I miss by not keeping my ass sober.”

I couldn’t help but laugh, he was absolutely right.

I looked back down at the piece of paper and sighed. I definitely shouldn’t text him. His world was even more chaotic than my ex’s. I couldn’t see myself dealing with another wave of online hate, because if anyone found out what had happened between us, I would be the one taking the hardest hit. People on the internet just needed the bare minimum to drag you to the gallows or push you into social suicide.

Even with all that in mind… I still wanted to talk to him. I mean, he seemed nice—or at least he had been nice to me. I had friends who were into F1, and from the way they talked, you could tell that Max Verstappen was the complete opposite of nice on the track. The guy was ruthless.

“Girl, just do it. One more scandal, one less scandal—what’s the difference? They’ve already thrown every insult at you. Nothing can be worse than what they’ve already said,” Ethan said, getting up from the small sofa and heading toward the door. “Just have some fun—that’s what this trip is about. I’m going out to take more photos; I’ll be back later.” And just like that, he walked out of the room.

Ethan was right. To a bunch of strangers, I was already the worst person to ever walk on earth. They judged and pointed fingers at me without knowing my side of the story. So why did I need to be conserned about what a bunch of jobless people thought? At the end of the day, no matter what I said or did, it wouldn’t change the perception they had of me.

And he was also right about another thing: I should have some fun. That’s why I left my job, why I left my “organized” life behind—to rediscover myself, to find a part of me that could actually make me happy.

So, without overthinking it, I grabbed my phone and saved the number.

ME: Hi, I assume you know who this is.

As soon as the message sent, I threw my phone onto the bed like a maniac while anxiety took over me.

“I did it, I did it, I did it—holy shit.”

I hadn’t even had time to chew my nails off when a message notification lit up my phone.

My heart started racing, and with trembling hands, I picked it up.

MV: Haha of course I know

MV: How are you?

Me: Surprised. I didn’t think the world was so small that we’d run into each other here

MV: Honestly, neither did I. But I kind of like that it happened

MV: Do you have plans for today?

Me: Not really. My friend has some things to do tonight, so I’ll probably just stay in.

MV: Would you like to go to dinner? We could do it here at the hotel, my treat, of course.

Me: I’d love that.

We worked out the details—what time and where we’d meet. He mentioned he was a bit busy at the moment and said goodbye with a promise to text me again shortly before we met.

(…)

The afternoon went by quickly, and before I knew it, I was ready, walking toward the entrance of the hotel restaurant. Ethan had helped me choose my outfit for the evening. Max and I had agreed it would be something quite casual, so I just wore a mini skirt, a long-sleeved blouse, and a pair of boots.

It was a bit chilly in the city, and I have a Caribbean soul, so I needed to stay warm as soon as the temperature drops to 20 Celsius.

Max was already standing at the entrance of the restaurant, dressed head to toe in black. As soon as he saw me, he smiled.

“Hi, how are you?” I greeted him, giving him a kiss on the cheek.

“Excellent. How about you?”

“Just as good.”

“Perfect. Shall we go in?”

We walked into the restaurant, and they seated us right away. We ordered our food and quickly got lost in conversation.

“How was your race yesterday?” I asked, taking a sip of my wine.

“So, you do know who I am,” he said, looking at me with a slight smile.

I just laughed softly at his remark.

“Yes—how could I not? I mean, I didn’t recognize you at the club because I was drunk, but you did seem a bit familiar.”

“I see. Well, to answer your question, it went well—I finished first on the podium.”

“Congratulations. I would have loved to see it.”

“Maybe one day you’ll get the chance,” he said, sipping his drink while holding my gaze.

“I don’t think so. After this trip, I’m heading back to Madrid.”

“You live there?”

I went on to tell him about the mess my life had become over the past few months—how I couldn’t really answer that question anymore because, at the moment, I didn’t belong anywhere. Then the questions about the aftermath of my breakup came up.

“And that’s why everyone is attacking you?” he asked, his voice laced with disbelief.

“Yep,” I nodded, pressing my lips together.

“Don’t give it too much importance. People aren’t interested in the truth—they only care about the version that gives them the most drama. You can explain the same thing a thousand times, but there will always be parts that don’t add up for them, and that will make you look guilty in their eyes. Trust me, I’ve been through that a thousand times.”

“I understand that, but it’s really hard for me to be judged so harshly. It’s suffocating to feel like no matter what you say, there’s no way to redeem your image in front of others.”

Max just nodded and looked at me with understanding. God, I must look pathetic.

Our conversation drifted to other topics, though they weren’t exactly cheerful either. He talked about his career, and I talked about mine—the uncertainty and unhappiness I had been feeling, how this trip with my best friend was also, in part, a creative outlet, and how I had started a small blog in the middle of the trip to rekindle my love for art.

“Surprisingly, it’s been really fulfilling. No one knows I’m the person behind it, because, you know, I’m not exactly the most loved person on the internet,” I said, and we both laughed in unison. “Unfortunately, I’ll have to put it on hold once I go back.”

“Why?” he asked.

“Because I’ll run out of content for a while. I have to move and basically start from scratch.”

“You could extend your trip a little longer.”

“That’s not possible. I’m here because Ethan invited me, but the campaign he was working on is over now, so he has to go back to England.”

“It doesn’t have to be with Ethan. You could come with me.”

I could only laugh. He must be crazy to even think I would go on a trip with him. My brother in Christ—we just met.

“Why are you laughing? I’m serious.” My laughter stopped immediately, and I looked at his serious expression.

“It’s not possible that you’re serious, we just met.”

“So? Come on, think about it. Nothing bad is going to happen to you. At least nothing that you don’t want.”

“It’s risky, and I don’t mean for me, I mean for you. Can you imagine if someone sees us together and they start another hate campaign against me, and you end up caught in the middle of all that? I wouldn’t forgive myself.”

“None of that matters to me. Trust me, I’ve been through much worse,” he said with a somewhat dry laugh.

“Even so, I’m not entirely sure it’s the best idea. I’ve already postponed my return for too long.”

“Look, just think about it, okay?. Come with me to Brazil, and if you still don’t feel comfortable, you can go back to Madrid. You don’t have to worry about anything—I’ll pay for everything.”

I let out a deep sigh.

“Alright, I’ll think about it.”

After that strange conversation, we continued having dinner, talking about trivial things.

When we finished, we said our goodbyes warmly—not before he leaned in and whispered in my ear, “Think about it.”

(…)

And I really did think about it.

All night, in fact, I barely slept. Every time I closed my eyes, I imagined the two of us together, repeating the kisses we shared in Oslo, but this time in the ocean, on a beach in São Paulo. Those ridiculous daydreams would jolt me awake immediately, startled. I couldn’t think like that. So far, he hadn’t made any indecent proposal, so I couldn’t just assume he wanted me for that kind of relationship.

“Are you an idiot?” Ethan asked me the next morning after I told him everything that had happened, including my doubts about what his invitation really meant.

“Hey, it’s fair for me to consider that. Just because he invited me on a trip doesn’t mean he wants to fuck me.”

“No man asks to take you to another country just because he wants only your friendship, especially not after there’s already been some kind of sexual interaction,” he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“Well, maybe I am an idiot,” I said, grabbing a pillow and pressing it against my face, letting out a small, frustrated scream.

“Yes, yes you are. If I were you, I would’ve hopped on that dick the second his lips touched mine in that damn club.”

“What the hell are you talking about? You’re absolutely insane.” I throw my pillow at him.

“Anyway, that’s not the point. What matters is that you have the chance to have a good time, at least one more weekend before going back to the sad, horrible reality waiting for you in Madrid. He gave you the option to leave whenever you want, so you have nothing to be afraid of.”

I just stayed silent. Ethan was right. What was the harm in going for a weekend? It wasn’t like things could get worse than they already were.

Besides, I didn’t really mind if his invitation had underlying sexual intentions. In fact, just the thought of it made a flicker of excitement settle low in my stomach.

“Fuck it.”

I picked up my phone and searched for his contact.

ME: I’ve thought about it, and I think I’d like to go see you race.

(…)

In less than 24 hours, I was already on a plane heading to Brazil. Max took care of all the reservations and, of course, paid for absolutely everything.

When I arrived at the airport, a car and driver he had sent were waiting for me. They took me to the hotel, I checked in, and when I walked into my room, I found a bouquet of flowers.

It was beautiful and delicate. The card simply read, From Max, with love. Nothing more.

It was Wednesday, and Max already had commitments related to the race he had that weekend, so we agreed to meet for dinner that night.

In the meantime, I took off my clothes and lay down to sleep. The past few hours had been so surreal that I was left completely exhausted.

That evening, Max took me to a beautiful restaurant near the hotel. Everything was handled with great discretion—at my request, of course.

The next day was much of the same. Max was busy with his responsibilities, and I kept myself occupied writing for my blog. I went out for a walk and took some photos—photos I planned to use for the blog, since I had long abandoned my social media. The less people knew about my life and where I was, the better.

Friday was media day for Max, but unlike the previous days, he finished much earlier than expected, so he decided we’d go to the beach. Of course, it was a private one, much less crowded, where no one could easily recognize him.

And you know what? Being delusional sometimes works, because there we were, kissing in the ocean on a beach in São Paulo. Like I had imagine. Just thinking about it makes me laugh like an idiot. If Ethan could see me now, he’d probably smack me for being so naïve.

Saturday was qualifying day, and as expected, Max finished in pole. It wasn’t a surprise to anyone, but it still gave me a certain thrill to see it all for the first time.

Sunday finally arrived—the day of the race—and everything turned out contrary to what was expected. Max had some technical difficulties that left him off the podium. When the race ended and the camera focused on him, he looked extremely pissed. My heart tightened a little because I knew he had been confident he would win this race.

“Hi, are you Y/N?” a young man in a Red Bull shirt asked as he approached me.

“Yes, that’s me.”

“Max asked me to take you back to the hotel. It’s going to take him a bit longer than expected to get out of here.”

I simply nodded and followed him to the circuit’s parking lot. Once again, everything was done with great caution so no one would suspect my reasons for being there. For that same reason, I had asked Max for a seat that wouldn’t draw too much attention.

The ride back was completely silent. When we arrived at the hotel, I went straight to my room.

Hours passed, and I still hadn’t heard anything from him, so I decided to send him a simple message asking how he was. The message went unanswered.

It bothered me a little that he ignored me, but I tried not to take it personally—it was clear he wasn’t in the mood because of everything that had happened during the race.

I had dinner at the hotel buffet and then returned to my room to pack my bags, since I had a flight the next day. With almost everything packed, I went to bed. It was only 9 p.m., but I had nothing else to do.

No more than 30 minutes passed before I heard a knock at my door. I woke up slightly startled and ran to open it. It was Max—fresh out of the shower, his hair wet and wearing a tight white T-shirt.

“Max…” I said softly.

“How are you?” he asked. “I’m sorry I didn’t answer your message, I got a bit busy with the team. Can I come in?”

I stepped aside and let him in. I closed the door, and when I turned around, he was right in front of me.

Without saying a word, he kissed me roughly. His hand went to the back of my neck and pressed me firmly toward him. Under other circumstances, I would have complained, but this felt so hot that I just had to let myself go.

As he kissed me, he moved us backward toward the bed and threw me onto it. He undressed almost completely and, on all fours, moved toward the middle of the bed where I had already settled.

Gently, he removed my small pajamas until I was left only in my panties.

He laid on top of me and took one of my breasts in his hand while the other went into his mouth. It felt so good that my pussy was getting all wet and warm.

With his tongue, he traced my abdomen and removed my panties, leaving me completely naked. His warm mouth began to lick my vaginal lips and my clitoris. His hands caressed my legs; one of them slid down until it found the entrance to my wet vagina and began inserting his middle and ring fingers at the same time in a rhythmic motion.

A pressure started to build in my lower abdomen, and I couldn’t help but grab his hair and press his face closer to create more pressure. My moans and the wet sound of his fingers moving in and out of me began to echo throughout the room.

With one last kiss, he pulled his fingers out and put them into his mouth to taste them.

He got up from the bed and removed his boxers, now completely naked. His cock wasn’t extremely long, but it had a thickness that I knew would make my eyes roll back the moment the tip entered.

“Come here, on your knees,” he said in a raspy, aroused voice.

I obeyed immediately and knelt in front of him, fully understanding what he wanted. I took his dick in my hand and began to stimulate it. His gland grew noticeably larger, and without wasting time, I took it into my mouth.

I started to suck and apply pressure. I wasn’t the most experienced at this, but apparently, it was more than enough for him because he began grabbing my hair, trying to push his cock deeper into my throat. We stayed like that for a couple of minutes until he made me stop.

He positioned me on the bed again, placing me on all fours. His dick entered my vagina slowly, as if trying to make the penetration gentler and easier for me. Once he was fully inside, he began moving his hips. Just as I suspected, the width of his dick touched very sensitive parts inside me, making me desperately want to moan like a cat in heat.

With one hand, he grabbed my curly hair and held me as he thrust harder; with the other one, he gave me a couple of slaps on my ass.

He put two of his fingers into my mouth, coating them with my saliva before using them to stimulate my clitoris again. There was so much happening at once that I didn’t know what to focus on. His thrusts became faster and stronger. I completely lost control and came while moaning desperately. Even then, his stimulation on my clitoris didn’t stop, causing that pressure inside me to build again—this time, I squirted.

His breathing grew heavier, and in a quick motion, he pulled out and ejaculated over my ass.

A couple of minutes passed as we both caught our breath. Immediately, he grabbed some toilet paper and cleaned me. I took the glass of water he offered, and we lay down together.

My head rested on his chest, his arms wrapped comfortably around me as he played with my hair.

“I wish you could see me win,” he whispered suddenly.

(…)

I didn’t go to see him win.

Well, I didn’t go because the next race was a few weeks away, and honestly, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to be there. Deep down, I felt that if I kept this going, things would get complicated—and as always, I’d be the one who ended up hurt.

After that night, we had breakfast together the next day. We talked about everything, and he made it clear that he’d like us to keep seeing each other, on my terms and however I preferred. I simply told him I’d think about it—that I needed to go back to Madrid, and if everything went well and I felt comfortable, we could meet again.

So yes, that’s how things were now. I took my flight to Madrid without any issues. Max took care of booking me a first-class ticket, so I just relaxed in my spacious seat, slept, and ate.

When I arrived at the airport, I went straight to my small apartment—one I had been sharing with a friend ever since I found out about my ex’s infidelity.

All my things were scattered around my room because I hadn’t had time to organize anything before leaving. I spent the whole day taking care of that—throwing away what I didn’t need, putting other things in order—and by nightfall, I sat on my bed in a room that felt nothing but peaceful.

I opened my laptop and braced myself for the mess my emails were going to be. Many of them had to do with contracts and other matters I used to handle before everything ended.

Yes, I used to work for my ex. It makes me laugh a little now. But at the time, it filled me with a deep sadness to realize that I had set aside my own dreams to help him with his, only for him to repay me like that. The shameless idiot expected me to keep working for him as if nothing had happened. Of course, I refused—and in less than a week, I left the city, abandoning all his matters. I suppose he must have everything sorted out again by now.

Among the emails, I found some collaboration offers related to my blog, which filled me with pure excitement and happiness. I didn’t know what would become of my life or my career from then on, but I did know I was going to focus on my dreams.

After reviewing everything, I decided to check my social media for the first time in a while. I found a few posts that mentioned me briefly, but nothing scandalous. It seemed like the whole situation had calmed down. Even so, I chose to keep my accounts private, it was better to avoid another wave of attention.

I also ended up searching for my ex’s name. Most of the posts that came up were about his recent matches, and others showed him with his new girlfriend. Honestly, they looked really good together. Maybe it really was necessary for me to step aside.

I let out a dry laugh.

My phone suddenly rang—it was Max calling.

“Hello?”

“Hi, beautiful. How was your arrival?”

Like an idiot, I let out a small, silent squeal of excitement, twirling a strand of my hair around my finger.

The conversation was easygoing and after about 45 minutes, we said goodbye.

“Think about what we talked about before you left.”

“I will,” I said before we hung up.

I didn’t know where all of this was going to end, but for the first time in a long time, I wasn’t afraid to face the consequences of anything.

(…)

As the weeks went by, my stay in Madrid became quite monotonous. I wanted to visit Ethan in London, but apparently he was busy on another one of his trips to Turkey, and honestly, I didn’t feel like jumping back into the hustle I had just escaped from.

I talked to Max every day—usually through text messages. On other days, when he was busier, he would call me at night, and we would spend a long time talking and telling each other about our days.

Max is a very serious person. He can even come across as a bit arrogant and sometimes ill-tempered—at least, that’s what I’ve gathered from the stories he tells me about his day-to-day life. But with me, he’s the complete opposite. He’s genuinely warm, takes the time to explain things when I don’t understand, and always has sweet words for me.

There was also a topic that kept coming up in our conversations: when would we see each other again?

He was usually the one to bring it up, and it always ended with him suggesting we meet in Las Vegas, where his next race would be. It sounded reasonable to me—it would give both of us time to handle our own lives, and for him to spend time with his family and friends before meeting again. Still, I couldn’t help having my doubts and feeling a bit nervous about it.

Against my better judgment, just a few days before the Las Vegas Grand Prix, I decided to give him an answer.

“All right, I think we can meet in Las Vegas. My passport and visa are up to date, so I shouldn’t have any trouble traveling.”

A soft laugh came from the other end of the phone.

“You have no idea how happy makes me to know I convinced you. I’m going to make sure you have a really wonderful time.”

The next day, I was already on another plane. I said goodbye to my roommate, unsure whether I would come back to her. Something in my mind told me that things wouldn’t be the same after this trip.

When I arrived in Las Vegas, none other than Max Verstappen himself was waiting for me at the airport. Of course, he was wearing sunglasses and a cap. The sign with my name on it covered the rest of his face.

When we got to the car, I couldn’t help but laugh at how ridiculous the situation was.

“What are you laughing at?” he asked with a slight smile.

“Your face, duh.”

He wrinkled his nose and, without saying anything else, pulled me toward him and kissed me, one of those kisses that left me almost floating.

The following days were amazing. Just as Max had promised, I had a great time in Las Vegas; we went to restaurants, casinos, and saw some live shows. To top it all off, the cherry on the cake was him finishing in P1.

“Did you like watching me win?” he said, breathless as he moved inside me.

“Yes… it turns me on seeing you soaked in champagne,” I replied, and it was as if something in him ignited.

The next morning, very early, we were having breakfast together at a small café near the hotel.

“Come with me to Qatar,” he said out of nowhere.

“What?”

“Yes. In fact, you should come with me all the way to Abu Dhabi. It’s the last race of the season, and there’s a high chance I’ll win the championship. I’d like you to be there with me that day.” He said it so casually, as if spending nearly two more weeks together were the most natural thing in the world.

“I’m not sure. My birthday is tomorrow, and I was supposed to spend it with my roommate.”

“What? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I don’t know… you didn’t ask, and it’s weird to just bring it up out of nowhere.”

“That's another reason for you to stay with me. I’m going to give you the best birthday.”

To be honest, if I went back to Madrid today, I wouldn’t really do much for my birthday. I’d most likely end up exhausted from the trip and from unpacking everything. So Max’s proposal seemed more appealing.

“Alright, it’s not like I’m doing anything else with my life anyway.”

Max let out a little laugh and kissed me.

My God, what a beautiful, sweet man.

(…)

That same afternoon, Max made a few calls—I assumed he was coordinating everything we were about to do.

We flew to New York on a private jet. On board, I met several members of his team, including his father, Jos Verstappen. From the random bits I had read about Max (yes, I did look him up, okay?), his father was often described as someone who bordered on narcissism. So when Max introduced us as if it were the most normal thing in the world, I felt like the ground beneath me wasn’t steady enough to keep me standing.

Still, he wasn’t rude to me—though I can’t say he was particularly warm either. Once we were seated on the jet, there was a moment when Max fell asleep, and apparently Jos decided that was the perfect time to say a few things to me.

“Max has spoken a lot about you over the past few weeks. You strike me as a very intelligent and interesting young woman—simple, elegant and reserved. You have the qualities someone needs to be by Max’s side,” the man sitting across from me said, with a calculated seriousness.

“Thank you,” I replied softly. It was easier to say that than to explain that, in reality, his son and I didn’t have anything defined—at least, not yet.

“No need. I looked you up online and saw the little scandal with your ex-boyfriend and his new girlfriend. Quite pathetic on his part, I must say.”

The blood drained from my face in that instant, and I could barely breathe.

“Don’t worry, don’t be alarmed. As long as you’re not a distraction to him, that part of his life is his to handle, and it doesn’t concern me.”

“I understand.” I swallowed hard, and little by little, the color returned to my face.

“Happy birthday. I’m going to find the restroom.”

He finally stood up, and I was able to release all the air I’d been holding in. He is truly an intimidating man.

Not long after that conversation, the jet was already landing.

When we arrived at the hotel, Max and I shared a room. His father and the rest of the team headed straight to Qatar.

The suite was beautifully decorated, and all I could do was laugh with happiness as I hugged him, overwhelmed by the surprise.

“It’s not your birthday yet, but I want to start making it special already.”

And it really was special.

That night, he took me out to dinner, and we also went up the Empire State Building. It was all very cliché—but I don’t mind, because I love clichés when they’re happening to me.

We made love when we got back to the hotel and fell asleep together as if we had known each other for years.

The next day, he woke me up singing “Happy Birthday” in my ear. In his hands, he held a small muffin with a lit candle.

“Make a wish.”

I closed my eyes and blew out the candle—without really making one.

A long time ago, I understood that wishes don’t come true, no matter how much hope you put into them.

“Come on, I have a surprise for you.”

“Another one?”

“Yes, another one. The trip was only part of it.”

When we walked out, I found the small entryway filled with gift bags.

“Max, you shouldn’t have,” I said, my voice trembling.

“Of course I should. This is nothing compared to what I’d like to give you.”

I just looked at him, not knowing what to say, so I thanked him with a kiss.

We spent the rest of the day walking around and exploring. Max insisted on buying me anything I liked—“whatever the birthday girl wants.”

We ended up so exhausted that at night we just ordered room service and went to sleep.

The trip to Qatar was long and a bit boring. I tried to sleep, but my schedule was completely messed up after so much traveling in the past few days.

When we arrived, I was taken to my room, and Max to his.

I decided to update my blog with the latest places I had visited. Lately, my site had been getting a lot of traffic, and I needed to dedicate time to keep it that way.

(…)

Sunday came quickly, and so did the race. The heat in Qatar was unbearable, so this time I accepted Max’s suggestion to watch it from one of the air-conditioned areas.

Jos was there as well. He greeted me naturally—even with a slight smile.

As expected, Max finished first on the podium. He celebrated the victory with his team, while I applauded from a corner, trying not to be seen.

The ride back to the hotel was quick. I was so exhausted that I just lay down and didn’t even notice the flood of messages and notifications coming into my phone.

I came back to my senses when someone started knocking on my door. I got up carefully, and when I opened it, Max was there.

“Max, what’s going on? I thought you’d be asleep by now.”

“An article just came out about us,” he said hurriedly. He didn’t seem alarmed, but I definitely was.

“What? What does it say? What do you mean ‘about us’?” I started asking, a bit (very) agitated.

“Yes. Apparently, someone from the press started following us since Las Vegas and took pictures of us together in New York.”

“God, what a nightmare. Show me the article.”

“I will, but please stay calm.”

“Yeah… yeah, okay.” Nothing was okay, but if I showed my anxiety, Max would hesitate to show it to me.

The article basically said something like, “New love on the horizon? Max Verstappen spotted on a romantic outing with what appears to be his new girlfriend.”

Further down, it included details about me—that I had been dating that piece of trash, my ex. It mentioned the cheating scandal and the backlash I received for how I handled it. Bastards.

Finally, it showed several photos of us together—one at the café where we had breakfast in Las Vegas, another one getting off the jet in New York, and more of us walking hand in hand.

“God, how could I be so careless?” I ran my hands over my face in frustration.

“Hey, it’s not anyone’s fault. These people think they can invade our lives without any respect,” Max tried to comfort me, but I was too lost in my panic to really listen.

I grabbed my phone and started reading the messages I had received while I was deeply asleep.

ETHAN BABYGURL: Girl, have you seen the pictures going around all over Twitter? I’ve been fighting off a bunch of bitches to defend your dignity. Call me as soon as you can. Love you, XO.

LAIA ROOMIE: Girllll, you kept that a secret! Living your best life and not inviting me. If he has any friends you can introduce me to, I’m available hahaha.

Mom: Y/N, your cousin just showed me some photos of you with a blond guy. I thought there was a chance you’d get back with that handsome footballer, but I see that’s not the case. Please call me, I want to talk to you.

I even had a damn message from the jerk who started this whole mess.

PIECE OF SHIT: You criticized me and gave me hell, but it looks like you moved on pretty fast too.

That was the final nail in the coffin. I didn’t even want to see what social media had turned into—there was no way I could show my face anywhere after this.

“Y/N, you don’t look okay. Please tell me what you’re thinking—you’re worrying me.” I don’t know when I sat down, but Max was crouched in front of me, his brow furrowed, clearly stressed.

“I’m fine, I’m fine. I just don’t know what to say, I don’t know what to do. It’s humiliating to be in the public eye like this again.”

“I know, and I’m really sorry. This is all my fault.” Max stood up, taking my hands and pulling me up.

“No, it’s not. It’s obvious you wouldn’t want this to come out.”

“That’s not the point—” he tried to explain, but I cut him off.

“You don’t have to make excuses. You and I have nothing. I’m nothing in your life. You don’t owe me anything.”

“That’s what you think? That’s what you believe we are? Nothing? After everything?”

I let out a shaky sigh.

“Max, we’ve known each other for a month—maybe a little more. What do you expect me to think?”

“I don’t know… maybe that I’m just waiting for the moment when you’re ready to make things official. Even though, to me, that’s not necessary. I already see you as the person I want by my side.”

“Max, it’s not possible for you to have that decided already. You’re just saying that because of the pressure.”

“Yes, it is possible. I’m a stubborn man—you’ve seen that yourself. I don’t back down, and when I decide something, it’s final.” His face started turning red, his breathing uneven. He was clearly affected by the conversation.

“Max… okay, you may have it all figured out like you say, whatever, but I don’t want to be anyone’s girlfriend. I’m tired of being someone’s girlfriend, only to be used and then discarded like I’m nothing—like I’m absolutely nothing.”

“Fine, I guess that’s fair. And I have a solution.”

“What—”

“Marry me.”

“You’re crazy—of course not,” I said immediately, shaking my head in disbelief. “Didn’t you just hear me say we’ve only known each other for a month?”

“I don’t care. The only thing that matters is that I’m fucking crazy about you”

“That’s not a good enough reason to make a decision like that.”

“In my world, it is.”

It was more than clear that continuing to argue with him made no sense. I sat back down on the bed and started wondering how I had ended up in the middle of all this.

“Y/N, please, believe me when I tell you that you’re the only thing that matters to me right now, and all I want is to be with you. I don’t care about skipping the whole dating stage if that’s what it takes to prove it to you. And if, in the end, you decide you don’t want to be with me anymore, I’ll accept it without a problem. But give me a chance.”

Is it even possible? Is it possible that someone like me could go through so many ridiculous situations? I don’t even have the mental energy left to process the chain of unfortunate events that brought me to this exact moment.

But is it also possible that something good like this could happen to me?

Max has shown, in the short time we’ve been seeing each other, that he genuinely cares about me, I have no doubt about that. But is that enough to sustain a marriage?

What the hell am I even thinking? Of course it’s not. I just met him. The only thing I’d achieve by accepting his ridiculous proposal is making myself look desperate in front of everyone, again.

I was ready to turn him down once more when I looked straight into his eyes. There was determination in them, but also a hint of fear.

And then I started to think… why the hell should I care about what people think of the decisions I make? Why should it matter if I fail? Getting married after knowing each other for only a month isn’t exactly the most sensible choice but neither was going with him to Brazil, and here we are… happier than ever.

“Y/N, please marry me,” he pleaded again, interrupting my thoughts.

I don’t think it can get any worse, and if it does, I’m willing to take the risk.

“You’re going to have to buy me a ring,” I said, crossing my arms.

Max just laughed, delighted by my particular way of accepting his proposal. He stood up and pulled me into his arms.

(…)

Max won in Abu Dhabi.

And with that, he won the World Championship.

I was so overwhelmed with emotion that I couldn’t stop jumping among the crowd, trying to catch a glimpse of my now fiancé stepping out of the car victorious.

He ran toward his team, who were waiting to celebrate. Champagne was everywhere, and they lifted him up, making him bounce as they cheered. I could only laugh, completely carried away by the moment.

When Max finally touched the ground again, he searched for me in the crowd, and the second our eyes met, he ran straight toward me.

I welcomed him with open arms.

“Congratulationsss!”

“I wouldn’t have done it without you here.”

I was sure he would have, but I wasn’t about to argue. I just leaned in and kissed the helmet he still had on.

Max had to leave to complete all the ceremony protocols, but he asked someone from his team to take me back to the hotel so I could start getting ready for the celebration later that night.

When I got back, I did just that, I showered, got dressed, and did my makeup. Just as I was finishing, Max walked into the room.

“You look beautiful,” he said, blowing me a kiss.

“And you look soaked.”

Max just laughed.

He went in to shower and get ready, and once he was done, we left the room together. Inside the elevator, I was about to press the button for the first floor, but Max stopped me and pressed the one for the rooftop instead.

“Huh?” I looked at him, confused.

“Just wait,” he said, winking.

When we got upstairs, everything was dark.

“I wanted us to come up here first to see the city.”

The city lights were breathtaking. We were so high up it almost made me dizzy.

“Y/N.”

When I turned around, the entire terrace lit up with soft golden lights. I took in how beautiful everything looked—until my eyes landed on Max, kneeling.

“Max…”

“I forgot everything I wanted to say, but… will you marry me?”

I almost choked on my own breath.

It was completely unexpected. I thought that after his desperate proposal a few days ago, things would just stay that way.

With tears in my eyes, I managed to answer:

“Yes… of course, yes.”

From the small box in his hand, he took out a ring and, with trembling hands, slipped it onto my finger.

Overwhelmed with happiness, he lifted me into his arms, and we started spinning around. I could only laugh and cry at the same time.