✈️ ꜰʟɪɢʜᴛ ʀɪꜱᴋ - ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 4: ꜰʀᴀᴄᴛᴜʀᴇꜱ ɪɴ ꜱɪʟᴇɴᴄᴇ✈️
ꜰ1 x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ʟᴀɴᴅᴏ ɴᴏʀʀɪꜱ ᴀᴜ | ꜱʟᴏᴡ ʙᴜʀɴ + ᴘᴏᴡᴇʀ ɪᴍʙᴀʟᴀɴᴄᴇ
⚠️ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ:
ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ᴅɪꜱᴛʀᴇꜱꜱ
ɢʜᴏꜱᴛɪɴɢ / ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ᴡɪᴛʜᴅʀᴀᴡᴀʟ
ᴘᴏᴡᴇʀ ɪᴍʙᴀʟᴀɴᴄᴇ
ᴀɢᴇ ɢᴀᴘ ᴛᴇɴꜱɪᴏɴ
ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ᴠᴜʟɴᴇʀᴀʙɪʟɪᴛʏ
ʀᴇʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱʜɪᴘ ᴜɴᴄᴇʀᴛᴀɪɴᴛʏ
ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ
The warmth of those early days faded like summer evenings—slow, subtle, and painful in ways (Y/n) couldn’t quite name.
She still had Lando’s number saved under something ridiculous, Mr. Vanilla Latte, a callback to their second meeting when he’d ordered the same drink with no shame. But for the past few days, her screen remained achingly still. No texts. No pings. No private driver at her curb with a lazy smile and a mumbled, “You know the routine, Miss.”
It wasn’t unusual for him to disappear briefly during back-to-back races, but this time felt different. He hadn’t warned her. Hadn’t said goodbye. He’d simply faded out, leaving her with a half-read message and a dozen half-formed questions.
You: Everything okay? Just checking in.
Delivered. Not read.
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(Y/n) tried to be rational about it. Lando was busy. The F1 calendar was relentless. And she had her own mountains to climb: mock exams, flight deck assessments, her scholarship paperwork due next week.
But even as she sat inside the university simulator cockpit, headset firm over her ears, altitude ticking upward in digital meters, her mind spiraled somewhere far from the clouds.
What if he was ghosting her?
What if he had someone else?
What if the whole thing—every sweet moment, every soft laugh—had been nothing more than an indulgent illusion?
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It wasn’t until the third evening that he finally texted.
Lando: Sorry. Just landed. Been a shitty week.
That was it. No emojis. No humor. No softness.
She stared at the message, thumb hovering.
She thought about leaving it unanswered. She thought about asking directly—What’s going on? But instead, she sent:
You: Hope things get better soon.
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Another two days passed.
By the time Sunday arrived, she was no longer waiting. She was studying late in a quiet café, textbook open beside her untouched coffee, when her phone buzzed with an incoming call.
Lando.
She let it ring once. Twice. Almost didn’t answer. Then sighed, flipped her phone, and pressed it to her ear.
"Hi."
"Hey," his voice was low, tired. "I’m outside. Can we talk?"
Her brows furrowed. "Outside... the café?"
"Yeah. I wasn’t sure if you’d pick up."
She gathered her things quickly, shoving notes into her backpack and wrapping her jacket around herself. The sky outside was bruised purple, and Lando leaned against a black SUV, hands in his pockets, baseball cap low over his eyes.
She walked up slowly. "Hey."
"Hey."
They stood there awkwardly for a second. Then he opened the passenger door.
"Ride with me?"
She didn’t say anything, just slid in.
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They drove in silence for a while. The city flickered past in streaks of amber. He didn’t take her to his apartment. Instead, they pulled up near a lookout point on the outskirts—where city lights glittered like stars scattered below.
(Y/n) broke the silence first. “So, is this where you bring all your sugar babies to get dumped?”
His head snapped toward her, startled. Then, to her surprise, he laughed—quiet and raw.
“No. Just you.”
She looked at him. “That’s not as comforting as you think.”
He scrubbed a hand down his face, suddenly serious.
“I didn’t mean to vanish. I was just... overwhelmed.”
“Overwhelmed?”
He nodded. “The team. The press. My family. And then—” he looked at her, “—you.”
Her breath caught. “What about me?”
“You’re not just a fling, (Y/n). You’re not just some arrangement. And that scares the hell out of me.”
There it was. The fracture line.
She folded her arms. “You think I don’t know that? I’ve been terrified since day one, Lando. I walked into this thinking I’d trade time for tuition money, not... not fall for someone who acts like I’m his secret.”
He blinked. “You’ve fallen for me?”
Her lips parted, but no words came.
He leaned back against the headrest. “I never meant to hurt you. I just didn’t know how to handle it. You’re young. You’re brilliant. You’ve got this whole future ahead of you. I shouldn’t even be in the picture.”
“You are in the picture,” she said softly. “Whether you want to be or not.”
Silence stretched again. A tension hung between them, dense and uncertain.
Finally, he looked over. “Can I ask you something?”
She nodded.
“Would you still want to be with me... if there was no money? No McLaren? No private flights?”
That cut deep. She didn’t answer right away. Just stared out at the glittering horizon.
Then, quietly: “Yes. But I won’t lie, your money got me through the door. Your heart kept me here.”
He looked wrecked. Moved. Maybe both.
“I’ve never met anyone like you,” he whispered.
“Don’t get all sentimental on me, Norris.”
He chuckled. “You’re infuriating.”
“You’re dramatic.”
Then, without warning, she reached across the console and took his hand. It was cold. But steady.
“Are we okay?” she asked.
His thumb brushed over hers.
“I think we could be.”
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The next week was a strange return to something familiar, but with cracks now visible.
Lando still called, still sent Uber Eats to her dorm when she forgot to eat. Still left her sweet notes when she visited. But he was guarded now. Measured. Like he was afraid to tip the scale too far.
And (Y/n), for all her coolness, felt the shift too.
They weren’t sugar daddy and sugar baby anymore. Not really. They were something messier. Undefined.
One evening, as they lay in bed fully clothed, her head on his chest and his fingers tracing light patterns along her arm, she asked, “What happens if your team finds out?”
He didn’t answer.
“Your parents?”
Still silent.
She pulled back to look at him. “Lando. I need to know where I stand.”
He stared up at the ceiling. “You’re the one thing in my life that feels real right now. But I don’t know how to protect that without ruining everything else.”
Tears stung her eyes, unbidden.
“I don’t need protection. I need honesty.”
He nodded. Swallowed hard. “You’re right.”
(Y/n) sat up, wrapping her arms around her knees. “I’m not asking you to announce me to the world. I’m asking you not to hide me from it.”
He sat up too, closer now. “Then I’ll try. I promise.”
She searched his face. “Don’t promise things you can’t keep.”
“I’m not.”
And somehow, she believed him.
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But late that night, as Lando watched her sleep beside him—curled into his hoodie, lips parted slightly—he wondered just how long he could hold that promise.
He was falling for her.
And falling, in his world, always came at a cost.
To be continued...
✈️ ꜰʟɪɢʜᴛ ʀɪꜱᴋ - ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 5: ʙʀᴇᴀᴄʜᴇꜱ✈️
