🧡 ᴜɴᴘʟᴀɴɴᴇᴅ — ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 5: ᴄᴏʟʟɪꜱɪᴏɴ ᴄᴏᴜʀꜱᴇ 🧡
ꜰ1 x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ʟᴀɴᴅᴏ ɴᴏʀʀɪꜱ ᴀᴜ | ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ + ᴅʀᴀᴍᴀ
⚠️ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ:
ᴘʀᴇɢɴᴀɴᴄʏ (ᴜɴᴘʟᴀɴɴᴇᴅ)
ᴘᴜʙʟɪᴄ ᴀɴxɪᴇᴛʏ/ᴘᴀɴɪᴄ
ᴍɪʟᴅ ꜱᴇɴꜱᴏʀʏ ᴏᴠᴇʀʟᴏᴀᴅ (ɴᴏɪꜱᴇ, ᴄʀᴏᴡᴅ, ᴘʜʏꜱɪᴄᴀʟ ᴅɪꜱᴄᴏᴍꜰᴏʀᴛ)
ᴀᴄᴄɪᴅᴇɴᴛᴀʟ ᴘʜʏꜱɪᴄᴀʟ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴀᴄᴛ
ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟʟʏ ᴛᴇɴꜱᴇ ʀᴇᴜɴɪᴏɴ
ɪᴍᴘʟɪᴇᴅ ꜱᴇᴄʀᴇᴄʏ
ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ᴅɪᴇᴛᴀʀʏ ʀᴇꜱᴛʀɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴꜱ (ʀᴇʟᴀᴛᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴘʀᴇɢɴᴀɴᴄʏ)
The sky above Monaco burned a pale orange by the time Sunday rolled around, painting the Grand Prix weekend with a postcard-perfect glow. Crowds thickened along the barricades. Helicopters hovered like lazy flies overhead. The air reeked of octane, sunscreen, and champagne dreams.
(Y/n) hadn’t planned to go anywhere near the race. But Amara had dragged her out of bed with a coffee bribe and a VIP paddock pass, something Carla had scored last-minute through a friend in PR. She couldn’t refuse, not without raising suspicion.
Besides, part of her was tired of hiding.
Still, standing near the paddock now, tucked behind sunglasses and her loose jacket, she felt like an intruder. Mechanics buzzed like bees around the cars. Pit crews shouted numbers and tire pressures. Celebrities posed near hospitality suites.
And there, like gravity pulling her gaze, was Lando Norris.
He hadn’t seen her yet. He was busy, head down, listening to his engineer, laughing at something Oscar Piastri muttered. He looked lighter, more focused than the version of him from that alley. But she could see it in his shoulders: the tension, the pressure.
A tug on her arm.
"Come on," Amara whispered. "Carla says they’re doing a quick meet-and-greet by the McLaren truck. We’ll just peek. I swear."
(Y/n) followed, her stomach twisting.
Luca was already there. Tall and sharply dressed in a black button-up tucked neatly into tailored slacks, he stood near a group of journalists, his dark hair pushed back with deliberate ease and a pair of sunglasses resting casually atop his head. He held a clear plastic cup of iced coffee in one hand, the condensation dripping slowly down his fingers. His presence was effortlessly confident, the kind that didn’t need attention but always drew it anyway. His eyes found hers quickly. He raised a brow in silent question.
She nodded once. Just observing, she mouthed.
"Ms. (L/n)?" a voice said behind her.
She turned, too fast, and found herself face-to-face with someone from the PR tent, a clipboard in hand. "We had your name down as one of the boutique partners for styling this week, right? McLaren wants a quick photo with the designers."
(Y/n)'s heart stopped. "I—what?"
"It'll be thirty seconds. Just by the garage. Promise."
Before she could decline, Amara was pushing her forward with a grin that said you’ve got this.
She stepped past the gate.
Lando looked up. Their eyes locked.
The change in him was immediate. His shoulders straightened. His smirk vanished. He blinked as if she’d caught him mid-dream.
And then, as if the universe wanted to toy with her one more time—
Boom.
A tire jack slipped from one of the pit stations, clanging onto the concrete with a deafening crash. She flinched. Lando instinctively stepped forward, catching her by the elbow.
"You okay?"
(Y/n) stared at him. Too close. Too fast.
Luca appeared a second later, placing a firm hand on her back. "She’s fine. Just startled."
Lando's gaze flicked to Luca, then back to her. "Are you sure?"
(Y/n) nodded. “I’m good.”
The PR woman waved them over. “Just one photo. Smile!”
Lando hesitated, but she was already moving to stand beside him.
The camera flashed. Once. Twice.
Then she was gone.
Retreating before anyone else could say her name. Before Lando could ask the questions that sat so dangerously close to the truth.
Back in the boutique’s staff lounge, she sat down heavily, peeling off her jacket. Her body felt heavy, not just from the heat and tension, but from the decisions she still hadn’t made.
She reached for her water bottle, taking slow sips of the filtered cucumber water she kept on hand now. Hydration was crucial, her doctor had said. So were small, consistent meals. Nothing too greasy. Lots of leafy greens. She had a small stash of almonds and crackers in her bag, and ginger chews for when the nausea came in waves.
She avoided cold cuts now, and soft cheeses. No more tuna sandwiches or over-sugared bubble tea. Sushi was off the table. She had switched her morning coffee to decaf, though she missed the jolt. Fruit smoothies with oat milk were her new lifeline. Her meals had gone from careless to cautious overnight.
Everything she ate now had to think twice for two.
Amara walked in, flopping down beside her with a sigh. “You did great back there. Didn’t even faint.”
(Y/n) gave a tight smile. “Barely.”
Amara opened a protein bar, took a bite, then looked over. “I saw you dodging the prosciutto skewers earlier.”
(Y/n) shrugged, casually. “Not in the mood for cold meats.”
Amara raised an eyebrow but didn’t push it. “I packed your almond crackers and that oat smoothie just in case.”
(Y/n)’s expression softened. “Thanks. You’re the best.”
Before Amara could say more, Carla burst through the door. “They’re replaying the photo on the big screen outside! You and Lando looked like a promo for a Netflix show.”
Amara laughed and stood. “Come on, you’re gonna want to see this.”
(Y/n) exhaled in relief, grabbing her jacket.
She still hadn’t told him.
But soon.
Maybe too soon.
To be continued... 🧡 🧡 ᴜɴᴘʟᴀɴɴᴇᴅ — ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 6: ꜱʜɪꜰᴛɪɴɢ ʟɪɴᴇꜱ 🧡
📝 Note from the Author: Good morning from my side of the world ☀️ I’m finally awake, so here’s a fresh update for you to enjoy while I prep the next two chapters in the lineup. Thank you for being patient and staying with me through all the drama, tension, and tender moments 🧡
I’ll be working on the upcoming chapters next, so stay tuned, it's only going to get more intense from here 👀
Until then, enjoy this one and feel free to scream in the comments. You know I live for that.
With love, me 🧡
