🧡 ᴜɴᴘʟᴀɴɴᴇᴅ — ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 13: ꜱᴍᴏᴋᴇ, ᴍɪʀʀᴏʀꜱ, ᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴏꜰᴛ ʟᴀɴᴅɪɴɢꜱ 🧡
ꜰ1 x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ʟᴀɴᴅᴏ ɴᴏʀʀɪꜱ ᴀᴜ | ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ + ᴅʀᴀᴍᴀ
⚠️ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ
ᴍᴇᴅɪᴀ ɪɴᴠᴀꜱɪᴏɴ/ᴘʀɪᴠᴀᴄʏ ᴀɴxɪᴇᴛʏ
ᴜɴᴡᴀɴᴛᴇᴅ ᴀᴛᴛᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴ ᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴘᴇᴄᴜʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴ
ᴍɪʟᴅ ʟᴀɴɢᴜᴀɢᴇ
ꜱᴜʙᴛʟᴇ ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ꜱᴛʀᴇꜱꜱ
ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴘᴀꜱᴛ ᴜɴʀᴇQᴜɪᴛᴇᴅ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴇꜱᴛ (ʟᴜᴄᴀ)
The morning fog curled off the coast like steam from a forgotten teacup. Monaco was awake but not yet loud, its yachts bobbed quietly in their berths, cafés only just rolling up their metal shutters, and the streets still tender with dew.
Inside the boutique, (Y/n) stood near the back stockroom, clipboard in hand, pretending to check inventory. She wasn’t really reading the numbers, her mind was full, heavy with everything unspoken.
Last night with Lando had been… calm. Not simple, but calm. A first, in many ways. There had been no shouting, no accusations, no ultimatums, just two people speaking into the quiet like they were trying not to wake something fragile between them.
But she knew the silence wouldn’t last.
Not with the way Carla had started to hover near the windows, watching the street like a bored detective. Not with the way Amara had half-joked, “So… do I have to start planning a gender reveal?” and (Y/n) had nearly choked on her tea.
The whispers were forming. The clock was ticking.
And sure enough, later that afternoon, while refolding a pile of imported scarves, Carla dropped the bombshell.
“Did you know there’s a tabloid Twitter thread circling about Lando’s ‘mystery woman’ again?”
(Y/n)’s spine straightened. “They always have threads.”
“This one has pictures.”
(Y/n) looked up. Carla wasn’t smirking. She was... concerned.
“They’re not clear,” Carla added. “But one of them, outside the boutique. You’re blurry, but your blouse isn’t.”
Silence stretched.
Amara appeared from the fitting rooms. “I told you,” she said, flicking a hanger onto the rack. “They’re gonna put it together eventually.”
(Y/n) felt her throat go dry. “We’ve been careful.”
Carla gave her a soft look. “Careful doesn’t matter if people want to see what’s not there, or worse, what is.”
Across town, in the controlled chaos of the McLaren paddock, Lando tapped at his phone, jaw tight.
He’d seen the thread.
A grainy photo of him at the boutique. Another, barely distinguishable, of a woman stepping into a car. Then came the captions: “Lando’s Monaco Secret?” “Not Just a Stylist?” “More Than a One-Time Thing?”
He rubbed his temple. “Fuck,” he muttered under his breath.
Oscar walked by just in time. “Press finding blood in the water already?”
Lando shot him a look. “You saw it?”
“I see everything. I’m like a bored owl with Wi-Fi.”
He wasn’t being smug. Just honest.
Oscar paused. “You gonna say anything to PR?”
Lando shook his head. “Not yet. The second I do, it becomes bigger than it is.”
Oscar hesitated. “Is it not already bigger than it is?”
There was no good answer.
That evening, back at the boutique, (Y/n) sat behind the register, staring at her untouched cup of ginger tea.
The bell chimed softly as Amara locked the door behind the last customer.
Carla was already in the back, counting receipts, but soon returned to the front, waving a receipt in one hand and holding a pen in her mouth.
She paused by the counter, leaning slightly. “I talked to Luca.”
(Y/n) blinked. “You did?”
Carla nodded. “Told him to back off for a bit. I didn’t say anything about what’s going on, just made it clear it’s none of his business right now. He’s still sniffing around, asking questions. I don’t think he’s trying to stir anything… just being Luca. Curious. Or maybe still hung up.”
(Y/n) let out a slow breath. “I can’t deal with him right now.”
“You won’t have to,” Carla said simply. “Cousin duty. I told him to mind his own business and fuck off unless he wanted me to start asking about his love life for once.”
A moment later, Amara wandered in from the side, arms crossed, watching the two of them.
“I still can’t believe you told Luca that,” she said, nudging Carla’s hip playfully. “Also, Carla says she’s starting a betting pool on how long you two last in secret.”
(Y/n) groaned. “God, not her too.”
Carla gasped dramatically. “Excuse me, it’s called friendly statistics!”
Amara rolled her eyes. “With a chart and stickers?”
Carla smirked. “And glitter pens. I take my side hustles seriously.”
That night, just past midnight, (Y/n)’s phone lit up again.
Lando: Meet tomorrow. Early. Same place?
She hesitated, then replied.
Y/n: Okay. No press. No noise.
Lando: No noise. Just us.
But what neither of them knew, what they couldn’t know, was that just one suite down the paddock, a Ferrari staff member had overheard a conversation. And someone from Alpine had retweeted that blurry photo. And Oscar, in a half-private moment, had told Lily:
“She means more to him than he admits.”
And Lily, smart and sharp as ever, had simply said: “Then he better stop hiding it before someone else drags it into the light.”
To be continued... 🧡
🧡 ᴜɴᴘʟᴀɴɴᴇᴅ — ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 14: ᴛʜᴇ Qᴜɪᴇᴛ ʙᴇꜰᴏʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ʙʀᴏᴀᴅᴄᴀꜱᴛ 🧡
📝 Note from the Author: Day six on Tumblr, Alarwynnites, YAYYY 🧡!!! And somehow we’re already at Chapter 14?! That was fast... faster than a pit stop under a safety car 😭 I honestly can’t believe how far we’ve come in just a few days.
Thank you so much for reading, reacting, and spiraling with me through every chapter. It means everything.
Don’t forget to like, reblog, comment, and follow for more stories in the future, because I’m not lifting off the throttle any time soon 🏎️💨
With love, me 🧡
