#mistery

But here you were, backstage at the closing concert of their tour, a tour you had accompanied them on. Not just as Mira’s sister. No.

Now you were their stylist and personal designer.

It all started with sketches you made in an old notebook — designs the girls saw and loved instantly. Then came your advice on what to wear. You’d never had freedom to dress how you wanted, but you had a creative taste that fit perfectly with the girls’ vibe.

Then Mira made calls, pulled some strings, worked a little magic — something you both teased and thanked her for — and ta-da! You were their personal designer.

You felt happy having something you truly enjoyed, something that let you express your creativity besides painting — and, of course, being close to your sister.

Back to the concert.

You were checking the girls’ outfit changes for the show, making sure every piece matched perfectly with their shoes and accessories, when you heard your name called.

(Y/N)!

You turned quickly to find Bobby, the girls’ manager. Meeting him had been fun; he treated you like one of the team right away, and you loved seeing someone care so much about the girls.

“Hey Bobby, what’s up?” you asked, confused by the worry on his face.

“Have you seen the girls?” he asked anxiously. You shook your head, and he ran his hands through his hair. “They were supposed to be here 25 minutes ago. We’re running late!”

Bobby looked like he might hyperventilate any second, but you calmed him down by guiding him to breathe with you.

“Okay, Bobby, look at me and breathe with me.” You inhaled and exhaled together until he relaxed. “I’ll call them. I’m sure they’ll be here any minute now.” You pulled out your phone and FaceTimed Mira.

On the third ring, you heard the trio greet you.

“Hi (Y/N)!” they said, waving. You returned the greeting and asked where they were.

“About to eat our pre-game ramen,” Rumi exclaimed as you saw the other two girls eating beside her. Bobby nearly fainted hearing that, so you handed the phone to him so he could talk to them.

From what you heard, the girls hadn’t realized they were running late. They hadn’t noticed their jet had flown past the stadium and kept going. You leaned closer to the screen, watching the three share a look of complicity you didn’t understand.

“Don’t lose your shirt, Bobby. We’ll be there in three,”the purple-haired girl said, ending the call.

Sometimes, there were moments when the three girls made gestures or said things that made you feel like an outsider to some inside joke. You didn’t judge them — they had their secrets, after all, and you were still the newcomer. But you couldn’t help feeling a little left out whenever they disappeared or were deep into their exhausting training.

Shortly after arriving at the tower, you realized the girls didn’t take physical condition lightly. They said it helped them give their all on stage, but you thought it was a bit extreme for idols. Still, you weren’t one to judge.

They even taught you how to defend yourself. Obviously, you weren’t at their level, but you’d learned how to throw a solid punch if needed. Mira insisted on giving you a personal dagger and made it clear you had to always —and she meant always—carry it.

With the excuse that “you never know,” you reluctantly agreed just to keep her at ease.

You liked learning something other than ballet, which you still practiced in your free time, but without the pressure chasing you. You had also started dance sessions with Mira since she was the group’s lead dancer. You enjoyed seeing her in her element and spending time with her.

In the last three months, your relationship had grown so much. You’d talked and gotten to know each other again — neither of you the same as seven years ago.

You snapped out of your thoughts when Bobby exclaimed the girls had landed — or rather, arrived right on the stage — causing the crowd to erupt in cheers and applause for such a stunning entrance.

*“I'm gonna show you how it’s done, done, done.”*

The song’s notes filled the arena, making the crowd vibrate along. Bobby beside you was ecstatic, and you moved with the music.

The girls were the best.

---

The concert was over, and you waited for the girls at the elevator exit along with the entire production team. Bobby didn’t allow a second to pass without making sure they had everything — from food to five bottles of water each.

“Someone say water?” he said as the doors opened. Told you, not a second wasted.

The team gathered around the girls, each knowing their role. You went over to Mira to congratulate and hug her, and she returned the gesture happily.

“Was everything okay with your ‘delay’?” you asked, a bit worried. She nodded, calming you as you walked down the hall together.

By the way, (Y/N),” Zoey said, “the outfits gave it her all. Them looked amazing under the stage lights.” You thanked her while everyone praised the “special effects” used for their entrance.

Mira chuckled softly. “Yeah, sure. ‘Special effects,’” she said teasingly for reasons unknown to you.

“And to celebrate, I got you a week at the most exclusive, relaxing resort in Korea!” the manager said happily.

“Sorry, Bobby, but we already have tickets for the most popular spot in town,” Zoey exclaimed as she and Mira grabbed your arms excitedly.

“Our couch!” you exclaimed in unison with Mira, shouting the word together. It was a funny habit you’d all developed — maybe because you thought alike or spent so much time together, sometimes ending up saying the same phrases.

They started jumping away from the group as Rumi told Bobby to take a vacation; after all, he needed it too.

You laughed while they put a robe on him, and he waved goodbye without complaints.

“I’m so ready for two weeks off,” you exclaimed, relieved. The past months had been a roller coaster.

---

After a well-deserved shower, you entered the penthouse living room with Zoey and Mira, chanting “Couch!” with every step. You were ready to sleep for two weeks straight without being disturbed. Zoey had mentioned some turtle videos, and you and Mira were totally down for that.

You carried a pile of food to kick off the relaxation. As your body sank into the sofa, you swore you heard your muscles sigh in relief. Your whole body ached, and your feet throbbed from hours standing.

You were between the girls, who were sprawled out beside you, exhausted. Just as you felt you might doze off, you felt movement behind you.

“Hey. Having a good break?” Rumi said, peeking over the back of the sofa.

“Huh?” you turned, confused, along with the others.

“What? No. We literally just sat down!” Mira pointed out the obvious. The four of you had been at the tower less than an hour.

Rumi stood fully, revealing her new black-and-white outfit.

“Why are you in your new costume?” you asked, looking her up and down. You had designed that outfit for the new single’s promotion...

Oh no.

“Rumi, you didn’t…” you said, standing.

“Did you announce the new single?” panic crept into your voice as the meaning hit you.

Goodbye two weeks of rest.

“The promo starts tomorrow… tonight?” Mira couldn’t believe what she was hearing. The girls started to whimper as they stood, while you sank deeper into your sad little cries.

“Tonight?” Zoey echoed incredulously.

“Rumi, no!” Mira tried to pull away from Rumi, who was holding out the new outfit.

“No!”

You stood up almost crying. “But the pajamas! No, no!” But Rumi didn’t listen, and both girls were already dressed in their new outfits while you rubbed your face, full of regret.

Just then, the elevator dinged, and Bobby came out smiling, eyes glued to his phone.

“Girls, you won’t believe this!”

Mira and Zoey whimpered his name with defeat.

“Bobby!”

“No more relaxy time!” you chimed in from the sofa where Rumi was already pulling you up.

Bobby was so absorbed in his screen he didn’t notice your complaints about the interruption.

“Your new single is on fire!” he exclaimed cheerfully. “Everyone’s listening!”

That lifted the girls’ spirits, and they started celebrating with Rumi. You joined in too.

“So let’s go promo!” With theatrical flair, Bobby spun around, shedding his robe to reveal an outfit matching the girls’.

---

After a while, the girls went to their first interview on a late-night show where they premiered their new single.

Luckily, you didn’t have to go. Thanks to your great planning, you’d done enough ahead to avoid working like crazy the next two weeks — just some quick check-ins here and there.

You decided to catch up on emails to make sure everything was in order. You were in what was now your room. The penthouse was huge, with plenty of empty rooms, so you’d chosen the one next to Mira’s and across from Zoey’s.

You liked feeling your space was yours — decorated in soothing blue tones that gave you peace at night, plants you watered daily, your canvases and art supplies. The room you always dreamed of growing up in.

Your favorite part was the private balcony. You could spend hours leaning on the railing, watching sunsets, sometimes painting the sky and forgetting the world for a while.

You sat on your bed with your laptop on your lap, scanning your inbox. Not much — new sketches, confirmations from your support team and fabric suppliers.

Except for one email that just arrived.

“Application for Image Consultant Position.”

That was the subject, and you got excited seeing the reply about the job you’d applied for.

Let’s rewind a bit: about two months ago, Bobby mentioned a new company looking for a designer and image consultant.

You didn’t have many details, but they’d seen your work and sent you a job offer. You’d been chatting back and forth with the company for a few weeks, exchanging ideas and designs.

After the initial offer, you found out it was for a new group, debuting soon.

Though they hadn’t debuted yet, the amount they offered was impressive — not that the girls paid you badly, but when you saw the number, your jaw nearly hit the floor.

More than money, you wanted experience and recognition outside the girls and beyond just being Mira’s sister.

You wanted to do it for yourself.

So when you read that you’d meet this new group tomorrow — just a week before their debut — you couldn’t contain your excitement.

“We are very pleased to invite you, Ms. (Y/N). Our group, the Saja Boys, look forward to meeting and working with you.”

“Please reply to this email to confirm if you can attend our office tomorrow at 11 a.m.”*

You didn’t waste time and sent a positive reply, buzzing with excitement about this new job.

You closed the laptop and got ready for bed, but not before checking the group chat with the girls. They’d sent a photo before their interview, which you liked.

They told you they had another morning interview the day after tomorrow, where they’d announce their live debut of Golden, their new song.

Everything was perfect. Tomorrow was all yours to focus on your new group.

The only thing? You hadn’t told Mira yet. You noticed she could get a bit jealous with her friends and you in general, and you didn’t want her to think you couldn’t handle two groups at once — but you’d prove her wrong.

With those positive thoughts, you went to sleep excited about what was coming.

---

Across the city, in the most luxurious and secluded area near the HUNTR/X tower, a dark-haired man scanned the email he had just received, a smug smile spreading across his face.

“Guys, she accepted,” he announced to the other four figures in the room.

His words drew them closer, eyes fixated on the screen as five pairs of malicious eyes read your reply to the meeting scheduled for tomorrow.

The five exchanged quick glances, each wearing a smile that didn’t fully reveal their true intentions. The dark-haired man set the laptop aside and lifted his gaze to the group.

“She’s more involved than we thought,” he murmured, his voice low and heavy with meaning. “If she really knows what’s out there, she could be more useful than just a designer.”

One of them, the mint-haired boy, leaned forward, resting his elbow on the table and staring into the air as if calculating possibilities.

“We need to see what she’s really made of. But for now…” he smirked sideways, “Let’s keep it smooth. No need to scare her off before we even meet.”

The others nodded, the tension in the room mingling with a sense of opportunity. They all knew this girl was more than just an idol’s sister, but exactly how much she knew was still a mystery—and that excited them.

“Then, tomorrow. Let’s see what she brings to the game,” said the short pink-haired boy.

A silence fell over the room, eyes gleaming as if everyone held their breath, fully aware that something big was about to begin.

---

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---

The paddock was unusually quiet that morning.

Not silent , Formula 1 was never silent , but muted in a way that felt… off. Like the tension just before a storm broke. Oscar had felt it before, usually during race delays, or right before a penalty was announced. A subtle hum beneath the surface. Something wrong without knowing exactly what.

He pushed open the hospitality door with a frown already forming on his face. His phone had been buzzing nonstop since he woke up, but he hadn’t checked it. He figured it was about the media debrief that got delayed last night , maybe something about tire strategy or wind direction at Turn 7.

He expected emails.He didn’t expect Zak Brown to be standing there. Waiting.

“Oscar.” The tone was sharp. No small talk. No smile.

Something was definitely wrong.

Oscar shifted his weight. “Morning.”

Zak didn’t respond. Just nodded toward a small table where the comms lead and the team’s legal counsel were seated. A tablet was already playing something, paused at the four-second mark. The comms lead didn’t even greet him, just gestured toward the chair.

“Sit,” she said.

His stomach tightened. He sat. Without a word, the video was unpaused. At first, it sounded familiar, too familiar.

“I get that you were frustrated. But you can’t keep throwing your old team under the bus every time something goes wrong. You left. We moved on.”

His own voice, sharp and low.

“Did you?”

Her voice. Controlled, clipped. It was their conversation from the day before, the one behind the media tent. Where she’d come to shut down the scandal before it began. Where they'd kept it civil. Where they’d made sure to keep it civil.

He remembered every word of it. Every glance. The weight of things unsaid pressing between them like static electricity.

“This isn’t about being ‘fine,’ Oscar. We’re not your story anymore.”

“I was never part of your story”

He winced. It sounded colder on tape. Too clean. Stripped of context, it came across like a lovers’ quarrel ,something secretive and loaded. The sound quality was almost too good. This wasn’t caught on someone’s phone. It was a proper recording. Directional mic, maybe. Professional gear.

But that wasn’t what made his blood run cold.It was what came next.

A click. A subtle jump-cut. New scene. And then, his voice again.

Softer. Lower. Vulnerable.

“I thought about texting you after Singapore.”

“Then why didn’t you?”

“Because you made it pretty clear you didn’t want anything to do with me.”

He felt the air drain from the room.This wasn’t yesterday.This was… months ago.

He hadn’t even known this conversation had been recorded. It happened after the race in Singapore? in a quiet hallway at the hotel. She had just come from a meeting, hair still pinned up, Alpine lanyard still around her neck, and he'd been... stupid. Caught up in something unresolved.

“I don’t hate you, Oscar,” she’d whispered.

“You just hate what I did.”

“I hate that you left without saying goodbye. At least to me”

He gritted his teeth now, listening to himself fail to respond to that in the recording. A younger version of himself standing there in stunned silence, mouth open, heart pounding, not brave enough to say what he wanted to. The clip ended mid-breath.

The comms lead paused the screen. A long silence followed.No one looked at him.

Oscar sat frozen, hands curled into fists beneath the table. His pulse drummed in his ears.

“You said that conversation was about calming things down” the legal advisor said flatly.

“It was,” Oscar said hoarsely. “The one yesterday was. That other part... that wasn’t supposed to exist.”

Zak finally spoke. “It does. And now it’s public.”

Oscar stood up too fast. The chair screeched across the floor. “Who the hell had that audio?”

“We were hoping you could tell us.”

He shook his head. “I never recorded anything. I never… I didn’t even know someone else was there.”

But the words were getting lost, drowned under the implications already taking shape in the room.

Conflict of interest. Misconduct. Media scandal. Team breach.

And then, as if the universe had a personal grudge, his phone buzzed again.

This time, it wasn’t a text.It was a mention. He opened Instagram on instinct.

And there it was.

The post had gone viral. Over 300,000 likes already. A reel titled “Oscar Piastri and Alpine strategist, the real story?” with spliced audio, dramatic music, and comments flooding in faster than he could scroll:

“You can hear the heartbreak omg 😭”

“They were in love, and now it’s all over???”

“THIS is why he left Alpine. Not the car. The GIRL.”

“And now she’s still around the paddock?? Girl, be real.”

Oscar nearly dropped his phone. He barely noticed when someone opened the hospitality door behind him.Until he heard her voice.

“Who leaked it?” she asked

The door slammed shut behind her.

It was like the air shifted the second she entered cold, charged, sharp. The room went completely still. Even Zak, who rarely looked fazed, leaned back in his chair like he didn’t want to be in the line of fire.

Oscar turned slowly, eyes locking with hers. She wasn’t crying. That made it worse.

Tears would’ve made her look weak, or overwhelmed, or emotional. But this version of her , dry-eyed, clenched jaw, holding back something that looked like fury and heartbreak laced together was terrifying.

“Who leaked it?” she asked again, voice low.

Nobody answered. The silence felt like a confession. Her eyes flicked toward the tablet on the table. She crossed the room, picked it up, and hit play herself. No hesitation.

She listened to it. Again.

The same words. Her voice, his. Everything they’d said in that godforsaken hotel corridor. Every word they’d left unfinished. Every pause filled in now by thousands of strangers who didn’t know either of them.

Her hand was steady. But her breathing wasn’t.When the clip ended, she didn’t look at Oscar. She looked at Zak.

“So now what? Am I getting banned from the paddock? Fired? Should I just walk out and do a TikTok to explain myself?”

The legal advisor stood, palms up. “We’re not jumping to—”

“You are jumping,” she snapped. “My name is already being torn apart online. I woke up to ten missed calls from Alpine. My pass is temporarily revoked until the ‘internal review’ is over. That means I can’t go near pit wall. I can’t access live data. I’m being treated like a security risk because someone wanted to start a rumor.”

Oscar stepped forward. “This isn’t your fault.”

She finally looked at him.And for a second, he wished she hadn’t.

“I trusted you,” she said.

His chest burned. “I didn’t do this. I would never—”

“But you let it happen.” Her voice cracked. “You knew someone else was there that night. Didn’t you?”

His throat tightened.

He remembered it now. The sound of a door closing down the hallway after he’d walked away from her that night. A soft laugh the next morning, over breakfast, from someone who said, “Didn’t know you were still cozy with Alpine, mate.”

Lando.

He hadn’t thought much of it. At the time, it just felt like teasing. Banter. Nothing serious. But now?Now it sounded like a loaded gun with his fingerprints all over it.

“I didn’t think—” he started, but she was already laughing bitterly.

“No. You never think, Oscar. You just say things on the radio, or at hotels, or behind tents, and assume no one’s listening.” Her eyes shone now, still not crying, but close. “Well, guess what? Someone was. And now my career’s on the edge of a knife, because I cared enough to meet you halfway.”

He wanted to reach out. To say I didn’t ask for this, I didn’t mean for it to become this.

But he knew how that would sound.

Instead, he asked quietly: “Why didn’t you delete that audio?”

She blinked. “What?”

“If it was on your end… if somehow your phone recorded—”

She cut him off. “It wasn’t me, Oscar. I don’t record my breakdowns for fun. I’ve deleted more messages from you than I’ve kept. And trust me, I’m regretting that now.”

The tension in the room was unbearable. PR was already on damage control. Zak’s phone buzzed nonstop. The legal rep was whispering about media embargoes and joint statements.

But all he saw was her.Still standing. Still fighting to hold onto some piece of dignity.

Still furious.And maybe still hurting.He stepped closer, slowly.

“They’ll spin this however they want,” he said. “But we know what really happened.”

She looked at him for a long time.

Then, finally, quietly: “Do we?”

That’s when her phone buzzed.Her expression shifted , from rage to confusion. Then panic.

She turned the screen toward him.A new post. Same page. Same caption style.This time: a blurred photo.Her. Him. Months ago.

Out of uniform. Off-duty. Arguing in the shadows of the hotel balcony. Her hand on his chest, his head tilted slightly down , to anyone else, it looked like they were about to kiss.

To everyone else… it looked like confirmation. A relationship.A secret.A scandal.

She locked her phone. Didn’t say a word. Just let out one breath, long, slow, controlled.

Then: “I’m done.”

And she walked out.Oscar didn’t follow her right away. He stood there, frozen, phone in hand, heart pounding in his ears.

જ⁀➴

He didn’t know what hurt more ,the photo, the way she looked at him before leaving, or the sound of her voice when she said “I’m done” like it really meant goodbye this time.

Zak had started barking orders to PR. There were mentions of lawyers. A team spokesperson was already typing a carefully sanitized tweet. Everything was spinning.

Oscar only heard one thing:

“Do we?”Do we really know what happened?

Did he?

Because right now, everything felt like a blur of “almosts” and “maybes” that had been left to rot.

He grabbed his phone and left.Didn’t wait for permission. Didn’t care.He knew exactly where to go.

He found Lando in the back of the McLaren motorhome, lounging on the couch with his feet kicked up, eyes on his phone.

“Funny,” Lando said before Oscar could speak. “Didn’t think I’d be the one with a calm morning for once.”

Oscar slammed the door shut behind him.

“Tell me it wasn’t you.”

Lando didn’t flinch. “Wasn’t me.”

“But you heard it. That night. You were there.”

Lando finally looked up, and for a second, his expression softened.

“Yeah. I heard some of it. And I left. I didn’t stick around to record your late-night drama.”

Oscar stepped closer, eyes burning. “Then how the hell did it get out?”

“Maybe the hotel had security mics. Maybe someone else was there. You ever think about that?”

Oscar scoffed. “You joked about it the next morning. Said I was ‘cozy with Alpine.’”

“Yeah, because you were acting weird,” Lando snapped. “You were walking around like your heart had been ripped out. I didn’t need to hear every word to know something happened.”

Oscar’s jaw clenched. “So you did hear it.”

Lando rolled his eyes. “I heard enough to know you were in deep, mate. That you looked at her like she was more than a race weekend regret.”

Oscar’s breath hitched. For a moment, Lando’s tone wasn’t mocking. It was... disappointed?

“But I didn’t leak it,” Lando added, voice colder now. “Because unlike you, I don’t let people I care about get torn apart in the press.”

Oscar took a step back. That one hurt. Lando didn’t stop.

“She’s being treated like she slept her way into race data. Like her whole career is a punchline. You think the FIA gives a damn about what’s real? They want blood. They want a scapegoat.”

Oscar’s throat tightened. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

“No,” Lando agreed. “You just let it happen.”

He stood, suddenly less casual. Less amused.

“And now it’s too late to take it back.”

The paddock had changed when Oscar stepped out again.More cameras. More whispers. People pretending not to stare.

His name. Her name. Headlines blending with team gossip like smoke in the air.

He scanned the crowd, hoping for a glimpse of her. Nothing.

Her badge had been deactivated. She wasn’t allowed past hospitality. She was officially “under investigation” for potential data conflict, which was a glorified way of saying they’re looking for a reason to cut her loose.

It wasn’t fair.And the worst part?He couldn’t defend her without making it worse.

Any public statement from him would be seen as proof. More fuel. More headlines.He was trapped.

And so was she.

જ⁀➴

Later that night, he found her. Not in the paddock. Not in the garage.

But outside the fence, near the trucks. Just... sitting on a curb. Hoodie pulled over her hair. Phone in hand. Face dimly lit by the screen.

He stopped a few feet away. “I didn’t know where else to look.”

She didn’t glance up. “You shouldn’t have looked at all.”

He sat anyway.

The silence stretched, thick and heavy.

“They’re offering me a transfer,” she said eventually. “Out of strategy. Out of trackside ops. Desk job. Back at the HQ. ‘Until things settle.’”

He swallowed hard. “That’s not fair.”

“Life isn’t fair, Oscar.”

She finally turned toward him, and god , her face. The dark circles under her eyes, the tight set of her mouth.

“You know what’s really unfair?” she whispered. “That I kept every boundary. That I made sure nothing happened. That I said no when it mattered. And I’m still the one who loses.”

His chest hurt.

“I didn’t leak it,” he said, again. Uselessly.

She nodded, once.

“I know.”

That surprised him.

“But it doesn’t matter,” she added.

She stood.

He stood with her.

“I’ll clear your name,” he said, even if he had no idea how.

“You’ll try,” she corrected.

And then, softer: “Don’t let them erase me, Oscar. That’s all I ask.”

Then she walked away, again.But this time, it wasn’t out of anger.It surrendered.

જ⁀➴

Oscar didn’t sleep that night. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her ,sitting on the curb, voice flat, face too tired to be angry anymore. He kept hearing the words “Don’t let them erase me” on loop in his head, like a warning and a plea all at once.

By the time the sun rose, he had already made his decision.Screw protocol.

The McLaren press team didn’t even try to stop him.Maybe they saw it in his eyes, that he was past the point of being reasoned with. Maybe they were just exhausted too.

He walked out to the paddock with no team-issued statement, no approval, no filters. Just his phone. Just himself.

And he went live.On Instagram.The view count exploded instantly.

He didn’t have a script. Just a truth he had waited too long to say.

“I didn’t think I’d have to do this. But since the internet’s doing what it does best, and certain people feel brave behind anonymous accounts… here it is.”

“Yes. That voice in the recording was mine. Yes, it was from a conversation I had months ago. No, there was no relationship. No breach. No transfer of team data. She was never anything less than professional. If anyone crossed a line, it was me.”

“But not in the way you think.”

“I said things I shouldn’t have. Personal things. Because I was struggling with stuff I didn’t understand. And I took it out on someone who’d already given up a lot to protect both of us.”

“So if you want to blame someone? Start with me.”

He ended the live in under two minutes. No PR spin. No Q&A.Just fire , dropped right into the center of the paddock. It didn’t take long.

His phone rang twenty seconds later. Zak. PR. Media heads. Sponsors.His agent. All furious.But he ignored them all.

Because at that moment, the only person he cared about hadn’t called at all.

She didn’t text him. Didn’t repost. Didn’t like it. Didn’t even watch it, as far as he could tell.

And maybe that was fair.

Maybe she was done with all of it.Until, hours later, someone else came knocking on his driver room door.Lando.

Oscar didn’t even look up. “Here to mock me?”

“No,” Lando said quietly. “Here to fix something.”

Oscar scoffed. “Bit late for that.”

Lando shut the door behind him. “You were right. I did hear it that night. The hallway thing. I was on my way to meet someone, and then I heard you two arguing.”

Oscar looked up slowly. “So?”

“I didn’t record it.” Lando looked… different. Unsteady. “But I know who did.”

Oscar stood. “Who?”

Lando hesitated.

“Media guy. Freelancer. He was there with one of the team photographers, posing as tech support. I didn’t think much of it at the time. But he was behind me when I passed you in the hallway. He must’ve had a directional mic.”

Oscar swore. “And you’re telling me this now?”

“I didn’t know he’d kept it. Or that he’d try to sell it later. I just… saw him yesterday. He asked if I remembered Singapore . Said something about ‘timing is everything.’ That’s when I knew.”

Oscar’s chest felt like it was about to collapse.

“Why didn’t you say something sooner?” he asked.

Lando didn’t answer immediately.

Then, in a low voice: “Because part of me thought… maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing if people knew.”

Oscar blinked.

Lando’s expression was unreadable. Guarded. But there was something beneath it, something heavy.

“You were never honest about her,” Lando said. “You let people think it was nothing. Meanwhile, you walked around acting like you’d left a piece of yourself back in Alpine. It was obvious. To me, to her. To everyone.”

Oscar swallowed hard. “So you punished us both for that?”

“No,” Lando said. “I just didn’t protect you when I should’ve. Which, I guess, makes me just as bad.”

Silence. And then:

“I’ll go public,” Lando added. “I’ll say I heard the guy. That I saw him there. I’ll confirm the leak was external. It won’t fix everything, but it’ll shift the blame where it belongs.”

Oscar didn’t know what to say.He just nodded, once.

“Thanks.”

Lando turned to leave.

But then he paused at the door.

“She deserved better than the way you handled her,” he said.

Then he walked out. The post came an hour later.

Lando’s statement was clean. Short. But enough.

He confirmed the leak was real. That the recording was taken without their consent. That the photo was cropped and taken by the same person. That it was all part of an attempted story-sell that went too far.FIA opened a formal investigation into the media outlet.

Alpine reinstated her badge.

The scandal didn’t disappear, but it shifted. The internet moved on , mostly. Fans started turning on the “source” instead of her.

Still, she didn’t text him.

Until late that night.Oscar’s phone lit up with a single message.

Her:

“You didn’t have to take the blame. But you did.I’m still mad at you. But thanks.”

He stared at the screen for a long time before typing:

Oscar:

“I meant what I said.”

“Not just in the live.”

“In that hallway. Every word.”

The three dots flickered. Then disappeared.Then came back.

Her:

“That’s the problem.”

He didn’t reply.

Didn’t know how.

He left the phone face-down beside him on the bed, leaned back against the cold wall of the hotel room, and let himself breathe for the first time that day.Outside, it was raining soft, quiet, almost like static.

He was about to drift off when the screen lit up again.

1 new message.

From: [Her]

He sat up instantly.

“I know now the hotel audio was recorded by that media guy.”

“But what about the one from a few days ago?”

“Who recorded that?”

There was no follow-up.No emoji. No accusation. Just the question.

And it hit him harder than anything else that day. Because she was right. Who was this time?

next part

A/N: Any theories? Who do we blame this time? 👀 (👻 -readers, this is your sign to speak up )