🌅ʙᴇꜰᴏʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴜɴ ꜱᴇᴛꜱ ᴅᴏᴡɴ – ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 3: ᴛʜᴇ ᴛʀᴀᴄᴇ🌅
ꜰ1 x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ʟᴀɴᴅᴏ ɴᴏʀʀɪꜱ ᴀᴜ | ʜᴇᴀʀᴛʙʀᴇᴀᴋ + ꜱᴇᴄᴏɴᴅ ᴄʜᴀɴᴄᴇꜱ
⚠️ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ:
ᴍɪꜱꜱɪɴɢ ᴄʜɪʟᴅ
ᴄʜɪʟᴅ ᴀʙᴅᴜᴄᴛɪᴏɴ/ᴋɪᴅɴᴀᴘᴘɪɴɢ
ᴘᴀʀᴇɴᴛᴀʟ ɢʀɪᴇꜰ
ᴅɪᴠᴏʀᴄᴇ & ꜱᴇᴘᴀʀᴀᴛɪᴏɴ
ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ᴛʀᴀᴜᴍᴀ
ᴅᴇᴘʀᴇꜱꜱɪᴏɴ & ᴀɴxɪᴇᴛʏ
ꜰᴀᴍɪʟʏ ᴄᴏɴꜰʟɪᴄᴛ
ʜᴇᴀᴠʏ ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ
ᴍʏꜱᴛᴇʀʏ & ꜱᴜꜱᴘᴇɴꜱᴇ
ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴄʜɪʟᴅ ᴇɴᴅᴀɴɢᴇʀᴍᴇɴᴛ
She had stared at the screen for nearly an hour the night before, unable to peel her eyes away from the grainy photo that had upended her entire sense of reality.
Leo.
Alive.
The words played on a loop in her mind, an incantation too sacred to speak aloud. Sleep had abandoned her completely, and so had calm. Her hands had trembled long after the photo vanished from the screen, her heartbeat uneven even as she pressed the phone against her chest like a relic, as if that alone could steady her. She hadn’t cried, there was no room for that. Not yet.
Instead, the moment she arrived home to the Young estate, she did what she always did in moments of crisis.
She acted.
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The Young family estate, nestled just outside the city’s diplomatic quarter, was a fortress in both architecture and influence. The sprawling villa stood behind dense hedges and thick iron gates guarded by discreet yet formidable security personnel. Marble courtyards gave way to manicured gardens, and lanterns glowed warm in the night like stars strung low across earth.
The moment (Y/n) stepped into the family library, she dialed the number by memory, a direct line to her eldest brother.
“Alaric,” she said, her voice low, breathless. “I need you.”
He arrived within the hour.
Alaric Young—eldest of the three, a man as commanding as he was calculating. Known in international circles as a private intelligence consultant, he operated on a level beyond traditional investigation. Governments called him when things went unsolvable. Corporations feared him. His methods were methodical, but his fury, when provoked, was legendary.
He didn’t ask what happened over the phone. He simply came.
She met him by the koi pond near the eastern wing, the moonlight catching on the silver of her robe.
“I received this,” she said, holding out her phone. No preamble, no hesitation. Just raw, unvarnished urgency.
He read the message. Then again. Then enlarged the photo.
Silence stretched for several seconds.
“You’re sure it’s him?”
“I know my own son,” she replied quietly.
Alaric didn’t argue.
Instead, he lifted his phone and sent a rapid-fire sequence of messages in encrypted code. “I’ll trace the number. If it was sent from a proxy network, we’ll peel it layer by layer.”
Then Cassius appeared.
Cassius Young—younger than Alaric, older than (Y/n), and every bit the strategic weapon of the family. Where Alaric investigated, Cassius acted. He was the tactician, a man with his finger on the pulse of everything—markets, power, people. Sharp-eyed and sharper-tongued, he took one look at the photo and hissed under his breath.
“I’ll deploy the team. No external chatter. No leaks,” he said, already issuing commands through his earpiece. “We do this clean. We do this now.”
And just like that, the hunt resumed.
Their father had remained silent during the conversation, but his presence loomed like a sentinel in the corner of the room. When (Y/n) turned to face him, he stepped forward and placed his hands gently on her shoulders; hands that had once guided international trade deals, now trembling slightly from age and emotion.
“This time,” he said, his voice low but firm, “we have a lead. And I swear to you, we will follow it.”
Her mother simply took her into her arms. No words. Just an embrace that was soft, maternal, scented faintly of jasmine and tears unshed.
The following morning, (Y/n) returned to the circuit like nothing had happened.
────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────
The world expected her to be composed, elegant, and so she was. Her green silk blouse shimmered slightly in the light as she stepped from the black car with tinted windows, her dark hair pulled neatly back. Two discreet security guards flanked her, dressed in black polos and sunglasses, more shadows than men.
She smiled faintly at the cameras, nodded politely at familiar faces, but internally she was miles away—tracking timelines, reviewing angles, replaying the way Leo’s brow creased in that photo.
Then, something collided with her legs.
A small, startled thump.
She stumbled back slightly, just as one of her guards reached forward to steady her. She looked down.
A little boy had fallen at her feet.
He looked no older than five or six—dark-haired, thin-limbed, dressed in a tiny McLaren polo, one shoe untied and cheeks flushed from running. His knees were scraped, and he looked up at her with an expression of dazed curiosity. Then he smiled; wide, bright, boyish.
Something flickered.
It was nothing concrete, just a sensation. Déjà vu dipped in longing. That smile, the way it split his face open so easily. Something in his eyes.
(Y/n) crouched carefully and steadied him. “Slow down, sweetheart. You’ll break something important.”
The boy giggled. “Sorry, Miss.”
She gently took his hand, he’d grazed it. Reaching into her clutch, she pulled out a silk handkerchief and wrapped it gently around the wound.
“You shouldn’t run alone,” she murmured, tying the cloth securely. “Stay close to your parents.”
He nodded solemnly, then smiled again. “Thank you.”
And then he was gone, running back toward the media crowd.
(Y/n) stood slowly, brushing her skirt. But her mind stayed where the boy had been. That face. That odd flutter in her chest.
────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────
She made her way to the VIP box and called Cisca almost instinctively. “Would you like to join me for the race?” she asked, voice smooth despite the churn beneath it.
“Of course, darling,” Cisca had said. “I would love to.”
They watched from the suite as the grid formed. Lando’s car was second on the line. The city shimmered below them in heat and anticipation.
Inside her head, (Y/n) was calculating everything.
Alaric had texted her en route to the circuit: We traced the IP. Signal bounced four times but landed back here. Whoever sent the message is either watching... or inside. Cassius sent another: We’re in the paddock. Quiet search underway. Don’t change routine.
She hadn’t told Cisca. Not yet. Not until she knew what they were dealing with.
────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────
The race began in a fury.
Engines screamed to life as the lights went out, and cars launched forward like bullets. The Singapore Grand Prix was always a spectacle; narrow turns, long straights, the looming threat of rain. Every second mattered.
(Y/n) barely blinked as the race unfolded. She watched Lando closely. The way he overtook Leclerc. The way he chased Verstappen, inch by inch. Her heart twisted, unexpectedly, at the sight of him driving like that—so precise, so alive.
Down on the track, Lando was trying to block out everything.
He’d seen her earlier, her crouching down to help that little boy. The way she’d touched the child’s hand. The way her face had softened. It hit something in him, something long-buried.
But he couldn’t think about that now. He needed focus. No distractions.
He pressed harder.
Tyres burned.
Corners blurred.
Pit stops flew.
But no matter how fast he went, he couldn’t shake the image from his mind—(Y/n), cradling a child’s hand the same way she once held Leo’s.
And for a brief, hollow moment, he wished he could be anywhere but here.
────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────
Mid-race, (Y/n)’s phone buzzed again. This time, it was a direct call.
She excused herself discreetly and stepped into the side corridor of the suite.
Cassius’s voice was sharp, low. “We’ve got something.”
“What is it?”
“A necklace,” he said. “Found in the west end, dropped between the hospitality tents. One of the attendants flagged it, said it looked expensive. It’s yours.”
Her breath hitched.
She remembered that necklace.
Tiny. Gold. With the name ‘Leo’ engraved in Mandarin.
She’d had it custom made when he was born, a charm she used to pin to his blankets.
Her voice trembled. “Where exactly?”
“We’re narrowing it now. But someone brought him here, (Y/n). Someone wanted you to know.”
Her throat went dry. “You think he’s here?”
“I think we’re close,” Cassius replied. “Closer than we’ve ever been.”
She re-entered the box slowly, blinking hard to hide the wetness in her eyes. The cheers had grown louder.
Lando had overtaken. He was now in second, breathing down Verstappen’s rear wing.
And moments later, the chequered flag waved.
He crossed the line, P2.
A clean finish. Cheers erupted. Streamers flew. But Lando didn’t raise both hands. He just gave a nod, subtle, eyes already distant. It wasn’t joy. Not fully.
────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────
Down in the pit lane, confetti drifted like ash. (Y/n) watched from above, eyes narrowing slightly.
Then she saw Alaric.
He was standing off to the side, dressed in an unassuming black suit, speaking quietly into an earpiece. Near him, Lando emerged from the car, removing his helmet with a tired swipe.
Their eyes met briefly. Lando blinked, surprised to see the eldest Young sibling in the paddock.
He approached cautiously.
“Didn’t think this was your scene,” he said, voice clipped from exertion.
Alaric looked up, calm. “Just here for support.”
“Support?” Lando echoed, a faint frown forming. “For (Y/n)?”
“For family,” Alaric said evenly. “We don’t like to be far.”
There was something unreadable in his tone, perfectly measured, but distant.
Lando studied him. “Is something going on?”
Alaric smiled, a lawyer’s smile. “Nothing you need to worry about.”
Then he turned away.
────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────
That night, Lando sat alone in his hotel suite, shirt half-buttoned, hair damp from the shower. The lights of Marina Bay flickered outside his window, a thousand illusions blinking in the distance.
He sipped his water slowly, brow furrowed.
He couldn’t explain it, the feeling in his gut. It had started the moment he saw Alaric. Grown stronger when he noticed Cassius in the background. Both of them, together, at a race they had never once cared for.
Something wasn’t right.
And then there was (Y/n), the way her energy had shifted. The glance she kept casting around the paddock, her alert posture, her sudden disappearance during the race.
Lando’s hand curled slightly around the glass.
It was more than coincidence.
Something was happening.
And he had a feeling it had everything to do with the boy who once called him Papa. (Alarwynn: But not literally like the jumbled words babies say, yk? HAHAHAHA)
To be continued...
🌅ʙᴇꜰᴏʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴜɴ ꜱᴇᴛꜱ ᴅᴏᴡɴ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 4: ᴛʜᴇ ᴛʀᴀɪʟ ʙᴇɴᴇᴀᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛᴀʀᴍᴀᴄ🌅
📝 Note from the Author: So, uh…
Everyone is traumatized...by me MUAHAHAHAHA.
Leo might actually be alive, the Young siblings have activated their billionaire detective mode, and Lando is approximately one suspicious glance away from launching his own investigation and ignoring every professional boundary known to mankind.
Meanwhile, (Y/n) is trying to keep it together, Cassius is already planning twelve moves ahead, Alaric is probably tracing satellites at this point, and I, your humble author, am sitting in the corner wondering why I couldn't just write a nice, peaceful family story.
But seriously, thank you so much for reading! (T_T)≧ ﹏ ≦ Every like, reblog, comment, scream, keyboard smash, and emotional breakdown in my inbox fuels me more than you know.
We're only a few chapters in, and things are already spiraling in ways that make me both excited and terrified. As always, thank you for joining me on this journey.
Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go make these characters suffer a little more before they earn their happiness \^o^/(oﾟvﾟ)ノ(/≧▽≦)/.
With love, me 🧡
ᴅɪꜱᴄʟᴀɪᴍᴇʀ: ᴛʜɪꜱ ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ ɪꜱ ᴀ ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇᴛᴇ ᴡᴏʀᴋ ᴏꜰ ꜰɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴ. ᴡʜɪʟᴇ ɪᴛ ꜰᴇᴀᴛᴜʀᴇꜱ ʀᴇᴀʟ-ʟɪꜰᴇ ᴘᴜʙʟɪᴄ ꜰɪɢᴜʀᴇꜱ, ᴀʟʟ ᴇᴠᴇɴᴛꜱ, ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀɪᴢᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱ, ᴛɪᴍᴇʟɪɴᴇꜱ, ᴀɴᴅ ꜱɪᴛᴜᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ᴀʀᴇ ᴇɴᴛɪʀᴇʟʏ ꜰɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ᴀɴᴅ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛᴇᴅ ꜰᴏʀ ᴇɴᴛᴇʀᴛᴀɪɴᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴘᴜʀᴘᴏꜱᴇꜱ. ᴀᴘᴏʟᴏɢɪᴇꜱ ɪɴ ᴀᴅᴠᴀɴᴄᴇ ꜰᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ɪɴᴀᴄᴄᴜʀᴀᴄɪᴇꜱ ʀᴇɢᴀʀᴅɪɴɢ ꜰᴏʀᴍᴜʟᴀ 1, ᴍᴏɴᴀᴄᴏ, ꜱɪɴɢᴀᴘᴏʀᴇ, ʟᴇɢᴀʟ ᴘʀᴏᴄᴇᴅᴜʀᴇꜱ, ɪɴᴠᴇꜱᴛɪɢᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱ, ᴏʀ ʀᴇᴀʟ ɪɴᴅɪᴠɪᴅᴜᴀʟꜱ ᴘᴏʀᴛʀᴀʏᴇᴅ ɪɴ ᴛʜɪꜱ ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ.
