🧡 ᴜɴᴘʟᴀɴɴᴇᴅ — ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 4: ᴛᴡᴏ ʟɪɴᴇꜱ, ᴏɴᴇ ꜱᴇᴄʀᴇᴛ 🧡
ꜰ1 x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ʟᴀɴᴅᴏ ɴᴏʀʀɪꜱ ᴀᴜ | ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ + ᴅʀᴀᴍᴀ
⚠️ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ:
ᴀʟᴄᴏʜᴏʟ ᴄᴏɴꜱᴜᴍᴘᴛɪᴏɴ
ᴘʀᴇɢɴᴀɴᴄʏ (ᴜɴᴘʟᴀɴɴᴇᴅ)
ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ᴛᴇɴꜱɪᴏɴ
ᴘᴜʙʟɪᴄ ᴀɴxɪᴇᴛʏ/ᴘᴀɴɪᴄ
ᴄᴏɴꜰʀᴏɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ
ɪᴍᴘʟɪᴇᴅ ᴘᴀꜱᴛ ɴᴏɴ-ᴄᴏɴꜱᴇɴꜱᴜᴀʟ ꜱɪᴛᴜᴀᴛɪᴏɴ (ɴᴏᴛ ɢʀᴀᴘʜɪᴄ, ʙᴜᴛ ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟʟʏ ᴅɪꜱᴏʀɪᴇɴᴛɪɴɢ)
ꜱᴡᴇᴀʀɪɴɢ
The boutique settled back into its usual rhythm as May rolled in, warmer and heavier under the Riviera sun. Amara was back from her cousin’s tour, full of stories and extra espresso shots, diving right back into work as if she hadn’t skipped a beat. Still, they decided to keep Carla around, her calming presence had made a difference during the chaos. The shop felt busier now, humming with energy, tourists trickling in thanks to the upcoming Monaco Grand Prix.
The city was bracing itself. Streets were lined with metal barricades, grandstands rising like steel skeletons overnight. Flags fluttered from every balcony, and race banners clung to café windows and hotel doors. It was the kind of weekend that turned Monaco into a spectacle, glittering, loud, and impossible to ignore.
And for (Y/n), it was the worst possible time to try to stay invisible.
She had avoided any motorsports headlines for weeks. Even when Luca offered her free passes to the Friday practice runs, she declined with a practiced smile and a made-up errand.
It wasn’t that she hated Lando Norris.
It was worse.
She didn’t know what she felt at all.
And beyond the confusion, the fear still lingered, constant, quiet, impossible to ignore.
Two pink lines stared up at her from the bathroom sink. Again.
She had taken another test that morning, hoping foolishly that maybe, just maybe, this one would say something different. But it didn’t. It never did.
The clean, unwavering double line met her with the same quiet certainty as the others. She tucked it away in the drawer beside the unopened prenatal vitamins, trying not to think about the weight of it all.
Her phone buzzed.
Amara: Can u swing by the pit lane hospitality pop-up after shift? Carla got us passes!!
(Y/n) stared at the message for a moment.
Y/n: I’ll try. No promises.
She tossed the phone onto her bed and leaned back, staring at the ceiling.
Amara knew. She had been there since the beginning. Still (Y/n) hadn’t told Amara about the second test. Or the third. But she didn’t need to, Amara had guessed long before the confirmation. When (Y/n) finally told her, Amara didn’t even flinch. She just hugged her tightly and said, “Whatever you decide, I’m with you.”
Maybe Amara thought this invite would help. Something loud and flashy to pull her out of her head. Maybe she was right. Or maybe it would just make everything feel worse.
The pop-up was loud, booming bass, flashy LED logos, too much cologne in the air. People mingled in high heels and team shirts, clutching plastic champagne flutes and branded merchandise bags.
(Y/n) stood near the back, arms crossed, trying to breathe as engines growled in the distance. She spotted Amara first, chatting animatedly with Carla, both holding drinks and pointing up toward a makeshift balcony where drivers occasionally emerged to wave or pose for selfies.
(Y/n) approached slowly. Amara glanced over and immediately lit up.
“You came!” “Just for a bit,” (Y/n) replied, forcing a smile.
Carla handed her a drink. “Some sponsor’s rosé. Kind of gross, but free.”
(Y/n) took it, grateful for something to hold.
The music faded momentarily as murmurs spread through the crowd. Heads turned, phones lifted. A group of drivers had just arrived, security weaving them through a narrow walkway lined with velvet ropes.
(Y/n) froze.
He was there.
Lando Norris.
Same curls. Same walk. Hoodie under a team jacket. He looked more like a university student than a global celebrity, but the crowd still rippled as he passed.
He didn’t see her at first. But she saw him, too well.
Amara caught the tension in her eyes and the way her hand hovered near her stomach. “You okay?” she asked gently, already knowing the truth.
“I need air,” (Y/n) whispered.
She made for the edge of the tent, toward a quieter area behind the sponsor booths, heart hammering. She didn't realize someone had followed until footsteps echoed behind her.
“Hey.”
She turned around.
Lando stood there, slightly out of breath. He looked at her, really looked, and then frowned, as if recognition slowly surfaced.
“You…” His voice was unsure. “From that night. At the alley.”
(Y/n) tensed. Her grip on the glass tightened slightly.
“So you do remember,” she said, her tone calm but clipped.
He nodded slowly. “Not everything. Just… flashes. You were, scared. I helped you. Then… we talked, and…” His voice trailed off. “Then I woke up in your bed. I didn’t know what to say. I panicked.”
“You panicked and pulled out your wallet,” (Y/n) said flatly.
Lando winced. “I was drunk and stupid. I didn’t mean to treat you like that. I just thought you’d hate me more if I stayed.”
“You were right,” she said. “You should’ve stayed anyway.”
They stood there in silence for a long moment, neither of them able to look away.
“I never got your name,” he said quietly.
(Y/n) hesitated. “I didn’t plan on giving it.”
He nodded, the corner of his mouth twitching like he understood that was fair.
“I know I messed up,” he said. “But you’ve been in my head since that night. And not just because of what happened.” He hesitated. “You looked… afraid. I know that look. I’ve worn it myself. And I hate that we met like that. I wish I could go back and do it all differently.”
(Y/n)’s eyes softened for a moment, before she pulled herself back into place.
“You can’t undo it. Neither can I.”
Lando nodded again. “But I’d like to try… to make things right. Even if it’s just starting over. As strangers. Or acquaintances. Or however you want.”
Before (Y/n) could reply, a new voice interrupted from behind.
“There you are (Y/n)!”
Luca.
He stepped forward, casual in a fitted black tee, hair swept back effortlessly. His hand lightly brushed (Y/n)’s arm, more protective than possessive.
“You okay?” he asked, eyes darting between her and Lando.
(Y/n) blinked. “Yeah. Just… catching my breath.”
Luca nodded slowly, then looked directly at Lando, cool and unreadable. “Lando, right?”
Lando gave a brief nod, his gaze shifting. “Yeah. And you are?”
“Luca,” he said. “We’ve never met, but I know who you are.”
Lando’s posture stiffened slightly, sensing the subtle edge in his tone.
(Y/n) cleared her throat. “It’s fine. We were just talking.”
“Right,” Luca said, then looked back at her. “They’re doing a live Q&A inside soon. Carla said we should grab good spots.”
(Y/n) hesitated.
Lando glanced down at the drink in his hand, the one she’d handed him, and quietly passed it back to her.
“I’ll see you around,” he said, stepping back. “(Y/n).”
She flinched.
He knew now.
She gave a small nod, lips pressed together, watching him disappear into the crowd.
Luca raised an eyebrow as they walked away. “So. That was intense.”
“Understatement,” she muttered.
That night, in the quiet of her room, she sat by the window again, her fingers grazing her stomach.
She still didn’t know what to do. She still hadn’t told him. But something had shifted. Just slightly.
He knew her name now.
To be continued... 🧡
🧡 ᴜɴᴘʟᴀɴɴᴇᴅ — ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 5: ᴄᴏʟʟɪꜱɪᴏɴ ᴄᴏᴜʀꜱᴇ 🧡
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