#reader yearning

Warnings-: mentions of drugging, some emotional manipulation.

Summary-: lia and oscar ctach up at a post shoot team bonfire and suddenly lia is left with confusion and the dread of realizing her whole life was a lie

chapter 6 "Little white lies"

The cool air of the office did nothing to extinguish the fire under Lia’s skin.

She slammed the door of the staff changing room and leaned her back against it, her chest heaving as if she’d just run a marathon. Her skin felt like it was crawling—specifically where his hands had been. The pressure of his palms on her waist was a ghost-weight she couldn't shake off, a physical brand that made her feel like a traitor.

What is wrong with you? she screamed at herself in the silence of the room. You are getting married. You have the ring. You have the life. Stop it.

But her brain was a traitor, too. It kept replaying the day like a highlight reel she hadn't asked for. The way he’d explained himself at lunch—the raw honesty of a man who had sacrificed everything to be the best. The way he looked now—no longer the scrawny teenager who’d left her at a party, but someone solid, defined, and devastatingly mature. He had a plan for his life. He had a plan for everything.

She had spent the whole day throwing Logan’s name at him like a shield, a constant, desperate reminder that she was spoken for. She was trying to convince Oscar, but mostly, she was trying to convince herself. She was trying to tell her heart that the fire between them was a snuffed-out candle, a cold wick, a dead thing.

Then he had touched her, and the candle had turned into a forest fire.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket, a sharp, angry vibration. She pulled it out, her heart sinking as she saw a string of notifications from Logan. He’d sent a link to the sanctuary’s social media—a "sneak peek" video the crew had uploaded of the interview.

Logan: You didn’t tell me the interview you’re literally stopping mid-wedding planning for is with Oscar.

Logan: Are you planning on coming home or are you spending the night there?

Lia let out a jagged sigh, her eyes stinging. She didn't text back. She called.

"What?" Logan’s voice was the first thing she heard. He sounded bitter, the kind of sharp-edged tone he only used when his pride was wounded.

"What do you mean, what?" she countered, trying to sound exhausted rather than guilty.

"Why didn't you tell me it was with Oscar? What need would you have to hide that from me, Lia?"

"Because you get possessive, Logan!" she snapped, pacing the small room. "I knew if I told you, it would become a whole thing. I just wanted to get the job done."

Logan let out a harsh, dry scoff. "Possessive? Lia, I literally invited the guy to our wedding. If I were jealous, why would I let him be at our special day?"

"There’s a difference between jealous and possessive!" she shot back. She could feel the headache blooming behind her eyes. Logan’s "security" always felt a little too much like a fence.

She noticed it when thoer family finalized the arranged marridge

Logan started joking about how she dosnet need anyone in this world

Which turned into fights every time she had to go out

And ended with her now cutting of all her frineds.

Her bridesmaid was logans sister! And logans bestfriends girlfriend.

She had no one to confide in but logan. And she had found out very soon that he preffered it that way.

"I'm doing my job. I'll be home by midnight."

"Midnight? The shoot finished an hour ago."

"There’s a crew bonfire. It’s networking, Logan."

"Why do u need to network baby? Its not like yourbgetting promoted" he said

She felt rage prickle under her skin

"Excuse me?"

Logan smacked his lips "I mean just- were gonan get married have kids, you wont time to work as hard as u do normally. So what the point right now?"

For a minute lia felt stunned. At a loss for words

Logan, look i just- i have to go.."

She sighed instead.

"Ok but dint spend the night, i need you in my bed" he said at despite herself it made her smile

"I know, I’ll see you then." She said

She hung up before he could respond, staring at the blank screen of her phone.

She felt like she was being squeezed from both sides. On one side was Logan, solid and safe but suffocatingly present; on the other was Oscar, a ghost who had suddenly become flesh and bone, pulling her toward a past she’d sworn was dead.

She looked in the mirror, wiped the stray mascara from under her eyes, and straightened her skirt. She was going to that bonfire. She was going to sit across from Oscar Piastri, she was going to be "normal," and she was going to prove that she could handle him.

But as she reached for the doorknob, her hands were still shaking.

She wasn't just worried about what Oscar would do. She was worried about what she might do if he touched her again. the orange glow of the embers flickered against the dark expanse of the scrub, but Lia didn't feel the warmth. She felt like she was vibrating on a frequency that only one other person could hear.

She played the part of the happy bride-to-be perfectly for forty-five minutes. She laughed at the sound guy’s jokes and chatted with the lead cameraman about lens flares, but her internal radar was locked onto the McLaren-branded shadow moving on the periphery.

She retreated to the drink table, her hand trembling as she reached for a can of Coke.

"You really shouldn't have something sugary this late," a voice murmured beside her. Oscar was leaning over a bowl of chips, not looking at her, his profile sharp against the firelight. "Doesn't it make your tonsils flare up?"

Lia’s heart didn’t just stammer; it stalled. He remembered. Seven years of global travel, high-speed adrenaline, and thousands of faces, and he remembered her minor medical annoyances from Year 11.

"I’m an adult, Oscar. I can handle a flare-up," she said, though her voice lacked conviction.

"Hey," he said, finally turning to face her. "Can we just sit? And catch up? It’s been so long."

The war inside her was deafening—Logic screaming leave, and Heart whispering stay. But then Oscar popped the seal on a bag of chips and held it out to her, a silent offering of peace. The buzzing in her head suddenly went quiet. She nodded, and they drifted toward the edge of the light, away from the prying eyes of the crew.

"You first," she said, leaning against a log.

Oscar didn't hold back. He talked about the paralyzing fear of that first flight to London. He talked about the monk-like existence he’d led—no girls, no parties, just the simulator and the gym, desperate to prove he belonged. He talked about the euphoria of leading the championship and the hollow, gut-punching agony of losing it because of a team strategy that favored someone else.

"I know that feeling," Lia sighed, staring into the dark. "Going in head-first, giving everything, and losing out. Not because you messed up, but because in someone else’s eyes, you just weren't... enough."

Oscar looked at her, the silence between them heavy with the subtext of that night seven years ago. He knew she wasn't talking about journalism.

"You know," he said softly, "the night I left was the most horrible night of my life. My best friend picked a fight with me. Someone assaulted me. I got broken up with. I had to leave my home behind. It was like in two seconds, everything I knew just... poof. Gone."

Lia’s head snapped up. "You got what?"

Oscar let out a dry, mirthless laugh. "Well, 'assault' is a bit harsh, I guess. But that girl you saw me with... she’d been pushing drinks on me all night. I was out of my mind, and she just jumped on me. I didn't even know where I was until I saw you standing there. And then I found out she roofied me." He shrugged

"You what?!" Lia exclaimed again.

Oscar paused then.. just stared at her..

"Lia- I think u have hugely misunderstood this entire-" oscar saud but was cutoff when someone patted him on the shoulder and dragged him up.

"Oscar! Come tell us some stories aboit the track.. we have some huge f1 fans her" they said wrapping around him..

He looked back at lia once who sat there with the chips and a coke with a look of pure confusion.

When she relaized this conversation was interrupted for good she downed her coke.. threw away the chips and left.

Her head throbbed, her heart ached, and ger throath burned!

Dammit! Fucking tonsils!

Had he really been roofied?

The world tilted. Lia felt a sudden, cold rush of vertigo. She remembered Logan standing outside the party, crying, telling her that Oscar was "halfway to leaving her," that he was an arrogant prick who didn't care who he hurt.

Lia sat frozen. The story she’d lived by for seven years—the story Logan had fed her piece by piece while she was at her most vulnerable—was a lie. Logan hadn't been a victim of Oscar's ego; he’d been the architect of the fallout.

She felt a wave of nausea. She realized she was sitting with a man who had been framed, while wearing the ring of the man who had done the framing. The betrayal felt physical.

Logan was standing in the kitchen, his arms crossed. "You're an hour late. I was worried."

"I left at midnight," Lia said, her voice sounding like it belonged to a stranger. "It’s an hour’s drive from the location to here."

Logan stared at her for a long beat, searching her face, before his expression softened into that familiar, "safe" smile. He stepped forward, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her into his chest.

"Thanks for coming home," he murmured into her hair. "I hate sleeping without you."

Lia stayed still, her cheek pressed against his shirt.

Lia woke up at 5:00 AM, the silence of the house weighing on her like a physical pressure. She didn't let herself think. Instead, she went to the kitchen and started on the waffles, the smell of butter and maple syrup filling the space. It was a peace offering to a god she wasn't sure she believed in anymore.

She brought the tray into the bedroom, surprising Logan as he blinked awake in a morning haze.

"Waffles?" he murmured, leaning back against the headboard with a sleepy, satisfied grin. "What’s the occasion?"

"Just felt like it," Lia said, sitting on the edge of the bed. She took a sip of her coffee, her heart hammering against her ribs. She hated the manipulation. She hated the lie. But she needed to know if the foundation of her life was built on solid ground or sinking sand. "You know, Oscar said the funniest thing yesterday. Said he couldn’t even remember what you guys had fought about."

Logan stopped chewing, his jaw tightening almost imperceptibly. "Of course he doesn't. He doesn't even care that much. He only cared about F1 and himself. He picked a fight just because he thought, he was better than me. What an ass."

Lia traced the rim of her mug. "You never really told me the details, you know? Just that it was bad."

Logan sighed, leaning back. He told her then—the same story the boy in the driveway had told seven years ago, but polished by time. He spoke of Oscar’s ego, of how Oscar had bragged about being "the one," and how girls had been chasing him all night.

"He kept walking away," Logan said, a bitter edge creeping into his voice. "Like he was making them play tag or something. Enjoying the chase until he got so drunk he couldn't even stand."

And there it was.

Lia felt a cold clarity wash over her. They were describing the exact same scene, but the framing was worlds apart. What Oscar had described as trying to escape a situation he didn't want, Logan had painted as a smug, arrogant game. Logan hadn't lied about the facts, but he had dressed Oscar’s actions in the most villainous intentions possible so he could feel justified in his own resentment. He had seen what he wanted to see because it made his own jealousy feel like a moral high ground.

An hour later, as Lia drove to work, her body felt like it was shutting down.

The realization hit her with the force of a high-speed collision: she hadn't been a reliable narrator to her own life. She had taken the worst possible version of the truth and let it define her for seven years. She had thrown away what could have been an epic love because she hadn't been able to calm down, to breathe, to simply communicate.

She felt hollowed out—the type of drained that only comes when you realize your entire adult identity is built on a lie you were too scared to question.

She pulled into the sanctuary at noon, expecting the set to be buzzing. Instead, it was quiet.

"Why is nothing set up?" she asked her lead assistant, her voice sounding far away.

"We’re sorry, ma'am," the assistant said, looking slightly sheepish. "Oscar took the whole crew surfing with him at dawn. It turned into a late breakfast and... well, it turned into a whole thing. He said it was 'team building.'"

Lia turned her head. Down by the equipment shed, she saw him.

His hair was salt-crusted and wet, but he was already dressed and moving, helping the crew stack heavy surfboards and haul lighting gear. He wasn't standing around like a celebrity; he was working. He looked revitalized, his laugh carrying across the red dirt.

"He’s really committed to the job, ma'am," the crew member added, sounding genuinely impressed. "He’s been great with the team. Really pushed everyone to have a good time before we started."

Lia watched him hoist a crate onto the truck, his movements efficient and focused. She remembered what he’d said at lunch about not doing anything halfway. Whether it was racing, or a brand deal, or... them.

"Yeah," Lia whispered, her throat tight as she watched the boy she’d misunderstood for a decade. "He doesn't do anything halfway."

__×__

Freefall masterlist

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Warnings-: none

Summary-: as oscar looks for a escape he somehow ends up right next to the thing he was trying to escape from.

Chapter 5- "I love u, its ruining my life"

Oscar was practically vibrating with the need to be anywhere else.

When his manager had mentioned the conservation feature, it felt like a lifeline. Three days in the bush. No "egg-shell" family breakfasts, no accidental run-ins at the bakery, and no sight of that silver ring reflecting the Australian sun. Just him, a camera crew, and the quiet of the sanctuary. It was supposed to be his sanctuary, too.

He was standing by the equipment truck, squinting against the glare, when a familiar figure stepped out of the shadows of the main office.

The world didn't just stop; it felt like it went into a violent reverse.

Lia was carrying a professional camera bag and a leather-bound notebook. She looked official. She looked professional. She looked like she was about to ruin his life.

"Oscar," she said, walking up to him. She looked like she hadn't slept much—there was a slight puffiness to her eyes that he only knew because he’d spent years memorizing every version of her face. "I, uh... I hope this isn't too awkward. The sanctuary assigned me to the piece weeks ago. I’m actually really excited to be working with you on this. It’s a huge story."

Oscar felt the "Iceboy" mask snap into place, though it felt more like a brittle shield than a helmet this time. He gave a sharp, neutral nod.

"Work is work," he said, his voice a flat, practiced monotone. "It’s a good cause."

"Right. Exactly. Professional," she murmured, more to herself than him.

Before he could respond, one of the cameramen shouted for her. "Lia! Can we check the light on the ridge?"

"Coming!" she called back. She turned quickly, her shoulder brushing against his arm. In the transition, a stray lock of her hair grazed his cheek, and the wind carried a scent that hit him like a physical blow to the solar plexus.

Vanilla and eucalyptus.

It was the same. Seven years, a degree, a move across the country, a fiancé—and she still smelled like the night they’d spent in his old sedan, parked under the trees near the coast.

For a split second, the sanctuary vanished. He wasn't a Formula 1 driver, and she wasn't a journalist. He was seventeen again, his heart hammering against his ribs, his fingers tangled in that exact same hair—softer than anything he’d ever touched—as he pulled her closer, terrified and exhilarated by the way she tasted. He remembered the heat of her skin, the way she’d sighed his name into the dark, and the absolute certainty that he would never need anything else.

He felt the familiar pull in his chest, a magnetic ghost-limb reaching out for her.

"Whoah," he hissed under his breath, snapping his eyes shut and gripping the strap of his backpack until his knuckles turned white. "No. Oh, hell no. We are not going there."

He forced himself to open his eyes and stare at the red dirt beneath his boots.

He was a professional. He was one of the twenty best drivers in the world. He could handle a high-speed crash at 300kph; he could handle a three-day interview with the only person who had ever truly broken him.

But as he watched her walk away, his mind traitorously replaying the silk-soft texture of her hair against his skin, Oscar realized he was in for the longest seventy-two hours of his life.

"Focus, Piastri," he whispered, his jaw tight. "It's just a job."

But the vanilla and eucalyptus lingered in the air, a sweet, suffocating reminder that some targets move, but they never truly get away. The small clip-on microphone felt like a brand on Oscar's chest. They were sitting in a quiet patch of the sanctuary, the red dust of the Outback swirling around their boots. Lia was tucked behind a small monitor, her face a mask of professional neutrality that looked entirely too much like his own.

"Okay, just for interview purposes, act like you don't know me," she said, her voice steady but clipped. "Act like you wouldn't expect me to already know this information about you."

Oscar gave a sharp, clinical nod. "Understood."

"Name and occupation for the record?"

"Oscar Piastri. I drive for McLaren in Formula 1."

The questions started off easy—low-stakes lobs he could hit in his sleep. He talked about the technical pressure of the MCL38, the pride of representing Australia on a global stage, and how much he valued the silence of home. He was doing well. He was composed. He was the Iceboy.

Then Lia flipped a card. Her expression didn't just change; it disintegrated. She looked at the script as if it were written in blood rather then pen.

"Must have been hard," she started, her voice dropping an octave, "to move away when you were so young. Only seventeen."

The silence that followed was heavy. Oscar felt the ghost of his seventeen-year-old self sitting right there between them on the dirt. He took a slow breath, staring at a point just past her shoulder.

"Yeah, of course. It’s hard to leave behind your family and friends," he said, his voice hardening. "Everyone you care about, really. But it’s a sacrifice you have to make. If you want to get ahead in life, you need to pick your priorities. And that’s what I did."

He saw her flinch—a tiny, microscopic twitch of her jaw. She didn't like that answer. It was too cold, too final. But she was a professional; she finished the script, thanked the crew, and signaled for the lunch break.

The second the red "Recording" light went dark and the mics were unclipped, the atmosphere shifted from sterile to suffocating.

"I think you look at it wrong," Lia said suddenly.

Oscar stopped mid-stride, turning back to her. "Huh?"

She bit her lip, looking at the ground before meeting his eyes with a flash of that old, stubborn fire he remembered. "Well, yeah. Everyone needs to have their priorities straight, but priorities can coexist. You can do half-and-half. You can make room. Choosing one thing doesn’t always mean abandoning another."

Oscar stood there for a beat, then gestured toward a picnic table away from the crew. "That’s a good point," he said as they grabbed their burritos and drinks. "But I’ve always thought of it differently."

"How so?" she asked, sitting across from him. The distance between them was only three feet, but it felt like three thousand miles.

"Well, think of it this way," Oscar said, the words tumbling out before he could filter them. "I could’ve stayed in Australia and made a decent career just here. Like Logan."

He mentally cursed. Why did he bring up Logan? He saw Lia’s hand tighten around her drink, but he couldn't stop now.

"That would’ve meant balance, sure. But it would tie me down. It doesn’t pay as well, it’s not as valued... you’re not embedded in history, you know? If I want to quit—which I’ll have to eventually, because racers die young anyway—I’d have to do all that stupid brand-deal influencer shit just to survive."

He leaned forward, his intensity breaking through the mask. "But right now? Even without a championship, the investments I’ve made will have me and my family set for life. So when I’m ready—when I’ve finally found my people—I’m going to leave the circus. I’m going to come back here. I just... I hate doing things halfway, Lia. I couldn't give you, or anyone, a 'half' version of me while I was chasing that."

Lia looked stunned. She sat back, the burrito forgotten in her hand, her brown eyes wide as she processed the sheer, calculated weight of his life.

"Shit," she whispered, a startled laugh breaking through her shock. "That... that puts it into perspective."

Oscar felt a rare, genuine smile tug at the corners of his mouth. For a split second, the tension evaporated. He wasn't the F1 star and she wasn't the bride-to-be; they were just two kids on the hood of a car again, trading secrets over burgers.

"I guess you just needed to make it before you committed," she said softly, her gaze dropping to her lap.

Oscar nodded, the silence between them turning from awkward to aching. "Yeah," he whispered. "I just didn't realize how much the world would change while I was gone."

He looked at her hand, the silver ring glinting in the afternoon light, and the hunger he’d felt a moment ago vanished completely. He had made it. He was set for life. But as he looked at Lia, he realized he’d built a throne in a kingdom where he was now a stranger.

It happened somewhere between the burrito wrappers and the second location shoot near the kangaroo enclosures.

The heavy, suffocating "Interview Mode" Oscar had been wearing like a lead suit finally started to crack. It wasn't a big, dramatic moment—no grand apologies or cinematic rainstorms. It was just the way Lia tripped over a hidden tree root while trying to adjust her camera lens, and the way Oscar’s hand shot out to catch her elbow before his brain could give him permission to touch her.

"Easy, klutz," he muttered, his voice dropping the formal F1-press-conference tone for the first time in years.

Lia steadied herself, her face flushing as she looked up at him. "The ground moved, Piastri. Don't be a dick."

The "Piastri" did it. It wasn't Oscar. It wasn't Mr. Piastri. It was the way she used to bark his name when he’d beat her at Mario Kart or steal a fry off her plate.

He felt a genuine, lopsided grin tugging at his lips. "The ground moved? That’s your excuse? You’re a wildlife journalist, Lia. You’re supposed to be one with nature, not losing a fight to a stationary gum tree."

"I’m one with the animals, not the geology," she shot back, but there was a sparkle in her eyes that hadn't been there at the beach. She shouldered her camera bag, bumping his arm playfully as she walked past. "And for the record, I was checking the aperture. It’s called being a professional. You should try it sometime."

"Ouch. Cracks in the ice," Oscar joked, falling into step beside her.

And just like that, the air changed.

The next three hours didn't feel like work. It felt like a heist. They were supposed to be filming "serious conservation content," but they spent half the time descending into the kind of rapid-fire banter that only comes from knowing someone’s rhythm for a decade.

When a curious emu started trying to eat the microphone cover, Lia didn't panic; she just started narrating the bird’s inner monologue in a posh British accent, making Oscar laugh so hard he had to turn away from the camera to keep his "serious driver" face intact.

"Stop it," he wheezed, wiping a tear from his eye. "The crew thinks I’m a professional, Lia. You’re ruining the brand."

"The brand is boring," she teased, leaning against a fence post while the cameraman changed batteries. "The world needs to know that the great Oscar Piastri is actually terrified of a flightless bird."

"I am not terrified. I’m respecting its personal space. There’s a difference."

"You backed away three feet, Osc."

The nickname slipped out naturally this time, and for the first time, it didn't hurt. It felt like a warm blanket. Oscar didn't pull away. He didn't think about Abu Dhabi or the championship or the fact that Logan was probably at home waiting for her.

They sat down on the back of the equipment truck, their legs swinging over the edge. For a long time, they just watched the sun start its slow, golden descent toward the horizon. The silence wasn't thick anymore; it was comfortable. It was the kind of silence you can only share with someone who knows exactly what you’re thinking without you having to say a word.

"You haven't changed that much," Lia said softly, staring at the red dust on her boots. "You're still just as stubborn. Still obsessed with doing everything perfectly."

Oscar looked at her profile—the way her hair was escaping her ponytail, the way her gold jewelry caught the fading light. "Is that a bad thing?"

"No," she said, finally turning to look at him. "It’s why you’re where you are. I just... I forgot how easy it was to talk to you."

"Me too," Oscar admitted.

He reached down, picking up a stray pebble and tossing it into the dirt. "I spent a long time thinking I’d forgotten how to be this version of myself. The one who isn't calculating tire wear or looking at a telemetry screen. I thought I'd traded him in for a faster model."

Lia laughed, a soft, melodic sound that made Oscar’s chest feel tight for a completely different reason. "He’s still in there. He’s just a bit more expensive now."

"Shut up," he chuckled, nudging her shoulder with his.

She nudged him back, her head tilting to rest near his shoulder for just a heartbeat before she caught herself. The gravity between them was shifting, pulling them back into an orbit they hadn't occupied since they were seventeen.

For that afternoon, the seven-year gap didn't exist. The betrayal in the backyard, the drunk party, the silver ring—it all felt like a movie they’d watched a long time ago. They talked about his sisters, about her job at the sanctuary, about the way the Outback smelled after it rained.

They were back. Not as the F1 star and the journalist, but as Oscar and Lia.

But as the crew started packing up and the light began to fail, Oscar felt the world starting to press back in. He looked down and saw the silver ring on Lia’s finger, glinting like a warning light in the twilight.

The flow was back, the banter was perfect, and the comfort was home. But as Oscar stood up to help her with her bags, a cold realization settled in his gut:

Being "the old them" was the most dangerous thing they could possibly be.

The sun had finally dipped below the horizon, leaving the sky stained with deep purples and bruised oranges. The crew was already dragging logs toward a cleared patch of dirt near the main cabin.

"The team's doing a bonfire," Lia said, brushing the dust off her skirt. She wouldn't look him in the eye now that the professional part of the day was over. The warmth from an hour ago was cooling faster than the desert air. "They always do it on the night of a remote set. You should come."

Oscar leaned against the equipment truck, his arms crossed over his chest. "Will you be there?"

"For a bit," she said, her voice sounding practiced. "But I have to head home after. Logan hates sleeping alone."

The words hit Oscar like a physical strike to the solar plexus. He felt his jaw tighten, his internal monologue screaming at him to keep his face still. Logan hates sleeping alone. He didn't need that image. He didn't need to know about their domestic routines or the way they drifted off in a bed that wasn't his. Every time he felt like he was gaining ground, she threw a wall up made of Logan’s name.

"Well," Oscar said, his voice dropping into that clipped, neutral tone he used for stewards' hearings. "I guess I’ll come. Better than rotting in my room alone."

Lia gave a sharp, jerky nod. "Yeah. You shouldn’t rot. Like Logan probably is. He’s been waiting for me to get back for hours."

Oscar stared at her. It hit him then, like a pile of bricks falling from a height. She wasn't just talking; she was using Logan’s name as a weapon, a leash, a visible line in the sand. Every time the air between them got too easy—too much like the old days—she’d drop the name to remind him, and herself, exactly who she belonged to.

It pissed him off. The manipulation of the moment, the forced distance—it made the blood in his veins feel like liquid nitrogen.

"Yeah, of course. That makes sense," he said, his voice dangerously low. "I’ll go get ready then. Change out of the McLaren orange. God forbid I look like I’m working."

"I’ll change out of the ugly wildlife uniform," she replied, her voice tight.

She turned to walk away when a rustle in the scrub caught them both off guard. A frilled-neck lizard shot out from the shadows, skittering straight over the tops of her boots.

"Ah!" Lia gasped. She wasn't scared—she was an Aussie, she’d handled deadlier things than a confused lizard—but the sudden movement in the dark caught her off balance. She stumbled, her weight shifting toward the uneven ground.

Oscar didn't even think. He moved before she could hit the dirt, his hands catching her firmly by the waist to steady her. It was a simple, plain, polite gesture. Nothing to it.

For a second, the world went quiet. His hands were warm through the thin fabric of her top, and he could feel the frantic beat of her heart under his palms. She was so close he could see the gold flecks in her eyes, reflected in the rising moonlight.

Then, as if his touch were made of live electricity, she almost pushed him off. She didn't just step back; she recoiled, her hands flying up to create space between them.

"I’m fine," she snapped, her voice high and breathless. "I'm fine. I'll see you at the fire."

She didn't wait for a response. She practically bolted toward the office, leaving Oscar standing alone in the red dust. He looked down at his hands, still feeling the lingering heat of her waist, and let out a long, jagged breath.

She was running. She was using Logan as a shield and the lizard as an excuse, but she was running. And for the first time since he’d landed in Melbourne, Oscar realized he wasn't the only one who was terrified of what happened when the target stopped moving.

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A/n-: im back!! Did u miss this series??

Frefall masterlist

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Summary-: lia navigates her feelings fails miserably and dives head first into a work project that might just destroy her.

Warnings-: none

Chapter 4 "moving on from his is impossible when I still see it all in my head."

The walk back from the beach felt like navigating a minefield where the triggers were buried in the sand. Every time Lia looked at Logan, she saw the silver ring on her finger; every time she looked at the ocean, she saw Oscar’s shadowed eyes.

"Why would you do that?" Lia asked, her voice tight as she dusted the salt from her legs. "Inviting him? Logan, it’s... it’s weird. It’s unnecessary."

Logan didn't even slow his pace. He looked effortless, the golden boy of the coast, completely unbothered. "It seemed polite, Lia. We’re adults. We grew up together. What am I supposed to do, pretend the most famous guy in Australia doesn't live two doors down?"

"It’s just uncomfortable," she muttered, her heart doing a nervous stutter-step.

Logan stopped then, turning to face her. The sun was behind him, casting his face in shadow. "You’re acting like you can’t get married to me if he’s standing in the room," he said. His tone was casual, almost a joke, but the words sliced through her like a scalpel.

Guilt, hot and sickly, flooded her chest. Did he know? Did he see the way her breath hitched when Oscar spoke? Or was he just being Logan—confident, secure, and entirely unaware that a tiny sliver of her heart was still anchored to a boy who left seven years ago?

The fear of being found out made her snap. She needed to overcompensate. She needed to prove Oscar Piastri was nothing more than a ghost.

"Fine!" she threw her hands up, her voice rising in a fake display of exasperation. "Make him the best man for all I care! I’m just thinking about the seating charts, Logan. Don’t make it deeper than it is."

She marched ahead of him, her skin crawling. Inside, she was terrified. She had just handed over the keys to her own destruction to prove a point she didn't even believe.

___×___

And then she runs into him again, the bakery? Why of all days? Of all times?! Did he have to to pick the bakery.

She kept things simple polite. Trying to make it clear. "Its all in the past" he agreed. "We were so dramatic back then" she had said hoping he would agree like last time.. but- "it was love lia." He spoke.

God! The way he said her name sounded holy.. he had moaned it too the first time when they- no! She almost flicned but clenched her jaw hard to not make it obvious.

Everything after that was a blur.. she didnt rember any of it.

At night she stared at the ceeling

"It was love lia" he had said..

She rolled over to meet logan.. already asleep.. she grabbed his hand.. the rings shimmered.

Silver.

He didnt notice, he didnt care.

Why would he? She was not worth noticing.

Never enough.

She should be grateful shes getting someone safe who will commit to her.

But the rings silver.. the though kept nagging her.. "it was love, lia." The words echoed so much she felt them thru her spine..

she closed her eyes steadied her breathe.

"Sleep, sleep sleep" she begged wiling her brain to relax trying to picture a garden with mushrooms and green gass and measure her breathing. She begged sleep to come. Eventully it did.

__×__

The next morning, the sanctuary’s office was quiet, the only sound the distant chatter of kookaburras. Lia sat at her desk, staring at the glow of her laptop screen.

As a wildlife journalist, she’d been clawing her way up for years, trying to make a name for herself outside of "Logan Sargeant’s fiancée." Then, the email arrived.

Subject: Cover Feature - Piastri & The Outback Conservation Project

Lia, the board has approved the cover story. We’ve secured Oscar Piastri for an exclusive on his views regarding home, heritage, and wildlife conservation. Since you’re local and already on-site for the wedding break, you’re the only choice. This is the front-page piece for the summer issue. Don't miss this.

Lia felt the blood drain from her face.

She looked at her phone. She could call Logan. She could tell him, 'Hey, my job wants me to spend three days trailing your old best friend around the bush.' But she knew exactly how that would go. Logan would get possessive—not because he didn't trust her, but because he was Logan. He’d insist on coming along. He’d make it a "bro" thing. He’d feel bad that she was "forced" to work with her ex. Or worse, he’d see the look on her face when Oscar inevitably said something that reminded her of why she’d loved him.

She couldn't decline it. This was the career-defining piece she’d been waiting for. This was the front cover.

With a hand that shook only slightly, she typed: I’m on it. Send over the schedule.

She didn't tell Logan. She told herself it was "just work." She told herself that "nothing can hit a moving target," and if she stayed busy enough with her notebook and her camera, she wouldn't have to look Oscar in the eye.

But as she closed her laptop, Lia realized she wasn't just a moving target anymore.

She was walking right into the line of fire.

And this time, there were no sisters, no mothers, and no Logan to stand between them. Just her, a recorder, and the one person who knew exactly how to break her. And make her feel so incredibly alive at the same time.

__×__

A/n -: this chapter is kinda small but! Not a filler! Its kinda my attempt at explaining lias thought process and why she is with logan and what she feels for oscar as well. Lmk ur thoughts and critiques (if any) praise is welcome too lol.. ❤️❤️

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Summary- lia was happy with logan she really was. But then why was she still dreaming about oscar

Warnings- cheating, insecurity, nightmares.

Chapter 2-: "im the best thing at this party, your loosing me"

The mirror was an enemy Lia hadn’t learned how to defeat yet.

The bathroom light had been flickering, casting jagged shadows across her face as she applied her mascara for the third time. Her hands were shaking.

not a lot, but enough to smudge the black ink against her lid.

"You’re trying too hard," her mother’s voice had drifted from the hallway, sharp and cynical. "He’s going to London, Lia. Not the next suburb over. Do you know what happens to girls like you when boys like that get a taste of the world? They become 'the girl back home.'

The girl who waits. Until they stop waiting because he’s found someone who fits his new life better."

"Oscar isn't like Dad," Lia had whispered, her throat tight.

"Everyone is like your father when they think they’re special enough to get away with it," her mother replied.

That was the seed. It had been planted months ago, and tonight, at the leavers' party, it had bloomed into a full-on panic. Lia had spent two hours on her hair, three on her makeup, wearing a dress that felt like a costume.

She wasn't just trying to look pretty; she was trying to look unforgettable.

She was trying to engrave herself onto his retinas so that when he was surrounded by podium girls and European models, he would have a reason to look away.

She had been late because she’d spent ten minutes in the driveway trying to steady her breathing terrified that the moment she stepped into that party, the countdown to being "not enough" would begin.

That the party wouldnt just be his goodbye to Australia but also her.

She reached the gate, breathless, only to run headlong into Logan.

He was a mess. His eyes were red, his chest heaving.

Logan, who was usually the thridwheel to the both of them, looked like he’d been hit by a truck.

"Hey, what’s up?" she asked, reaching for his arm. "Logan, what happened?"

"Your dick of a boyfriend is what’s up!" Logan spat, wrenching his arm away.

The venom in his voice made her flinch. "Just because he’s going into F3 makes him better than the rest of us! His ego is bigger than the whole of Australia now, apparently. He’s drunk off his ass in there and being an arrogant prick!"

"Oscar?" she stammered. "No, he... he wouldn't."

"He just did!" Logan shouted, walking toward his car. He stopped, looking back at her with a look of pure, jagged pity. "He’s gonna break your heart, you know. He’s gonna dump you the second he thinks he’s too good for you. He’s already halfway there."

The air left her lungs. She walked into the backyard like a ghost, her heels sinking into the grass. She looked for the boy who held her hand during movies. She looked for the boy who promised they’d make it work.

Instead, she saw a stranger.

He was tucked into the shadows, a girl’s hands tangled in his hair, her mouth pressed hard against his.

The world shattered. It wasn't just the kiss. it was the confirmation. Her mother was right. Logan was right. She was a local girl in a world that was about to become global, and she had been replaced before he’d even boarded the plane.

Everything in her told her to stay to give him the benifit if the doubt he was drunk he was high on the adrenaline of leaving, and celebrating but wouldn't he get drunk after a bad race too and wouldnt he have that same adrenaline if not more when he wins.. If she stayed, she’d just be the pathetic girl begging for scraps of a love that had already moved on.

So instead she ran.

__×__

Lia bolted upright in bed, her gasp echoing in the quiet room.

Her heart was drumming against her ribs, a frantic, uneven rhythm that made her feel like she was suffocating. It was a dream. Just a dream.

She turned her head. Next to her, Logan was a heavy, warm presence. He was shirtless, his back to her, his breathing deep and rhythmic. He was the man who had stayed. He was the one who didn't think he was too good for Melbourne. He was the one who had spent years stitching her back together after Oscar tore her apart.

She looked down at her left hand. The diamond glinted in the dim light of the streetlamp filtering through the curtains.

Seven years.

"Stop it," she hissed to herself, her voice barely a breath. "You’re twenty-two. You’re not seventeen. You’re fine."

But the anxiety was a cold coil in her stomach. She slid out from under the covers, her feet hitting the cold floorboards. She made her way to the ensuite, closing the door softly so as not to wake him.

She splashed cold water on her face, once, twice, three times. She gripped the edges of the porcelain sink until her knuckles turned white.

She looked in the mirror. She was older now. She was more confident. She was a woman who was about to get married.

But looking into her own eyes, she saw that same seventeen-year-old girl. The one who felt like a placeholder. The one who had seen her father leave, and then watched the first boy she ever truly trusted and loves confirm every fear her mother had ever whispered into her ear.

The boy she gave herself too, her first kiss her first boyfriend, her first- no she wanst gonna think about that.. the way he was so gentle with her.. the way he took care of her.. in a way no one else had- no! Stop! She scolded herself.

The hurt hadn't just been about Oscar kissing another girl. It had been the reasoning her brain had supplied: He’s going to be a star, and stars don't stay with girls like you.

It had left a scar of "not good enough" that no amount of Logan’s love could fully heal. It was a fundamental insecurity that she was a "temporary" person in the lives of "permanent" men.

Logan came up behind her then.

"all ok?" He asked, she jumped

Logan’s touch was warm, solid, and real, but for a split second, it felt like an intrusion on a ghost. When she jumped, his hands tightened slightly on her hips, anchoring her. But it set of alram bells in her mind

*you dont love him you don't love him!*

"Easy, it’s just me," he murmured, his voice thick with sleep. He leaned in, pressing his forehead against the space between her shoulder blades before trailing a kiss along the curve of her neck. "It’s 4:00-AM, Lia. You’re freezing."

"Nightmare," she managed to say, her voice sounding small against the tiled walls of the bathroom. She kept her eyes shut, trying to banish the image of the Melbourne suburbs and the smell of spilled drinks.

She had spent years building a fortress around herself. After that night, the version of Lia that believed in "forever" had died.

She had moved through university like a machine, finishing her Communications degree in record time, fueled by a frantic need to be self-sufficient.

She didn't want to be a "girl back home" for anyone ever again.

If she was the one with the career, the one with the plan, no one could leave her behind.

And at 21 she has graduated early with her degree. She landed her dream job as a

Wildlife journalist.

Then came Logan.

The boy who had been a scrawny, heartbroken teenager had returned as a man who commanded the room.

They stayed in touch after oscar left, logan was good to her. They got closer but lia never thought they would become this.

It wasnt until earlier this year, when both parents proposed a arranged marrige. Lias mom convinced her it was the best option. And logan was nice, right? Yes ofcourse he was! He had been there for her and he had been a good friend.

"He is stable lia. He wont leave. He is a loyal man who sticks to his own" her mom had said holding her hand.. thumb brushing over lias knuckles.. lia nodded, she was suprised logan had accepted too.

They had been engaged for six months now.

she’d seen a reflection of her own stability in him. He hadn't chased a dream across the ocean; he had built a kingdom right here.

He was safe. He was the antidote to the chaos Oscar had left in his wake.

Four years of college she had spent stuck on a stupid highschool love.

And Logan! Yes he was the sureness that would make her feel enough

"Earth to Lia," Logan teased, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin of her neck, snapping her back to the present.

She turned in his arms, forcing a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. The diamond on her finger caught the harsh bathroom light. It was a heavy, expensive weight.

"I'm here," she whispered, reaching up to cup his face. He looked at her with so much uncomplicated sureness that it made her chest ache with guilt.

"Just... thinking about the wedding. There’s so much to do."

"We have time," Logan said, pulling her closer until there was no air between them. "And we have everything we need right here."

"I know," she said, and she meant it. Logan was a man of his word. He was the permanent thing she had craved.

But as he led her back to the warmth of the bed, a stray thought flickered through her mind, unbidden and sharp: Logan stayed because he had to. Je had been rejected from the leagues.

Oscar left because he could.

She hated herself for the distinction. She hated that even now, in the arms of the man who loved her, she was still measuring the space Oscar had left behind.

She climbed back into bed, let Logan pull her against his chest, and prayed for a sleep that didn't involve the sound of a racing engine or the memory of a boy who looked at the horizon instead of her.

"Go back to sleep," Logan murmured, already drifting off. "I've got you."

Lia stared at the dark ceiling, her hand resting over Logan's heart. She was safe. She was chosen. She was enough.

She just had to keep telling herself that until she finally believed it.

__×__

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