#sheleft

ꜰ1 x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ʟᴀɴᴅᴏ ɴᴏʀʀɪꜱ ᴀᴜ | ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ + ᴅʀᴀᴍᴀ + ʀᴇᴅᴇᴍᴘᴛɪᴏɴ

⚠️ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ:

ᴄᴏɴᴛɪɴᴜᴇᴅ ꜰᴀʟʟᴏᴜᴛ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ɪɴꜰɪᴅᴇʟɪᴛʏ

ɪɴᴛᴇɴꜱᴇ ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ᴄᴏɴꜰʀᴏɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ

ᴘʜʏꜱɪᴄᴀʟ ᴠɪᴏʟᴇɴᴄᴇ

ᴠᴇʀʙᴀʟ ᴀɢɢʀᴇꜱꜱɪᴏɴ ᴀɴᴅ ꜱʜᴀᴍɪɴɢ

ᴅᴇᴘɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ʙʀᴇᴀᴋᴅᴏᴡɴ, ɢᴜɪʟᴛ, ᴀɴᴅ ʀᴇɢʀᴇᴛ

ᴍᴇɴᴛᴀʟ ʜᴇᴀʟᴛʜ ʀᴇꜰᴇʀᴇɴᴄᴇꜱ

ʀᴀᴡ ɢʀɪᴇꜰ ᴀɴᴅ ɪɴᴛʀᴏꜱᴘᴇᴄᴛɪᴏɴ

ᴛʜᴇᴍᴇꜱ ᴏꜰ ʙᴇᴛʀᴀʏᴀʟ, ʟᴏɴᴇʟɪɴᴇꜱꜱ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴄᴏɴꜱᴇQᴜᴇɴᴄᴇꜱ

The chequered flag waved beneath the hazy Dutch sky, a roar of orange thunder erupting across the Zandvoort grandstands. Lando stepped out of his car, helmet still on, visor down, not out of routine, but out of necessity.

He didn’t want anyone to see his eyes.

The P3 finish meant little. Applause sounded distant, hollow, like it was echoing down the corridors of a life that was no longer his. Mechanics clapped his back. Oscar gave a faint smile. George nodded his way.

But all Lando could feel was the burn in his chest. An acid ache that pulsed with every heartbeat.

He should have run. To the hotel. To her. But the moment he crossed the garage threshold, Zak was waiting.

So was Andrea.

So was Oscar.

They didn't speak until he was behind the safety of the motorhome walls.

Then the questions started.

“What the fuck did we witness today?” Zak’s voice wasn’t loud, but it cracked like thunder.

Lando flinched.

“Do you know how many photographers were almost in that damn alley? You’re lucky she blacked the woman out before someone got a picture.” Andrea’s arms were crossed tightly, fury written in the lines of his face.

Oscar was the quietest, but it was his silence that felt the sharpest. His expression wasn’t angry. It was disappointed. Deeply so.

Zak stepped closer, jaw clenched. “Who is she?”

Lando swallowed. “Her name’s Clara.”

“Is she the only one?” Oscar finally spoke. His voice was low, trembling, not with emotion for Lando, but for (Y/n). “Or are there others?”

Lando shut his eyes. Shame crawled up his spine like a disease. “She wasn’t the only one.”

Zak’s hand slammed the wall. “Jesus Christ.”

“How long?” Andrea asked, voice taut as piano wire.

Lando’s fingers tangled in his hair. “Clara’s been… on and off. Three months.”

Oscar paced. “So you’re telling me the woman who makes your coffee every morning, who makes sure your suits are pressed, who memorizes your race calendar down to the millisecond, she's the one getting crumbs of your time while you're out screwing someone else in supply trucks?”

“It wasn’t like that,” Lando mumbled, but the words tasted foul. “It didn’t mean anything.”

“You really think that makes it better?” Zak barked. “She saw you. And you didn’t even flinch until you were caught.”

Lando’s voice cracked. “I panicked. I didn’t—God, I didn’t know she was there.”

Oscar spun around. “That's what makes it worse. You didn’t know because you weren’t thinking about her. She’s been your wife for three years, Lando. And somehow, she didn’t cross your mind.”

“I thought we were drifting,” Lando whispered, chest caving inward. “I thought she didn’t want this life anymore. She’d get quiet sometimes. She stopped coming to races. I thought—”

“You thought,” Andrea interrupted coldly, “instead of talking to her?”

“She’s a writer,” Lando said, as if that explained everything. “She never told me outright, but I knew. It was in the way she’d vanish into silence, like the world outside her thoughts didn’t exist.”

He looked down, jaw tight. “She was always lost in her work. I felt like… like a footnote.”

“You felt like a footnote,” Zak repeated, the words venomous. “And so you decided to destroy the whole damn book.”

Lando’s lips parted, a protest forming, but it died before it reached air. What argument could possibly justify what he did?

The door slammed open.

Max Verstappen strode in, eyes storm-dark, jaw locked like a vice.

Behind him, Kelly stood in the hallway, her expression stricken.

“Max,” Zak began, but Max raised a hand.

His eyes locked on Lando.

“You fucking prick.”

Before anyone could react, Max’s fist collided with Lando’s face, brutal, unrelenting. Lando stumbled backward, crashing into a chair, blood already rushing from the corner of his lip.

Oscar stepped between them, hands up. “Max, don’t—!”

Max shoved him aside, grabbing Lando by the collar, yanking him upright.

“She was there when you were spiraling. I remember Bahrain. I remember Silverstone. She was the one backstage, talking you down when you couldn’t breathe. She flew across Europe on a red-eye because you forgot your passport in Monaco.”

Lando coughed, gripping Max’s forearm. “I know—”

“Do you?” Max snarled. “She held you together when you were nothing but shattered glass. And now you’ve broken her.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“You don’t do that to someone who loves you with their whole soul.”

Lando’s voice collapsed into sobs, hoarse and fractured. “I know. I know I ruined it. I know I don’t deserve her.”

Max dropped him.

“You’re right,” he said, stepping back, fury radiating off his frame. “You don’t.”

He stormed out.

The silence that followed was suffocating.

Lando pressed the heel of his palms to his eyes, willing the tears to stop, but they wouldn’t. He was weeping openly now, grief, guilt, rage, all curling into a single overwhelming storm.

“I was lonely,” he whispered to the floor. “But it was my fault. She wasn’t distant. I was blind.”

Zak looked at him, really looked at him. For a moment, his expression softened, like he saw the broken boy beneath the wreckage.

“Then you better start figuring out how to pick up the pieces,” he said. “But don’t expect her to hand you the glue.”

Upstairs in the hotel, (Y/n) didn’t bother turning on the lights. She sat by the window in silence, the sky outside melting into shades of plum and silver.

She hadn’t changed out of her clothes. Her blouse was wrinkled. Her eyes were swollen. She hadn’t eaten. The untouched tray of room service sat beside her, long gone cold.

A soft knock echoed.

She didn’t answer.

“(Y/n),” came Kelly’s voice, muffled through the door. “It’s me.”

She stood slowly and opened it.

Kelly stepped in without a word, her arms immediately wrapping around her.

And for the first time since it happened, (Y/n) let herself cry, not the silent, contained kind, but the sobbing that broke in waves, splintering through her ribs.

“I brought your favorite tea,” Kelly murmured. “And cookies. The stupid almond ones you always hide in your purse.”

(Y/n) smiled through tears. “Thank you.”

Kelly stroked her hair like a sister. “You didn’t deserve this. None of it. You were good to him.”

“I thought we were happy.”

“You were, sweetheart. You were.”

They sat in silence, tea cooling between their hands. No one needed to speak. The air itself mourned.

Later, beneath the garish lights of the podium, Lando stood like a statue, trophy in his hand, champagne soaking into his suit. But he didn’t smile. He didn’t even lift his gaze.

Oscar glanced at him, hesitated, then looked away.

George nudged his shoulder gently in the cooldown room. “P3. It was a good race.”

Lando didn’t respond.

He sat down slowly, trophy resting by his feet, head in his hands.

“She’s gone,” he whispered.

No cameras heard him.

No one clapped.

And for the first time in his life, even victory felt like ash.

To be continued...🧡

✒️ ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱɪʟᴇɴᴄᴇ ᴛᴏᴏᴋ ʜᴇʀ - ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 5: ᴛʜᴇ ɢɪʀʟ ᴡʜᴏ ᴠᴀɴɪꜱʜᴇᴅ ✒️

📝 Note from the Author: Okay, okay, I promise this is the last one for today 🥹 But I just couldn’t leave this part out, it’s too raw, too important, too real. Thank you again to everyone who’s been here through it all. Your likes, reblogs, comments, and even quiet reads mean more than you know. You keep this story breathing.🧡

Let’s talk about this line:

“You felt like a footnote,” Zak repeated, the words venomous. “And so you decided to destroy the whole damn book.”

That line?? It punched straight through the ribs. The sheer weight of that sentence, it’s not just about betrayal. It’s about how easily someone can burn everything down in the name of their own insecurity. About how sometimes, we don’t even realize the love we’re throwing away until we’re standing in its ashes.

Lando might have gotten a podium. But in this story, it meant nothing. Because the moment she walked away, he lost the real prize, someone who built her world around him, only for him to rewrite the ending in the ugliest way.

Thank you for being here. Always.