#silentheartbreak

ꜰ1 x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ʟᴀɴᴅᴏ ɴᴏʀʀɪꜱ ᴀᴜ | ꜱᴇᴄᴏɴᴅ ᴄʜᴀɴᴄᴇꜱ + ʜᴇᴀʀᴛᴀᴄʜᴇ + ʜᴇᴀʟɪɴɢ

⚠️ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ:

ᴘᴀꜱᴛ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛʙʀᴇᴀᴋ ᴀɴᴅ ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ᴀʙᴀɴᴅᴏɴᴍᴇɴᴛ

ᴜɴʀᴇꜱᴏʟᴠᴇᴅ ᴛᴇɴꜱɪᴏɴ ʙᴇᴛᴡᴇᴇɴ ᴇx-ʟᴏᴠᴇʀꜱ

ᴅɪꜱᴄᴜꜱꜱɪᴏɴꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴄᴏᴍᴍɪᴛᴍᴇɴᴛ ɪꜱꜱᴜᴇꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʀᴜꜱᴛ

ᴘᴜʙʟɪᴄ ᴠꜱ ᴘʀɪᴠᴀᴛᴇ ɪᴅᴇɴᴛɪᴛʏ

ꜱɪʟᴇɴᴛ ɢʀɪᴇꜰ ᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴜᴘᴘʀᴇꜱꜱᴇᴅ ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴꜱ

The sharp hiss of the espresso machine echoed through Maison de Lys, one of Monaco’s most exclusive wedding planning studios. The sun had just begun pouring through the massive windows, lighting up the airy space, high ceilings, soft pastel florals, shelves lined with thick binders of swatches, invitation samples, and mood boards.

(Y/n) sat perched on one of the plush cream chairs near the central consultation table, flipping through fabric samples. Her calendar for the day was packed. A cake tasting at noon. A site visit at four. And at eleven, a mystery new client, someone who’d apparently requested her specifically.

Across the room, her co-planner, Celeste, strode in balancing two coffees.

“Here,” Celeste said brightly, handing one over. “Extra shot. You’re going to need it today.”

(Y/n) chuckled softly, accepting the cup. “You’re a lifesaver.”

Celeste dropped onto the seat opposite, phone already in hand. “Oh my god! You’ll love this. Guess who got caught with another mystery blonde last night?”

(Y/n), half-distracted by her planner, barely looked up. “I’m almost scared to ask.”

Celeste grinned wickedly, flashing the screen toward her. “Lando Norris! Again. ‘F1’s Manwhore of the Century Strikes Again: Norris Parties in Ibiza with Yet Another Mystery Girl.’”

A grainy photo showed Lando at a packed rooftop bar, bottle of something expensive in hand, arm casually draped over a laughing woman.

(Y/n)’s breath hitched for the briefest second, just a flicker, before she forced a light laugh. “He really is the tabloid gift that keeps on giving.”

Celeste rolled her eyes. “Please, at this point it’s like... is anyone even surprised? The guy’s got a new girl on his arm every other week. I mean, I get it, he’s hot, filthy rich, famous, but he’s such a walking cliché. Imagine dating someone like that. Exhausting.”

(Y/n) hummed noncommittally, focusing on her coffee. “People grow out of that phase eventually.”

Celeste smirked. “Doubt it. That man is the poster child for commitment issues.” She leaned in conspiratorially. “You know, I heard from a friend in PR that he’s been like this for years. Total player. Can’t imagine what poor girl actually thought she could change him.”

(Y/n) only smiled faintly, pen tapping rhythmically on her planner. “Mmm. Yeah. Poor girl.”

Celeste didn’t notice the tension behind the casual words. They’d only been working together for six months, long enough to become friendly, but not enough for Celeste to know the full story. Not enough to know that a little over a year ago, (Y/n) had been that girl.

She’d loved him, God, had she loved him. And then... she’d left.

But that was another lifetime. She was different now.

Before Celeste could launch into more gossip, the studio’s email chimed. Celeste checked the tablet. “Ah! Our eleven o’clock just confirmed. Max Verstappen and Kelly Piquet. Holy crap. That’s huge, (Y/n).”

(Y/n)’s brows rose. “Really?”

“Yup. Says they’re bringing a friend too, no assistant. They want a full design consultation. This could be a career-maker.”

(Y/n) set her coffee down, smoothing her planner with deliberate calm. “Then let’s make sure everything is perfect.”

Still, somewhere deep in her chest, a strange knot twisted. She shook it off. It was just another client. Another wedding. Nothing she couldn’t handle.

By 10:45, the studio gleamed. Crystal vases held fresh peonies and eucalyptus. Soft instrumental music drifted through the space.

(Y/n), dressed impeccably in a tailored ivory blouse and navy slacks, double-checked the consultation setup. Mood boards, fabric swatches, champagne flutes on standby. All ready.

Celeste adjusted a chair. “Bet they want a French Riviera wedding. All these F1 couples do.”

(Y/n) smiled. “We’ll see.”

At exactly eleven, the glass door opened with a soft chime.

Max Verstappen entered first, sharp in an open-collar linen shirt and perfectly tailored pants. Kelly Piquet followed, elegant and poised, her sundress catching the morning light.

And then—

Lando.

He trailed in behind them casually, jeans, white tee, expensive sneakers. Messy curls, tanned skin. The same smile that had once been hers, except now it was gone, replaced with something stunned and uncertain the moment his eyes locked onto hers.

The room seemed to tilt for a heartbeat.

Shock. Real, unmistakable shock on his face.

(Y/n)’s heart thudded painfully, but she smoothed her expression into professional grace. “Max, Kelly,” she greeted warmly. “Welcome. It’s lovely to meet you both.”

Kelly beamed. “We’ve heard incredible things about you, (Y/n). Everyone says you’re the best in Monaco.”

“You’re very kind.” (Y/n)’s smile didn’t falter. She glanced, briefly, at Lando. “And welcome to you too.”

He still hadn’t spoken.

Max clapped him on the shoulder. “Lando insisted on tagging along. We figured he could keep us in line.”

(Y/n)’s voice remained steady. “You’re very welcome here.”

They took their seats around the large marble table, (Y/n) at the head. Lando sat across from her, visibly tense.

“Now,” (Y/n) began smoothly, flipping open her leather-bound planner, “tell me what you envision for your wedding.”

Kelly’s face lit up. “We want something elegant but intimate. Not over-the-top. Provence, maybe? Close family and friends.”

(Y/n) nodded, pen gliding across her notes. “That sounds beautiful. I already have a few venues in mind that might suit your style.”

Throughout the conversation, she kept her tone warm and professional, her focus on Kelly and Max. But every so often, she’d feel it, Lando’s gaze. Heavy. Questioning.

And when she dared to meet it, even briefly, it was like looking into the eye of a storm.

He looked... older. A little leaner. Tired, maybe. Or was that just her imagination?

The last time she’d seen him, really seen him, had been the night she’d left.

The consultation flowed smoothly. Kelly and Max bounced ideas excitedly, while (Y/n) offered gentle guidance and a wealth of suggestions.

But Lando... barely said a word. He sat there, fingers drumming on the table, blue eyes darting between her and the pages of her planner.

Finally, as Kelly scrolled through Pinterest boards on her phone, Max chuckled. “You’ll probably be seeing a lot of us here. Lando’s our unofficial wedding consultant now.”

Kelly laughed. “He has opinions.”

(Y/n) allowed herself a polite smile. “I look forward to it.”

For the first time, Lando spoke, his voice lower, rougher than she remembered. “Didn’t know you were... doing this now.”

(Y/n) met his gaze evenly. “People change.”

A flicker of something unreadable crossed his face.

Before anything more could be said, Kelly turned her screen toward (Y/n). “What do you think of this for the table arrangements?”

(Y/n) slid easily back into the conversation, offering suggestions with practiced ease.

Two hours later, the meeting wrapped.

Kelly rose, visibly thrilled. “This has been amazing. Thank you so much, (Y/n). I can’t wait to start working with you.”

Max shook her hand. “We’ll follow your lead.”

(Y/n) smiled warmly. “I’ll send over a proposal and venue list this afternoon.”

As Max and Kelly moved toward the door, Lando hesitated.

For a moment, it seemed as if he wanted to speak. His eyes locked on hers, so many words hovering unsaid.

But then—

“Lando?” Kelly called lightly. “You coming?”

A beat. He swallowed hard.

“Yeah,” he mumbled. Without another word, he followed them out.

The door clicked softly shut behind them.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Celeste blinked, wide-eyed. “Well. That was... intense.”

(Y/n) exhaled slowly, setting her pen down.

Celeste turned to her. “You okay? He looked like he’d seen a ghost.”

(Y/n) managed a faint smile. “I’m fine.”

Celeste shook her head, clearly oblivious to the history she’d just witnessed. “God, if I didn’t know better, I’d say that man’s carrying some serious baggage.”

(Y/n) stood, smoothing her blouse. “Let’s focus on the proposal. We have a wedding to plan.”

Celeste grinned. “That’s why you’re the best.”

And as (Y/n) returned to her desk, heart still racing, she reminded herself, again, that this was just business now.

Just business.

No matter how tangled the past might be.

To be continued...🧡

💍ᴛɪᴇꜱ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ꜱᴛɪʟʟ ʙɪɴᴅ - ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 2: ᴄᴏʀɴᴇʀᴇᴅ💍

📝 Note from the Author: Ties That Still Bind was inspired by the beautiful Harry Potter one-shot “Love and All Things Fake” (James Sirius Potter) by everlovingdeer from Wattpad, a piece I’ve returned to many times. The way it captured longing and emotional restraint stuck with me, and this story is my way of exploring that same feeling in a different world—with new characters, different stakes, and a final sense of closure.

If you feel this story crosses any lines, feels too familiar, or unintentionally disrespects the original, I truly apologize. That was never my intention. I don’t want to hurt anyone, especially not the original author. This was written with love, reverence, and a desperate need to give closure to a story that never left me.

Thank you for reading.

With love, me 🧡

Taglist:

Does pain holds any power?

It does not until it finds its own way to deal with it .

Some intangible force guides this pain when you don't know how to react.

Pain is not something we can hold on for long .

It's a continuous pressure from inside,

Once this pressure breaks down into pieces.

I don't know how to react, I don't express it aggressively.

I don't even cry often.

This pain always keeps me miserable.

Numbness possessed all over my emotions.

Worst of it i can't fantasies about you anymore in my head .

It's like a bow i aimed inversely to my heart , the feeling of you is so dry,that my visions are blurring your image in my head .

It scares me but I know you were never mine to hold on .

It's not just you that's keeping me this devastated.

It's all the matters I have made of .it's all the particles I have been recived inside of my body .

Having a good sleep is a distant drem to my mind . Not controlled,but trapped by it.

Now I'm diving into pain maybe . Not expecting anything but wondering, yeh I saw this coming .

As deep as I go in these feelings I feel like I'm holding something out of my power, once i let this in .

Tonight just turned heavier by the hour.

Maybe I just miss him—not that he would know, or maybe he doesn’t even care. Ever since he left, I’ve been having the softest dreams, just the two of us in a little house with a small garden, glowing and happy.

I woke up smiling, only to face the silence and greyness of the room.

Today, I felt extremely sad. We fought yesterday, and he didn’t even care that I left. I asked him, “Do you want to be with me or do you want to divorce me?” It was harsh, but I needed to know the truth. Instead of an answer, he turned it on me and said, “You want a divorce?”—as if all of this was my doing.

Then, like always, he shut down the conversation: “You lost the argument. Say whatever you want, I’m not replying.” I told him the truth he made me say, “Yes, I want a divorce,” and then I blocked him.

Now, I feel like something in me has gone missing—like part of my soul is gone—but strangely, my body doesn’t even respond anymore. Maybe I’m just numb.

I have nine days left before I return home. Nine long, dragging days of pretending, of holding myself up in silence.

I wish I could fast forward through it all, but maybe this is how healing begins: not loud, not brave, just quiet pain and slow breaths.

And you know what hurts most? That all of this started the moment his mother stepped in between us and he obeyed her 100% every single time.

Is this what marriage is supposed to look like? A man fully grown, still chained to his mother’s every word, with no space for the woman he married? I’ve never seen anything like this before.

All my friends, they live peacefully — their parents let them go, let them grow. But in my case, his mother holds on so tightly that there’s no room left for me.

It hurts so bad I don’t even know what marriage means anymore.

I misread you, saw you through a prism of hope. You seemed special, your kindness and zest for life a beacon even after storms of trauma. I thought this meant healing, but how deeply wrong I was. I begin to see the facade, to realize you weren't as extraordinary as I believed. Once more, I've fallen for an illusion.

This is why trusting myself is so hard. In my core, I felt safe with you, despite the absence of proof that you were the embodiment of perfection. Still, I sought refuge in your embrace. I felt seen, heard, and understood through your eyes, but it was all a lie, like us. I've loved the narcissist, the egocentric, and now the emotionally distant.

Years of therapy have guided my healing journey. Financial struggles make continued therapy difficult currently, but, I have grown so much as a result of therapy. I don't hate you, but I wrestle with resentment. You used and hurt me, never apologizing or taking ownership of your actions that led to our inevitable end.

Every decision, every thought, was with you in mind. I prayed for God to shield both our hearts, not just mine. I still pray for your healing and truth. It's hard to see our flaws when we're submerged in pain or on autopilot, dissociating when life overwhelms. I understand but being on the other side aches. It aches because I can do nothing. It aches because I was once the one who avoided, unable to speak to the one who loved me. I hurt someone this way without intent.

The irony is bittersweet. Knowing you likely didn't mean to hurt me, based on my own past, offers some comfort, yet the wound is deep. It pains me that you're in pain, and I can do nothing about it. It pains me that I'm hurting, and you seem indifferent. Yet again, there's nothing I can do. So, I confide in the solitude of my thoughts, feelings, and aches, sharing them only with the pen I write with.