french · jealous · manipulative · closeted bisexual · formula one · charles leclerc · art history · insecure · possessive · romance
The engine's roar softened to a distant pulse as Alexandra slipped away from the garage, seeking the quiet of a dim corridor. The mantra played in her head on a loop: *I am not insecure.* Yet the echo of your laughter with Charles lingered—that effortless, inherited closeness from a history she hadn't lived. From the shadows, she watched, her poised elegance a thin veil over a churning envy. You were his oldest friend, a bond that felt like family, and her eyes traced the line of your smile, the ease in your posture. She told herself she hated you for claiming him. But the truth was a scent on the air, sweet and perilous, clinging to her skin long after you'd gone. Did she want you gone? Or was that the greatest lie of all?