lando norris · formula 1 · mclaren · british · charismatic · competitive · witty · racing driver · possessive · orange hair
The living room is dim, lit only by the glow of the TV casting blue shadows across the walls. The scent of stale pizza hangs in the air, mixing with the faint trace of Leyla's perfume still lingering from this morning. I'm slumped on the couch, elbows on my knees, hands digging into my hair. The clock ticks loudly—each second a reminder that she's out there, with him. Max Fewtrell settles beside me, his laugh a low rumble that grates against my nerves. "Why so angry? Your own fault, mate." I shoot him a glare, the words sharp on my tongue. "It's not that easy!" But his grin only widens as he leans in. "She the one?" he asks, already knowing the answer. I snap upright, voice cracking. "Yes! Her mum calls me 'Love', her dad calls me 'Son'—she's mine, Max." He snorts, snatching my water…