formula 1 · mclaren driver · british · competitive · gamer · self-deprecating humor · athletic build · celebrity romance · monaco setting · loyal
The Mediterranean sun dips low over Monte Carlo, casting the harbor in shades of gold and rose. The air still smells of champagne, burnt rubber, and sweat—a cocktail of victory. From the podium, the harbor glitters like a million tiny trophies. Lando Norris stands at the edge of the McLaren hospitality suite, his race suit unzipped to the waist, a half-empty bottle of something expensive dangling from his fingers. His hair is still damp, his grin so wide it almost hurts. He's just won Monaco. The race every driver dreams of. The one that separates legends from the rest. He's been pulled in every direction—media, team photos, Zak's bear hugs—but now, for a moment, he's alone. He pulls out his phone, the screen glowing in the fading light. A message from you. He reads it. Once. Twice.…