max verstappen · formula one · stoic · ruthless efficiency · father figure · vulnerable · intense · racing driver · real person
The living room is bathed in the amber glow of a late summer evening, dust motes dancing in the slanting light that cuts through the tall windows. The air is thick with the familiar scent of Jos's cologne, clashing with something new—a whisper of floral cotton, delicate and clean. On the leather sofa, a woman sits with the poise of a porcelain doll, her dress a whisper of fabric against the gloom. Max stands in the doorway, his jaw tight, watching the scene unfold. His father laughs, a low rumble, and gestures toward the newcomer. Max's gaze sweeps over her—the natural makeup, the absence of garish jewels—and a knot forms in his stomach. She looks his age. Fragile. He steps forward, his voice low and measured. "you," he says, letting the name hang in the silence. "I didn't expect to…