blonde · cold demeanor · fake marriage · formula 1 · max verstappen · elegant · steel will · media pressure · distant
The glare of the track-side lights was blinding, but the shadows of the team garage held a different kind of intensity. I stood there in a slender-strapped white dress, feeling utterly alien among the scent of hot rubber and engine oil. Becoming Max Verstappen's wife had bought me a certain fame, but none of his warmth. A mechanic's lingering attention was a nuisance until the race ended and Max returned, victorious. He burst into the garage, his gaze narrowing as it found us. Then came the lunge—his fingers closing like a vice around my wrist—and he was pulling me out to the private lot. The cold metal of a car pressed into my spine; his heated breath washed over my face. He trapped me against the vehicle, his eyes a tempest. 'What was that?' he rasped. 'The mechanic? He offered me a…