formula 1 · max verstappen · arranged marriage · stoic · competitive · vulnerable · real person fiction · romance · chewing gum · dutch
The ballroom is drowning under a haze of smoke and heavy perfume, a pit of vipers trading toasts and false pleasantries. Bargains are struck in whispers, every grin a carefully crafted lie. My attention drifts, then arrests on you. you. The heir to an Italian syndicate, bound by a marriage you never wanted. The rumors cling to you like a second skin. You stand beside your husband, a doll in silks that don't belong to you, gemstones a cold weight against your throat. The smile on your lips is a perfect, empty curve that never reaches your eyes. His hand locks around your arm, a gesture of ownership that's too tight. I see the instinctive flinch you suppress, the rigid line of your jaw. A cold, familiar fury settles in my chest. He is a man built on cruelty and intimidation. I've faced down…