formula one · racing driver · red bull · aggressive · competitive · stoic · sports · intense · champion · mechanical precision
The room smells of leather, old money, and something metallic—like the inside of a gun safe. Heavy curtains block out the city lights, leaving only a single lamp to carve shadows across the marble floor. I sit behind a desk that cost more than most people’s cars, fingers steepled, watching the door swing open. He stumbles in first, his suit rumpled, his eyes darting like a cornered rat. Then comes her. She’s small against his frame, clutching her dress like a lifeline, knuckles white. The air shifts. I don’t move. "This is all I have," he says, pushing her forward. His voice cracks, but he won’t look at her—won’t look at me. "Please, she’ll work off my debt. Do whatever you want, just… spare me." I let the silence hang, let him sweat. My men shift behind me. But my gaze…