I can't .

~11~

POV y/n: 

As I look down the pit lane, my eyes meet his. For a moment, everything else fades. I can't look away—he has me caught in some kind of spell. His dark brown eyes glisten in the sunlight, and even now, even after everything, the butterflies still flutter wildly in my stomach. We're not speaking. We haven't in weeks. But every part of me aches to be near him again.

Over winter break, George and I managed to convince my dad that we were dating. He would've preferred Lewis, of course, but I just couldn't bring myself to go that far—not with Lewis. So I spent a lot of time with George instead, enough for the media to start speculating. Enough to make it believable. We agreed to keep it light—no lines crossed, just well-timed appearances and easy smiles. But still... it's Carlos I think about.

I snap out of my thoughts when I feel an arm drape over my shoulders.

"Hello, darling," George says in that familiar teasing tone.

His voice is enough to break the moment, and I glance back toward Carlos just in time to see him look away. My heart sinks a little. I wrap my arms around George for a quick hug, something we always do—comforting, familiar, but never more than that. It was never supposed to be more.

"Did you see the way he looked at us?" I whisper.

"I did," George murmurs, keeping his voice low. "But I've gotta go—training's about to start."

He gives me a quick squeeze and walks off toward the car where Lewis is already waiting. I stay there for a second longer, watching them drive out, before taking my seat on the pit wall next to my father.

Since telling him about George, my dad has been a lot easier to be around. Kinder. Less... controlling. But I can't help wondering how long this game can go on—and whether Carlos saw right through it the moment our eyes met.

POV Carlos:

"No puedo creerlo... esto no puede ser real," I mutter under my breath, barely audible.

Charles glances at me with a curious look. "She's your what?"

"She's my niña," I say without thinking.

"Carlos, English, please."

"Never mind," I mumble, waving it off. "It's nothing."

Charles doesn't look convinced. "That didn't sound like nothing. You wanna talk about it?"

"Maybe later," I reply, brushing past him. "Ask Rupert what's going on if you want to know. I think I made a really stupid mistake. That's all I'm going to say about it."

I don't wait for his response. Instead, I head straight to the car, hoping the adrenaline of training will pull me out of my head. But even once I'm out on the track, I can't find my rhythm. My lap times are off. Aston Martin's putting in better numbers. I'm frustrated—more than that, I'm angry. At the car. At myself. At everything.

Mostly, I'm angry about y/n.

There's a gap between training sessions, so I use it to my advantage. I know her routine by now—after every session, she likes to go for a walk, usually once the Mercedes garage starts winding down. I wait, pacing near my own pit box.

Eventually, I see her step out of George's. Alone.

My heart kicks in my chest like it's trying to escape. She walks past my box, her eyes briefly meeting mine. For a second, I think she might stop—but she doesn't. She keeps going, focused, confident, untouchable.

I watch the sway of her hips and feel the hesitation creeping in, but then—

"Hey, y/n! Hold on!" I call out, jogging after her.

She slows, but doesn't stop. I catch up.

"Hey... how are you?"

She turns to me sharply, her expression unreadable but her words ice-cold. "You've got some nerve. Weeks—weeks—without a single word. You blocked me, Carlos. For nothing. And now you show up like everything's normal and ask how I'm doing?"

I flinch at the heat in her voice. I deserve every bit of it.

"I'm fine, by the way," she adds, crossing her arms.

"I know I messed up," I say quickly. "Let me make it up to you. I shouldn't have reacted like that."

"Bit too late, don't you think?"

I swallow, heart pounding. "So... you have a boyfriend now?"

"What, you want to ask me on a date all of a sudden?"

"Maybe. Depends—do you have a boyfriend?"

She hesitates for a fraction of a second. "Yes. I'm with George now. But I'm sure you've already seen that."

"I thought you didn't even like him," I blurt out, immediately regretting how petty I sound.

"Things can change," she says with a slight shrug. "Sometimes things blossom. You and I never even had the chance, because you were too busy being jealous of me and Lewis from the start—when you know he and I have always been just friends."

I take a breath. "I'm sorry. Really. I was stupid, I let things get in my head. Just... let me prove I still care. Let me make it right."

She doesn't answer right away. Her eyes flicker, but her face stays unreadable.

Not waiting for her to shut me down again, I nod once, then turn and jog back toward my pit box—late for media, late for everything, but maybe, just maybe, not too late.

POV George:

Toto has asked me a few times if I've seen y/n, but truthfully, I have no idea where she is. The last time I saw her was before practice started—she was standing in the pitlane, eyes fixed a little too long on the Ferrari garage. Not her brightest move if she wants to keep up the act without Toto catching on.

"Congratulations, George," I hear someone say behind me. I turn around to see Lewis, a smug grin on his face.

"Congratulations? It's not my birthday," I reply, raising an eyebrow.

Lewis chuckles. "You and y/n—duh. How did you pull that off?"

I laugh, shaking my head. "I didn't. It's not even real."

"What do you mean it's not real?"

"Exactly that. We're not actually together."

His smile fades into confusion. "She didn't tell me that."

"Thought she would've. Guess not." I sigh and decide to come clean, explaining the whole situation—how we're just faking it to get her dad off her back.

By the time I'm done, Lewis is shaking his head, laughing again. "She's insane. Cute, but absolutely mad. Why are you going along with this, George?"

"Honestly? I thought it'd be funny. And hey, it's working—Toto bought it."

We both laugh, but Lewis starts scanning the room, his amusement fading into curiosity. "Where is she anyway? I wanted to ask her something."

"No idea," I say truthfully.

But as if on cue, she walks in—right beside Toto. The moment she enters, a swarm of media turns in her direction like sharks sensing blood. Of course. Everyone's dying to ask her about us.

I shoot Lewis a look. "Brace yourself."