Invisible string F.C

1. Unspoken connection

"In that brief moment, their worlds collided—no words spoken, yet something unshakeable passed between them, like a silent promise in the air."

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The hum of engines echoed in the distance, faint but unmistakable like a drumbeat thrumming beneath the glamorous facade of Monaco. I could feel it even up here, high above the winding streets, on the terrace of a villa, overlooking the Mediterranean. People milled around me in clusters, talking and laughing, champagne glasses clinking in the warm June air, but I barely registered them. They were beautiful strangers in expensive clothes, faces I'd likely forget by tomorrow.

I glanced down at my satin dress, adjusting the thin straps that sat on my tan shoulders as if they somehow kept me anchored here, in the moment.
But even with the stunning view, the glint of yachts on the water and the music thrifting through the night, I felt adrift. Lately, it had become harder to remember why I did all of this—the endless parties, the glamorous travel, the shows and the shoots. Each runway, each set felt like a part I played, rehearsed and perfected, and yet....hollow.

"Angelys." My managers voice cut into my thoughts, jolting me back to reality. He smiled as he handed me a fresh glass of champagne. "Ready to work the room? That magazine editor from Paris is here tonight.Might be good to say hello."

I forced a polite smile and nodded, though my heart wasn't in it. "Of course," I replied, letting him guide me into the crowd. But as we move through, I caught a sight of someone unfamiliar—a flash of dark tousled hair, sharp eyes, a confident but unpolished energy that stood out amid the overly poised crowd.

Franco Colapinto. I recognised him from photos and race highlights I'd glimpsed at online. He was Argentinas rising star in Formula one, a driver who seemed to come out of nowhere and capture the racing world's attention with his intensity and fearlessness. There was something about him that drew my gaze and held it, something raw that didn't quite fit with the careful glamour surrounding us.

"Caught you staring." My manager's voice was amused, and I realised I'd been watching Franco for a beat too long. He raised an eyebrow "Thinking of a career change?"

I let out a soft chuckle, shaking my head. "Just.. people-watching," I replied, brushing it off. But as the night stretched on, I found myself glancing at his direction more than once. I'd watch him laugh with the other drivers, that spark in his eyes, that thrill for life I hadn't felt in so long. It was like watching someone who was fully someone who didn't need the trappings of fame to make him feel important.

After an hour of mingling, I found a quiet corner near the bar, the weight of small talk pressing down on me. I sipped my champagne, savouring the silence, till someone tapped my shoulder.

"Didn't expect to see anyone here who looked quite as lost as I feel," a voice said from beside me, low and warm with a hint of an accent. I turned, and there he was—Franco, standing just inches away, his gaze open and inviting.

I felt my lips curve into a smile, surprised how easy it was to smile at him. There was no stiffness, no performance. Just a flicker of something unfamiliar—a spark, maybe, though I wasn't sure what it meant yet.

"Is it that obvious?" I asked, my voice lighter than it had been all night.

He shrugged, leaning casually against the bar with a lopsided grin. "You looked like you were somewhere else. I get it—I've felt that way a hundred times in places like this."

It was strange, the way he saw right through me in an instant.Usually people only saw what they wanted to see: Angelys Diaz, the model. The glamorous face on magazine covers. No one looked deeper than that. But here was this stranger, watching me like he'd somehow peeled back all the layers. I didn't know if I liked it or if it scared me.

"You don't seem like you'd get lost anywhere," I replied, hoping to shift the focus away from me. "This kind of crowd seems to suit you."

Franco laughed, a warm, genuine sound that cut through the polished perfection around us. "You think so? Honestly, I'd rather be anywhere else. All these people, all this... noise. Not really my thing." His gaze drifted towards the view, as if he were imagining himself somewhere else entirely.

"What is your thing then?" I questioned, almost daring him.

"Speed," he answered simply, his eyes flickering back to meet mine. There was a quiet certainty in his voice, a fire that burned beneath his words. " On the track, it's all just... clear. You don't have to play any parts, impress anyone. It's just you, the car and the race. Everything else disappears."

I felt a pang of envy at the way he spoke, the way he seemed so certain of himself, of his place in the world. "Must be nice," I sighed, glancing down at my half empty glass of champagne. "To feel that way about something."

Franco was quiet for a moment, studying my face. "So, what about you?" he spoke. "What's your thing, Angelys?"

His question caught me off guard. I was used to answering questions about fashion, the latest campaigns, or the designers I worked with. But this... I didn't know what to answer. Or maybe I just didn't know the answer anymore.

"I don't know," I admitted, almost surprised by my own honesty. "It used to be... this. Modelling, the travels, the whole world of it. But now... it just all feels like I'm playing a role."

Franco nodded, as if he understood.
"Maybe you're ready for something real," he shrugged, his voice low, thoughtful.

Something real. The words hung in the air between us, making my heart beat a little faster. Here was this stranger, a man I'd known for all the five minutes and he saw through the glittering facade I'd built around myself. He saw me, in a way no one else had in years. And for once, I didn't want to pull away.

"Maybe." I smiled, meeting his gorgeous hazel eyes that sparkled in the low lights. I felt like I wasn't as lost as I thought.