𝐰𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐬, lando norris

coincidence?

bruna santos:

i step into the ballroom, the air thick with the scent of expensive perfumes and the low hum of chatter. everyone is dressed to perfection—tailored suits, glittering gowns, each person more polished than the last.

my hands are clenched into fists at my sides, hidden beneath the folds of my dress. i can feel my heartbeat in my throat, but i keep my face calm, neutral. no one can know i feel out of place here. you belong here, i remind myself. you've worked hard for this.

audrey, the head of pr at red bull, is somewhere in the room, probably chatting up the sponsors, doing what she does best—making people feel important. i'm not quite on her level just yet. camila's my first real client, my first big break, and it's more pressure than i anticipated. i feel the weight of everyone's eyes on me, though in reality, no one's probably paying attention.

"bruna santos, right?"

i turn at the sound of my name, coming face to face with a man whose smile doesn't quite reach his eyes. his suit looks like it costs more than my rent for the year, and his slicked-back hair gives him the air of someone who's used to people doing what he says.

"yes, hello" i answer, keeping my voice polite but distant.

he smiles wider, but it's the kind of smile people use when they're about to deliver a backhanded compliment. "pr manager for camila rivera. impressive for someone so... young."

i resist the urge to roll my eyes.

of course, this again. "well, experience isn't always measured by age," i reply smoothly, making my tone light.

"oh, i'm sure," he responds, taking a sip of his drink. "but still, it's a bit unusual, isn't it? someone with your... background? brazil, right? how'd you get here so fast?"

there it is. the barely concealed skepticism. the insinuation that i don't belong here, that i must have some hidden shortcut or favour pulling me through. i smile, even though i feel the familiar burn of anger in my chest.

camila specifically requested i'd manage all her publications because her last agent was a piece of shit, is what i want to say, but instead, i plaster on a smile.

"i worked for it," i say simply. "harder than most."

his smile falters just slightly, but he recovers. "well, good for you." he offers a mock toast with his glass before turning back to the conversation he was in before. dismissed.

i turn away, almost seething, but keeping my expression neutral. he doesn't know anything. he's just another rich asshole who thinks everyone got here as easily as he did. i keep my eyes forward, my chin high.

i catch sight of audrey through the crowd, her dark hair pulled into a sleek bun as she moves effortlessly through the room, chatting and networking. she glances at me and gives a small nod of approval, which is the closest she ever gets to praise. i take a deep breath, feeling a tiny bit of the tension ease. at least audrey thinks i'm doing okay.

after pretending to enjoy the taste of champagne for a while, i leave the crowded ballroom and head down the hall, needing a few moments away from the endless small talk and pressure.

my heels click loudly in the quiet corridor, echoing in the space, and with each step, i remind myself, you've earned this. you belong here. you've worked hard for it.

but no matter how many times i repeat the words, they feel hollow. everyone in that room—the polished pr managers, the sponsors, the executives—they all seem so effortless, like they were born for this. meanwhile, i'm constantly second-guessing every move i make.