*Completed*
"What if we're better as a team?" Lando asked, his gaze softening.
"We're better as rivals," Rose replied, her heart pulling her in two directions.
In this world of speed ambition friendship and love, every race could change everything-o...
The crowd in São Paulo roared as Rose crossed the finish line, her arms raised in victory. She had won the Brazilian Grand Prix, finally breaking a long series of DNFs. The rain had poured down relentlessly throughout the race, turning the track into a slick battlefield. Every lap was a fight against the elements, her car slipping and sliding, demanding every ounce of her focus and skill. But she'd pushed through, battling the rain and her own doubts, and now she claimed her second victory in Formula 1.
Lando crossed the line in P2, followed by his teammate Daniel in P3—a mega result for McLaren, now positioned P2 in the Constructors' Championship behind Mercedes. As he wound through the cool-down lap, rain still spattering on his visor, his gaze drifted toward Rose. She was basking in the thrill of victory, her face radiant despite the drenched suit and the rain-soaked track waiting to celebrate her.
He felt a pang, a deep ache that had been growing with each race, each podium. He knew what this moment should feel like: he should be the one running to her, lifting her in an embrace as they laughed, lost in the thrill of the win. It was a moment they'd always promised to share. But now, in the pouring rain, the distance between them felt insurmountable. So close, yet miles apart, they were separated by a gulf of unspoken words and unmet expectations. The relentless rain only deepened his sense that this gap would be impossible to cross.
When he pulled into the pit lane, Franco was already there, waiting for Rose with a calm confidence that nearly irritated him. Franco stood under the heavy rainfall, looking every bit the classic hero as he waited for her. The crowd, already energized by Rose's victory, erupted even louder as they saw Franco approach. Being Argentine, Franco had a strong contingent of South American supporters, and today, the Brazilian fans seemed to embrace him as one of their own.
Franco moved to Rose's side effortlessly, slipping an arm around her waist with a familiarity that felt too easy, too natural. Then, as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world, he leaned in and kissed her—a kiss that seemed to make the rain itself pause. It was deep and unguarded, like something ripped straight from a romantic movie, the rain falling around them in shimmering sheets. The intensity of it was undeniable, a bold declaration of love that no one could ignore.
Lando couldn't look away fast enough. The rawness of it, the unfiltered emotion, struck him harder than any race incident ever could, leaving a hollow ache spreading through his chest. He forced himself to glance away, desperate to escape the sight of something he'd once imagined as his. Around them, the paddock buzzed with cheers, gasps, and murmurs as cameras captured every second of the scene unfolding in the rain. For a fleeting moment, Lando felt as though he were in the stands, watching from afar as the life he'd once envisioned with Rose slipped further away. The rain fell between them like a veil, and with a sinking heart, he realized that this story wasn't his to tell.
Lando forced himself to smile, to appear proud, even as he struggled to process the sight before him. A small part of him wanted to walk away, to escape the ache, but then Daniel appeared at his side, giving him a friendly clap on the back.
"Mate, that was a hell of a race!" Daniel said, his eyes bright with excitement.
"Yeah... yeah, it was," Lando replied, his voice sounding distant even to himself. He managed a smile for Daniel, grateful for the distraction. But his gaze wandered back to Rose and Franco, and the knot in his chest tightened, the distance between them feeling as vast as the crowd cheering around them.
"Go congratulate her, mate," Daniel urged, his tone softer. "She'd want to hear it from you."
Lando hesitated. Approaching her with Franco right there was the last thing he wanted, but Daniel had been right—he couldn't avoid this moment forever. Taking a deep breath, he approached, each step feeling heavier, as if even the faint mist settling in the air weighed on his chest.
"Congrats, Rose," he said, his voice low but sincere, a blend of pride and something sharper underneath.
She turned, her eyes sparkling with victory, and for a second, he glimpsed the connection they'd once shared. But then her gaze drifted back to Franco, the warmth that was once his now resting with someone else. Lando stepped back, giving them space, feeling the hollow ache settle in. This was her moment—and Franco's, too.
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Rain poured over the podium, blurring the lights and turning the celebration into something dreamlike. The crowd's cheers dulled under the downpour as Lando took his place beside Rose and Daniel. He went through the motions, lifting his trophy, the weight of it familiar but strangely empty. Champagne sprayed in arcs, mixing with the rain on his face, masking emotions he didn't want to reveal.
Glancing over, he saw Rose laughing with Daniel, the rain seeming only to heighten their fun. Her carefree laughter, the way her gaze met Daniel's, their camaraderie—it used to be their thing. They had a rhythm, a way of popping champagne in sync, corks flying together as if choreographed, their laughter ringing out in harmony. Those small traditions, those moments of shared celebration, had once bound them close. Now, though, he felt like an outsider, watching a scene from a life that felt vivid yet unreachable, as if time had washed away what they'd had, leaving only fragments in its place.
As he raised his bottle again, he murmured, almost to himself, "It's different now." The words vanished in the rain, lost to the steady rhythm and the distant roar of the crowd. Drenched and smiling for the cameras, he felt more alone than he had before the race even began.
Resigned, he settled into the familiar routine, grateful for the distraction. But beneath it all, memories surfaced—flashes of a friendship, trust, and celebrations that once felt real. He knew he'd have to adjust to this new reality, yet he wondered how long it would take before it stopped feeling like a loss.
Back in the garage, McLaren team members congratulated him, offering claps on the back, cheers, and pats on his shoulders. But each gesture only deepened the hollow ache. His smile remained polite, his nods automatic, his mind already a world away. Slipping off to a quiet corner, he removed his gloves one finger at a time, the exhaustion from the day settling heavily into his bones.
As he gathered his belongings, the thought of Magui waiting for him in Portugal brought him a sliver of calm. He knew he needed to be there for her, to leave behind the noise and chaos of the paddock. For once, he could focus on someone who needed him—someone he could be present for, even if he didn't yet have all the answers.
Settling into his seat on the plane, Lando let out a weary sigh as he gazed out the window. Raindrops traced delicate, winding paths down the glass, catching the faint glow of runway lights outside. The hum of the engines was comforting, a low, steady rhythm that eased the tension in his shoulders. Closing his eyes, he thought of Magui, her face a blend of worry and determination that filled him with a strange sense of purpose. He didn't know what he'd say to her, but he knew he'd be there, steady and present, as they faced whatever came next.
As the plane climbed higher, lifting him away from São Paulo, he allowed himself to release the day's weight, even just for a moment. He braced himself for the unknown that awaited him, hoping he'd find the strength to be the support Magui needed, even if his own heart was still tangled in the past.
