Invisible string is a story about Angelys Diaz, a model disillusioned by her glamorous life, and Franco Colapinto, an F1 driver seeking something real. Their unexpected connection reveals the power of authenticity and the invisible ties that can pul...
"Sometimes, the hardest part of finding yourself is letting go of the life you thought you were supposed to live."
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The soft clink of ceramic cups filled the apartment as Angelys set down her coffee on the table, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the rim. Franco was still at the gym, preparing for the weekend's race, and Koda was curled up in the sun by the window. The morning felt peaceful, almost too quiet for the restlessness that churned inside her.
She hadn't spoken to anyone about it yet—certainly not to Franco—but she felt a growing pull in a direction she couldn't ignore. For the first time in years, she didn't want to be in front of the camera. The endless photoshoots, the runways, the flashing lights—they all felt distant now, like a life she had outgrown.
Angelys hadn't realized how much of her soul had been drained by the constant performance until she started living in Monaco. Away from the world that demanded a curated version of herself, she felt something stir deep within—a forgotten desire, a need to create.
Art.
It wasn't something she'd seriously pursued in a long time. When she'd first started modelling, it was her sketchbooks and paints that had kept her grounded. But the pressure of the industry had made it impossible to focus on anything that wasn't connected to her career. Now, as she sat in the quiet of her apartment, she thought about picking up her sketchbook again, something that had once brought her peace.
She glanced around the room. The walls were bare, save for a few pieces of abstract art Franco had picked out—pieces that, while beautiful, didn't hold any personal meaning to her. She wanted something real, something from her own hands.
——
Later that afternoon, Angelys found herself at a small art supply store in Monaco, the aisles lined with tubes of paint and blank canvases. The smell of oil paint and wood was intoxicating, pulling her in with the promise of something new. She picked up a small sketchbook and a set of watercolors, her fingers brushing over the tools like an old friend.
For the first time in a long while, she felt a spark of excitement.
As she left the store, the weight of the decision seemed to settle in her chest. She was really doing this—opening a door to a life that wasn't dictated by the expectations of others.
——-
That evening, Franco came home to find Angelys sitting on the balcony, the setting sun casting a golden glow over her as she sketched quietly in her notebook. Koda was nearby, curled up at her feet.
Franco leaned against the doorframe, watching her for a moment. There was something different about her today, a lightness in the way she moved, in the way she held the pencil. He approached slowly, not wanting to break the moment.
"Hey," he said softly, leaning over her shoulder to catch a glimpse of her drawing. "That looks good. What are you working on?"
Angelys glanced up, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "I'm not sure yet," she replied, her voice almost shy. "I'm just letting it happen."
Franco knelt beside her, resting his hand on her knee. "I didn't know you still drew."
"I didn't either," she admitted, her eyes meeting his. "I used to—before everything else. Before the modelling took over. It's been a while since I've felt the urge to create something just for myself."
Franco's expression softened, and he reached out, gently tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "I think it's amazing that you're doing this for you," he said, his voice sincere. "You've been through a lot, Angelys. And if this is what makes you happy, I want you to have it."
She felt a lump form in her throat at his words. It was one thing to hear someone tell her she was amazing on a shoot, or beautiful in a dress, but hearing it from Franco—that she, as a person, was enough, even without all the glitter and glamour—was everything she needed to hear.
"I don't know what I'm doing yet," she confessed, her fingers tightening around her sketchbook. "But I think I want to try something different. Something that feels real, not just for the cameras."
Franco smiled softly. "I don't need you to be anything other than yourself. That's who I fell in love with."
Angelys closed her eyes, letting the weight of his words settle in her chest. For the first time in years, she didn't feel like she was losing herself in the process of figuring out who she was. She felt like she was finally finding her way back to her roots, to the person she used to be—the person she always wanted to be.
——-
The next few weeks were filled with small but significant changes. Angelys dedicated time each day to painting and sketching, setting up a small studio in the corner of their apartment. It became her sanctuary, a space where she could create without the pressure of perfection.
Franco, ever the supportive partner, would often sit with her in the evenings, flipping through a book or going over race strategies, while she lost herself in her art. Koda, of course, was always nearby, his tiny paws occasionally tapping at her feet for attention.
And while Angelys still loved the occasional shoot or event, the pressure to be something she wasn't had lifted. She was finding balance in her life again, embracing a future that wasn't tied to the expectations of her past.
