𝐆𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐄𝐍 𝐒𝐋𝐔𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑𝐒 | 𝐋𝐍𝟒

𝐗𝐗𝐈𝐈𝐈

‼️: this is a long but good one, let me know what you think please!

•••••••

The roar of the engines and the intense focus in the McLaren garage was palpable. Milaine stood there, her gaze fixed on the screen in front of her, watching the final laps of the Imola Grand Prix unfold. Max and Lando were very close, pushing their cars to the limit. The intensity was so thick in the air that even with the clatter of the comms and the steady hum of the garage, everything else seemed distant.

Viv, standing behind Milaine, had her hand on her shoulder, her voice barely audible over the commotion. «Max is pulling away a little. Lando's trying, but...»

Milaine didn't even respond, her attention just on the race. Beside her, Max and Pietra were equally focused, the tension in the air making the atmosphere almost suffocating.

As the laps ticked by, the clock was winding down, and Lando had been pushing so hard, trying to find that gap, that perfect opportunity to overtake Max. But the final lap came, the cars flew past the checkered flag, and Max had crossed the line first. Lando came in second.

Milaine's lips curved into a soft smile, her heart swelling with pride for Max, who had won. Still, she couldn't help but feel proud of Lando, too, even though he didn't win. He had pushed himself, giving it everything he had, and that meant something to her.

Milaine's thoughts lingered on the race for a moment before she turned to Viv «By the way, I'm going to the afterparty with Lando.»

Viv's expression immediately shifted to confusion, her eyes wide. «What? What do you mean, the afterparty?»

Milaine just nodded, not missing a beat. «Yeah. I promised him I would.»

Vivian's disbelief was evident as she stepped closer. «Milaine, you have a flight to Paris tomorrow at 4 a.m. How are you going to sleep? You need rest—Omar's been advising you to rest, especially with your shoulder. You're heading into Roland Garros in a few days, and you're already pushing yourself enough.»

Milaine's eyes flickered, but she stood firm. «I'll be fine. I'll go to the party, and then I'll make the flight. I've got this.»

Vivian stood there, taken aback by Milaine's decision. It wasn't like her to prioritize anything over her tennis or her career—Milaine had always been strict about her discipline and her health. Seeing her so casual about it was unsettling for Vivian.

«Milaine» she pressed gently, «You've never done this before. Are you sure this is what you want?»

But Milaine wasn't going to change her mind. Before Vivian could say anything more, Zak interjected, sensing the tension. «Alright, you two, let's go watch the podium celebration, you're not missing it.»

The podium celebration was in full swing, with Charles Leclerc in third, Lando in second, and Max in first. As the Dutch national anthem played, Milaine couldn't help herself. She swayed a little, softly singing along, the words familiar and comforting.

Her gaze first found Max, and she waved at him with excitement, pride bubbling up as he grinned back at her. Then, her eyes flicked to Lando, standing slightly off to the side. She caught his gaze and, as if to make him feel better him, she whispered «You did good.»

Lando's eyes softened as he read her lips, a small, appreciative smile crossing his face.

••••••••

Nothing much happened after the podium celebration. Milaine had congratulated Max on his win, spent some time with Kelly while he handled the post-race press conference, and then returned to the McLaren garage to say her goodbyes. She didn't linger. The weekend was over, and reality was creeping back in.