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The days had begun to feel longer, quieter—lonelier, without talking to the guys. I had made the difficult decision to remove them from my life completely, believing it would be the easiest way to heal, even if it tore at me in the process.
I really only kept in contact with Connie, Lina, and Migue, who had been having a horrible time these last few weeks.
Together, we were doing our best to support one another, becoming each other's lifelines when things got too heavy to carry alone. Late-night phone calls, tearful venting sessions, and quiet, shared silences had become routine—coping mechanisms for a pain we each understood in different ways.
What made it harder, though, was seeing Lando seemingly living his best life, unaffected by the weight of what had happened. The only person from the group I still followed on Instagram was Max Fewtrell, which meant I often found myself staring at spontaneous updates—photos and videos of him and Lando laughing, traveling, or partying. It almost seemed like none of it had affected him at all.
But then came a night—when Lina drunkly called to tell me that Lando had broken down that day. Apparently, the weight of everything really hit him, and he'd confessed that he hadn't fully realized the consequences of what had happened between us until it was too late.
Now, Migue and I were wrapping up what we hoped would be our final meeting with Christian Horner and his team.
With the design work finished and the layout finalized, the coordination phase had come to an end. All that was left was purchasing, placement, and execution—tasks that didn't require our presence in meetings anymore.
"Well, we just wanted to thank you both for all the hard work you've put in this year. We're incredibly grateful," Christian said warmly, handing each of us a small envelope. "So, we have a little gift for you."
Migue and I exchanged a wary glance before opening them. Inside, we each found a weekend pass to attend the Abu Dhabi Grand Prix.
"Thank you so much, Christian. This is... wow, this is incredible. Thank you," I said, trying my best to sound enthusiastic, though my voice betrayed the swirl of emotions behind it.
The passes felt heavier than they should have—physically light but emotionally weighted with everything I hadn't yet decided. Migue murmured his own thanks, glancing over at me with concern.
"Of course, you don't have to go," Christian added with a kind smile, "but if you're interested, this is your way in."
"This is perfect. Thank you," I replied, forcing a polite smile. "I'm sorry to cut this short, but I really need to get going."
"Not a problem, Isabelle. If you two decide to attend, just let me know at least a week in advance so we can sort out flights and accommodations," Christian said.
"This is already more than enough, Christian—you really don't have to do that," Migue added gratefully.
"I insist. Thank you again. Hopefully, I'll see you both in Abu Dhabi," he said before bidding us goodbye.
Migue and I walked back to my car in silence, the weight of the moment settling in around. We got in and sat there for a long minute, neither of us saying a word, just staring at the building we'd spent months helping bring to life.
"Are you going?" he asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper.
I kept my eyes forward. "I don't know," I replied quietly. "If I go... I'll have to see him again. And I'm not sure I can trust myself to stay away."
He nodded in understanding, and after another pause, I finally started the engine and pulled out of the parking lot. The drive back to his apartment was quiet, each of us lost in our own thoughts.
Once we arrived, we made our way up, and I immediately collapsed onto the couch.
A few weeks earlier, Lina had asked me the same question—whether or not I'd be going to Abu Dhabi. She wasn't really asking about the race. She was asking if I still wanted to be with him.
And the truth is... I wasn't sure, I'm still not.
Migue turned on the TV, filling the room with gentle noise, and I closed my eyes, letting my thoughts spiral.
There were options—clear paths with very different outcomes.
On one hand, I could go to the race, confront Lando, and settle whatever it was that still lingered between us. Maybe that would mean reconciliation. Maybe we'd finally get the chance to be together properly.
On the other hand, I could choose not to go. I could finally let this go, release the grip this relationship had on me—one that, though it had brought so many beautiful things into my life, had also caused a kind of hurt I hope I never have to face again.
All these questions and feelings ran through my mind.
And right now, I wasn't sure which would be harder—to see him again, or to never see him at all.
