Until my Last Breath

77

Ibiza,Spain
Gavis pov

The sky bleeds into a soft pink, streaked with lavender and orange. The sea is still, humming gently like it's too tired to crash this early in the morning.

She's sitting in front of me - legs curled beneath her, hoodie too big, strands of hair whipping around her face from the breeze. I don't think she knows what she looks like right now. The ocean reflecting in her eyes, salt crusted on her lashes from yesterday's swim, cheeks flushed with leftover heat.

And she's smiling. Not at me - just... at the sunrise. At the quiet. At the moment.

God, I'd give anything to keep her like this. Safe. Peaceful. Untouched by everything that's waiting for us past this beach.

"Hey," I murmur, brushing my thumb across her knuckles. "Can I ask you something?"

She hums, still watching the horizon. "Yeah?"

"What's your biggest dream?" I ask, almost afraid to hear the answer.

She turns to look at me then, and it's like I've just been hit in the chest. No hesitation. No second thoughts. Her eyes light up.

"To make my family proud," she says softly. "To make my uncle proud."

I swallow hard. I knew that. I did. But hearing her say it out loud... it cracks something inside me.

She keeps going.

"I wanna join Ferrari one day," she says. "Wear the red suit. Stand on that podium and know it wasn't just history being made - it was mine. My story. My legacy, our legacy."

Her voice gets quieter. But stronger.

"I grew up in red, you know? Posters everywhere. Jules used to joke I was born in Maranello," she laughs gently. "But I wasn't joking. I always knew... that's where I'd end up. One day. Somehow."

I can't breathe.

Because as she speaks, I'm staring at her and wondering how the hell I ended up here. How someone like me - who kicks a ball for a living, who never cared about the politics of fame - ended up so deeply in love with someone like her.

Someone meant for the history books.

And I know - I know - that if anyone's going to put on that red suit and change the world... it's her.

But I also know what they told me two days ago.
What they offered me.
What they threatened.

And it makes me sick.

Because what kind of person makes you choose between love and destiny? What kind of deal is that?

I glance over at her again, and she's still speaking, full of hope. Full of dreams. Her fingers absently playing with mine like she doesn't know how badly I'm shaking inside.

She deserves it all.
And I want to give her all of it.
But what if I'm the one thing standing in her way?

She turns to me again, smiling softly.

"What about you?" she asks. "What's your dream?"

You, I want to say.
Waking up with you every morning.
Sneaking into your garage just to kiss you before a race. Spotting you in the crowd after every game, especially the bad ones.
Watching you win and knowing I never held you back.

But I don't say it.
Because I might not be allowed to live that dream. Not for much longer.

Instead, I just lean forward, kiss her temple, and bury my face in the curve of her neck.