Thanks to Norris

part 64- anger

Lando's POV
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I hadn't even changed out of his race suit.

Still sweaty, boots caked in Champagne, my hair a mess from the podium celebrations he barely felt part of. The trophy sat abandoned on the bench in my driver's room, untouched. I'd barely looked at it.

Instead, I sat hunched over, elbows on my knees, scrolling through my phone.

First came the race highlights—replays of my last overtake, the crowd erupting, the team screaming in the garage. Then the podium. I watched myself again. Standing apart. Moving away from her. From the middle. From everything that should've felt good.

Then came that interview.

Y/n on camera. Calm, composed—but there was fire in my eyes when you were asked about me. About the rumors. The games.

"We're not actors, we're drivers—and people."

The way she said it. Like she'd been holding it in.
Like I'd pushed her to the edge again without even saying a word.

Then the video shifted. A side-by-side montage a fan had posted. Her and Charles on the driver parade, laughing. Hugging. Whispering. Then clips from earlier weekends—Monaco, Silverstone, Austria.
Moments of her and me. The way my smile changed. The difference in my eyes.

"This ship is wrecked and sailing."
"You can literally see the jealousy on Lando's face."
"They used to look at each other like the world disappeared."

Idropped the phone on the table, jaw clenched.

Something twisted in my chest. Regret? Probably.
But mostly—rage. Not at her. At myself. For walking away when I should've stayed. For letting Y/n believe the silence meant indifference.

Istood up so fast the chair scraped across the floor.
Didn't even stop to grab my cap or wipe my face. My mind was on fire.

I left the room, ignoring the staff who tried to ask if I needed something. The strides were fast. Sharp. Focused. People moved aside when they saw me coming. No one stopped me—maybe they could feel it too: the weight pressing down on my shoulders.

When I reached Y/n^s driver's area, her mechanics gave me a surprised look. But they stepped aside.

They let me in.

And I didn't knock. I didn't hesitate.
I stormed in.

The door flung open so fast it startled her. She jumped slightly on the sofa, herhead snapping up—and for the first time since that walk under the stars, our eyes locked.

Real eye contact.

There was no hiding behind sunglasses. No PR smiles.
Just her, still in her race suit, hair tied up, face flushed from adrenaline and emotion. And me—standing in the doorway like a storm barely holding itself together.

The silence was heavy. For a long moment, neither of you moved.

And then, finally, Lando took a breath—low and shaky.
His voice was hoarse when he spoke.

"I saw your interview."

She blinked. Sat up straighter. "...Okay."

"And everything else." I swallowed. "The videos. The tweets. You and Charles. Me. The fans making up stories. You think I don't see it, but I do."

She stayed silent.

I stepped inside and shut the door behind him. Slowly, quietly this time.
Then leaned back against it like I needed it to hold me up.