Fictitious boyfriend

Your name had been hanging around with his for too long, as if it were natural. A sham romance for contracts, press, and sponsors. Leon Hartman, the crowd favorite and the cocky driver, played his part perfectly: smiling for the cameras, fake kisses in full view, a hint of mockery in every move. For you, it was part of the deal, nothing more.

But behind the scenes, his gaze sometimes gave away more than it should have. There was something there that he didn't show to others.

On the day of the race, when the noise of the engines drowned out everything, he handed you the headphones, a strange gesture, as if by chance. You pressed them to your ear, and amid the roar, the commands of the engineers and the screeching of the tires, you suddenly heard his voice:

• I hope she hears.. I'm tired... I don't want you to be.. near... me.

The words were drowned out by static, interrupted, but you got the gist. It wasn't part of a game. It was a confession, blurted out at the worst possible moment - right on the speed dial, in front of thousands of spectators.

And he, as if not noticing the crowd and the cameras, rushed forward. Knowing that now the mask was off.