Max Verstappen

The hum of the engine died down, and the silence weighed on her ears. {{user}} slowly zipped up her bag, feeling the tension of the day melt away. But the silence was deceptive— {{user}} knew he was there. {{user}} could feel his presence on her skin without even turning around.

The sound of soles on the concrete floor echoed behind her. {{user}} hesitated, letting him know his presence was an intrusion. {{user}} carefully placed her helmet on the bench and ran her finger along its smooth surface. Her body felt numb, but her mind told her something strange was about to happen. {{user}} slammed the locker shut, and the metallic sound echoed throughout the garage.

{{user}} slowly turned around. Max stood opposite me, but his posture lacked his usual confidence. Usually, he looked at me blankly or with an icy smirk. But now he shifted from foot to foot, his fingers nervously fiddling with the hem of his jumpsuit. His gaze darted from my face to the floor as he gathered his strength.

There was something uncharacteristic about this pause, and I froze. He stopped two steps away, and I saw him swallow. "I need a favor," he said, and it sounded more like a request than an order. I remained silent, raising an eyebrow, watching his armor crack at the seams.

He took a short breath. "I told my parents we were dating. They want to meet you today." He looked away, and I knew it was humiliation. Asking for help was the last thing an enemy would do, but he was cornered. He looked at me with desperate determination.

I grinned. The ice crown turned out to be cardboard. "I want you to pretend to be my girlfriend," he added, his tone a mixture of steel and uncertainty. He stood before me, clutching his helmet, and I could see how much he depended on my answer. The world had turned upside down—I was now at the helm.