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mrsfancyferrari · 20 days ago

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Marriage of Convenience PT2

Summary: Lewis has to get married to you for a year for his engagement in Ferrari. Who knew how much he would get sucked into your life…. pt 2

Song: Heartless · The Weeknd

Taglist: @barcelonaloverf1life, @totallynotluluu, @rageshots, @greedyjudge2

Author’s note: Hey guys! I saw some tiktok that was about tropes with F1 drivers and Lewis's one was marriage of convenience. It has stuck with me ever since! I'll be using some real results from the races so it will not always be updated every week! Please like, reblog and share this! 🫶

Part 1 - Part 3

Word count: 22.1k

MASTERLIST - F1

@lewishamilton

liked by yourusername, scuderiaferrari, georgerussell63 and 2,026,295 others

lewishamilton

Finding the right words feels impossible, but here goes. Today, I married the woman of my dreams. Five years ago, I met someone who challenged me, inspired me, and loved me in a way I never thought possible. Today, that whirlwind turned into forever with Y/N.

Looking back, those five years feel like a blink, a beautiful blur of laughter, late-night talks, and building a life together. Looking forward, I see a future even brighter, filled with adventures, shared dreams, and a whole lot of love.

We're so excited to start this new chapter. We also ask for a little privacy as we enjoy our honeymoon. We'll be back soon, ready to share all our fashion with the world. For now, just know my heart is overflowing with happiness. ❤️ #JustMarried #HusbandAndWife

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21st January 2025

You stirred beneath the heavy veil of consciousness, the weight of the world—or perhaps just last night's drinks—pressing down on your eyelids. The room spun in a lazy waltz, the kind that only a hangover could compose.

The scent of champagne and roses lingered in the air, a bouquet that seemed both hauntingly familiar and eerily out of place. Your mouth was a desert, parched and sticky with the residue of a night that seemed to have occurred in a distant realm, a realm where you didn't belong.

You tried to swallow, but it was as if your throat had been coated in the same sticky sweetness that clung to the insides of the champagne flutes that danced before your eyes.

As your vision slowly cleared, you took in the opulent surroundings. The four-poster bed you lay in was draped in velvety fabrics, the color of a moonless night. Your head pounded in rhythm with the unanswered questions that filled your mind.

You were still dressed in the wedding gown from the night before, the silk and lace a stark contrast to the tangled mess of the bed sheets. The dress clung to you like a second skin, a reminder of the vows you had exchanged with a man whose name you couldn't quite place.

Sitting up, the world swam around you as you took in the grandeur of the room. The heavy velvet curtains were drawn back to reveal floor-to-ceiling windows that allowed the early morning light to stream in, painting the polished hardwood floors and antique furniture in a soft, golden glow.

Your gaze fell upon the bedside table, and there it was: a framed picture of you and Lewis kissing at the altar. The sight sent a jolt of recognition through your body.

You were married. Married to Lewis, the man you had known for a few weeks, and married for the most unromantic of reasons—his engagement in Ferrari. The cold reality of the situation was starker than the champagne-induced haze that still clung to your mind.

Looking over to the couch, you found Lewis sleeping peacefully, his baggy clothes hugging his form in a way that suggested he had bothered to change after the reception.

The soft light played with the shadows on his face, highlighting the sharp lines of his jaw and the gentle slope of his nose.

His eyes were closed, and his breaths were deep and even, the picture of exhaustion. The couch, though plush and inviting, seemed too small to contain his long frame, his legs stretched out and hanging over the edge.

You felt a strange sense of protectiveness as you studied him, a feeling that was as unexpected as the wedding ring that adorned his finger.

The fabric of his shirt pulled taut against the muscles of his chest as he inhaled, and you couldn't help but admire the way his body moved with each breath, the way the shadows played across the contours of his abs and the broad expanse of his shoulders.

His hair was a wild mess, the usual coiffed perfection of a man groomed for the spotlight now a tumble of dark braids that fell onto his forehead.

The silence was a cocoon around you, a gentle hum of the air conditioner the only sound that pierced the quiet. You could almost feel the weight of his weariness, the toll of the past few weeks written in the lines etched into his face.

Yet, there was something about his vulnerability in sleep that was incredibly endearing, a stark contrast to the cool, calculated persona he donned in the public eye.

Moving closer, you whispered his name again, "Lewis," the syllables slipping off your tongue like a secret.

You watched as the muscles in his neck tightened, his head tilting towards the sound, seeking you without fully waking.

He replied, "Y/N," his voice thick with sleep, the use of your name a gentle caress in the early morning air. The pause that followed was like a heartbeat, a brief, tender silence that seemed to hold the weight of his concern.

"Did you sleep well?" he finally asked, his eyes fluttering open to reveal a gaze that searched yours with a warm sincerity. The question hung in the air, a soft inquiry into your well-being, one that seemed to hold more than just curiosity.

You nodded, your voice a croak that you hoped conveyed the truth of your restless slumber.

"I… I did," you murmured, your eyes flickering down to the ring on your finger, the cold metal a stark contrast to the heat that began to build in your cheeks.

He sat up, the movement fluid and graceful despite his apparent fatigue. His eyes searched your face, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly in a knowing smile.

"I don't believe you," he said softly, a hint of amusement in his tone.

"But that's alright. I'm sure it'll take some time to get used to this." He gestured to the room, the grandiose space that was now, apparently, your shared domain.

You felt the heat in your cheeks intensify as he stood and stretched, the fabric of his shirt pulling tight across his broad chest. The way his muscles moved beneath the fabric made your own body respond in a way that was both thrilling and unsettling.

He paused, his gaze lingering on the couch, before speaking again. "I didn't want to make you feel uncomfortable," he said, his eyes meeting yours with a gentle warmth. "So, I slept out here."

There was a hint of vulnerability in his voice, a softness that seemed to echo the quiet of the room. "You've never been to my house right?"

You nodded, the haze of last night's events slowly lifting as the reality of your new life began to seep in.

The prospect of living with him, sharing a home, was as overwhelming as the grandeur of the suite. "No," you replied, your voice still a whisper. "I… I haven't."

He studied you for a moment, his gaze lingering on the wedding gown that clung to your body like a second skin. "Well, you have a lot of time to check it out," he said with a knowing smile. "Do you wanna get out of that dress?"

The question was innocent enough, but the way his eyes raked over you sent a shiver of anticipation down your spine.

You nodded, the movement feeling almost foreign in the face of the new intimacy that had been thrust upon you.

He pointed to a set of double doors across the room. "The bathroom is over there," he said, his voice a low rumble that seemed to resonate through your very core. "You can take a shower, and I'll find you something to wear. I'm sure my clothes will be a bit… oversized, but it'll be more comfortable than that gown."

The sound of scratching at the door made him stop mid-sentence, his eyes widening slightly as he looked towards the noise. "One moment," he said, his voice a hushed whisper. "I'll be right back."

He padded across the floor, the soft thud of his bare feet echoing through the vastness of the room. The scratching grew more insistent, and you watched as he opened the door to reveal a large, fluffy dog, tail wagging furiously.

"Roscoe," he sighed, bending down to greet the animal with a gentle pat. "I guess it's time for breakfast."

The sight of Lewis interacting with his pet was oddly comforting. It was a glimpse into a side of him you hadn't seen yet, a side that was more domestic and less… Ferrari-driven.

Once he was out of the room, you took a deep breath and approached the double doors he had indicated. The bathroom was as grand as the rest of the suite, with marble floors and a bathtub that looked like it could comfortably fit four people.

You stepped into the shower, allowing the warm water to cascade over your body, the heat of it soothing your tense muscles and washing away the last vestiges of the wedding night.

The sensation of the water was like a gentle caress, waking your skin to life. You felt your body begin to relax, the tension from the past few weeks draining away.

Your thoughts wandered to Lewis, to the way his eyes had searched yours, the way his voice had been so tender when he offered to help you out of your dress.

Stepping out of the shower, you found a plush robe hanging on the back of the door, the fabric as soft as a whisper.

Wrapping it around yourself, you felt a sense of comfort that was as unexpected as the wedding itself. The mirror revealed your reflection, the glow of your skin standing out against the stark white fabric.

You padded back into the bedroom, the sound of Lewis's voice faint in the distance as he talked to someone—presumably about Roscoe's breakfast. You couldn't help but feel a twinge of curiosity about the conversation, about the life that you were now a part of.

As you approached the bed, the plush rug beneath your bare feet felt like a luxurious embrace. The mattress dipped slightly as you sat down, the memory foam molding to your form as if it had been waiting for you.

You reached for the phone on the nightstand, noticing the time. It was later than you usually woke up, but the events of the last twenty-four hours had thrown any semblance of routine out the window.

You picked up the device, the screen lighting up with a flurry of notifications. Congratulatory messages from friends and colleagues filled the screen, each one a reminder of the surreal turn your life had taken.

Your thumb hovered over the messages, the urge to scroll through them warring with the fear of what you might find. Instead, you set the phone back down, the digital world feeling suddenly intrusive.

Turning your gaze to the wardrobe, you took in the towering mahogany structure that dominated the space. The doors were open slightly, revealing a sea of clothes that were as unfamiliar to you as the man you had married.

You felt a sudden urge to explore, to understand this new life that had been thrust upon you.

With the softness of the robe brushing against your legs, you walked over to the wardrobe, the floor cool against your bare feet. The scent of leather and cologne filled the air, a masculine bouquet that was distinctly Lewis'.

You reached out, your fingers trailing over the fabric of his suits, feeling the luxurious textures beneath your touch. Each garment whispered a story of races won, deals closed, and a life lived in the fast lane.

Your finger stopped at a piece of clothing line +44, hanging neatly amidst the rows of designer labels.

You decided to wear that, the scent of his cologne still lingering on the fabric, a silent invitation to embrace the reality of your union. The shirt was a size too large, the fabric whispering against your skin as you pulled it over your head.

The matching trouser, however, was a different story. They hung low on your hips, the material snug in a way that accentuated the curves of your body.

You stepped into them, feeling the softness of the fabric against your bare legs. As you pulled them up, you had to tug at the waist, the tightness making you aware of every inch of your body.

Looking into the mirror, you saw a reflection that was both strange and fascinating. The oversized shirt swamped you, the sleeves rolled up to your elbows, but the trousers hugged your form in a way that made you feel… powerful.

Before you had a chance to ponder further, you heard a knock at the door. "Come in," you called out, your voice a mix of anticipation and nerves.

The handle turned, and Lewis stepped back into the room, his eyes immediately finding yours in the mirror.

He paused, his gaze lingering on your reflection, his eyes tracing the lines of your body, outlined by his clothes. His expression was inscrutable, but you could feel the heat of his stare, the way it seemed to sear into your very soul.

"You look… surprisingly good," he said finally, his voice thick with something you couldn't quite place—desire, perhaps?

You turned to face him, the oversized shirt brushing against your legs with every step. His eyes followed the movement, the corners of his lips quirking up into a smoldering smile.

"Thank you," you replied, feeling both self-conscious and oddly alluring in his attire.

Lewis walked closer, the intensity of his gaze sending a shiver down your spine. He reached out, his hand sliding along the fabric of the shirt, ghosting over your bare skin.

His touch was light, yet it seemed to leave a trail of fire in its wake, setting your body alight with need. He stopped at the hem, his fingers lingering just above the waistband of the trousers.

"I didn't expect to see you wearing my clothes," he murmured, his voice low and husky. "It's quite a look for you."

You felt the warmth of his palm as it rested on the small of your back, his thumb making small, lazy circles on the bare skin above your waistband.

Your breath hitched in your throat, the air thick with an unspoken tension. You turned to face him fully, the heat of his body mere inches away from yours, the scent of his cologne enveloping you like a warm embrace.

"Thank you," you murmured, the words barely audible as you tried to process the sudden intimacy of the moment.

You didn't speak more as Lewis looked over at you before looked at your hand and it didn't match his. "Where's your ring?" Lewis asked, his voice a velvet caress that seemed to resonate through your very core.

The question hung in the air, thick with the scent of his cologne, and you felt your heart skip a beat as your hand reflexively curled into a fist around the empty space where your wedding band should have been.

The reality of your situation crashed down upon you—his clothes on your body, his scent surrounding you, his hand on your skin—and you realized with a start that you had left your ring on the nightstand.

Lewis' gaze followed yours to the bedside table, where the ring sat, a gleaming symbol of your marriage, of the life you had built together, and of the boundaries you were so precariously close to crossing.

He strode over with purpose, the fabric of his shirt stretching taut over the muscles of his broad back as he moved. Your eyes remained fixed on the ring as he picked it up, the gold band winking in the soft lamplight.

He turned back to you, holding it out between his thumb and forefinger, a silent question in his eyes.

You felt your heart pound in your chest as he approached, the ring glinting in the soft light. With a tremor in your hand, you reached out to take it, but Lewis was quicker. He held your hand before slowly placing it back on your finger, his touch gentle yet firm.

The warmth of his skin against yours sent an electric current up your arm, and you felt the metal of the ring cool against your finger.

For a moment, you both just stood there, the silence stretching out like a tightrope between you. Then, Lewis' thumb brushed over the back of your hand, sending a shiver down your spine, and he leaned in closer, his eyes searching yours.

"I think we both know what we're feeling," he whispered, the warmth of his breath dancing across your skin. "But we don't have to act on it."

Just as he said this, Roscoe, his bulldog, trotted into the room, tail wagging with unbridled enthusiasm. He came over to you, jumping up to place his paws on your thighs, his wet nose nuzzling into the fabric of the shirt, seeking the familiar scent of his owner.

Lewis chuckled, the tension between you momentarily easing. He took a step back, allowing you to bend down and give the dog a gentle pat on the head. "Looks like someone's happy to see you," he said, his eyes never leaving yours.

As you ruffled Roscoe's ears, the dog's enthusiasm washed over you, bringing with it a sense of comfort and familiarity that seemed to ground you in the whirlwind of emotions swirling around the room. The softness of the dog's fur contrasted with the hardness of the ring on your finger, a stark reminder of the line you had drawn.

Lewis watched the interaction with a knowing smile, his eyes warm with affection for his pet, yet tinged with something more. It was as if he could feel the magnetic pull between you, the same pull that had brought you to this point of temptation.

You knelt down to be at eye level with Roscoe, his droopy jowls framing a mouth that looked perpetually ready to give a sloppy kiss. "Hey buddy," you cooed, your voice soft and gentle. The dog's tail wagged harder, his eyes sparkling with happiness.

As you spoke to Roscoe, you felt the tension in your body begin to dissipate, his unconditional love a balm to your frazzled nerves. "You're such a good boy," you murmured, stroking his wrinkled forehead.

Roscoe's eyes closed in contentment, his tail thumping against the floorboards in a steady rhythm. The sound was comforting, a reminder of the simple joys in life that had nothing to do with the complex dance of desire and duty that you and Lewis were performing.

You spoke to Roscoe, your voice filled with genuine affection as you told him what a good boy he was, his panting breaths punctuating your words with a sweet, dog-like laughter.

Lewis watched the interaction with a soft smile, his hand coming to rest on the small of your back as he bent down beside you, his touch a silent declaration of his intentions.

"Are you ready to breakfast?" he asked, his voice a warm caress that seemed to resonate through the room, pulling you back to the present. The question was innocent enough, but the way he looked at you, his eyes dark with desire, told a different story.

You nodded, feeling the heat of his gaze on your skin as you stood, the shirt and trousers swimming around your form.

Roscoe's tail thumped a farewell as you followed Lewis out of the room, his touch lingering on your waist as he guided you through the hallway.

The kitchen was bathed in the soft glow of early morning light, the aroma of cooked breakfast wafting through the air. You felt your stomach growl, the sight of the perfectly plated meal on the counter stealing your attention.

Greek yogurt with a vibrant array of berries and a drizzle of honey sat alongside a steaming plate of scrambled eggs, the vivid green of the spinach peeking through the creamy folds, all atop a bed of nutty brown rice.

Lewis's knowing smile grew as he watched you take in the spread. "I know your taste," he said, a hint of pride in his voice as he gestured to the stool beside the breakfast bar. "It's what you always have."

You couldn't help but be impressed, and a little thrilled, that he had not only remembered but had gone to the trouble of preparing your favorite meal.

It had been your go-to breakfast since college, a balanced blend of sweetness and sustenance that had seen you through countless early mornings. "How did you know?" you asked, your voice a little breathless.

Lewis's smile grew a bit wider as he leaned against the counter. "In your folder," he said, his voice low and seductive, "it tells me everything about you."

You raised an eyebrow, taking a seat and looking up at him through your lashes. "A bit creepy, don't you think?" you teased, your voice a silky purr that belied the racing of your heart.

Lewis chuckled, the sound deep and rich, as he pulled out a chair and sat down beside you. "It's all part of the service," he said, his hand brushing against your thigh, sending a thrill up your spine. "When you marry a man like me, you get the full experience."

He took a sip of his coffee, his eyes never leaving yours, as he continued to speak. "Everything you like, everything you hate, all neatly cataloged and ready for me to cater to."

You couldn't help but feel a thrill at the idea of being so thoroughly known, even as a part of you rebelled at the thought of being reduced to a collection of preferences and habits.

But as he sat down in front of you, his legs spread wide, the fabric of his own pants straining against his powerful thighs, you realized that the line between knowing and owning had become increasingly blurred.

"Did you not receive a folder from me as well?" Lewis asked, settling into the chair across from you.

You felt a sudden warmth spread through you at the thought of him researching your preferences, but you couldn't help the playful smirk that curved your lips.

"Maybe I did," you replied coyly, taking a spoonful of the sweet, tart berries. "But I'm not one to read the manual."

Lewis's eyes sparkled with amusement. "Is that so?" he said, leaning forward and taking a piece of toast from the rack. "Well, I suppose I'll just have to show you, then."

He took a bite, the crunch echoing in the quiet room. You watched, transfixed, as he chewed slowly, savoring the flavors. Your gaze drifted from his full lips to the muscles of his throat as he swallowed, and you felt an unexpected jolt of want.

You took a bite of your eggs, the warmth of the food spreading through your body, mingling with the heat that seemed to radiate from Lewis.

As you ate, you couldn't help but let your gaze wander around the room, eventually landing on the oversized calendar hanging on the living room wall.

It was a stark reminder of the passing days, the months laid out in a grid, filled with various appointments and reminders.

"What's that for?" you asked after finishing the eggs, pointing to a mysterious circle drawn in red ink on one of the dates.

Lewis looked up from his plate, his gaze following your finger to the calendar. "It's a calendar that has all of our planned dates," he said, his voice a low murmur that sent a shiver down your spine.

You took another sip of coffee, the warmth of the liquid doing little to quench the growing fire within you. "And how do you know when I'm free?" you repeated, the question hanging in the air like a challenge.

Lewis leaned back in his chair, his eyes never leaving yours. "Your agency works with mine since we're married," he said simply, his voice a low rumble that seemed to resonate in your very bones. "They coordinate our schedules to ensure we spend quality time together."

You nodded, understanding the implications of his words. Your heart raced at the thought of the intimate moments that would be shared, the private dinners and the stolen glances in the boardroom.

Your eyes drifted back to the calendar, and you looked at the closest date with the red circle. "A shooting date? Really?" you asked, shocked but excited.

"Yeah," Lewis said with a grin that was as devilish as it was charming. "You said you're quite the sharpshooter, so I figured it was time I saw it for myself."

You felt your cheeks heat up at his teasing, but you couldn't help the smug smile that played on your lips. Growing up with two older brothers had made you a master at holding your own in any kind of competition, especially one that involved firearms.

"Is that so?" you replied, your voice filled with mock challenge.

Lewis's eyes sparkled with amusement. "Oh, you'll see," he said, his voice a dark promise. "But for now, let's focus on the task at hand."

The task at hand was indeed tantalizing. You watched as he took another bite of toast, his strong jaw working as he chewed.

"What are we focusing on?" you asked, your voice a silken thread that seemed to tie the two of you closer together.

Lewis's smile was predatory as he set down his cup. "Our marriage," he said, his eyes darkening with intent. "On our lives for this whole year."

The touch of the cold metal ring on your finger was a constant reminder of the deal you'd made, a symbol of the year of your life that was now irrevocably intertwined with his.

Lewis's eyes followed the movement of your hand as you reached for your coffee, the steam swirling around your fingers like a seductive dance.

"A year," he murmured, his voice a soft echo in the quiet of the kitchen. "It's a long time to pretend."

You took a sip, the liquid warming your throat as you met his gaze. "We're not pretending," you said, setting the cup down with a gentle click. "We're just…exploring."

Lewis leaned in closer, his eyes searching yours. "Is that what you call it?" His voice was a low murmur, the timbre of it sending shivers down your spine.

You swallowed, feeling the heat of his proximity, the way your skin seemed to sing under his gaze. "What would you call it?" you asked, your voice a barely-there whisper.

Lewis's eyes searched yours, a smoldering intensity that made you feel like you were the only woman in the world. "I'd call it…the most exciting year of our lives."

"I'll see you about that," you said, your voice a seductive purr that seemed to wrap itself around him.

The air between you crackled with an unspoken challenge, and Lewis's smile grew wicked. "Oh, I have no doubt," he said, his voice a low rumble that seemed to resonate in the very marrow of your bones.

After breakfast, it was time to take Roscoe for a walk, and you decided to accompany Lewis. You were already dressed, the shirt and trousers clinging to your curves in a way that had him watching you like a hawk.

The cool air outside was a stark contrast to the heat that had been building in the kitchen, and you both took a moment to appreciate the serene beauty of the morning. The sun had barely crested the horizon, casting long shadows across the dew-kissed lawn as you stepped out onto the porch.

Roscoe bounced around at your feet, his tail wagging in excitement as he recognized the signs of his favorite activity. You laughed, the sound like a melody to Lewis's ears, as you clipped on his leash and stepped off the porch.

The leather of the leash felt cool and smooth in your hand as you led Roscoe down the cobblestone path that wound through the meticulously manicured garden. The sun was still low in the sky, casting long shadows that danced around the two of you as you moved.

Lewis walked alongside you, his long strides easily matching your shorter ones. He was dressed in a pair of gym shorts that hugged his muscular thighs and a crisp white shirt, the sleeves rolled up to reveal his forearms, tanned and lightly dusted with fine hairs.

Roscoe led the way, his nose to the ground as he snuffled and explored, tail wagging with the joy of the familiar routine. The gentle tug of the leash was a comforting reminder of the simple joys in life, the kind that didn't come with the complications of marriage contracts and hidden agendas.

Your eyes strayed to Lewis's arms as they moved rhythmically with his stride, the play of muscles beneath the fabric of his shirt an entrancing sight. The cool morning air nipped at your skin, but you felt anything but cold as the heat of his presence seemed to envelop you.

"So, what are your plans for the day?" he asked, breaking the silence that had stretched between you since the moment you stepped outside.

You took a deep breath, filling your lungs with the fresh morning air. "I have a meeting with my design team," you replied, your eyes drifting to the horizon, where the sun was just beginning to paint the sky with streaks of gold and pink. "We're finalizing the collection for Milan Fashion Week."

Lewis nodded, his gaze never leaving your face. "Ah, the glamorous life of a model," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "I'm sure you'll wow them all."

You shot him a sideways glance, the corner of your mouth quirking up in a smile. "It's more work than you think," you replied, your voice filled with a hint of challenge. "But maybe I'll save some of that wow factor for you."

Lewis's eyes lit up with interest. "Is that so?" he asked, his voice dropping an octave. "I'd love a private fashion show."

You felt a thrill at his words, a shiver of excitement that seemed to coil in your belly. "We'll see about that," you replied, the smile playing on your lips growing more pronounced.

The walk with Roscoe was a chance to breathe, to feel the earth beneath your feet and the wind in your hair. Yet, even amidst the tranquility of nature, the tension between you and Lewis was palpable, a living, pulsing entity that seemed to hum in the air.

As you approached the end of the garden path, the sun was fully risen, casting a warm glow over the landscape. The dew on the grass sparkled like a million diamonds scattered by a careless goddess.

"What about you?" you asked, turning to him, the question a soft invitation to delve into the depths of his thoughts.

Lewis's gaze was unreadable for a moment, the shadows playing across his face as the sun climbed higher. "I have a meeting with the board," he said finally. "They want to discuss the future of the Ferrari partnership."

Your heart skipped a beat at the mention of Ferrari, the very reason for the arrangement that had brought you both together. You felt a strange sense of pride at the thought of him fighting for your future together, even if it was based on a lie.

"And what about us?" you asked, your voice a soft caress that seemed to hang in the air between you. "What does the future hold for us?"

Lewis stopped, his hand coming to rest on the small of your back as he turned to face you fully. "Us?" he echoed, his voice a low rumble that seemed to resonate through the early morning silence.

You nodded, unable to tear your gaze from his, the question hanging in the air like a delicate web of unspoken desires. "Our marriage," you clarified, your voice a soft whisper that seemed to carry on the gentle breeze.

Lewis's eyes searched yours, his hand on your back a brand that seemed to burn through the fabric of the shirt. "The future of our marriage," he began, his voice a velvet promise that seemed to wrap itself around your very soul, "is…complicated."

You felt the warmth of his palm through the thin cotton, the heat of his touch a stark contrast to the cool morning air. His thumb traced a lazy pattern against your skin, sending shivers of anticipation through your body.

"Complicated?" you echoed, your voice a soft, questioning murmur.

Lewis nodded, his eyes never leaving yours. "We're both ambitious, driven people," he said, his voice a gentle rumble that seemed to resonate through the early morning air. "But we're also married now, and that comes with expectations and responsibilities."

You felt the weight of his words, the gravity of the situation settling like a warm blanket over your shoulders. "I know," you murmured, your voice barely a breath. "But we can make it work."

Lewis's hand slid up to your waist, his grip firm yet gentle. "Can we?" he asked, his eyes searching yours, a challenge and a question all rolled into one.

You stepped closer, the warmth of his body pressing against yours, the scent of him enveloping you. "We have to," you murmured, the words a declaration of intent that seemed to hang in the air like a promise.

Lewis's hand tightened around your waist, his gaze dropping to your mouth as if he were considering kissing you. "Do we?" he asked, his voice a low rumble that seemed to shake the very ground beneath you.

You stepped closer still, the heat of his body enveloping you like a warm embrace. "We can," you said, your voice a firm declaration that seemed to resonate in the air. "We'll make it work."

Lewis's eyes searched yours for a long moment, the tension between you tightening like a bowstring pulled to the breaking point.

But just as you thought you could lean in and capture his lips, Roscoe decided he had had enough of the seriousness. With a sudden burst of energy, the bulldog jumped up between you, knocking the air from your lungs as his paws thudded against your chest. You stumbled back with a surprised laugh, the spell of the moment broken.

Roscoe's tongue lolled out as he looked up at you both with innocent, expectant eyes. His tail wagged so hard it was a wonder it didn't come off.

"I guess he doesn't like us getting too serious," you said, your voice a little shaky with repressed desire.

Lewis chuckled, the sound a warm rumble that seemed to wrap around you like a blanket. He ruffled the dog's ears, his touch gentle despite the passion that had just been simmering between the two of you.

"Looks like he's not ready to share his humans just yet," he said, his eyes crinkling at the corners with amusement.

The sudden interruption was a welcome one, a reminder of the life you shared beyond the confines of your agreement. You couldn't help but laugh as you regained your balance, the feel of the cool air on your flushed cheeks a refreshing contrast to the heat that had been building in the kitchen.

Lewis chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he looked at the dog. "I guess we'll have to save our serious discussions for another time," he said, his voice a velvet rumble that seemed to echo the frustration of your thwarted kiss.

Roscoe's interruption had brought with it a burst of laughter, the tension of the moment dissipating like mist in the sun. You couldn't help but lean down to give the dog a grateful pat, his fur a soft cushion under your hand. "You always know how to lighten the mood," you said, your voice filled with affection.

Lewis's smile was a thing of beauty, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he watched you with the dog. "He's got good timing," he said, his voice still thick with desire despite the sudden shift in dynamics.

You nodded, unable to disagree as you ruffled Roscoe's ears. "Maybe he's smarter than we give him credit for," you said with a chuckle, the sound doing little to hide the longing that still hummed in the air between you.

Lewis's eyes searched yours for a moment longer, the promise of what almost happened still lingering in the air. "Maybe," he conceded, his hand dropping to give Roscoe a firm pat on the back. "But for now, let's get you ready for your big day."

The walk back to the house was a little more subdued than the one out, the weight of your conversation a palpable presence between you. The sun had fully risen now, casting its golden fingers through the leaves of the trees that lined the path, painting the world in a warm glow.

As you reached the back door, Lewis leaned down to unclip the leash from Roscoe's collar, the dog bounding inside with a happy grumble. You stepped in after him, the coolness of the marble floor a stark contrast to the heat outside.

The scent of your combined cologne and the lingering aroma of breakfast filled the air, a heady mix that seemed to cling to your skin. . . .

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

26th January 2025

The crack of the gunshot echoed through the cavernous shooting range, a symphony of power and precision that seemed to resonate with every beat of your heart.

Lewis, his eyes wide with a mix of surprise and admiration, watched as the bullet you had just fired tore through the center of the target, leaving nothing but a gaping, flawless hole.

The smell of gunpowder and the metallic tang of fear filled the air, an intoxicating blend that made your blood pulse with excitement. It was your first date and it was a shooting range. America had gone through a strange way of bringing out the primal instincts in a girl, and you were eager to show Lewis just how wild you could be.

"You're a natural," he murmured, his British accent thick and alluring. His hand was tentatively placed on your lower back, guiding you to the next target.

His touch was a gentle whisper against your skin, a stark contrast to the deafening roar of the firearm in your hand. You smirked, taking a moment to appreciate the irony before turning to face him.

"It's all about control," you said, the words rolling off your tongue as smoothly as the trigger beneath your finger. "You have to know exactly when to let go, when to give in to the power."

Your eyes flickered down to his hand, and for a brief moment, the air between you was charged with something more than just the static of spent bullets.

You stepped away, loading another round. "My past, it's complicated. But shooting, it was something I picked up when I was in the military."

You took aim again, the gun feeling like an extension of your body. "I was in the special forces. We had to be ready for anything, anywhere." You spoke calmly, but the words were like bombs, dropping between you and shaking the foundation of what Lewis thought he knew about you.

The clang of the metal as the target flipped back to reveal the perfect shot was like a cymbal crash in the silence. You turned to him, the smoky haze of the range framing your face like a portrait of a warrior queen. "There's something about the concentration it takes, the way your entire being focuses on that one moment of truth. It's… liberating."

Lewis swallowed hard, the heat of desire burning a trail from his throat to his groin. He had never met anyone quite like you before, a blend of steel and silk that left him utterly captivated.

"It's like a dance," he murmured, stepping closer, his hand reaching for yours. "A dangerous one, but a dance nonetheless."

You grinned, the challenge in your eyes sparkling like the diamond ring on your finger, a stark reminder of the unorthodox arrangement that had brought you two together. "Why don't you try?"

You handed him the gun, your fingers lingering on his for a moment longer than necessary, watching as he took a deep breath and wrapped his hand around the grip. His palms were sweaty, his heart racing, and the smell of his cologne was a heady mix of sandalwood and something that was uniquely him.

Lewis took a step forward, his shoulders squared and his eyes focused on the target. He had never been one for violence, but there was something about the way you handled the weapon that made him want to try, to feel that same sense of power and control that you so clearly wielded.

He raised the gun, his arms steady as you whispered instructions into his ear, your breath tickling the sensitive skin at the base of his neck. The heat of your body against his back was a stark contrast to the cold steel of the firearm.

"Breathe," you coached, your voice low and soothing. "Find your center."

He missed. The bullet thudded into the wall beside the target, sending a shiver through the concrete. You stepped closer, your hand finding his as you corrected his grip.

Your body pressed against his, your curves fitting against his lines as if you were two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle that had finally found their place.

"It's okay," you whispered, your breath a gentle caress against his cheek. "Let me show you."

You guided his arms, placing your hands over his so that the gun was steady. Your fingers intertwined with his, and you felt the tremble of his pulse against your palm.

His chest was a wall of warmth against your back, and his breathing grew deeper, more erratic.

You leaned into him, your eyes locked onto the target. "Now," you instructed, your voice a siren's call, "just let it happen."

As you guided his hands, the world around you seemed to fall away. There were only the two of you, the gun, and the target that represented the obstacles in your lives.

Lewis took a deep breath, feeling the warmth of your body envelop him, the scent of your perfume an intoxicating cocktail of jasmine and danger.

He squeezed the trigger, and this time the shot rang true, the bullet tearing through the target's edge with a precision that left him dizzy. He turned to you, his eyes alight with a newfound excitement.

"Better?" you teased, your smile a knowing curve that made his stomach flip.

Lewis nodded, unable to find his voice. The feel of you against him was a heady rush, the heat of your body searing through the fabric of his shirt, making him acutely aware of every inch of skin that wasn't touching yours.

"Much," he managed to murmur, his voice a gravelly echo of its usual self-assured tone.

You stepped away, giving him a playful shove. "You're a quick learner," you said, the smoky allure of your voice making his knees feel weak.

Lewis stumbled slightly, his grip on the gun tightening, his eyes never leaving yours. He had never felt this alive, this… primal before. "It's all thanks to you," he replied, his voice a rumble that seemed to resonate in the very core of your being.

You took the gun from him, placing it back into the holster with a practiced ease that made his stomach clench. "Let's go," you said, your tone a soft command that sent a thrill down his spine. "We've got other things to shoot."

The next range was a clay pigeon shoot, the discs flying through the air like doomed birds. The sun had dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the field.

You handed Lewis a shotgun, the weight of it surprising him. "It's all about timing and instinct," you explained, your eyes gleaming with a predatory light that made his pulse race.

He watched as you stepped up to the firing line, the grace in your movements belying the deadly weapon in your hands. The clay disc shot upwards, a blur against the deepening blue, and with a swift, fluid motion, you brought the gun up to your shoulder and fired.

The explosion of the disc into a million pieces was a silent symphony, and Lewis couldn't tear his eyes away from the fiery passion in your eyes as you did it again and again.

Finally, it was his turn. The adrenaline was pumping through his veins, a wild, untamed beast demanding to be unleashed. You stood beside him, your hand on his shoulder as you whispered sweet nothings of guidance into his ear.

He took aim, the weight of the shotgun heavy but reassuring in his hands. The disc took flight, and he focused on the moment, the way you had taught him. The world around them slowed down to a crawl, and he pulled the trigger.

The disc shattered, and a roar of victory tore from his throat. You turned to him, your smile wide and genuine, and he could see the fire in your eyes.

The third range was a tactical simulation, a maze of walls and barriers with pop-up targets. The air was thick with anticipation, the scent of adrenaline mixing with the metallic tang of the gunpowder.

You were in your element, moving through the maze with the grace of a panther stalking its prey.

Lewis followed you, his heart hammering in his chest. You were a force of nature, a tempest that he was desperate to be swept up in.

As you rounded a corner, you paused, your hand signaling for him to wait. Your eyes locked on a target, you took a deep breath, and the gun in your hand spat fire.

The target fell, and you turned to him, your eyes gleaming with excitement. "Your turn," you whispered, a hint of challenge in your voice.

Lewis stepped into the maze, his eyes scanning the horizon for his prey. His heart was racing, but he felt a strange calm settle over him.

The target popped up, and he reacted on instinct, his body moving with a precision that surprised him. The gun roared, and the target fell. You were there, at his side, your hand on his arm, your eyes alight with something that was more than just pride.

You led him through the maze, your bodies moving in a silent dance of power and passion. Each shot he took brought him closer to you, until the last target fell and the world around them was still, save for the pounding of their hearts.

You turned to him, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps. "You did it," you murmured, your voice a seductive caress. "You're a natural."

Lewis couldn't help but feel a sense of accomplishment at the praise, his chest puffing out slightly.

"Thank you," he breathed, his eyes never leaving yours. "But it's all thanks to you, really." His hand reached out, tentatively brushing a strand of hair from your face. "You're the one who's been guiding me through this… wild ride."

The small restaurant by the shooting range was a cozy little retreat, the perfect place to let the adrenaline of the day melt away into something more intimate.

The dim lights and the soft murmur of the other diners created an ambiance that was both intimate and electrifying. As you sat down at a corner booth, Lewis's hand found its way to your waist, his fingers ghosting over the soft fabric of your trousers.

You didn't mind his touch; in fact, it was surprisingly comforting. The thrill of the day had left you both on edge, and the gentle pressure of his hand was a reminder that despite the chaos of your new lives, you had found something real in the midst of the façade.

You leaned into him, a small smile playing on your lips as you picked up the menu.

The paparazzi outside the restaurant didn't bother you. They had caught you both leaving the range, Lewis's arm wrapped protectively around your shoulders, the gun in your hand still smoking.

It was a picture that would be on every tabloid cover the next day, but for now, you were just two people enjoying a meal together.

As you peruse the menu, his thumb traced lazy circles on your waist, sending shivers down your spine.

The waiter approached, a knowing smile playing on his lips as he took your orders. He was used to serving high-profile clients, and the sight of Lewis's hand casually resting on your waist was not lost on him.

He nodded discreetly and retreated, leaving the two of you in the warm embrace of the dimly lit booth.

You reached for your wine glass, the coolness of the crystal a stark contrast to the heat of your skin. Lewis's eyes never left you. You took a sip, the rich notes of the Merlot dancing on your tongue as you watched him over the rim.

His fingers tightened slightly, pulling you closer, and you felt the warmth of his breath on your neck. "You're amazing," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that sent a thrill down your spine. "I had no idea you could shoot like that."

You set the glass down, your hand brushing against his as you did so. "It's all about control," you repeated, your voice a soft purr that sent his pulse racing.

Lewis didn't care anymore. He had a woman beside him, an angel at most. The restaurant's dim lighting cast a warm glow on your faces as you leaned in closer, the whispers of your conversation lost in the gentle clinking of silverware and the soft murmur of other diners.

His hand, which had been tentatively placed on your waist, grew bolder, sliding around to the small of your back, pulling you in until your thighs brushed against his.

You were the only one holding back.

"I didn't know you were such a good actor," you whispered into his ear, your breath hot and sweet with the scent of wine.

"I have my moments," he whispered back, his eyes gleaming with mischief as he leaned closer, the scent of his cologne swirling around you like a seductive mist.

As you sipped at your wine, your mind wandered to the Ferrari team. It was a topic that had been a constant in your conversations since the wedding happened.

Lewis's excitement was palpable, a tangible force that seemed to vibrate in the air between you. He talked about the future races, the cars, the camaraderie of the team with such passion that you couldn't help but be drawn into his world.

You nodded along, your eyes never leaving his face as he spoke of the thrill of speed, the roar of the engines, and the adrenaline rush that came with pushing the limits.

Your nods grew more enthusiastic as he described the sleek lines of the Ferraris, the way the sun kissed the red paint, making it gleam like the most tempting of fruits.

You could see the yearning in his eyes, the desperation to be a part of that elite group of drivers who ruled the asphalt with a fiery passion that consumed them.

"It's like nothing else," he said, his voice filled with a reverence that was almost religious. "The wind in your hair, the engine roaring beneath you… it's pure freedom."

You leaned closer, the warmth of his words wrapping around you like a blanket. "I can see it in your eyes," you murmured, your voice thick with a desire that had nothing to do with the speed of the cars and everything to do with the passion that fueled his every word.

Lewis took a deep breath, his hand sliding up your back to cradle the nape of your neck. "I'd hope so," he said, his voice dropping to a whisper that seemed to resonate through your very soul.

You set your fork down, the clink of silver against porcelain seeming to echo through the restaurant. The rest of the world faded away, leaving only the two of you in the warm embrace of the candlelit booth.

You felt his breath on your skin, his scent mingling with the aroma of the food and wine, creating a heady cocktail that made you lightheaded with desire.

"Should we go home now?" you asked, your voice a soft, sultry purr that seemed to caress his very soul.

"Yes," he murmured, the word thick with need. "Let's go home."

The drive back to your shared secluded house was silent, punctuated only by the roar of Lewis’s Ferrari. He navigated the winding roads with practiced ease, the headlights cutting through the darkness, mirroring the way he had skillfully navigated your defenses.

You glanced at him, his profile sharp against the passing streetlights. He looked every inch the Formula 1 superstar, but you knew there was more to him than the public persona.

The drive back to your secluded hilltop villa was silent, punctuated only by the roar of Lewis’s Ferrari. He navigated the winding roads with practiced ease, the headlights cutting through the darkness, mirroring the way he had skillfully navigated your defenses.

You glanced at him, his profile sharp against the passing streetlights. He looked every inch the Formula 1 superstar, but you knew there was more to him than the public persona.

As you pulled into the driveway, you felt the familiar knot of anxiety tighten in your chest. The charade was one thing in the public eye, but back within these walls, the line between reality and performance blurred.

He turned to you, his eyes searching. "You okay?"

You offered a small, tight smile. "Just tired."

Inside, the villa was cool and quiet. You both moved with a practiced dance, the choreography of shared space and unspoken rules. You went to the kitchen to pour yourself a glass of water, the clinking of the glass echoing in the stillness. Lewis leaned against the doorway, watching you.

"They really went crazy with the photos tonight," he said, his voice low. "Think it'll be a problem?"

You shrugged, taking a sip. "Doubt it. It's good publicity for Ferrari. Keeps the sponsors happy."

He pushed off the doorframe and walked towards you, his movements fluid and graceful. "Is that all this is to you, then? Publicity?"

The question hung in the air, heavy with unspoken emotions. You set down your glass, turning to face him. "What else would it be, Lewis? It's a contract. An agreement."

He stepped closer, invading your personal space. "Is it?" His voice was a soft challenge, his eyes locked on yours.

You swallowed, your heart hammering against your ribs. "Yes. It has to be."

But the look in his eyes, the way he stepped closer, the heat of his body against yours, made you question everything. You had promised yourself that you would keep this arrangement strictly professional, but the way he made you feel was anything but.

"If that's what you want," Lewis said softly, his gaze dropping to your mouth.

You felt your resolve wavering like a candle flame in the wind. Roscoe, his bulldog, lay sprawled on the floor.

The glass of water in your hand trembled slightly, the condensation slipping down the side and onto your fingertips.

The coolness of the glass was a stark contrast to the heat of your palm, a reminder of the passion that had been building between you and Lewis all evening.

You didn't answer. You couldn't. The words were trapped in your throat. You took another sip, the water a refreshing balm to your dry mouth, and you tried to ignore the way his eyes had darkened, the way his breathing had changed.

Lewis reached out, brushing a droplet of water from your chin with the pad of his thumb. "We don't have to pretend here," he whispered.

Your eyes searched his, looking for any hint of the playboy persona you had been warned about, but all you saw was sincerity and something that looked suspiciously like affection.

It had only been a few days since the wedding, a whirlwind of flashing cameras and forced smiles, but somehow, in this quiet kitchen, it felt like a lifetime.

You knew this year was going to be hard. A year of playing the part of the loving wife, of smiling for the cameras, of sharing a house with a man you had only just met.

You had to stand your ground, keep the emotions at bay. This was a marriage of convenience, nothing more. . . .

1st February 2025

The roar of your hairdryer fills the opulent bathroom of your Monaco apartment, a stark contrast to the nervous flutter in your stomach.

"Are you sure I have to come?" you ask, your voice slightly muffled by the roaring appliance. You stare at your reflection, meticulously smoothing a stray strand of burgundy hair.

The life of a top model is often glamorous, filled with photoshoots in exotic locations and VIP parties.

But this… this is different. This is Ferrari and this is with Lewis.

A familiar face pops around the doorframe, a mischievous glint in his brown eyes. "Yes, you have to," Lewis replies, leaning against the doorjamb.

He watches you with an amused expression, clearly enjoying your apprehension. "Think of it as a field trip. Besides," he adds with a wink, "they're dying to meet the infamous 'you'."

You roll your eyes, switching off the hairdryer. "Infamous how, exactly?" you retort, turning to face him.

He chuckles, pushing himself off the doorframe and walking towards you. "Infamously beautiful. Infamously talented. And, let's be honest, infamously… married to me."

"Don't remind me," you murmur, but there's a playful smile on your lips.

"Come on," he says, pulling away slightly. "We need to leave. The Prancing Horse awaits."

You take one last look in the mirror, adjusting the straps of your scarlet red dress. It's a bold choice, a deliberate nod to Ferrari's iconic color.

Lewis is wearing a red top and black trousers, a coordinated effort that makes you feel almost… like a real couple.

The drive to Maranello is a blur of rolling hills and picturesque Italian villages. As you approach the Ferrari factory, the air crackles with anticipation. This is hallowed ground for racing enthusiasts, a place where legends are born.

As you step out of the car, you are immediately engulfed by a wave of excitement. The air hums with the sounds of engines revving and the scent of gasoline and burning rubber.

You walk alongside Lewis, your heels clicking on the pristine asphalt. He holds your hand, his touch a reassuring anchor in the sea of unfamiliar faces.

The staff greet Lewis with enthusiasm, their faces lighting up as he shakes their hands and exchanges words of appreciation.

You try your best to smile and nod, feeling a bit like an imposter in this world of high-octane adrenaline and finely tuned machinery.

"And this is my wife, Y/N," Lewis announces with a pride that makes your heart flutter. "She's a model, and a very talented one at that."

The staff members turn their attention to you, their eyes widening with curiosity. You offer a polite smile, shaking hands and exchanging pleasantries. You can feel their scrutiny, their silent assessment.

You are an outsider in their world, a glamorous anomaly in a culture obsessed with speed and precision.

The highlight of the tour is undoubtedly the unveiling of Lewis's new F1 car. It's a magnificent machine, a symphony of carbon fiber and aerodynamic curves. The vibrant red paint gleams under the bright lights, and the Ferrari logo stands proudly on its nose.

"Wow," you breathe, genuinely impressed. "It's… incredible."

"Want to see what it feels like?" Lewis asks with a grin.

Before you can answer, he's already gesturing for one of the mechanics to help you get in. You hesitate for a moment, unsure if you're really cut out for this. But the excitement in Lewis's eyes is infectious, and you find yourself climbing into the cockpit.

It's surprisingly cramped, the seat molded perfectly to the driver's body. You adjust the steering wheel, marveling at the array of buttons and switches. For a moment, you feel like you're about to launch into orbit.

"Careful now," Lewis says, chuckling as he watches you. "Don't press any of the wrong buttons."

You laugh, trying to imagine yourself racing around a track at 200 miles per hour. It's a far cry from your usual world of fashion shows and photo shoots.

But then, disaster strikes. You try to get out of the car, but your leg gets stuck. You wiggle and squirm, but to no avail. You're completely wedged in, unable to move.

"Having a little trouble?" Lewis teases, but you can see the concern in his eyes.

He steps closer, reaching into the cockpit to help you. His hands brush against your skin, sending shivers down your spine. He pulls gently, and with a final tug, you're free.

"Thanks," you murmur, trying to ignore the heat that has flooded your cheeks.

"Well, that was certainly… interesting," you say, trying to laugh it off.

"Don't worry," Lewis says, wrapping his arm around your shoulder. "It happens to the best of us. Besides," he whispers in your ear, "it was quite entertaining to watch."

You elbow him playfully, and he laughs, the sound rich and warm. You can feel his chest vibrate against your arm, and it sends a shiver down your spine.

The rest of the evening is a whirlwind of handshakes and photo ops, but through it all, Lewis keeps you close. His hand is a constant presence on the small of your back, guiding you through the throngs of people, his thumb tracing small, comforting circles.

You manage to sneak away during a lull in the festivities, slipping into the team's merchandise store. The walls are adorned with the Ferrari emblem, red and yellow, the color of passion and fire. You scan the racks, looking for something that will truly surprise him.

Your eyes fall on a sleek Ferrari shirt, tailored to perfection, and a matching hat with the iconic prancing horse logo. The fabric feels like a second skin, and you can't resist the urge to try it on. The shirt hugs your curves in all the right places.

You make your purchase, the thrill of the secret hiding behind your innocent smile. As you slip the shirt over your dress, the fabric clings to your curves. The hat sits atop your head, the perfect finishing touch to your impromptu disguise.

"Lewis," you call out, your voice a siren's call through the bustling crowd. "I found something."

He turns, his eyes scanning the room before landing on you. The sight of you in the Ferrari shirt and hat makes his heart stumble. You look like a forbidden fruit, a temptress in the heart of his empire.

"What do you think?" you ask, spinning in a playful circle, the fabric of the shirt gliding against your skin like a lover's caress.

Lewis's eyes darken, his smile growing more predatory. "I think," he muttered, stepping closer, "that you look absolutely stunning."

His hand slides down your arm, his fingers brushing the bare skin above the shirt's sleeve. The sensation sends a jolt of electricity through you, a current that lights up your entire body.

"Let's take a picture," a staff member says, a camera already in hand.

Lewis's gaze lingers on you, his eyes tracing the contours of your body in the tight Ferrari shirt.

He knows the picture will be for the press, but the idea of capturing this moment, this intimacy, feels more personal. He nods, his hand sliding down to yours, our fingers entwining.

The flash from the camera pierces the dim light of the merchandise store, freezing the moment in time. You lean into him, his arm snaking around your waist as you pose for the shot, the fabric of your dress riding up slightly. His hand feels like a brand, leaving a trail of heat on your skin.

"Perfect," the staff member says, lowering the camera with a knowing smile. You both look at each other, the energy between you palpable.

You look at the picture that the staff member has just taken. In the frame, Lewis' hand is resting against the side of your butt, a gesture that seems innocent to anyone else but is loaded with a tension that makes your stomach flip.

The way his fingers curve slightly, as if he's holding onto something precious, sends a wave of heat through your body.

You force a laugh, hoping to diffuse the situation, but the way his thumb is ghosting small circles over your hip bone tells you that he's as aware of the intimacy as you are. The fabric of your dress clings to your skin, the heat of his hand branding you from the inside out.

"Well, that's definitely going to make the front page," you murmur, trying to keep your voice light. But your heart is racing, the anticipation of what's to come a delicious cocktail of excitement and nerves.

Lewis leans in, his breath warm against your ear. "Let's make sure it's not the only thing they're talking about tomorrow," he whispers, his voice a low rumble that sends shivers down your spine.

The evening wears on, the air growing thick with the scent of ambition and desire. You find yourself drawn into conversations about engine specs and racing strategies, your interest piqued by the passion in the voices of those around you.

But it's Lewis's passion that truly captivates you. As he talks shop with the Ferrari engineers, you can't help but stare at his animated expressions, the way his eyes light up when he discusses his love for the sport. His enthusiasm is contagious, and you feel your own excitement building.

Later, you find yourself in a more private setting, meeting with Fred Vasseur, Ferrari's team principal. You've met him before, at various racing events to discuss the marriage, but this feels different. This is Ferrari territory, and you're here as Lewis's wife.

Fred greets you with a warm smile, shaking your hand and offering a compliment on your dress. "It's good to see you both," he says, his eyes twinkling. "You make a lovely couple."

You exchange glances with Lewis, a silent understanding passing between you. It's a game, a performance that Fred had set the two of you to do.

But sometimes, it's hard to tell where the performance ends and reality begins.

Fred leads you to his office, a spacious room filled with racing memorabilia and photographs of Ferrari legends. He offers you a glass of champagne, and you all sit down to chat.

The conversation revolves around racing, of course. Fred is clearly passionate about the sport, and he talks with enthusiasm about Lewis's potential with Ferrari. You listen politely, interjecting with the occasional question or comment.

But as the conversation progresses, you notice Fred's gaze lingering on you. He seems genuinely interested in you, not just as the woman he picked to be Lewis's wife, but as an individual.

"So, Y/N," he says, leaning forward slightly. "What do you think of all this? Are you enjoying the world of Formula 1 so far?"

You pause, considering your answer. "It's certainly… different," you say with a smile. "It's a lot more intense than I expected."

"It is," Fred agrees. "But it's also incredibly rewarding. It's a world of passion, dedication, and teamwork. And of course," he adds with a wink, "a little bit of glamour."

You laugh, feeling a sense of connection with Fred. He seems to understand the unique position you're in, the challenges and opportunities that come with being married to a Formula 1 superstar.

As the meeting draws to a close, Fred stands up and shakes your hand again. "It was a pleasure seeing you, Y/N," he says sincerely. "I hope you enjoy your time with us here at Ferrari."

"Thank you," you reply, returning his smile. "I'm sure I will."

As you leave the office, Lewis's hand finds yours, threading through your fingers. The connection feels natural, the warmth of his skin sending a comforting thrum through your body.

"You handled that well," he says, his voice a low murmur that sends a shiver down your spine. "Fred can be a bit intense."

You nod, sipping your champagne. "I'm getting used to it."

Lewis squeezes your hand, and the warmth of his touch sends a jolt through you, making you acutely aware of the delicate balance of power between you. "Good," he says, his voice a gentle rumble. "Because there's a lot more to come."

You say goodbye to the crew with a mix of relief and apprehension. The evening had been a whirlwind of new experiences, and you can't help but feel a little overwhelmed.

The crew, a tight-knit group of mechanics and engineers, had treated you with respect, but you know that their loyalty was first and foremost to Lewis.

As you walk away from the bustling garage, the roar of engines fading into the background, you turn to him, your heart racing.

"Thank you for bringing me here," you say, your voice low and earnest. "It's not every day I get to be a part of something so… exhilarating."

Lewis's smile widens, his eyes gleaming with something that looks suspiciously like pride. "It's nothing," he says, playing it cool. "Just a little taste of the world I live in."

Lewis flashed a cheeky wink while opening the door of his stunning Ferrari for you, saying, "I look forward to seeing you shine on the runway."

You slid into the car, the leather seats hugging your body as he settled in beside you. The engine purred to life, the vibration resonating through you, a silent promise of the speed and power waiting to be unleashed.

As he drove, you felt his eyes on you, his gaze lingering on your legs, exposed by the slit in your dress.

"You know," he began, his voice a velvet caress, "you look absolutely stunning in that Ferrari gear."

The car's engine hummed beneath you, a symphony of power and precision, mirroring the way your heart was racing at his words. The leather seats seemed to mold to your body, holding you in a seductive embrace.

Lewis's hand was steady on the steering wheel, his knuckles white with the effort of not reaching out to touch you again. The tension in the air was palpable, a living, breathing entity that seemed to pulse with every beat of your heart.

You leaned back into the luxurious leather seat, the hum of the engine a constant reminder of the power beneath you. The fabric of the Ferrari shirt was a second skin, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of liberation, as if you had shed the layers of your old life and were being reborn into something new, something thrilling.

Lewis's gaze was a constant presence, his eyes devouring the way the shirt hugged your curves. You felt his desire like a physical force, a magnetic pull that was impossible to ignore. The car was a cocoon of heat and passion, the very essence of your arrangement distilled into this single moment.

Eleven more months. The thought sent a shiver down your spine. It was a prison sentence and a promise of freedom all rolled into one. You had signed up for this, for the glamour and the thrills, but what you hadn't counted on was the man beneath the racing suit. . . .

3rd Februrary 2025

The sun had barely kissed the horizon as you stirred from your slumber, the insistent buzz of your alarm clock piercing the quietude of your Italian house.

You groaned, rolling over to silence it, your hand brushing against the cool, empty space beside you.

Throwing off the silk sheets, you slid out of bed and padded over to the floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a breathtaking view of the Mediterranean.

The early morning light painted the waves in shades of pink and gold, casting a warm glow over the city that never sleeps. But for you, the day had started hours ago, your internal clock set to the rigorous schedule of a top model.

You walked through the sprawling apartment, the marble floors cool under your bare feet, heading towards the sound of gentle snoring. Roscoe, Lewis's bulldog, was sprawled out on a plush doggy bed in the corner of the room, his broad chest rising and falling in time with his deep, contented breaths.

You couldn't help but smile as you leaned down to pet his velvety ears. His eyes flickered open, and he greeted you with a sleepy yawn before nuzzling into your hand.

Leaving the dog to his slumber, you tiptoed into the master suite, the sanctum where the man you were married to, for all intents and purposes, lay in peaceful repose.

You felt a strange thrill at the sight of him, his features relaxed and boyish in sleep. The reality of your arrangement had not diminished the allure of this elusive, enigmatic figure who had stumbled into your life.

Lewis lay on his back, one arm thrown above his head, showcasing the tapestry of tattoos that adorned his bicep. The sheets had slipped down, revealing the contours of his chiseled chest, a sculpture of muscle and sinew that spoke of his dedication to his sport.

You felt a sudden urge to crawl back into bed with him but this was his space, his sanctuary, and you were merely an interloper in his world.

Instead, you retreated to the en suite bathroom where you began your meticulous skincare routine, the soft murmur of the faucet as you washed your face a comforting lullaby.

The feel of the cool water was a gentle caress against your skin, waking you up fully. You applied your serums and creams with the precision of a Swiss watchmaker, each movement calculated to maintain the flawless complexion that had made you a household name.

The gym called next, the allure of the treadmill and the weights beckoning with the promise of endurance and strength. You pushed your body, the burn in your muscles a reminder of the discipline required to stay at the top of your game.

As you worked out, you couldn't help but think of Lewis, his own rigorous routine that would start in a few hours.

The day stretched before you, a canvas of potential and uncertainty. You were here, in the heart of Ferrari's world, a world that was as foreign to you as a catwalk was to him.

Yet, there was an undeniable thrill in the challenge of navigating the uncharted waters of Formula 1.

After your workout, you slipped into your robe, the soft terry cloth a gentle embrace against your damp skin. You paused in front of the mirror, taking stock of your reflection.

The hairdryer's roar filled the bathroom as you aimed it at your curly hair, the hot air a comforting warmth that danced through the damp strands.

You applied a generous amount of volumizing mousse, working it into the roots with your fingertips, feeling the cool gel sizzle against your scalp.

Each twirl of the dryer's nozzle brought your curls to life, a wild halo of fiery passion that framed your face.

You heard a knock, the sound echoing through the tiles. "Y/N? Are you in there?" Lewis' voice was muffled by the barrier of the door, but the anticipation in his tone was unmistakable.

You turned off the hairdryer, the sudden silence deafening. "Just a minute," you called out, your heart skipping a beat.

You took a deep breath, letting the warmth of the robe envelop you as you tied the belt securely around your waist. Your hair cascaded over your shoulders in a fiery waterfall, each curl perfectly in place.

You felt a flutter of nervousness in your stomach as you prepared to face the day ahead, to face Lewis in his element, his world of speed and power.

With a final spritz of hairspray to hold the masterpiece in place, you stepped out of the bathroom, the plush rug underfoot a stark contrast to the cold marble.

The scent of freshly brewed coffee and sizzling bacon wafted through the air, a domestic bliss that seemed almost incongruous with the adrenaline-fueled life you knew he led.

Lewis looked up from the stove, a spatula in hand, and your breath hitched at the sight of him. He was shirtless, his abs rippling with each movement, a testament to the countless hours he spent in the gym.

His eyes traveled up and down your body, a smoldering look that seemed to strip away the layers of the robe, leaving you feeling exposed and wanton.

"I'm making breakfast," he said, his voice a low purr that seemed to resonate through your very bones. "Did you want the same, or anything different?"

You felt a flush creep up your neck as his eyes roved over you, taking in the way the robe clung to your body. The question hung in the air, heavy with innuendo.

"Surprise me," you murmured, trying to keep your voice steady. The air in the kitchen seemed to crackle with tension as he set the spatula down and approached you.

Lewis stepped closer, the scent of him mixing with the tantalizing smells of breakfast. His hand reached for your chin, tilting it up to meet his gaze.

The touch was featherlight, a stark contrast to the power you knew he wielded on the racetrack. His thumb traced your bottom lip, sending a shiver through your core.

"You're going to love it," he promised, the corners of his mouth tipping up in a wicked smile.

You nodded, taking a step backward. "I'll get changed," you said, walking past Roscoe who was half-asleep on the plush carpet, his snores a gentle reminder of the quiet moments you two shared amidst the chaos of Lewis' world.

In the bedroom, you slipped off the robe, the cool air kissing your flushed skin. You reached into the closet, the hangers whispering as you searched for the perfect outfit to face the day.

Your clothes arrived the day after your wedding. You fingered the garments, each one a carefully chosen piece of the puzzle that would shape your new identity as a Ferrari wife.

The dresses were bold and elegant, the fabrics whispering of wealth and prestige, and the lingerie, a tantalizing promise of the intimate moments you'd share with Lewis.

But today, there was no need for the grandeur of haute couture. You chose a simple white tank top and a pair of distressed jeans, the fabric kissing your skin.

A pair of black sneakers completed the ensemble, their laces untied and loose, inviting the casual ease that the day demanded.

As you descended the stairs, the aroma of fresh coffee grew stronger, the rich scent wrapping around you like a warm embrace. You found Lewis in the kitchen, his muscular back to you as he moved with an easy grace that seemed almost unreal for someone who pushed the limits of physics for a living.

He wore a pair of black sweatpants that clung to his thighs, leaving little to the imagination.

The breakfast spread on the table was a feast fit for a king, or perhaps a Formula 1 champion. The sun streamed in through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting a warm glow on the plates of crispy bacon, fluffy eggs, and golden toast.

There was a bowl of fresh berries, their vibrant colors popping against the pristine white of the porcelain, and a small mountain of whipped cream that looked like it had been piped there by an angel.

The sight of the food made your stomach rumble with hunger, and you couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt for the calories you were about to indulge in.

But then again, you'd earned it, with the grueling workout and the emotional tightrope you'd been walking since you woke up.

Lewis turned to you, a plate of food in hand, the muscles in his arms flexing as he offered it with a flourish. "Here you go, gorgeous," he said, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "Fuel for the day ahead."

You took the plate, the warmth of his hand lingering on yours. You took a seat at the breakfast nook, watching as he served himself and joined you. The way he moved, the confidence in every gesture, was intoxicating. You felt a sudden urge to reach out, to trace the taut muscles of his forearm, but you resisted.

The first bite of eggs was heavenly, the yolk running like liquid gold over the toast. You chewed thoughtfully, watching Lewis as he devoured his breakfast with a focus that was almost feral.

He looked up, catching you staring. "What?" he asked, a smear of ketchup on his bottom lip.

You leaned over, wiping it away with your thumb, your gaze lingering on his mouth. "Nothing," you said, your voice a soft purr.

"For someone who wants to keep it professional, you're very seductive," Lewis murmured, his eyes darkening.

You felt a blush creep up your neck as you sat across from him, the intimate setting of the breakfast nook suddenly feeling much smaller.

You took a sip of coffee, the heat of the liquid doing little to quell the fire that his words had ignited. "I'm just being me," you said with a shrug, trying to keep your voice light.

Lewis leaned back in his chair, his eyes never leaving yours. "And that's the problem," he said, a wry smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "You make it very difficult for me to focus on anything else."

The room grew warm, the tension between you thick enough to cut with a knife. You took a bite of toast, the crunch echoing in the silence. The butter melted on your tongue, a rich and decadent treat that seemed to mirror the situation unfolding before you.

Lewis' eyes remained locked on yours, the playful smirk on his face hinting at the thrill of the chase.

"You're only supposed to focus on me, you cheater," you teased, slapping his bare shoulder playfully.

He chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound that made your stomach flip. "And here I thought we were just having breakfast," he said, raising an eyebrow.

You felt your cheeks flush, the heat spreading down to your chest.

The way he said it, with that hint of challenge, made you want to prove him wrong. To show him that you were more than just a pretty face, that you could handle this world of fast cars and faster men.

"Is that so?" You replied, taking another sip of your coffee, feeling the liquid warmth slide down your throat. "Well, I suppose I'll have to be on my best behavior, then."

Lewis's smile grew wider, a playful spark in his eyes. "Best behavior doesn't suit you," he murmured, reaching across the table to take your hand.

You felt a sudden urge to lean in, to kiss the smugness from his lips, but you held back. This was a dance, a delicate ballet of power and passion, and you were determined not to trip over your own feet.

Roscoe's snores grew louder, the bass line to the symphony of your racing hearts. You watched as Lewis' thumb traced lazy circles on the back of your hand, the movement sending a cascade of sensations up your arm.

With a sudden jolt, Roscoe's eyes shot open, his sleepy gaze locking onto the two of you. He stretched, his stubby legs pushing against the plush rug, and let out a low, questioning whine.

The sound was like a pinprick to the balloon of intimacy that had filled the room, and you both laughed, the moment broken.

Lewis leaned down to rub Roscoe's belly, his muscles rippling with the movement. "Looks like someone's ready for breakfast," he said, his eyes never leaving yours.

You couldn't help but feel a twinge of disappointment as the spell was broken. But as you watched the dog wag his tail with excitement, you realized that maybe, just maybe, the interruption was for the best.

You had a day of pretending ahead of you, a day of smiles and nods and playing the part of the adoring wife. The last thing you needed was to get lost in the seductive pull of Lewis' gaze and forget where you stood.

Breakfast turned into a lesson in the art of flirting without crossing lines. You exchanged barbs and stories, each one a little more personal than the last.

The banter was easy, natural, and you found yourself laughing more than you had in weeks. It was a dance you hadn't practiced, but one that you were surprisingly good at.

As you watched Lewis feed Roscoe a piece of bacon, you couldn't help but feel a strange kinship with the dog. He took the food from your hand with a gentle nip, his eyes never leaving yours, as if to say, 'You're part of this now.'

You leaned back in your chair, your eyes on the dog as he gobbled up the treat. "I think he likes you more than me," you said with a laugh.

Lewis grinned, his eyes never leaving yours. "Well, I am the one feeding him the good stuff," he replied, popping a piece of toast into his mouth.

The conversation turned to the day ahead, the upcoming event of you going to the USA while Lewis was doing intense training. You felt your stomach tighten with nerves.

But Lewis seemed unfazed. He talked about the new car, the team, the strategy for the season, his words a symphony of passion and knowledge.

As you finished your coffee, you took a deep breath, the caffeine jolting you into action. "I should go call Sarah," you said, standing up. "Make sure she's not too upset I couldn't be at her event today."

Lewis nodded, his eyes darkening with understanding. "I'll take Roscoe for a walk," he said, scooping the dog into his arms. "We'll be back before you know it."

You watched them leave, the sight of Lewis' strong arms cradling the pup bringing a smile to your lips. The door closed, leaving you in the quiet embrace of the apartment.

You picked up your phone, scrolling through to find Sarah's number. The call connected, and her voice, so familiar and soothing, filled your ear.

"Hey," you said, trying to keep the wobble out of your voice. "I'm so sorry I couldn't be there."

"Don't worry about it," she replied, her tone understanding. "We've got it all under control. How's life with the speed demon?"

You sighed, leaning against the marble countertop. "It's… intense," you admitted. "But he's not all bad."

Sarah's laughter filled the line. "Intense? That's an understatement if I've ever heard one. Of course, I wouldn't be complaining if I had a hubby like him," she joked, her voice teasing.

You couldn't help but smile, thinking of the way Lewis's muscles had flexed as he held Roscoe. "Yeah, I guess you could say that."

"So, do you like him?" Sarah's question was as direct as a bullet, piercing through the veil of your thoughts.

You paused, the phone pressed to your ear, your gaze drifting over the opulent kitchen, the aroma of Lewis's cologne still lingering. "It's complicated," you said finally, the words sticky on your tongue.

Sarah's laugh was understanding. "Well, when isn't it? But seriously, Y/N, I can tell he's different from the others."

You swallowed, the lump in your throat suddenly large. "It's just… we have to keep it professional," you said, hearing the waver in your voice.

"Professional," she echoed, the word sounding almost foreign in the context of the undeniable chemistry you shared. "But do you like him?"

You stared at the phone, the question hanging in the air like a challenge.

You liked Lewis, of course you did. You liked the way his eyes crinkled at the edges when he laughed, the way his hands felt on your skin, the sound of his voice in the quiet moments when the world fell away.

But it was more than that, deeper than the superficial attraction that had drawn you to your previous flings. You liked the way he talked about his work, the passion that consumed him, the way his entire being seemed to come alive when he was behind the wheel.

You took a deep breath, the scent of Lewis' cologne still lingering in the air. "I do," you admitted, the words slipping out before you could stop them. "But it's complicated."

Sarah was silent for a moment, and you could almost hear her mind racing on the other end of the line. "Okay," she said finally. "But remember, you're there for the experience. Don't let anyone tell you how to feel."

Her words echoed in your mind as you hung up the phone. You had agreed to this marriage for a year, a year of playing the role of the devoted wife, a year of navigating the treacherous waters of the Formula 1 world.

But what if the lines between reality and the role became blurred? What if the attraction you felt was more than just a spark, but a flame that threatened to consume you both?

You pushed the thoughts aside as Lewis and Roscoe returned from their walk. The dog was panting, his tongue lolling out of his mouth, and Lewis had a smudge of mud on his cheek.

You couldn't help but laugh, the sight of them a welcome reprieve from the tumult of your thoughts.

"Looks like you two had fun," you said, gesturing to the mud on Lewis's face.

He grinned, a boyish charm lighting up his features. "Roscoe found a puddle," he explained, wiping the smudge away.

But you couldn't resist. You stepped closer, taking the napkin from his hand. "Let me," you murmured, your voice a soft caress.

As you reached up to wipe the remaining smudge of mud, your hand brushed against his cheek, the stubble grazing your skin like sandpaper. His eyes searched yours, the heat in them unmistakable.

You felt your breath hitch in your throat as you gently dabbed at the mud, your heart racing like an engine at full throttle.

When you had finished, you stepped back, the napkin still clutched in your hand. The silence between you was charged, a live wire humming with unspoken desire.

Lewis' gaze dropped to your mouth, his pupils dilating with want. For a moment, you thought he would lean in, claim your lips in a fiery kiss that would set the world ablaze. But he held back, the line between professional and personal blurring like the horizon on a race track.

You took a step away, needing the space to breathe. "I should… get ready," you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

Lewis nodded, the heat in his eyes not dissipating. "I'll be waiting for you," he said, his voice low and thick.

You retreated to the bedroom, your heart pounding in your chest.

The walls of the luxurious suite seemed to close in around you, the weight of the unspoken moment heavy on your shoulders.

You took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of Lewis that lingered in the air, a tantalizing mix of sweat and cologne that seemed to cling to every surface.

The meeting for Milan Fashion Week 2025 was in a few hours, and you had to be prepared. You rummaged through your wardrobe, the fabric of your clothes whispering against your fingertips as you pulled out the outfits you had meticulously chosen.

Each piece was a deliberate statement, a declaration of your intent to conquer the fashion world. You slipped into a sleek black jumpsuit that hugged your body like a second skin, the material whispering sweet nothings of power and seduction as you zipped it up.

The low neckline was a silent challenge, the plunging back a promise of what lay beneath.

Lewis knocked on the door, his voice a gentle reminder of the world outside your cocoon of fabric and ambition. "Ready to go?" he called out, the anticipation in his tone palpable.

You took a deep breath, stepping into a pair of stiletto heels that made you feel like you could walk on air. "As ready as I'll ever be," you replied, your voice steady despite the storm of nerves raging in your chest.

He was waiting in the hallway, looking like a vision in his own right. His black Ferrari-emblazoned jacket and pants were a stark contrast to your all-black ensemble, the vibrant red of the logo standing out like a beacon of passion.

The sight of him made your heart stutter, a reminder of the electricity that sizzled between you.

"You look… wow," he breathed, his eyes drinking you in.

You couldn't help but blush under his scrutiny. "Thank you," you murmured, trying to keep the tremor of desire from your voice. "So do you."

He offered his arm, and you took it, feeling the warmth of his skin against your own. As you descended the stairs, the click of your heels echoed through the hallway, a seductive rhythm that seemed to sync with the pounding of your heart.

The drive to the meeting was a silent one, the tension in the car thick enough to slice through.

You glanced at Lewis, his eyes focused on the road, his jaw set in determination. You wondered if he was thinking about the race or about the way you looked in that jumpsuit.

When you arrived at the sleek Milanese building, a cacophony of flashbulbs and eager whispers greeted you. The paparazzi had caught wind of your presence, and they were like sharks in a feeding frenzy. You took a deep breath, ready to face the storm.

As you stepped out of the car, the cool Italian air kissed your skin, the fabric of your jumpsuit whispering sweet nothings of seduction and power.

You could feel Lewis's eyes on you, his gaze a warm embrace that made you feel invincible. You turned to him, a smile playing on your lips, ready to face the world together.

But as you leaned in to whisper a quick goodbye, his hand shot out, capturing your chin and tilting your face up to meet his. His eyes searched yours, a silent question hanging between you. And for a moment, you considered it.

But reality crashed in like a wave, and you stepped back, smoothing your hair with trembling hands. "I'll see you later," you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

Lewis's hand fell away, his eyes lingering on your mouth before he nodded. "Good luck," he murmured, his voice husky with unspoken promise.

You turned away, the click of your heels echoing through the marble lobby as you made your way to the elevator. The doors slid open, and you stepped inside, the scent of his cologne still clinging to you.

As the elevator ascended, you couldn't help but think of the heat in his eyes, the way his hand had felt on your skin. You were married to him, but it was a marriage of convenience, a business deal with a very handsome and very tempting bonus.

The doors opened with a ding, and you stepped into the bustling office space, a stark contrast to the quiet tension of the car. The room was a flurry of activity, models and designers rushing to and fro, their voices a symphony of Italian and English.

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for the day ahead. You had a role to play, a performance to give. But as you walked into the conference room, the reality of the situation hit you like a sledgehammer.

You weren't just playing the part of the devoted wife; you were falling for the man who had bought you.

The meeting was a blur of fabric swatches and runway talk, but you couldn't focus. Your mind was a tumult of thoughts, racing like the engines of Lewis's beloved cars.

You nodded and smiled in all the right places, but your heart was elsewhere, tangled in the web of desire that had been spun between the two of you.

As the hours ticked by, you found yourself checking your phone, hoping for a message from him. Each time it buzzed, your pulse quickened, only to be dashed by another email about the upcoming fashion week.

"Y/N? Y/N!" A voice pierced through the din of the bustling office, and you looked up to find one of the staff members standing in front of you, his eyes wide and his hands slightly trembling. "Your husband is Sir Lewis Hamilton, am I correct?"

You nodded, still in a daze from the morning's events. The words seemed to echo in your head, a strange mantra that you hadn't quite come to terms with. "Yes, that's right," you finally managed to say.

The staff member's face lit up with excitement. "Oh, wow, I'm so sorry!" He exclaimed. "I didn't realize! I'm a huge fan!" He extended a hand for you to shake, and you couldn't help but feel a little thrill at the recognition.

It was strange, being married to someone so revered, so adored.

"Is it possible that Mr. Hamilton can attend Milan Fashion Week 2025?" He asked, his voice hopeful. "It would be such an honor for us to have him here."

You looked at the man, his eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. "I'll have to check with his schedule," you said, your mind racing. The thought of Lewis in Milan, surrounded by the glitz and glamour of the fashion world, was an intriguing one. "But I'm sure he'd love to support me."

The room grew quieter as the implications of your words sank in. A whisper of excitement rippled through the air, and suddenly, the fashion week meeting had taken on a whole new dimension.

The idea of Lewis attending, not as a tag-along, but as a legitimate guest, a man of style and substance in his own right, was tantalizing.

The rest of the afternoon was a whirlwind of fittings and discussions about the upcoming show. The designers were eager to dress you, their eyes lighting up at the prospect of having a Ferrari-affiliated superstar in their lineup.

But it was the thought of Lewis by your side that truly electrified the atmosphere.

The whispers grew louder as the rumors spread. The models, usually so self-absorbed, couldn't help but throw glances your way, their curiosity piqued by the potential presence of the Formula 1 legend.

You felt a strange thrill at being the center of attention, a thrill that was only magnified by the knowledge that it was all because of him.

"Are you almost done darling?" The message from Lewis appeared on your phone, jolting you out of your reverie. You looked down at the screen, his words a gentle caress amidst the chaos.

The endearment was simple, but it sent a warm shiver down your spine, a stark reminder of the intimate moment you had shared earlier.

You typed back a quick response, your thumbs hovering over the keys as you debated how much of your tumultuous emotions to reveal.

"Almost," you replied, your voice in your mind echoing with the same heat that had been in his gaze.

After what felt like an eternity, the last fitting was done, and the final fabric swatches were tucked away. The room cleared out, leaving you standing in the empty space, the echo of stilettos on marble a distant memory.

You took a deep breath, the scent of fresh coffee wafting in from the adjoining lounge area, and made your way to the balcony. The city of Milan spread out before you, a tapestry of rooftops and cobblestone streets.

As you leaned against the railing, the cool metal pressing into your skin, your thoughts drifted back to Lewis. You had told him you were finished from work, the words slipping from your lips with a casualness that belied the racing of your heart.

But when his car appeared, a sleek Ferrari, the sun glinting off its metallic paint, your resolve crumbled like a cookie under the pressure of a vise.

You watched as the engine purr grew louder, the sound resonating through your very soul, and then there he was, emerging from the driver's seat with the grace of a panther.

His eyes scanned the area, searching for you, and when they finally found you, the intensity of his gaze was like a physical touch.

Your stomach did a little flip as he approached, his strides long and confident. He was dressed in a tailored suit, the fabric hugging his athletic frame in a way that made your mouth go dry.

As he drew closer, you felt a breeze that seemed to carry his scent with it, the intoxicating blend of his cologne and the faint hint of engine oil that clung to him like a second skin.

It was a scent that had grown surprisingly familiar, a scent that was becoming increasingly hard to ignore.

When he was a few feet away, he looked up, meeting your eyes with a smile that was both welcoming and challenging. The sight of him made you feel both vulnerable and powerful, like you were standing on the edge of a cliff, ready to jump.

You stepped forward, your heels clacking against the marble, each step bringing you closer to the man who had turned your world upside down.

His eyes raked over you, his gaze lingering on the neckline of your jumpsuit, the fabric clinging to your curves like a second skin. You felt his eyes like a physical caress, a silent promise of what was to come.

The moment between you was charged, the air thick with unspoken words and unanswered questions. You wanted to lean into him, to let the heat of his body envelop you, to kiss him until the world fell away. But you held back, the professional facade still clinging to you like a second skin.

"Ready to go?" he asked, his voice a gentle rumble that seemed to vibrate through your very bones.

You nodded, trying to ignore the way your heart stuttered in your chest. "Yes," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

He offered his hand, and you took it, the warmth of his skin sending a shiver down your spine. As he led you to the car, you couldn't help but feel like you were being swept away by a tornado of passion and power.

Lewis opened the door for you with a flourish, his eyes never leaving yours as you slid into the low-slung seat. The smell of leather and luxury enveloped you, and you felt a strange sense of belonging.

You watched as he walked around the car, his movements fluid and precise, like a dance.

As he slid into the driver's seat, you noticed the way his fingers caressed the leather-wrapped steering wheel, a silent testament to his love for speed and power. The engine roared to life, the sound vibrating through you like a bass note from a symphony of desire.

"How was the meeting?" he asked, his voice a gentle rumble in the quiet cabin.

You took a deep breath, trying to gather your thoughts. "It was… interesting," you finally managed. "They're all eager to have you at Milan Fashion Week."

He shot you a look, one eyebrow quirking. "Me?"

"Yes, you," you said with a small smile. "They want the full package."

The corner of his mouth turned up in a knowing smile, and you felt your stomach flip. The car pulled away from the curb, the engine purring like a contented cat as it ate up the asphalt.

As you sat there, the leather seats molding to your body, you felt the tension from earlier slowly dissipate. The city flew by in a blur of lights and sounds, but all you could focus on was the warmth of his hand resting on the gear stick, so close to yours.

You couldn't help but glance over at him, his focus on the road unwavering as he navigated the twisting streets of Milan with ease. The setting sun cast a golden halo around him, his profile sharp and defined. The muscles in his forearm flexed with each gear change, a silent symphony of power and control.

Your hand itched to touch him, to feel the warmth of his skin again, but you resisted, unsure of the game you were playing.

When you both got home, you two went inside to see Roscoe still awake, his bulldog's eyes blinking lazily as he watched you enter. He thumped his tail on the floor, his plush bed a testament to the comforts of your Italian house.

Lewis chuckled, reaching down to ruffle the dog's fur. "Someone's been waiting up for us," he said, his voice a gentle caress.

You couldn't help the smile that bloomed on your lips at the sight of your husband interacting with the animal. It was moments like these that made you question the nature of your arrangement. The domesticity of it all was a stark contrast to the glitz and glamour of your respective careers.

Roscoe stretched, his joints popping as he climbed to his feet and ambled over to you, his nails clicking against the marble floor. You bent down to pet him, his warm breath and soft fur a balm to your frazzled nerves.

"Looks like he's happy to see you," Lewis said, his hand resting on the small of your back.

You straightened up, your eyes meeting his, and in that moment, the air between you crackled with tension.

The apartment was quiet, the only sounds the distant hum of the city and the occasional rumble of Roscoe's contented sighs.

Lewis stepped closer, his hand sliding around your waist. "You know," he murmured, "I've never done this before."

Your heart raced, his words a confession that took you by surprise. "What do you mean?" you asked, your voice a mere whisper.

"Married life," he said, his eyes searching yours. "The whole pretending to be in love."

You swallowed hard, his honesty a knife that sliced through the armor you had so carefully constructed around your heart. "Neither have I," you admitted, your voice barely audible.

Lewis's grin grew wider, a proud glint in his eye that sent your heart racing. "Well, I think we're doing a pretty good job of it, don't you?"

You couldn't argue with that. The way he looked at you, the way he touched you, the way he made you feel—it all seemed so genuine. Was it possible that the lines between pretend and reality had blurred?

"Maybe we're just really good actors," you said, trying to keep your voice light, but the tremor in your words gave you away.

Lewis's grin grew, the proud tilt of his head making your heart flutter. "Or maybe," he said, his voice dropping an octave, "we're just really good at being in love."

With a boldness that surprised even yourself, you reached up and cupped his bearded cheek, feeling the coarse hair against your palm. "Or maybe," you murmured, your thumb tracing the line of his jaw, "you're just a good flirt."

Lewis's grin grew even wider, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Only for you," he whispered, and before you could respond, he leaned in and kissed you.

The kiss was gentle at first, a soft brush of his lips against yours, as if testing the waters. But when you didn't pull away, his grip on your waist tightened, and the kiss deepened.

His tongue slipped into your mouth, the taste of him a heady mix of coffee and something uniquely Lewis—a flavor that was becoming as addictive as the adrenaline rush of a race. . . .

6th February 2025

"Have a good flight, okay? Text me when you land," Lewis murmured into your hair, his arms tightening around you in a fierce embrace.

The airport was a cacophony of sounds—announcements, the hum of engines, the clatter of luggage wheels—but all you heard was the steady beat of his heart against your chest.

You nodded, unable to find the words to express the tumult of emotions swirling within you. "Yeah, I will. Make sure to train hard," you replied, trying to keep your voice light.

Lewis leaned back, his eyes searching yours, a hint of something unreadable flickering in their depths. "You know I always do," he said, his voice low and serious. "But I'll miss you."

The words hung in the air, a silent confession that seemed to resonate through every fiber of your being. You felt a sudden warmth in your chest, a strange mix of comfort and excitement.

"I'll miss Roscoe," you replied, the mention of his bulldog a gentle reminder of the domestic bliss that had become your reality.

"But you too as well," you grinned, the words slipping from your lips with surprising ease. The smile tugged at the corners of your mouth, a silent admission that the lines between friendship and something more were blurring.

The kiss you shared was swift and fiery, a silent promise of the passion that awaited you both when you'd reunite. The taste of him lingered on your lips as you made your way to the gate, the memory of his touch a warm brand against your skin. It was a kiss that had started as a playful gesture, a simple goodbye before the cameras could capture the intimate moment.

As you pulled away, you felt the chilly air of the terminal replace the warmth of his embrace, leaving you with an unexpected sense of loss. But there was no time for melancholy—you had a plane to catch.

Your heart raced as you handed your boarding pass to the attendant, the butterflies in your stomach doing somersaults. The kiss had been unexpected, a spark that had ignited a flame you hadn't known was there.

You found your seat on the first-class flight, the plush leather a stark contrast to the turmoil in your thoughts.

As the aircraft taxied down the runway, you couldn't help but steal glances out the window, watching as the world grew smaller and smaller, until it was just the two of you, a fleeting memory against the vastness of the sky.

The flight to New York was a blur of movies and overpriced champagne, your thoughts never straying far from the man you had left behind.

You played the kiss over and over in your mind, the feel of his lips against yours, the way his hand had cradled your cheek, the warmth of his breath on your skin.

As the plane touched down, the reality of your old life began to sink in. The bustling streets of Milan had been replaced by the towering skyscrapers and honking taxis of the Big Apple.

You felt a pang of longing for the quiet elegance of Italy, but also an excitement at the prospect of reconquering an old city.

You had hoped that your auntie was still alive and still living in the place as 20 years ago. It had been that long since you'd last seen her, a time when you were just a wide-eyed girl with dreams of modeling stardom.

The apartment was a tiny oasis in the concrete jungle, a place where you could escape to when the world felt too big and too scary. Now, as you hailed a taxi, you couldn't help but wonder if it had changed as much as you had.

The cab wove through the traffic, the neon lights of Times Square flashing by in a blur of color and sound. You watched the city pass by with a mix of nostalgia and detachment, the memories of your past like a distant echo.

When the taxi pulled up in front of the familiar brownstone, you felt a lump form in your throat. The building looked exactly the same—the ivy-covered bricks, the wrought-iron balconies, the scent of fresh baked bread from the bakery below.

You climbed out of the taxi, your legs feeling like jelly as you made your way to the front door. You hadn't told her you were coming, hadn't wanted to spoil the surprise.

The stairs creaked under your heels, each step taking you closer to a part of your life that had been buried under the glamour of Milan.

The door swung open at your knock, revealing the warm embrace of your auntie's living room, exactly as you remembered it. The floral wallpaper was a little more faded, the couch a bit more worn, but the love that filled the space remained unchanged.

A gasp escaped your auntie's lips as she took in your presence, her hand flying to her chest as she stumbled backward.

"Y/N, is that really you?" she exclaimed, her eyes wide with shock. Time had etched lines around her eyes and mouth, but the warmth in her gaze was as potent as ever.

You couldn't help but laugh, the sound echoing through the apartment like a song from your childhood. "It's me, Auntie," you said, stepping into the room and wrapping your arms around her. Her scent of lavender and vanilla was as familiar as your own heartbeat.

The embrace was tight, a silent acknowledgment of the years that had passed, the moments shared and lost.

Her body felt fragile against yours, a stark contrast to the robust figure who had once held you when you cried and cheered you on as you strutted down the runway of life.

You stepped back, holding her at arm's length, taking in the woman who had been your rock, your confidante, your escape.

Her hair had turned from a vibrant auburn to a soft silver, but her eyes remained a fiery amber, the same color as your own. "You're so beautiful," she murmured, her voice thick with emotion.

The words brought a warmth to your cheeks as you looked around the room, the memories flooding back like a tidal wave.

The piano where you had played your first notes, the bookshelves lined with the stories that had shaped your imagination, the dining table where you had shared countless meals and confessions.

You followed her into the kitchen, the walls lined with photographs of your modeling career, each frame a testament to the life you had built.

You felt a strange sense of pride and guilt as you studied the images, a stark reminder of the world you had left behind when you agreed to marry Lewis.

A pot of tea appeared on the table, the china cups clinking gently as she filled them. "So tell me, how's married life?" she asked, her voice light, but the question held a weight that made your stomach flutter.

You took a sip, letting the warmth of the tea chase away the chill of the city outside. "It's… different," you said, choosing your words carefully. "But good. Lewis is…" You paused, searching for the right word. "Interesting."

Your auntie's eyes twinkled with mischief as she leaned in closer. "And the bedroom, dear? Is that interesting too?"

You felt the heat creep up your neck as you set your cup down with a clatter. "Auntie," you chastised, but the smile on her face was infectious, and you couldn't help but laugh.

"I'm an old woman, not dead," she said with a wink. "Now, tell me about this kiss."

The memory of Lewis's lips against yours, the feel of his hands on your body, washed over you in a wave of desire. You felt your cheeks flush as you recounted the story, the words spilling out in a rush.

Her eyes lit up with excitement. "Oh, my sweet girl," she said, patting your hand. "I knew you had it in you. You just needed the right person to bring it out."

"Your brother, though," she said solemnly, the mood in the room shifting like a cloud passing over the sun.

You stiffened, not wanting to hear about him today. The thought of your brother was a sour note in an otherwise sweet symphony. "What about him?" you asked, trying to keep the irritation out of your voice.

"Well, he's been asking about you," she said, her voice filled with an unspoken concern. "He's worried about you, with everything that's been happening."

"Everything that's been happening?" you repeated, feeling the tension coil in your stomach. "What does he know?"

Your auntie squeezed your hand, her eyes filled with a sadness that mirrored your own.

"Your brother's been in some trouble," she began, her voice heavy with the weight of unspoken words. "He's gotten himself into debt with some unsavory characters. They're not the kind of people who accept 'no' for an answer."

You felt your chest tighten, the tea in your cup suddenly tasting bitter. "How bad is it?"

She sighed, her shoulders slumping. "Very. They've been to the house, asking for him. It's not safe for him here anymore."

You felt a coldness seep into your bones, the reality of the situation settling like a lead weight. "What do they want?"

Her eyes searched yours, a silent plea for understanding. "They want their money, and they're willing to do anything to get it."

You nodded, the gravity of the situation sinking in. Your brother had always been the reckless one, living life on the edge without a care for the consequences. And now, it seemed, those consequences had come calling.

You kept quiet, the words sticking in your throat like a mouthful of sand. You hated him for it, for being the reason your father and older brother weren't here to share in your success, weren't here to see the woman you'd become.

Their deaths had been a tragic accident, one that had been laid at your brother's feet. His need for speed, his arrogance behind the wheel, had cost them their lives. The guilt had driven him to the bottle, leaving you to pick up the pieces.

The anger you had held onto for so long bubbled to the surface, a molten river of rage that threatened to consume you. You had worked so hard to escape the shadow of your past, to build a life that was yours alone. And now he was threatening to bring it all crashing down.

You took a deep breath, the scent of your auntie's kitchen—floral and comforting—helping to center you. "I'll talk to him," you said finally, the words leaving a metallic taste in your mouth.

The look of relief on her face was worth the lie. You had no intention of getting involved with him again. You had moved on, had built a new life, and you weren't going to let him drag you back into his mess.

The rest of the evening passed in a blur of forced smiles and small talk, the weight of the conversation hanging over you like a storm cloud.

As you lay in the guest room that night, the creaks of the old house echoing through the darkness, you couldn't help but think of Lewis.

His touch, his kiss, the way he had looked at you as if you were the only woman in the world—it was a stark contrast to the cold, empty bed you found yourself in now. You hated that you missed him, that you craved the warmth of his arms.

But you knew you couldn't let your guard down. Your brother had a way of worming his way into people's hearts, of making them believe in the best of him, even when the evidence pointed to the worst. You had been down that path before, had seen firsthand the destruction he could cause.

And so, as you drifted off to sleep, you made a promise to yourself. You would keep your distance, would protect the life you had built with Lewis, even if it meant keeping your true feelings hidden behind a mask of indifference.

The next morning, you woke to the sound of rain tapping against the window, the scent of the city mingling with the sweetness of your auntie's perfume.

You stretched, the silk sheets a decadent luxury after the roughness of the last few days.

The shower washed away the last traces of sleep, the hot water a balm against the tension that had taken up residence in your muscles. As you dressed, you felt the weight of the ring on your finger, a reminder of the world you had left behind.

You took a deep breath, pushing the thoughts away. You had a job to do, a performance to give. And you were a pro at pretending. You had been doing it your whole life.

As you descended the stairs, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee greeted you, along with the sight of your auntie bustling around the kitchen. She looked up, her eyes filled with hope. "How about some breakfast before you go?"

You nodded, unable to find the words to tell her the truth. You were going to have to keep your distance from your brother, no matter how much she hoped for reconciliation.

You sat at the table, the chill of the marble countertop sending shivers up your spine as you sipped your coffee. The rain outside painted a picture of your emotions, a tumultuous dance of joy and fear, hope and regret.

You felt a strange sense of peace in the chaos, a reminder that no matter how much you tried to escape your past, it was always there, ready to pounce when you least expected it.

With a heavy heart, you said your goodbyes to your auntie, the weight of her words and the unspoken fear in her eyes following you like a shadow as you stepped out into the rain-soaked street.

The cemetery was a short cab ride away, the journey a silent pilgrimage through the city that had borne witness to so much of your pain. The rain had eased to a gentle mist by the time you arrived, the cobblestones of the pathway glistening under the soft light of the street lamps.

You found their graves easily, the twin headstones standing sentinel in the quiet of the night. Your father's name was etched in strong, proud letters, while your brother's was a stark reminder of a life cut too short.

The flowers you had brought with you, a bouquet of your father's favorite roses and your brother's beloved lilies, seemed almost vulgar in the face of the cold, unforgiving stone.

You knelt beside their graves, the damp earth seeping into the knees of your pants as you arranged the bouquet with trembling hands. The rain had stopped, leaving behind a soft mist that clung to your skin and hair like a whispered secret.

"I've done it," you murmured, the words carrying on the wind. "I've made it in Milan. I've become someone." You felt the coolness of the stone against your forehead as you leaned in, the scent of the damp earth a stark contrast to the sweetness of the roses.

The silence was absolute, the only sound the distant hum of the city and the rustle of leaves. It was a cocoon of solitude, a place where you could be honest without fear of judgment.

"I'm married, but it's not what you'd think," you whispered, the confession a release of the pent-up tension that had coiled in your chest since the moment you'd stepped off the plane.

As you talked, the words flowed from you like a river breaking through a dam, the story of your whirlwind romance and the arrangement that had brought you to this point. The way Lewis's eyes had sparkled when he'd seen you, the thrill of the racetrack, the kiss that had set your world on fire.

You felt the warmth of a hand on your shoulder, and you jerked upright, spinning around to find your younger brother standing behind you. His hair was wet with rain, his clothes rumpled, and his eyes were filled with a sadness that mirrored your own.

For a moment, you just stared at each other, the years of anger and hurt hanging in the air like a thick fog. "What are you doing here?" you finally managed to ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

He looked down at his feet, his gaze shifting from the headstones to the flowers you had brought. "I heard you were back," he said softly. "I had to see for myself."

The sight of him, the reality of his presence, was like a slap in the face. You had hoped that the distance of time and the grandeur of Milan would have made you immune to his charms, but the pull was still there, a magnetic force that you hadn't anticipated.

"How did you find me?" you demanded, your voice shaking with a mix of anger and fear.

He shrugged, the movement of his shoulders sending a shiver down your spine. "It's not hard when you're a Ferrari wife," he said, the bitterness in his tone cutting deeper than any knife.

You stood, the earth sticking to your skin as you turned to face him fully. "What do you want from me?" you asked, your voice steady despite the tumult of emotions raging inside.

He looked up, his eyes meeting yours with a plea that you hadn't seen since you were children. "I need your help," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "They're after me, and they won't stop until they get what they want."

The gravity of his words hit you like a ton of bricks. You had come to the cemetery seeking peace, hoping to find closure in the one place where you had always felt safe. But instead, you were faced with the chaos of your past, the demons you had thought you had buried with your father and brother.

You felt the ring on your finger, the coldness of the metal a stark contrast to the warmth of your brother's hand. "What have you done?" you breathed, the question heavy with accusation.

He swallowed, the muscles in his throat bobbing with the effort. "I borrowed money," he admitted, his eyes never leaving yours. "A lot of money. And I can't pay it back."

The world around you grew still, the sound of your heartbeat echoing in your ears. You knew the kind of people he was talking about, had heard the whispers and the threats that had haunted the edges of your childhood.

"How much?" you asked, your voice cold, the warmth of the kitchen and your auntie's words forgotten in the face of this new reality.

"Enough to get us both killed," he said, his eyes haunted.

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. You had worked so hard to leave this world behind, to build a life that didn't involve the danger and the darkness that had claimed your family.

And now, here you were, knee-deep in it again.

You took a step back, the headstones at your back offering no comfort as the chilly mist of the night seeped into your bones. "Why are you telling me this now?" you demanded, your voice trembling.

Your brother's eyes searched yours, a desperate plea swimming in their depths. "Because I heard you married Lewis Hamilton for money," he said, the words hitting you like a sucker punch. "And I thought, maybe, just maybe, you could help me."

You felt the blood drain from your face, the coldness of the stone seeping through your clothes, through your skin, into your very soul.

The whispers of the cemetery seemed to amplify, a cacophony of judgment and accusation. "You don't get to visit Father and Gabriel," you screamed, your voice echoing through the quiet night, "without paying respect to them after what you did to them!"

The words hung in the air, a shrill rebuke that seemed to shake the very foundations of the earth.

Your chest heaved with the effort of keeping the tears at bay, the anger a living, breathing entity that threatened to consume you whole.

Elijah took a step back, the reality of his transgressions etched into the lines of his face. "I know," he said, his voice hoarse. "But I'm desperate, sis. They're going to kill me if I don't come up with the cash."

"Don't you dare drag Lewis into this," you spat, the words bitter on your tongue. "He has nothing to do with your mess."

Your brother's eyes widened, the desperation in them replaced with something akin to fear. "I just thought," he began, his voice trailing off as you advanced on him, the damp earth sticking to your shoes with each step.

"Thought what?" you demanded, your fists clenched at your sides. "That I would just hand over the life I've built for you to throw away?"

Elijah's eyes fell to the ground, his shoulders slumping in defeat. "I didn't mean it like that," he mumbled, the sound of his voice barely audible over the dampness of the night.

You stepped closer, the anger in your voice unwavering. "What part of 'you don't get to visit them' don't you understand?" you seethed, the words a hot knife slicing through the tension between you. "You think you can just waltz back into our lives and expect everything to be okay?"

He looked up, the rain mixing with the tears in his eyes. "I know I fucked up," he choked out, the weight of his confession hanging in the air like the mist that clung to the cemetery stones. "But I'm trying to make it right."

You felt the rage in your chest, a fiery beast that demanded to be heard. "By bringing that kind of shit into my marriage?" you shouted, your voice echoing through the quiet night. "Lewis is not a part of this, and you will not involve him."

The wind picked up, sending a shiver down your spine as the mist turned to a light rain. The droplets clung to your lashes, blurring your vision as the emotions of the past and present collided.

You took a deep breath, the scent of the rain and the fresh blooming lilies from your brother's grave grounding you in the moment. "I won't have you endangering Lewis," you said, your voice firm despite the tremble in your chest. "But I can't let you die."

With those words, you made a decision that would change the trajectory of your life once more. You reached into your bag, pulling out the envelope of cash that had been weighing heavily on your mind since your auntie had handed it to you.

You thrust it into his trembling hand. "Take it," you said, the finality in your tone leaving no room for argument. "But you promise me, on our father's and Gabriel's graves, that you will not go near Lewis."

Elijah's eyes widened, the desperation in them momentarily replaced with gratitude. He took the envelope, his hand clutching it as if it were a lifeline. "I promise," he murmured, the words a solemn oath that hung in the air.

The rain grew heavier, the drops now stinging your skin as you watched your brother turn and walk away, the envelope clutched to his chest.

You felt a strange sense of relief, the burden of his debt transferred from him to you, but the fear of what might happen if he broke his promise never leaving you.

As you turned to leave, the coldness of the night seeping into your bones, you couldn't help but feel the weight of your actions. You had made a deal with the devil, one that could cost you everything.

But you had also bought time, time to figure out how to keep Lewis safe from the storm that was your brother's life. . . .

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