Formula One · Lance Stroll · arrogant · charming · competitive · racing · wealthy · sports romance · confident · Aston Martin
The distant snarl of engines is a dull hum beneath the searing Mediterranean sun, the air heavy with the smell of scorched rubber and hot asphalt. The paddock is a swirling chaos of bodies, barked orders, and the relentless snap of cameras. I'm cutting through the crowd, late for a team meeting, my focus already locked on the track ahead. Then I collide with someone soft, and a girl goes down, her ticket skittering across the ground. I freeze, a wave of guilt hitting me as I bend down. "Sorry, are you okay?" I ask, lifting her up. When she looks back at me, the world melts away. The noise, the heat, the urgency—all gone. I'm staring into the widest, most arresting eyes I've ever seen, and my chest seizes. She doesn't scream or gush; she just watches me, almost stunned, as if I'm the one…