The other woman

Portugal

Soren Nylander knew that he was good looking and loved the attention that it brought. With short, perfectly styled dark chocolate coloured hair that was a little curly on top and eyes that were nearly as dark; a strong, chiselled jawline and a fit, muscular body he stood out from the crowd. He was an over confident, cocky, arrogant son of a bitch who didn't give a shit and when he saw something or someone he wanted he didn't stop until he'd got it. He had the money and the means to pretty much achieve whatever he desired whenever he desired it.

His most recent objects of desire had been a paddock club ticket and pass for the Portuguese Grand Prix in Portimão and Aleksandra Van de Berg, his ex-girlfriend. Climbing the stairs to gain access to the paddock club, he knew he'd have a bird's eye view to see her in action whenever she left the Aston Martin garage with her driver. Dressed down in dark grey jeans and silver grey shirt that fit tight enough to showcase his muscular frame, he knew he blended in with the crowd but still caught the eyes of every woman there. But he was only interested in one woman, Alex.

Alex had been the one who'd got away. She was beautiful and wild and he'd been the only one to tame her and control her until she'd left him. One thing she was yet to learn was that women didn't leave Soren Nylander, he was in charge, he was the one who said when it was over, not any woman. Alex needed reigning in.

His job, working in the financial district of Amsterdam, was high powered, highly paid and stressful but he couldn't complain. He was damn good at his job, often exceeding his targets and smashing his competitors and he was handsomely rewarded for it - after all, he didn't know anyone else in his circle of friends who could afford the best possible tickets for a Formula One Grand Prix. The only drawback was that his job never really left him, the stress was always there and that relentless pressure to strive for more. If he hit his target of a twenty percent increase then he was quickly expected to hit a twenty-five percent increase and so on and so on and when he'd had a difficult day (which he occasionally did) then he'd come home stressed and angry and Alex had always bore the brunt of that. Of course he felt bad, every single time he'd beaten her the guilt had always hit him just as hard and even more so the day that she'd fled from him. That particular day he knew that he'd gone too far but it was her own fault, she knew exactly how to wind him up, which buttons to press. She was a free spirit, she was wild and carefree and hated control, the total opposite of himself. That's why he had to control her but it was also why he loved her so much. He'd been hell bent on finding her when she'd left him, he'd swore that he'd track her down, that it wasn't over and had made sure that she'd known that, that she'd never be able to escape him and that she was nothing without him. Spotting her on social media had made things so much easier. With her working in Formula One, he now knew where in each country she'd be and when. The only thing he didn't know was where in Switzerland she stayed when her driver, Sebastian Vettel, was at home. Vettel's exact location was quite a mystery, he only knew that they flew into and from Zürich airport and he didn't have the time to spend there tracking her down. Weekends like this were his only option.

Taking hold of his pit lane and paddock pass where it hung on it's lanyard from his neck, the shiny plastic glinted in the light as he headed out onto the balcony, overlooking the pit lane. He'd bide his time; it was only Friday, this weekend he'd make sure that he saw her, that she was definitely here. He'd do the same next weekend, watching her and obsessing over her, then he planned to travel to Monaco and it was there where he'd make sure to 'bump' into her.

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Alex followed Seb into his garage. As usual it was busy, there wasn't one single person standing around doing nothing, everyone was working on some aspect of the car, whether it was the car itself or something on one of the monitors or laptops that lined one side of the garage or even the guys that looked after the tyres. Seb had qualified tenth on the grid and she knew that he was hopeful of maybe grabbing his first points for the team. The last couple of races had still been a learning curve but had left him frustrated. So far he was not having the start to the season that he'd wanted. The day so far had gone just the same as the two previous race days, Seb had attended his usual pre-race briefings, spoken to the press, gone out onto the track for the traditional driver's parade and they'd gone through his warm up routine together. Everything had just slipped seamlessly from one task to another but Alex felt odd, she felt a peculiar sense of being watched. She'd felt like this ever since Friday and at first she'd put it down to the tv cameras and photographers and the fact that she knew that yet more images of herself would appear online. Now it was Sunday and she still couldn't shake off this worrying feeling. With Seb starting to get prepared to get into the car for a first exploratory lap to check the car's systems, she took a moment to step outside. The pit lane was heaving with people. There were teams of mechanics beginning to take their equipment out into the grid, small teams of tv and media presenters and production crews and lots of guests and lucky race fans that had paid extra for pit lane access. Luckily the majority of them were kept behind loose connecting barriers, only the tv and media presenters were allowed this side of it to get closer to the garages and the cars. Warily, Alex scanned every face, the forbidding sense of being watched wasn't going away.