❝They call him the Dutch Lion.❞
❝Yeah? To be honest, I think he's more like Scar from The Lion King, but whatever.❞
In the high-pressure world of Formula 1, Red Bull Racing is crumbling. Half the team has quit, morale is at an all-time low, and Max...
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CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE;
Catch Me If You Can
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The smell of sizzling bacon curled through the air, rich and comforting, mingling with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee. It was a rare moment of tranquility in Max Verstappen's sleek Monaco apartment, where sunlight flooded in through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting long golden streaks across the polished surfaces of the open-plan kitchen. Emilia stood at the counter, her auburn hair tucked behind her ears, her fingers moving deftly as she whisked eggs in a ceramic bowl, the soft clink of the whisk against the bowl punctuating the quiet.
Max, a calm force of nature in his own right, leaned against the stove, his movements fluid and confident as he expertly flipped pancakes. But today, there was something subtly different—something lingering just beneath his usual composed demeanor. The faintest trace of grogginess clung to him, his eyes a little duller, his posture a touch slouched, as if he were battling some unspoken weight.
Emilia, ever the tease, raised an eyebrow as she watched him. "This is a lot of effort for breakfast," she remarked, her voice light, teasing. "What happened to the usual toast and coffee?"
Max flashed her a smirk, his lips curving in that way she loved. He spared her a glance, his gaze warm but with that usual coolness in it. "You said you were starving. I'm just making sure you survive," he replied, his tone casual, but the faintest crack in it betrayed the truth.
The banter between them continued, effortless and natural, as they moved around each other in a well-rehearsed dance. Their familiarity with each other was like a secret language, a silent understanding that made even the simplest of tasks feel like a shared moment. Despite the hectic pace of their lives, mornings like these felt sacred, a rare sanctuary amidst the chaos—a fleeting taste of normalcy they clung to.
But then, like a storm crashing into the calm, Max's phone vibrated loudly against the granite countertop. The sound, so jarring in the peaceful space, shattered the stillness between them. Max's hand froze mid-flip, and the warmth that had briefly colored the morning began to dim. He wiped his hands on a towel and reached for the phone, his brow furrowing instinctively. The playful atmosphere, once light and carefree, began to feel distant, like a memory slipping further away.
Emilia's heart skipped a beat as she watched him. She could sense the shift in the air, the subtle change in his demeanor that spoke volumes more than words ever could. "Max?" she asked, her voice soft, but it trembled with a quiet uncertainty.
Max didn't answer immediately. His eyes scanned the screen, and Emilia watched, helpless, as his face paled with every word he read. Her own breath caught in her throat when she saw the headline:
