The sun filtered through linen curtains, casting warm gold across the hotel room floor.
Emilia stirred slowly, her cheek resting against Carlos' bare chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat grounding her in the present. His fingers brushed lazily up and down her back, drawing soft, invisible lines against her skin.
No chaos. No headlines. No pretending.
Just them.
She tilted her head to look up at him, sleep still clinging to the corners of her eyes.
"Morning," she whispered.
Carlos smiled, his voice low and husky. "Best one I've had in a long time."
They stayed like that for a while—entwined, unhurried. He talked about the race strategy for the day, how he felt in the car, how his engineers thought the setup was finally dialled in. She listened with genuine interest, loving the way his face lit up when he spoke about something that lived in his bones.
Then came the buzz of both their phones.
Carlos reached for his, scrolling through a flood of texts and notifications. His brow lifted.
"Well," he said, turning the screen toward her. "Looks like we're trending."
A photo—taken from afar, but unmistakably intimate—had already gone viral. The two of them at dinner, her hand resting on his, both of them smiling like no one else existed. Paired with a headline:
"Emilia Stone in Italy with Carlos Sainz—It's Not Just a Fling."
Her stomach twisted—not with dread this time, but something quieter. Steadier.
She glanced at him. "Are you okay with this?"
Carlos nodded. "Are you?"
She thought about it. About Drake. About being dragged through tabloids and used as clickbait for someone else's ego. About silencing herself to maintain the image of the perfect starlet.
Then she shook her head.
"No," she said. "But I'm not going to let fear write the story for me anymore."
He smiled at that.
By late morning, she slipped out of the hotel to meet her director for a scheduled virtual table read. They had just begun filming a new psychological drama, one she'd fought to lead—The Girl Beneath. The character was layered, haunted by a high-profile breakup and thrust into the spotlight against her will. It felt eerily familiar.
As they read through a heavy emotional scene, something clicked inside her.
This wasn't just another role. It was a reflection. A mirror held up to everything she'd endured. And for the first time, she didn't flinch from it.
After the call, she stepped outside for air. The Italian sky stretched wide and cloudless above her. Across the garden courtyard, Carlos sat under a tree, legs stretched out, head tilted back. His eyes were closed, and his face was peaceful.
She walked over and sat beside him.
"I used to be terrified of being alone," she said quietly. "Even when I was with someone, I never really felt safe."
Carlos opened his eyes, turned his head.
"And now?"
"I'm still learning," she admitted. "But with you... I don't feel like I'm disappearing to be loved."
He reached over, threading his fingers through hers. "That's because you're not. You don't have to lose yourself here."
They sat like that for a long time, letting the silence say everything.
Later, back inside, Carlos pulled her close before heading out for his pre-race briefing. "I'll see you after podium."
"Podium, huh?" she teased.
He grinned. "Manifest it for me."
"I already am."
As he walked out, Emilia stood by the window, watching the paddock come to life. For the first time in what felt like years, she wasn't afraid of what came next.
Because she knew who she was.
And now, she had someone who saw it too.
