Chapter Text
"Some things can break your heart, but fix your vision." → unknown author.
JULY 2018, AFTER THE HUNGARIAN GRAND PRIX.
Everything is meticulously calculated, from the first meeting behind the illusionary fog that was my then-relationship to the sixteenth blow to my self-respect.
I was never madly in love or blindly infatuated to the point of clouding my own judgment with overwhelming passion. At least, not with my boyfriend. Or, judging by the turn of events in front of my eyes, my now ex-boyfriend.
You know, we want to hold onto the faint sense of normalcy, of having a planned life and future, no matter how loosely outlined. It's a fool's consolation to our conscience until everything begins to fall apart before our eyes.
Daniel Ricciardo made me laugh and always gave me that small, human feeling of belonging to something—a relationship that could probably lead to something more? I never really knew. But that overwhelming love? That never existed between us. And maybe that should have been the first screaming warning that we should never have been more than a casual fling after a post-GP nightclub two years ago.
It's a tasteless irony that a Grand Prix had been responsible for bringing us together, only to also deliver the final blow that unraveled our relationship—especially now, when I'm blinded by a mix of hatred and rage, practically tearing apart a hotel room with my bare hands, while my boyfriend, who's hiding with a blonde as naked as he is, sits on her lap.
A scream rises in my throat, followed by a choking sensation that makes me take three steps back before storming out of that hotel suite, slamming the door with all the strength left in my veins.
My ears are ringing, my eyes fierce, fighting the urge to break down right then and there, but I wouldn't give that satisfaction to anyone—not the press, nor Daniel himself, who definitely didn't deserve a single tear, be it from sadness or the most intense manifestation of anger I could muster.
My heels nearly buckle as I walk as fast as possible down the pastel-toned hotel corridor, on one of the most private and luxurious floors designated for drivers to stay undisturbed by the public or the media.
And, apparently, by their current girlfriends too.
A voice whispered back in my head, followed by a controlled sniffle.
"Estela...! Please... Estela!"
I ignored his futile call, refusing to turn around and give him a glimpse of my beautiful face on the verge of breaking. He didn't have the right—the right to beg for her, to play the fool for the millionth time and explain how it was all just a misunderstanding on her part. No, this time was different; she had caught exactly what was happening behind her back every time she couldn't accompany him on his trips due to work commitments.
It was as if, finally, everything had started to fall into place, and it wasn't just in my head... After all, Daniel had no reason to be unfaithful, not when we had an active and healthy sex life—or at least that's what I thought until half an hour ago.
I could very well bet I was now adorned with horns on my head, my own crown decorated with antlers and envy-inducing coronets for any woman betrayed by her partner.
A man's hand gripped my elbow, turning me to face him. My body froze at the contact—a shock mixed with disgust at the slightest proximity of my skin to his, something that was so welcomed just a week ago. The urge to vomit up my entire breakfast and lunch grew, threatening to spill out onto his bare feet.
And my expression must have frightened him because, within seconds, his filthy fingers released me, and he took two steps back, wisely deciding to respect my space before he opened his mouth to continue talking.
Honestly, my brain practically refused to process any words that came out of his mouth; I just wanted to escape from there and disappear. But at the same time, I feared I might also kill him with my own hands if he didn't get away from me.
I didn't want to listen, didn't want to talk, didn't want explanations or flimsy excuses, much less endure the little show he'd put on at the expense of my work. Yes, it wouldn't be the first time either. But I just wanted to vanish and never see Daniel Ricciardo in my life again, even if he were painted in gold.
"...and it was just a slip-up, Estela. I don't see why our whole relationship has to be thrown in the trash because I just needed to unwind a bit, and you said you wouldn't come, so I thought..."
My teeth clenched, and I felt my body immediately erupt in anger. Who did this son of a bitch think he was to betray me?
"Wait." I said, raising my right hand as a signal for him to shut his damn mouth. "Let me see if I got this straight. So, if I don't travel with you when I have work, you assume the right to stick that tiny dick of yours in the first slut available to the magnificent Daniel Ricciardo?" In disbelief, I looked at him, standing there with his bare chest and a freshly pulled-up pair of boxer briefs. The first feeling that washed over me was disgust, immediately followed by pure loathing. "So I'm just supposed to wear horns on my head while you keep chasing after me to confirm it? Go to hell, Daniel."
"I didn't do anything different than you did."
"What? Are you saying that I cheated on you? Me?!"
"Admit it, everyone knows and has seen the way you look at him when you're with me in the paddock. I wouldn't be surprised if you were sleeping with him over the weekend, hiding in your hotel room, pretending to be working on the other side of the world." His look was defiant, sure that he knew exactly what he was talking about behind all his accusations and jabs. "I just gave you back what you gifted me, Estela."
It took me about thirty seconds to take it all in, piecing together the puzzle to form the picture Daniel was so convinced of in his small-minded conception.
A flood of old arguments came back with the tide that hit me, and I swear I almost started laughing. They do say that when a man's ego is sky-high, his insecurity is the second-worst evil. And he became more and more pathetic in my eyes—if I weren't completely furious at being betrayed, and now accused of allegedly cuckolding him.
This was really the last straw, as my father would say.
"The world doesn't revolve around you, Daniel. Not here, not in China." I began, calmly stepping forward. "Unlike you, I don't feel the need to look for someone else to 'relieve me.' So, unfortunately, you're not a cuckold. Who would have thought, right? Yeah, I always knew I had an alleged 'man' at home who could have me whenever I wanted. I just didn't realize that exclusivity wasn't reciprocal with the betrayed woman here until half an hour ago."
"... So, you admit it? Admit that the only reason you didn't spread your legs for him was lack of time?"
Anger and hatred aren't rational feelings, and when they reach astronomical proportions, well... the reaction is beyond human reasoning, and it just happens. And that's exactly what happened, because I swear I didn't even register it when I slapped him across the cheek.
It was fast, faster than the flash of any camera or cell phone. Before I knew it, I had already acted on my impulse, feeling my nerves completely on edge. He didn't even have time to react, as caught off guard by my action as I was.
I turned my back to him again, pressing my index finger on the elevator button for any floor at all. I didn't waste time—when the metallic doors opened, I just jumped in and closed them before Daniel had a chance to react to my actions.
Even trapped inside a metal box, where anyone else would be having a panic attack under the kind of stress spreading through my body, I felt safe for the first time since I decided to surprise my boyfriend twenty-four hours ago.
Ex-boyfriend, Estela Maria. Ex.
Damn the day I crossed his path. Damn the day I decided not to go with Nana to visit the foundation. Damn the day I wanted to feel loved again. Damn the moment I decided to surprise him. Damn the moment I got on this elevator or on that jet. Damn, damn, damn.
Oh! Yeah, this escalated really quickly. I need to get out of here; I need to get out of here right now.
My eyes were fixed on the elevator panel as I pressed the button to open the doors again, practically running out without any ceremony, bumping my body into the first thing in front of me—a wall.
"... Estela?! Estás bién?" Are you okay?
Huh? Since when do walls talk? And, more importantly, since when do they know my name? I lifted my head, my tear-filled eyes first meeting the attentive and surprised look of Alberto Fernandez, which made me take a deep breath.
Alberto, yes, I know Alberto. Alberto was like family; he was almost like a brother to both me and Fernando. Actually, it was hard to remember a time when Alberto wasn't around during all the years I was with... Oh, my God, Estela Maria! If Alberto is here, then Fernando is right behind him.
And as if some voice from beyond had heard my train of thought, the figure of the Spaniard appeared, stepping out of the suite door in front of me, a smile on his lips—until his brown eyes landed first on Alberto, then on me. For a moment, I swear my knees went weak, because there was no way, no way to avoid it when it came to Fernando. He always knew how to read me like an open book; it was in his nature. After all, you don't spend six years with someone and just forget everything from one day to the next.
Well, at least I know I haven't forgotten.
And from the looks of it, it seems I'm not the only one.