Chapter Text
Chapter 1
James woke up on time—like always.
The sun slipped through the curtains, painting faint gold lines across his apartment walls. He went through the motions: got dressed, tied his shoes, and walked to his favorite coffee shop on the corner.
The barista already knew his order—iced coffee, cold brew, nothing fancy, nothing new. He sat in his usual seat by the window, answering emails while the morning rush buzzed quietly around him.
Same table. Same playlist. Same James.
Once his inbox was cleared, he packed up and headed to work. The rhythm of his life was steady, predictable, safe. He liked it that way.
At his desk, James opened his laptop and started scanning headlines about new album drops, pop feuds, and surprise releases. Music journalism—that was his world. Guitars and gossip. Charts and chords.
He was halfway through an article draft when a coworker peeked around his cubicle wall.
“Hey, the boss wants to see you.”
James blinked. “Me?”
“Yep. Said it’s urgent.”
Now that was unusual. James wasn’t one to get called in for “urgent.” He saved that kind of chaos for other people. Still, he stood, smoothed down his shirt, and made the short walk to his boss’s office.
He knocked.
“You wanted to see me?”
“Ah, James!” The boss’s voice boomed in that too-cheerful way that meant trouble. “How are we doing this fine morning?”
James opened his mouth to respond, but his boss barreled right over him.
“That’s good! So, we’ve got a new story for you.”
James blinked. “Who’s it on?”
“Will Lenney—goes by WILLNE.”
James stared at him. “Sir, he’s an F1 driver. I do musi—”
“Yeah, about that,” the boss interrupted. “Someone from the sports desk quit out of the blue. We need you to fill in for them. You’re a solid writer, and this one’s big. Got it?”
James rubbed the back of his neck, feeling a mix of confusion and dread.
“Right… got it. Did they at least leave notes, or am I starting from scratch?”
“Oh, no, no. The F1 team sent over a ton of stuff. Background, interviews, photos—you name it.”
James paused. F1 teams weren’t usually that cooperative. Weird, but okay. He accepted the thick folder his boss handed him.
“Oh, and one more thing,” his boss added. “This is a long-term story.”
James froze mid-step. “Sorry, what?”
“Long-term. Seven, maybe eight months. Could be nine.”
James’s eyebrows shot up. “That’s—long.”
The boss smiled, all teeth. “Welcome to sports, James. You’ll do great!”
Back at his desk, James dropped the folder onto the table. The first page stared back at him:
WILL LENNEY — F1 Driver, Team Horizon
A photo was clipped to the top. Will was laughing—sunlight in his hair, eyes crinkled, dimples showing. Standing beside him was a woman. Tall. Elegant. Savannah Walker, the caption read. Model.
James sighed. “Of course. Rich boy, rich girl. Perfect little PR romance.”
The more he read, the more he realized this story wasn’t going to be about engines and trophies. It was about people—messy, beautiful, complicated people. And now, it was his job to tell their story.
He flipped to the last page and saw an email contact: WillneF1.net
He hesitated for a moment, then began typing.
To: WillneF1.net
From: JamesMarriott.net
Subject: Willne Story
Hi,
I’m James Marriott from Jono Journalist. I know you were in touch with someone else about Will’s stories, but they’ve recently resigned. I’d love to discuss taking over the coverage—could we set up a time to chat?
Thanks,
James
A few hours later, his inbox chimed.
From: WillneF1.net
To: JamesMarriott.net
Hi James,
Thanks for reaching out. That sounds great—we’d be happy to discuss the Willne features with you. Let’s connect tomorrow to go over the details.
Best regards,
The Willne F1 Team
James leaned back in his chair, rereading the message. Something about it—something about him—felt different. Maybe it was the way Will’s name looked on the screen. Maybe it was the mystery of who this man was outside the helmet, outside the cameras.
He shook it off.
“You’re overthinking,” he mumbled to himself.
That night, he went home, showered, and pulled on soft pajamas. He laid out his best suit for tomorrow—it felt strange, dressing up for an interview he wasn’t even sure he wanted. He charged his laptop, double-checked his notes, and turned off the light.
Still, as he drifted off, one thought refused to leave him:
This isn’t ordinary.
This isn’t like the others.
And for the first time in a long time, James felt… curious.