Chapter Text
Oscar was about five minutes away from losing his mind.
Seriously.
If one more middle-aged guy in a suit tried to pitch him a "groundbreaking" AI idea while spitting shrimp canape on his shoes, Oscar was going to scream. Or maybe just leave. Leaving sounded better.
He checked his watch. 9:14 PM.
Jesus.
He’d only been here for an hour.
He swirled the warm champagne in his glass, leaning back against a pillar in the corner of the Savoy’s massive ballroom. This was his hiding spot. From here, he could see everyone, but if he stood perfectly still and looked unapproachable enough ,which was his specialty, people mostly left him alone.
"Mr. Piastri?"
Almost everyone.
Oscar sighed, internally. Outwardly, he just turned his head.
"Yes?"
"Just wanted to say, big fan of the merger last month. Ruthless stuff." The guy winked.
"Thanks," Oscar said, deadpan. "Excuse me."
He didn't wait for a response. He just turned away. He was done with the pleasantries. He scanned the room, looking for Logan or anyone from his team who could give him a valid excuse to escape to the balcony.
That’s when the noise level in the room shifted. It went from a polite hum to a sudden, chaotic buzz.
Oscar frowned. He looked towards the entrance.
And there he was.
Lando Norris. The CEO of Quadrant, and the single most annoying person on the planet.
Oscar actually rolled his eyes. He couldn't help it. While everyone else was wearing boring black tuxedos, Lando had decided to show up looking like… well, like Lando. He was wearing deep blue velvet. Velvet. And no tie, obviously, because buttons were apparently just a suggestion for him.
He wasn't walking, he was practically strutting down the stairs, high fiving a waiter and laughing at something his assistant said.
He looked loud. He looked messy. He looked like a headache waiting to happen.
"Unbelievable," Oscar muttered to himself, taking a sip of his terrible drink.
He watched Lando reach the bottom of the stairs. A crowd immediately formed around him. Of course they did.
Lando had that effect people just gravitated towards the chaos. He was smiling, looking like he was having the time of his life, completely ignoring the fact that this was a serious business gala, not a frat party.
Then, Lando stopped.
He looked around the room, ignoring the people talking to him, scanning the faces until his eyes landed on the corner.
On Oscar.
Oscar stiffened. Don’t do it, he thought. Don’t you dare.
Lando’s grin widened. It turned into a smirk. A really annoying, knowing smirk. He raised his eyebrows, lifted his glass in Oscar’s direction, and started walking straight towards him.
Oscar groaned quietly. "Here we go."
Lando didn't just walk over; he invaded.
As he got closer, Oscar could smell him something expensive, woody, and irritatingly pleasant. Lando stopped just a little too close, invading Oscar’s personal space with zero hesitation. The crowd seemed to fade into the background noise, leaving just the two of them in the corner.
Lando swirled his drink, his eyes raking over Oscar’s outfit with exaggerated pity.
"You know," Lando started, his voice dripping with mock concern. "If you stand any stiller, they’re going to mistake you for one of the columns. I think a waiter almost put a tray on your shoulder."
Oscar took a slow, deliberate sip of his champagne. He didn't blink. "I was enjoying the peace and quiet. Until about ten seconds ago."
Lando laughed, a short, sharp sound. "Peace and quiet? Oscar, look around. We’re at the biggest tech gala of the year. You’re supposed to be networking. Schmoozing. Living a little."
He stepped closer, leaning in as if sharing a secret. "Or does Piastri Tech prohibit fun in the employee handbook? Section 4, paragraph 2: No smiling allowed during business hours."
"My employees are fine, Lando," Oscar replied coolly, turning his body fully towards him. "We just prefer to focus on innovation rather than... whatever this is." He gestured vaguely at Lando’s velvet suit. "Did you lose a bet? Or is the circus in town?"
Lando’s grin didn't falter, but his eyes narrowed slightly. A hit. "This is called style, mate. You wouldn't recognize it if it hit you in the face. You’ve been wearing the same black suit since we were rivals in the startup entrepreneurship center. It’s boring. Predictable."
"It’s professional," Oscar countered, his voice dropping an octave, sharper now. "Consistent. Reliable. Words you might want to look up sometime. I heard Quadrant's stock took a dip last week after your little Twitter rant. How’s the board handling that?"
The smile finally dropped from Lando’s face. The playfulness is now gone, replaced by a flash of genuine irritation. The air between them suddenly felt heavy, charged with static.
"My board loves me," Lando snapped, his voice losing its lightness. "Because I take risks. Because I’m not a robot running on an algorithm. We actually have a pulse."
"A pulse implies stability," Oscar shot back, stepping forward so they were toe-to-toe. He was slightly taller, using it to his advantage. "You have arrhythmia. You’re erratic. One day you’re launching a brilliant app, the next you’re tanking your own PR because you couldn't keep your mouth shut."
"At least I’m not dead inside!" Lando exclaimed, throwing his hands up. He was getting animated now, his volume rising. Heads nearby started to turn. "You think you’re so superior because you play it safe. But you know what people say about you, Oscar? They say you’re cold. They say working with you is like talking to a wall."
"I don't care what people say," Oscar lied smoothly. "I care about results."
"Bullshit," Lando scoffed. He didn't step closer—he couldn't. They were already sharing the same oxygen. Instead, he leaned in, invading the last inch of Oscar’s personal space. The smell of Lando’s cologne was suffocating.
Lando raised his hand, his index finger jabbing aggressively towards Oscar’s chest. "You care. You care so much it kills you. You’re just terrified that if you let go for one second, everything will fall apart."
Oscar felt a spike of anger hot enough to melt his composure. Lando’s finger was inches from his collar. It was disrespectful. It was a threat.
"Watch your hand, Norris," Oscar warned, his voice low and dangerous.
"Or what?" Lando challenged, his eyes blazing. "You’ll calculate the probability of punching me?"
Lando jab his finger again, harder this time.
Oscar’s reaction was instinctive. He didn't think; he snapped. His hand shot up and clamped around Lando’s wrist to stop the motion. His grip was tight, bordering on painful.
"I said, don't."
The sudden halt was too abrupt. The momentum of Lando’s arm jerking against Oscar’s grip sent the contents of the glass in Lando’s other hand flying.
It wasn't a splash, it was a wave. The sticky, red cocktail washed over Oscar’s chest, soaking the white shirt instantly, dripping down to his cummerbund.
The cold liquid hit Oscar’s skin. The shock of it made him release Lando’s wrist as if burned.
Silence rippled through the immediate area.
Then, flash.
The camera blinded them.