Chapter Text
The wedding in Tuscany might have felt like the final lap of a long, impossible race, but the truth was that life after the vows had only just begun.
Back in the Netherlands, Verstappen Racing HQ became their home as much as their workplace. The track hummed with engines, the garage smelled faintly of oil and fresh coffee, and inside the offices, Max and Charles carved out a life that was both fiery and soft.
Lilly grew up there, her laugh echoing off the empty bays, her helmet sometimes too big for her head. Max trained her with fierce precision, leaning over her kart, muttering strategies under his breath, eyes glinting like she was already champion. "Later brake, earlier throttle, ja? Trust the car, Lilly." His tone was sharp, but his hand always ruffled her hair afterward, softening it.
Charles balanced the fire with music and books. "Enough laps for today," he'd insist, tugging her toward piano keys or a stack of homework. Max would groan, roll his eyes, mutter about killing momentum, but Charles's smile was unshakable. "She's not only going to win races," Charles would whisper later that night in bed, curled against Max's chest. "She's going to have a life." Max would kiss his temple, murmur "mon amour," and sneak a hickey against his jaw, just to hear Charles gasp his name and swat at him.
Their home pulsed with warmth. Now, Charles was sitting at the grand piano, sheet music in front of him, as he watched Lilly laugh with Max over telemetry data from her last race. Max was animated, hands flying as he explained braking points, but his tone was soft, never harsh coaching with patience Charles had never known in his own youth.
"Papa, you're such a nerd," Lilly teased, smirking as she leaned over the monitor.
Max smirked, flicking her helmet with his finger. "And that nerd just coached a world champion. Respect your elders, kid."
Charles chuckled softly from his seat. "Respect your elders... he says this like he's not the one who still forgets laundry in the machine."
"schat," Max shot back, turning to grin at him, "don't expose me in front of the champ."
Charles rolled his eyes, a smile tugging at his lips. Even after all these years, their banter was as fiery as their love, and when Max leaned down to kiss him, Charles melted like it was still their wedding night.
The warmth of their house was undeniable family dinners with too much wine, Arthur and Lorenzo dropping by unannounced Carlos and Lando visiting with Nico and a new puppy who terrorized their garden.
Pierre and Yuki were a circus on their own. Yukiree's kids had already managed to crack a glass door last summer.
Daniel's prank show was somehow the most-watched podcast in motorsport. So, he had reinvented himself as podcast king, broadcasting chaos worldwide. One week, he interviewed Seb about compost. The next, he brought goats to a livestream. Seb shook his head, gardening gloves always visible, Checo muttered about patience, and Kimi simply said, "bwoah," whenever things got too loud.
And always Victoria. Still dramatic, still the glue. She handled Verstappen Racing's PR like a general in battle, wine glass in one hand, and clipboard in the other. "If this family doesn't kill me," she'd sigh, "the media will." Everyone knew she secretly loved it.
Nico whose ten years old smarter than all of them combined, renamed Lando's PS5 'Papa's Retirement.' Lando had been scandalized; Carlos nearly cried, laughing
The group chat lived on, renamed again and again.
Currently, it was renamed as "Married to Speed."
Lando: Nico just renamed my PS5 to Papa's Retirement.
Pierre: My kids are possessed.
Yuki: No, they're just like us.
Daniel: Who wants to sponsor my new prank show? It involves goats.
Seb: Goats don't belong in a hotel, Daniel.
Life was loud. Life was messy. Life was perfect.
But sometimes, when the house was quiet and Lilly was asleep, Charles still locked the windows twice. He still checked the shadows outside their bedroom balcony. He still remembered Tuscany, the night of their wedding, when a stranger had watched from the edge of the vineyard.
Flashback - 2031 Wedding Night
The vineyard had been all golden light and champagne laughter that night, fairy lights twinkling across the Tuscan hills. Everyone was dancing, drunk on wine and love, the chaos of the double wedding still humming in the air.
Charles had slipped away from the crowd for some air, his jacket undone, tie hanging loose. From the balcony of their villa, the view was breathtaking: rows of grapes glistening under the moonlight, fireflies dancing over the grass.
And then he'd seen it.
A figure, just beyond the glow of the lanterns, standing motionless among the vines. Too far to recognize, but close enough that Charles felt their gaze like ice down his spine.
He blinked. Gone.
"Max?" Charles had called softly, stepping back inside.
Max was toweling his hair dry, smiling. "Hm?"
Charles shook his head. "Nothing."
But when he turned back to the bedroom, there was an envelope on the welcome table. Their names scrawled on the front in thick black ink.
Inside, a single Polaroid.
It was of them Max, Charles, and Lilly in his Monaco apartment a year ago, taken through a window they thought was private.
On the back, in the same sharp handwriting "Happily ever after never lasts."
Charles had pocketed it before Max could see, forcing a smile as he kissed him goodnight.
He never told him.
--
This was also the reason why Charles didn't understand the cold twist in his chest when, one late evening at HQ, he found an envelope tucked beneath a stack of test data.
Plain. White. No name.
He almost ignored it until Max wandered in, arms sliding naturally around Charles's waist, mouth brushing the curve of his neck. Charles melted like always, head tipping back, lips parting when Max nipped gently. "Mon amour, not here," Charles whispered, breathless.
Max chuckled, kissing him slow, deep, until Charles's knees nearly gave out. Their laughter echoed through the office, their rings catching the faint glow of the desk lamp.
It should have ended there, just another domestic night.
But when Charles finally looked down again, the envelope had slid slightly open. A single card inside. Four words written in sharp black ink "Some things stay buried."
Charles froze. His chest tightened. His eyes darted to Max, who was still distracted with the taste of his lips. For a moment, Charles considered hiding it, burning it, even but his fingers shook as he slid the envelope back under the files.
"Charlie?" Max asked quietly.
Charles forced a smile and slid the envelope under a stack of papers on the console. "Nothing. Just... junk." He kissed Max to silence the question that lingered in his eyes.
The kiss went on, tender and consuming, until Charles finally pulled back, breathless, his forehead pressed to Max's.
"You'll be the death of me, Maxie," he whispered, but his voice wavered.
Max laughed softly, thumb stroking along Charles's jaw, like he'd caught the tremor but mistook it for something else. "Not death. Forever," he murmured, sealing it with another kiss, one that made Charles want to forget everything every scar, every shadow.
But the envelope weighed heavy in his pocket now, a ghost against his hip. He could feel the edges cutting into his palm where he held it hidden, his hand curling tight as though he could crush the warning into nothing.
Max didn't notice. He was already tugging Charles closer, lips brushing his ear. "Come home, Charlie. Lilly's probably refusing bedtime until you tell her a bedtime story."
Charles forced a smile, nodding, letting Max lace their fingers together. The warmth of it was enough to ground him for now. Enough to pretend nothing had shifted. Nothing had cracked the fragile perfection of their life.
They walked out of HQ side by side, rings glinting, laughter soft in the quiet night.
But when Charles glanced back once, just once, at the darkened office window, he swore he saw movement. A shadow slipped past the glass.
In his pocket, the envelope seemed to burn hotter.
Life was perfect.
It's too perfect.
And someone out there knew it.
Back to 2045:
Fifteen years later, Charles could still feel that same cold dread at the back of his neck sometimes. He'd brushed it off back then a weird prank, an overzealous fan, a drunk wedding crasher. But it wasn't just one time.
There were more notes over the years. Always Polaroids, always slipped in silently.
Them on a walk in Monaco.
Max is holding Lilly in the paddock.
Charles alone at a hotel window in Singapore.
No one ever saw the culprit. No one ever caught them. The photos stopped for a while. Charles convinced himself it was over.
But that morning, before Lilly's historic championship win in Vegas, he found another envelope slid under their hotel room door.
Same handwriting. Same Polaroid style.
This one was of Lilly on the podium, trophy in hand.
On the back "Future World Champion's next."
Charles's blood ran cold. His fingers trembled as he tucked the photo into his jacket pocket, forcing himself to smile when Max emerged from the shower, humming softly.
Max leaned down to kiss him, noticing his tension. "You okay, mon amour?"
Charles forced a laugh, nodding. "Just tired."
He didn't tell Max. Not yet.
But as he sat down on the edge of the hotel bed, Polaroid heavy in his pocket, Charles couldn't shake the feeling that their perfect life their family, their love, their peace was under watch again.
And this time, whoever was out there wasn't just watching.
They were waiting.
--
The stadium lights in Las Vegas glowed like a thousand suns, but Max barely noticed them. His arm was hooked tight around Charles's waist as the crowd roared Lilly's name. Their daughter stood on the podium, champagne dripping down her fireproof suit, a smile that could outshine the Strip plastered across her face.
"She's more you than me," Max murmured into Charles's ear, his voice rough, shaky with pride.
Charles's lips curved, soft and certain. He pressed a kiss to Max's jaw, lingering. "Non, mon amour... she's us."
The chant of "LILLY, LILLY, LILLY!" boomed across the track, but for Max and Charles, it might as well have been silence. All they heard was the steady thrum of each other's hearts, the shared breath between their mouths.
Down in the paddock chaos, Carlos draped a pride flag into Lando's arms, tugging Nico close against his chest. "Look, hijo," he whispered, his voice thick. "This is what love looks like."
Pierre and Yuki's twins had somehow climbed onto Seb's shoulders, tugging at his hair while he sighed, "Gentle, mes petits démons." Daniel, of course, was filming, narrating loudly about "future champions wreaking havoc." Kimi only shook his head, muttering "bwoah" when one of the kids stole his sunglasses.
It was messy. It was loud. It was family.
Then Lilly was running down from the podium, champagne still dripping from her curls, trophy clutched in her hands. She crashed into her fathers, arms flung wide.
"I did it for you," she cried, burying her face between them, voice shaking with joy. "For us."
Max pressed his forehead to hers, eyes glassy. "We're so proud of you, liefje."
Charles kissed her temple, voice breaking. "You made history."
Lilly grinned, kissed them both on the cheeks, and bolted back toward the crowd to join the celebrations. For a moment, Max and Charles just stood there, arms around each other, watching her disappear into the swarm of fans and cameras, their daughter glowing like a star in a sea of neon.
Charles rested his forehead against Max's, cupping his cheek. His voice was a whisper, fragile and strong all at once. "From sidelines to start lines, we made it."
Max chuckled, soft against his skin, brushing a kiss to the nape of his neck while echoing an old phrase between them. "P1 in your heart, huh?"
Charles's eyes gleamed as he answered, steady and sure. "Always."
It could have ended there.
It should have ended there.
But stories don't end just because you want them to.
--
Hours later, the chaos had dimmed. Back in their hotel suite, the strip buzzed below their window, muffled through the thick glass. The adrenaline had drained from Charles's body, leaving only a soft ache and an overwhelming calm. Max's arms looped lazily around his waist as they swayed to music only they could hear, the dim light from the bedside lamp painting Max in soft gold.
Charles sat at the edge of the bed, shoulders slumped. He tried to steady his breathing and tried to convince himself it was nothing. A prank. A ghost of the past. But the Polaroid burned in his pocket.
Max padded out of the bathroom, hair damp, towel slung around his neck. He grinned as he leaned down, kissing Charles's cheek, then his mouth, lingering, tasting.
"Mm," Max hummed, lips brushing the corner of his smile. "You taste like champagne still."
Charles didn't move. His eyes betrayed him. His worry was written plain.
Max's grin faltered. Max dipped his head to kiss Charles's jaw, then his neck, murmuring softly, "You're quiet, schat." His voice was honeyed with affection, his hands firm but tender against Charles's back. "Talk to me."
Charles hesitated, forcing a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "I'm just... tired," he murmured, fingers tracing Max's shoulders.
Max tilted his head, studying him. "You're lying."
Charles stiffened. Max's hand came up to cup his cheek, thumb brushing gently over his skin. "What happened? Spill."
The words burst from Charles in a rush too fast, tumbling over each other, his chest heaving. "It was here again notes, photos.. started at our wedding, I thought it was a prank, a fan, something stupid, but it wasn't just once, Max, it kept happening, always watching Monaco, Singapore, always there, and toni... tonight, it was Lilly." His voice cracked. He couldn't breathe. Panic climbed his throat.
"Charlie. Breathe. One at a time," Max said firmly, grounding him pressing their foreheads together. "Look at me. Inhale. Exhale."
Charles's lungs stuttered, then matched Max's rhythm, slow and steady, his fingers clutching Max's wrists like a lifeline.
"Good," Max whispered. He slid his fingers down, intertwining them with Charles's, their wedding bands clicking faintly. "Now, tell me. Slowly."
"So," Charles whispered, voice catching. His eyes stayed fixed on their joined hands, on the way their wedding bands glinted faintly in the lamplight. "It started at the wedding. The first note. Just a plain envelope under the stack of programs. I didn't think much of it, I thought maybe... maybe a drunk guest or some overzealous fan who got in. I didn't want to ruin the day, mon amour."
Max brushed a thumb over the back of his hand, grounding him. "And after?"
"There were more." The words tumbled out, fragile and jagged. "Polaroids. Always Polaroids. Always slipped in without anyone seeing. Me on the balcony in Singapore. You holding Lilly in the paddock. Us walking through Monaco. They were always watching, Max. Always close." His breath hitched. "I kept telling myself it was just a prank. That it would stop. And for a while... it did. But now.." He faltered, chest rising too fast. "Now it's back. And this time it's her. It's Lilly."
Max shifted closer, pulling Charles against him, his lips brushing his temple. "Charlie. Look at me."
Charles shook his head, voice breaking. "I was scared to tell you before. I thought you'd be angry. I thought.."
"Hey," Max cut him off, firm but gentle. His hand cradled Charles's jaw, tilting it up until their eyes locked. "Why would I be angry?"
"Because I kept it from you," Charles whispered, ashamed, eyes glassy. "Because I thought if I ignored it, it would disappear. But it didn't. And now..." His throat tightened. "Now it feels like it's hunting her."
Max's chest ached. He pressed their foreheads together, breathing slowly until Charles matched him. "Charlie, listen. You don't ever have to carry something like this alone. Not with me. Not ever."
He kissed him then, soft at first, then deeper, slower, until Charles's shaking quieted beneath the weight of his mouth. When they broke apart, Max's lips stayed at his skin, trailing down his cheek, his jaw lingering over the place where pulse beat frantic.
Max's chest tightened, anger simmering beneath his calm exterior. He gently turned Charles toward the bed, where the envelope sat in plain view. He picked it up, sliding the Polaroid free Lilly, trophy aloft, pure joy in her eyes.
On the back "Future World Champion's next."
Max's blood went cold. His thumb traced the scrawl, sharp and deliberate, the way her handwriting always was. He didn't need confirmation. He'd never forgotten. "She's back," he muttered.
Charles's breath hitched. "Maxie..." He'd never seen Max look so still, so cold.
Max dropped the Polaroid onto the nightstand, then caught Charles's trembling hands, "I've got you," Max murmured. He drew Charles's hand to his mouth, pressing a reverent kiss to his knuckles, right against the silver band. His voice was low, steady, carved from steel. "Whatever comes, whatever tries to get between us.. you, me, Lilly, we'll face it. Together." His palm cupped Charles's cheek, thumb stroking. "Schat, I swear it, she will never break us. She'll never hurt our family. She will never touch Lilly. Not while I'm breathing."
The words landed like a vow, heavier than the rings on their fingers.
Charles blinked through the tears, and in that silence, he understood. The way Max had said she. The flicker in his eyes when he saw the note. He knew exactly who it was.
"She'll never break us," Charles whispered, his voice cracked but resolute. He kissed Max's lips, fierce and desperate, tasting salt and fire all at once. When he pulled back, he pressed their foreheads together again and closed his eyes, exhaling shakily. He leaned into Max's touch, whispering, "Always by your side, mon amour. She can try, but she'll never win."
Max exhaled shakily, brushing their noses together, pulling him into another kiss slow, lingering, sealing the promise between them.
Max pulled him close, their foreheads pressed together, a promise sealed in the quiet of their hotel room while the city blazed outside.
But in the hallway, just out of sight, a shadow lingered. The faint click of a Polaroid camera echoed softly, swallowed by the hum of Vegas nightlife.
Somewhere, someone slipped another photo into their coat pocket and walked away unseen.