"WHAT THE HELL..."

The brunet frowned as he slipped inside one of the windows. He was already quite familiar with the home he snuck into. The shadows danced in the moonlight, almost as if to welcome him home. it wasn't his home, though. The only window that was untouched was the one he slid into. He didn't even know why he was here, facing the memory he wanted to erase from his mind.

The shattered glass below him, a mirror of reflection of himself. It reflected the wounds of war. the blood of innocence, the weapon of heartbreak. He looked away, running his hand through his almost silky smooth hair. Every wall, a memory. Every possession, a shot to the heart. Every mirror, a reminder of the failed promise he made.

He promised her he'd save her. He promised to protect her, to finally step out of the shadow he was so used to hiding in. He risked everything for her, and he was guilty as charged. Exploring more of the home, he soon found the room he was scared of opening. It was the idea that the room itself would eat him alive. Pushing away the thoughts, he finally pushed the door open.

It all came back to him, the thorns surrounding his once guarded heart stabbing into him. It was a regular day, a normal day for them both. He had promised her that he would be home in time to watch whatever sugary sweet romantic comedy she wanted to watch. He shouldn't have left her alone. He knew shouldn't have left her alone. He grazed the scar on his lower abdomen, the scar of war against the people who didn't particularly enjoy the fact that he had dismantled their operations.

Her screams, his tears. That was the only thing that could replay in his mind. He wore a mask, just to make sure not much emotion could even be shown. That day, the enemy knew who he was. He was a weak boy. his deadpan humor and sarcasm wasn't what it was made to be.

Oscar Piastri was scared and weak. Such a skilled agent shouldn't have struggled so much and made a rookie mistake.

Then again, he was in love.

It wasn't something that mixed well with his job. He was warned, he was screamed at. He didn't think much of it. What did they know? the old heads seemed to hate anything he did... and now he understood why. Picking up a picture frame, he sighed shakily. It was an image he took at his first podium. He had won P2 that day, his highest podium in his first year. on his left was his teammate, Lando Norris. He had a bright smile, a similar one to his own. On his right was Charles Leclerc. Someone he had to learn was going to be very familiar to him. He, however, focused on the girl who was squished in the middle with him.

With her bright smile and blonde hair, dunking a bit of champagne on him. She had a McLaren hat and his own team shirt styled to her liking, her joyful demeanor almost coaxing a smile out of him. It was a distant memory that was a painful reminder as to why he was here now. He placed the image back on the shelf, where it once was.

What the hell brought him to this point?

ᯓ★

TWO YEARS AGO

HE RAN HIS HAND through his brunet hair, opening the glass door with a frown. It was such a foreign feeling, staring at history right in the face. such a team would be a dream for him when he was probably a kid, when he was more interested in motorsport instead of espionage. He was still in the sport that he embraced as a child, albeit with more complications in his life. A part of that inner child still shined as he saw the cars of old.

With the help of the agency and his natural skills, he was able to find himself in the building of the McLaren Formula One team. It meant more responsibility to a team, and trying to dismantle a dangerous operation.

What a pain.

He hummed as he got lost in said building, running into a man who seemed pretty rushed. The said man soon smiled as he laid eyes on Oscar, who didn't let the smile move his deadpan look. He already knew who this guy was and he wasn't really excited to meet him regardless.

Zak Brown, one of the many people in charge of McLaren and Oscar couldn't deny his talent to keep McLaren afloat. However, something about the American just irritated him to no end. it might be about how he speaks or even how he carries himself. He couldn't really complain about it now. This was his new boss in his cover job.

"You must be Oscar, right? Welcome to McLaren!"

The brunet nodded as he let the man yap away. He didn't pay much attention, as he already had the contract negotiations much more before in order to just sign the damn sheet of paper. McLaren was insisting on him to show up to sign the contract, to post it on their social media pages.

it seemed that they had completely forgotten the last time a team got too ahead of themselves with Oscar. he frowned as he was taken to his office, barely paying any attention. he didn't care, he was wanted to sign the contract and leave. he seemed to feel as if it was an eternity, when they slid the contract in front of him. there was the dotted line, where he could choose to deny this team or sign his next few years away... if he had that choice, anyway.

He lifted the pen and sighed as he signed the contract with a quickness. He really didn't like this, but he had to be signed. The agency insisted that McLaren was the safest choice and wouldn't poke into the reasons he might be unable to race.

The photo was taken, all smiles between the two and Oscar was free to explore a bit before he eventually got bored. He would sit and groan into his hands.

Was this really the right decision?

🧷 ✧ ˚. ᵎᵎ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀❛ HOUSEKEEPING. ❜
- welcome to chapter one! i've been working on it for a few days already and it's been just fixed and edited as much as i could!
also, there's going to be a lot of mystery within this first act! i hope you guys enjoy it!
- love, bunclerc

- EDITED CHAPTER