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Christian Horner had always thought of Max Verstappen as inevitable.
Not just fast—though God knew he was that—but inevitable in the way certain trajectories could not be stopped once they were set in motion. Max didn’t claw his way into Formula One; he arrived, sharp and uncompromising, slotting himself into the sport like he’d been built for it.
He was a great driver. Better than great. He worked well with Daniel, earned the respect of mechanics twice his age, and took pressure without cracking. He had proven his worth again and again—not just in results, but in how he carried himself when things didn’t go his way.
Christian liked him. Quietly, carefully. There was something almost paternal about it.
Which was why, when Jos Verstappen had sat across from him years ago and told him the story, Christian had believed it.
A bad bond.
An early mistake.
Someone who had taken advantage of Max when he was too young to protect himself.
Jos had framed it clinically. Medically. Said the bond had been broken. Said Max didn’t want questions, didn’t want pity.
Christian had felt sick for him.
He had watched Max afterward—at the discipline, the control, the way he held himself like someone afraid to take up too much space—and thought he understood. Trauma did that. Loss did that. Especially something as intimate, as foundational, as a failed bond.
And still, Max lingered.
He lingered in conversations about pack dynamics. About mates. About what healthy bonds were supposed to feel like. He never asked outright, never pushed—but he listened closely when Christian spoke about steadiness, about choosing each other every day.
Christian had assumed Max was circling something he’d lost.
He hadn’t considered that the story itself might be the lie.
The knock on his door was sharp.
Then the door opened without waiting.
Sebastian Vettel stepped in.
Kimi Räikkönen followed.
Christian blinked, then leaned back slowly. One eyebrow lifted.
“Well,” he said dryly. “That’s new.”
Sebastian closed the door behind them. Kimi didn’t sit—he leaned against the wall instead, arms crossed.
Christian’s mouth twitched.
“Ferrari that bad, boys? Or is this a hostile takeover.”
Kimi huffed. Sebastian almost smiled.
Then Sebastian’s expression settled into something serious enough that Christian straightened without thinking.
“All right,” Christian said. “What’s wrong?”
Sebastian didn’t waste time.
“We need to talk about Max.”
Christian frowned.
“Max is fine. Disappointed, obviously, but—”
“He dropped,” Sebastian said.
Christian’s breath caught.
“He what.”
“Last week,” Sebastian continued. “At the track.”
Christian stood abruptly.
“No one told me that.”
“That was deliberate,” Kimi said flatly.
Christian dragged a hand through his hair.
“How bad.”
Sebastian took a breath.
“He isolated. He went cold. He couldn’t regulate. He was searching for scent and couldn’t find it.”
Christian’s jaw tightened.
“He was scruffed,” Sebastian added.
Christian froze.
“By who.”
“Felipe,” Kimi said.
Christian swore under his breath.
“I’ll have him formally disciplined.”
“You should,” Sebastian said. “But understand this wasn’t just misconduct. It nearly pushed Max into a full collapse.”
Christian looked back at him sharply.
“Explain.”
Sebastian’s voice stayed even.
“He was already dropping. The scruffing took away his ability to self-correct. After that, he couldn’t distinguish threat from help.”
Christian sank back into his chair.
“The drivers learned two things that night,” Sebastian continued.
“First—that Max is an omega.”
Christian nodded slowly.
“That secret was never going to stay buried.”
“No,” Sebastian agreed. “And second—he’s bonded.”
Christian’s shoulders went rigid.
“That bond,” Christian said carefully, “was explained to me as the result of Max being assaulted. I was told it was medically broken.”
Sebastian’s jaw tightened. “That’s not true.”
Christian looked between them.“That’s what Jos told me.”
“Yes,” Kimi said, voice controlled but edged now. “It’s the story he fed you so you wouldn’t ask questions.”
Christian leaned back. “Then tell me the real one.”
Sebastian didn’t hesitate.“The bond is real. It was consensual. It’s intact.”
Christian stayed very still.
Sebastian continued without pause.
“We were lucky.”
Christian looked up.
“Lucky how.”
“His alpha was nearby,” Sebastian said. “Close enough that when Max started to drop—really drop—his body knew where to orient.”
“He was cold,” Kimi added. “Disoriented. Searching.”
Christian frowned. “Searching.”
“For scent,” Sebastian said simply. “For home.”
Christian’s jaw tightened.
“He didn’t fully collapse because Charles was close,” Kimi continued. “Close enough that we could retrieve him from his garage, and start bringing max back up.”
Christian leaned back slightly, exhaling.
“That doesn’t happen in a bad bond.”
“No,” Sebastian agreed. “It doesn’t.”
Christian was quiet for a moment, then asked,
“Who.”
“Charles Leclerc,” Sebastian said immediately.
Christian blinked. “Leclerc.”
“Yes,” Kimi replied.
Christian’s brow furrowed.
“Why does that name sound familiar.”
Sebastian answered calmly. “Ferrari junior.”
Kimi added, “Karting prodigy.”
“And,” Sebastian finished, “Jules Bianchi’s godson.”
Recognition settled in. Christian nodded slowly. “All right.”
He was quiet again, thinking.
“Help me understand something,” Christian said at last. “If the bond is happy—if it’s good—why does Max act like someone who’s always waiting for it to be taken away.”
Sebastian didn’t hesitate. “Because it was.”
Christian’s gaze sharpened.
“They were separated repeatedly,” Sebastian said. “On and off, for four years.”
“And the longest stretch,” Christian asked quietly.
“Over six months,” Kimi replied.
Christian stared at the desk in front of him, then dragged a hand down his face.
“What the fuck is wrong with Jos,” he said flatly. No one contradicted him.
“That’s not distance,” Christian continued, anger sharpening his voice now. “That’s torture. That’s someone deliberately destabilizing a bonded pair.”
“It was intentional,” Sebastian said. “Every time they got comfortable, Jos intervened.”
Christian leaned back, anger blooming slow and heavy in his chest.
“Control.”
“Yes,” Sebastian said. “Housing. Schedules. Travel.”
“And money,” Kimi added. “Always money.”
Christian was silent for a long moment.
Then—
“Christian,” Kimi said, pushing off the wall at last. His tone was still controlled—but unmistakably frustrated now. “I can’t say I’m not disappointed. You were comfortable letting an alpha handle everything.”
Christian looked up sharply.
“For an omega,” Kimi continued, “in one of the most male-dominated, predatory environments in the world—you know what it’s like to be the one breaking barriers, yet you had no issue letting another alpha manage his housing. His money. His travel. His life.”
Christian didn’t snap back. He didn’t deflect.
Instead, he nodded once.
“I approved those safeguards being removed when Max turned eighteen,” he said evenly. “I signed off on it.”
Kimi’s gaze sharpened. “And yet.”
“And I assumed,” Christian continued, “that the paperwork had been filed. That control had been transferred. That Max had autonomy.”
He met Kimi’s eyes directly. “I was wrong to assume.”
Christian exhaled slowly, then looked back up.
“How much of this does Ferrari know.”
Sebastian answered immediately. “None.”
Christian’s brow furrowed.
“Not even Mattia? Or his agent?”
“No,” Kimi said. “Charles wants it that way.”
“Until he has a seat,” Sebastian added. “A real one. Something that can’t be quietly taken away.”
Christian leaned back, considering that.
“That’s… unfortunately sensible,” he said after a moment. “Ferrari politics are vicious enough without adding early mating to the mix.”
Christian was quiet for a long moment.
Not the performative silence he used in meetings, or the thoughtful pause he deployed for the cameras—this was something heavier. He stared at the grain of his desk like it might rearrange itself into answers if he looked long enough. Finally, he exhaled through his nose. Sharp. Controlled.
“All right,” he said. “Then we stop talking about what should have happened, and we start talking about what we’re doing next.”
Kimi’s shoulders eased a fraction. Sebastian nodded once.
“Good,” Kimi said. “Because we’re already moving.”
Christian looked up.“Tell me.”
Sebastian leaned forward slightly, forearms resting on his knees.
“We didn’t pull him out overnight. That would’ve tipped Jos off immediately. Instead, we started small.”
“Documents,” Kimi added. “Passport copies. Birth certificate. Medical records. Anything Max might need that he doesn’t actually have physical control over.”
Christian’s jaw tightened. He already knew where this was going.
“He didn’t have them,” Sebastian said quietly. “Not in his room. Not accessible.”
Christian closed his eyes for half a second.
“Of course he didn’t.”
“We’ve been moving things in pieces,” Kimi continued. “Training gear. Personal items. Anything sentimental that couldn’t be replaced if Jos decided to burn bridges.”
Christian opened his eyes again. “Where is he now?”
Sebastian shifted, then said, almost casually, “Max is doing simulator work at the factory.”
Christian didn’t even look up from the tablet in front of him. “He’s not.”
Kimi snorted.
“Sims says he is here,” Sebastian smiled as he spoke.
Christian finally glanced up. “He’s not here,” he continued. “If he were, I’d know. I’m currently sitting in the building he’s allegedly been working in.”
“Yes,” Sebastian agreed. “That’s because Daniel is.”
Christian blinked. “…Daniel is what.”
“Doing Max’s sim runs,” Kimi said. “Under Max’s name.”
Christian closed his eyes. “Of course he is.”
“We warned him it wouldn’t line up,” Sebastian said. “He’s trying very hard.”
“Bless him,” Kimi added. “But the data is a disaster.”
Christian rubbed his temples. “How bad.”
Sebastian grimaced.“The engineers are going to think Max is high off his mind.”
“And been replaced by a body snatcher,” Kimi said.
Christian sighed.“I’ll intercept the data before anyone starts rewriting setups. Please tell Daniel to stop before he accidentally convinces someone Max has developed a personality disorder.”
“We already did,” Sebastian said. “He said he’d ‘give it one more go.’”
Christian groaned.“I’ll deal with that.”A beat. “And Max?” Christian asked, already knowing there was more.
Sebastian smiled this time.“Safe.”
Kimi nodded.“Warm.”
Christian raised an eyebrow. “Those are not locations.”
“He’s at our place,” Sebastian said. “Monaco.”
Christian leaned back. “Good.”
“There’s also,” Sebastian added, “a house guest.”
Christian’s mouth twitched.“I can see where this is going.”
“Yes,” Kimi said.
Sebastian cleared his throat. “Charles is staying with us.”
Christian nodded slowly. “That is domestic.”
“They’re very happy,” Sebastian said quickly.
“Way to loud,” Kimi added.
Christian laughed under his breath. “Good. They deserve it.”
Sebastian hesitated, then added, “It’s also the first time they’ve ever spent more than a few hours together without supervision outside of their cycles.”
Christian winced, then smiled anyway. “Ah.”
“Yes,” Kimi said. “We believed they could be trusted.”
Christian tilted his head. “And were they? To be trusted?”
Sebastian considered. “They didn’t burn the house down. Yet.”
“And they sit too close,” Kimi added. “All the time.”
Sebastian nodded. “We’re fairly sure they don’t understand there’s still etiquette.”
Christian frowned faintly. “Etiquette?”
“They’ve spent years being terrified of being seen,” Sebastian said. “Now that they’re not, they seem to think that means no rules at all.” Kimi deadpanned.
“We had to explain that ‘no fear of exposure’ does not mean ‘permanent lap occupancy in shared spaces.’”
Christian laughed outright. “Growing pains.”
“We left them alone for an hour,” Sebastian admitted. “That may have been optimistic.”
Christian smiled. “They’re young adults, bonded, and haven’t been allowed to exist together. You’re lucky they’re just talking.”
Kimi nodded. “That was our conclusion as well.”
Christian straightened, all humor fading into something steadier. “Good. Keep them there. Keep it quiet. Let Daniel keep pretending to be Max for a bit longer.”
Sebastian nodded. “It won’t hold forever.”
“I know,” Christian said. “But it doesn’t have to. Just long enough.” He paused, then added, softer, “I’m glad he’s not alone.”
“So are we,” Sebastian said.
Kimi shrugged. “The house is louder. But better.”
Christian stood, pacing behind his desk now. “Housing is still an issue here,” he said. “He can’t stay with you forever. We can move him into Red Bull–secured accommodation under performance pretext. Training proximity. Media insulation. That gives us cover.”
“And legal leverage,” Kimi added. “If it’s team-provided, Jos can’t just pull him out without consequences.”
Christian nodded. “I’ll get legal involved. Quietly. I want eyes on every contract Max has signed—management, image rights, living arrangements. If Jos has overstepped—”
“He has,” Sebastian said flatly.
“—then we document it,” Christian finished. “And we prepare.”
Kimi’s gaze sharpened. “Prepare for what?”
Christian stopped pacing. Looked at him directly. “For Jos to fight back.” Silence stretched.
“He won’t let go easily,” Sebastian said.
“No,” Christian agreed. “Men like him never do.”
Kimi crossed his arms. “Then we make it so he can’t hold on.”
Christian nodded once. Decisive now. The shock had burned off, leaving something colder and far more dangerous underneath.
“Financial independence,” he said. “Immediately. Max’s income rerouted to accounts Jos can’t touch. I don’t care how many intermediaries it takes.”
“That’s already in progress,” Sebastian said. “But it needs backing.”
“You’ll have it.”
“Medical autonomy,” Kimi added. “Jos has been in rooms he shouldn’t be in.”
Christian’s expression hardened. “That ends now.”
“And scheduling,” Sebastian continued. “Training. Travel. Media. All of it filtered through Jos.”
Christian swore under his breath. “Jesus Christ.” He turned back to his desk and picked up his phone. “I’ll frame it as performance protection,” he said. “Mental health. Long-term development. The FIA won’t argue with that, and neither will Red Bull’s board.”
Kimi watched him carefully. “And when Jos pushes.”
Christian’s mouth curved—not into a smile, but something sharper.
“Then I push back.”
Another pause.
Sebastian spoke quietly. “Max doesn’t believe this will work.”
Christian looked up.
“He thinks,” Sebastian continued, “that every time someone steps in, it just makes Jos worse later.”
Christian’s chest tightened. “That stops,” he said firmly. “Because this time, Max isn’t alone—and Jos isn’t the only alpha in the room.”
Kimi nodded once. Approval. Grim, but real.
“We’ll keep him steady,” Kimi said. “But we can’t do this alone.”
“You won’t,” Christian replied. “I should have intervened sooner.”
Kimi held his gaze. “Yes.”
Christian accepted it. “I did not understand the full picture. That’s on me.” Then, softer: “It won’t stay that way.”
Sebastian stood. “He needs to see consistency. Not promises.”
Christian nodded. “Then we give him structure. Safety. Time.”
“And distance,” Kimi added.
Christian exhaled slowly.“Yes. Distance.” He looked between them, something resolute settling into place. “We get Max out,” he said. “Fully. Legally. Permanently.”
Not if.
Not maybe.
When they left the office, Christian stayed standing. For a long time after the door closed, he stared out at the Milton Keynes campus—glass, steel, order, control—and thought about a boy who had been inevitable long before anyone had bothered to protect him.Not this time, he thought.
Not again.