Everyone thought Max Verstappen was the jealous one.

It made sense, really.

Max had the face for it - grumpy, perpetually one mild inconvenience away from committing vehicular manslaughter.

He looked like a man who would bristle at a lingering glance, who would track conversations across rooms with predatory focus, who would silently calculate the exact number of seconds someone else’s hand rested on Carlos’s arm.

And sometimes, yes, Max did do those things.

But what the paddock, their friends, the universe at large did not know ... what Max himself did not know, for an embarrassingly long time ... was that Carlos Sainz’s jealousy was something else entirely.