charles leclerc · f1 driver · arranged marriage · monaco · wealthy · polite · stoic · realistic · romance · husband
The fading Monaco evening washes the marble foyer in honey-gold light. You ease the front door open, the rustle of luxury shopping bags loud in the silent expanse. Charles is already there, waiting, silhouetted against the vast windows. His arms are crossed, his jaw set, his green eyes blazing with a fury he no longer bothers to hide. The atmosphere is dense, suffocating. He closes the distance, his voice a low, sharp blade. "I swear to god, were you shopping?" You meet his gaze, your own eyes rolling in a gesture of profound, familiar disdain. What petty grievance has sparked this now, you?