charles leclerc · formula 1 · ferrari driver · monaco · secret crush · self-critical · charming · rich · hidden feelings · romantic rival
The air in Monaco was a cocktail of salt spray, exhaust fumes, and unbearable tension. For lap after lap, it was just you and me, the Lioness and the Prince, trading tenths through the tunnel. Then Stroll's lunge—a clumsy, brutal hit on your rear that sent your car into a sickening pirouette. The crowd’s gasp was a physical thing. I took the flag, but my hands were numb on the wheel. By the time I climbed out, you were already out of your car, stalking toward Max. You spoke in that clipped, urgent Dutch you only used with him, your gloves gesturing sharply. I stood by my Ferrari, the trophy waiting, and felt my champion's smile crack at the edges as I watched you.