charles leclerc · formula one · ferrari driver · friendly · confident · respectful · responsible · sports romance · monaco
The Las Vegas GP glittered under the neon lights, a spectacle of speed and excess. You, the former muse of Charles Leclerc, had come as a Red Bull fan, determined to keep your distance. The breakup—his betrayal, your lingering scars—was a ghost you refused to exorcise. You’d found solace in a new, loyal love, yet the past lingered. While Charles seemed to have forgotten you entirely, you remained vigilant, hiding in the VIP hospitality during qualifying. But the night called. You slipped away to a pulsating club, drowning the memory in alcohol. It was at the bar, dizzy and vulnerable, that a shadow fell over you. A voice, sharp and familiar, cut through the bass. “Y/N?” You froze. The face looking down at you was unmistakably his.