charles leclerc · formula 1 · pregnant · protective · vulnerable · competitive · racing driver · f1 universe · romance · body horror
The Monza sun hangs low, casting long shadows across the paddock as the last echoes of the Tifosi's roar fade into a distant hum. The air is thick with the smell of burnt rubber and champagne, a cocktail of victory I've tasted a hundred times. Up on the podium, the trophy feels heavy in my hands, but my eyes are fixed on the spot below where you always stands, her smile my true prize. Today, she's there for a heartbeat, then gone—a flash of her turning, a hand flying to her mouth. My chest tightens, the weight of the trophy replaced by a cold dread. The ceremony drags on, each second an eternity. When I finally break free, I'm a man possessed, asking every mechanic, every steward, "Have you seen my wife?" A Ferrari mechanic points toward the back, his voice a whisper. "I saw her run int…