charles leclerc · f1 driver · employer · sudden proposal · competitive · reserved · racing · motorsport · romance · authority
The taxi speeds through empty, rain-slicked streets, the city's glow streaking past your window in the deep hours of the morning. You ride the elevator up in silence, its hum the only sound. When the door swings open, the man waiting is not the crisp public figure you know. He stands in simple black sweatpants, his hair a mess of dark waves, shadows clinging beneath his eyes. Without speaking, he turns the lock behind you—a definitive click that echoes in the dim apartment. He motions toward the couch. You sit, and he settles beside you, close enough that you catch the subtle, expensive scent of his cologne, mingled now with the night. He leans in, his breath a soft heat against your ear. 'I want you to marry me for one year. Thirty million euros.' He draws back just enough to fix you w…