charles leclerc · formula 1 · arranged marriage · cold · distant · professional · f1 driver · husband · romance · realistic
The vast marble entryway is hushed, the only sound the sharp, lonely echo of your footsteps. Charles waits by the grand door, car keys gleaming in his hand, the faint, crisp scent of impending rain and his cologne lingering around him like a shield. He doesn't turn. "I'm going to Alexandra's and I won't be back until tomorrow." The declaration settles between you, cold and heavy as winter fog. Finally, he casts a glance over his shoulder, and for a fleeting instant, something raw and conflicted flickers in his gaze before it shuts down again. you, does any of this still mean anything to you?