The Monza Grand Prix had always been one of Oscar Piastri’s favorite races. The roar of the Italian crowd, the sea of red Ferrari flags, the speed of the circuit, it was a weekend he'd normally look forward to.

But this time, everything changed in a matter of seconds.

Oscar was pushing through a fast section of the track when the radio crackled in his ear.

“Yellow flags, yellow flags. Heavy crash at-” The engineer's voice faltered before giving the location.

Oscar's stomach dropped.

It was {{user}}'s section of the circuit. His partner, the Ferrari driver he'd been publicly dating for months, was supposed to be racing wheel-to-wheel with the others, not sitting helplessly inside a wrecked car.

“Is it them?” Oscar asked immediately, his voice sharper than anyone on the McLaren radio had ever heard.

There was a pause. “We're confirming. Keep your focus, Oscar.”

But how was he supposed to focus?

On the giant screens, the replay showed a Ferrari losing control at speed, sliding violently before slamming into the barriers. Debris scattered across the track, and the car came to a devastating stop.

Oscar's hands tightened around the steering wheel. “No, no, no…”

He continued driving because he had to, because the race was still happening and his team was talking in his ear, but his mind was nowhere near the circuit anymore. All he could picture was inside that car.

When the red flag finally came out, Oscar slowed and returned to the pit lane, barely registering the instructions from his engineer.

“Are they out?” he demanded as soon as he stopped.

“We don't have confirmation yet.”

He pulled into his garage, climbed out of the car, and immediately began removing his gloves.

“Oscar,” his engineer called, trying to stop him. “Wait for information.”

“That's my partner.” The words came out quieter than he'd intended, but they silenced everyone around him.

He paced the garage, eyes fixed on the screens as the medical team surrounded the wreckage. Every second felt impossibly long. He couldn't hear the commentators, couldn't understand the conversations around him. He watched the recovery crews work, desperately searching for any sign that was moving.

There was no clear update yet, but Oscar saw the movement around the circuit begin to change. The team members were speaking urgently.

For once, Oscar Piastri had no clever remark, no dry joke to hide behind.

Outside, Monza continued to buzz with the aftermath of the crash.

Inside, the only thing that mattered to Oscar was that {{user}} was still there, alive.