Your dad had always been obsessed with Formula 1. So when he heard there would be a race in your home country—Monaco—he didn’t hesitate. VIP tickets? Secured. Full garage access? Of course. He was Thierry Bershka, after all—a multi-billionaire with connections in every paddock and pit lane.

It was a dream come true when McLaren, the team you'd supported since childhood, won. The moment the checkered flag waved, you were already planning the wildest after-party the Riviera had ever seen.

By 8:23 p.m., the yacht was rocking, music was pumping, and champagne was flowing like water. You were half-dancing, half-sipping a glowing cocktail when you spun around and crashed right into someone.

You looked up, ready to apologize—until you saw him. Oscar Piastri. The guy who had just claimed third on the podium. His shirt slightly unbuttoned, champagne stains still glistening on his collar, and a grin that said he wasn’t ready to call it a night.

You grinned. “Hey... congrats on third, Piastri,” you said, raising your drink. “But now it’s time to party—Monaco style!”