P3 on the grid. Max on pole, Oscar right next to him. The sky’s heavy with grey. During the driver parade, it poured - but now? The rain has stopped just minutes before lights out. The track’s damp, slick, everyone on Inters.

Five red lights.

They go out.

Oscar and Max dive into Turn 1 side by side. I tuck in behind. The spray is brutal, but I feel the car - sharp, eager. Silverstone is alive today.

My eyes flick to the grandstands. There’s the “Landostand,” the one I arranged this weekend in neon yellow - loud, bright, impossible to miss. From clear across the circuit, I see fans leap and wave whenever I pass. Every time I glance its way, they erupt. That stand was for them - my people - and it’s been buzzing from free practice to now.

The opening laps are cautious chaos. Grip shifts corner by corner, but I hang on. Lap 11 brings heavy new rain. By Lap 12, I can barely see ahead. The track becomes an ice rink in seconds. Cars are sliding. Radios are panicking.

“Safety Car. Safety Car.” Will confirms.

We all back off. Visibility is close to zero. We’re behind the SC when it happens.

Lap 21 - Oscar slows - hard. Out of nowhere. Max doesn’t react in time and flies past him before the delta resets.

“What the hell was that?” I ask, heart in my throat.

“Under investigation.” Will answers. “Keep it tight. SC in this lap.”

We go racing again - green flag mid-lap - and in that very same moment, Max loses it.

He spins. Right in front of me.

I jolt left and Max falls down the order. P10.

Suddenly, I’m behind Oscar. Just Oscar. My teammate and the guy who - seconds later - gets a 10-second time penalty.

“For what?” I ask.

“Unsafe delta under Safety Car. Apparently he braked too suddenly. Decision’s final.”

Shit. It’s happening. It’s really happening.

I follow Oscar lap after lap. No risks, just smooth pace. I know he’ll have to serve the penalty during his stop. The track is soaked again. Conditions are brutal. But I don’t care. Because I’m right where I need to be.

Lap 43. Oscar pits. Ten seconds held. Longest ten seconds of his life, probably. I inherit P1.

Lap 44. My turn. Clean stop. Just enough gap. I come out still in the lead.

My chest is about to burst.

My Landostand explodes each time I pass it, shouting “LANDO! LANDO! LANDO!” It keeps me driving harder.

Lap after lap, the finish line inches closer. Every corner rings in my ears: Copse. Maggots. Becketts. Hangar Straight. Vale. Club.

“Last lap, Lando. Let’s finish this.”

Final corner. Chequered flag.

“WOOOOHOOO!! WE DID IT! AT HOME!” My shout echoes across the pit wall. I pound the wheel with the emotion of the whole weekend.

I slow and feel the roar of the crowd, as I park in front of the number 1. Helmet still on, I climb out. The team swarms me, hugs and shouts and slaps on the back, but I’m already scanning the barriers.

And there - I see them. My dad. My mum. Standing front row, exactly where I hoped they’d be.

My mum’s hands cover her mouth, eyes glassy with tears. I move toward them, heart pounding.

And then - she steps aside.

My mum steps aside - not by accident, not casually, but deliberately - as if she knows. She turns slightly, giving me space. And there, just behind her -

She’s standing still, like she hasn’t breathed since the flag dropped. My best friend. The one person who’s been with me through every win, every loss, every messy, imperfect, real part of this journey.

I walk straight over, past the cameras, past the noise, past the chaos.

And when I reach her, I lower my head and press my helmet gently to her forehead. That’s all I can manage. That’s all I need.

“You did it.” She whispers, her voice trembling. “I’m so proud of you.”

My voice shakes as the words fall from my lips, only for her to hear.

“My lucky charm.”