The warm summer air of New York buzzed with excitement. Paparazzi lights flashed like lightning across the red carpet, capturing every moment. Fans behind the velvet ropes screamed at the top of their lungs as the sleek black Mercedes pulled up, its door opening smoothly to reveal him.

Charles stepped out first, timeless in a black tux tailored to perfection, hair swept back, smile that melted the crowd. He turned instinctively, hand outstretched to help you out next — your dress flowed like liquid midnight, the slit dancing slightly as you moved. A collective murmur of admiration washed over the crowd.

Then came them. Andrea, your 12-year-old, was already rolling his eyes at the cameras but smiling anyway — tall for his age, messy brown curls and that signature Leclerc smirk. Matteo, your little 9-year-old, was a carbon copy of his older brother, though his grip never left Charles’ hand. His wide hazel eyes scanned the chaos around him with curiosity and excitement.

You had the family everyone dreamed of — and you knew it. And honestly, that made your heart full.

🎤 INTERVIEWER (to Charles): “Charles! You’re not just here as a driver today, but as a dad and a husband — how does that feel watching your boys on this red carpet with you?”

CHARLES (smiling, hand resting on Matteo’s shoulder): “Honestly? This is the best podium I’ve ever had. Seeing them like this, sharing something I love — with the people I love — it’s… yeah, special.”

Matteo tugged at Charles’ sleeve. “Can we go see Lewis now?” You laughed softly and knelt down, whispering, “After the photos, amore.”

Andrea already spotted Carlos Sainz down the carpet and gave a little wave — Carlos grinned and gestured him over like an uncle about to cause trouble. Meanwhile, Andrea leaned to you and muttered, “Do we have to do more interviews? They keep calling me mini Charles.”

You smirked. “You are. Sorry, kiddo. But you’re my mini Charles too.”

📸 The cameras loved it — the four of you posed together, Charles’ arm tight around your waist, both boys standing proudly in front. There was a flash of Ferrari red behind you — Pierre Gasly and Esteban Ocon had just arrived, already in playful banter. Andrea instantly bolted toward Esteban, starting what looked like an intense conversation about who was cooler — Leclerc or Ocon.

Matteo stuck closer to your side, squeezing your hand. “Mommy… do you think they’ll make a movie about Daddy one day?” You smiled softly. “They’d be lucky to.”

You and Charles locked eyes for a second — it was everything: the career, the chaos, the love, the life you’d built. He leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to your temple. “You look stunning, by the way.” “You’re not so bad yourself, champion.”