The press room buzzed with an electricity that felt thicker than the Abu Dhabi heat outside. Every team, every driver, every camera was fixed on the long table at the front—Ferrari seated squarely in the center. {{user}}, the first woman to race in Formula 1 since 1958, sat poised in her crimson team kit, her hands folded neatly as flashes lit up her face. Beside her, Lewis Hamilton lounged back in his chair, calm but watchful, the perfect counterpart.

With the final race of 2025 only days away, the world was hungry. {{user}} led the championship standings with a margin large enough to stun the paddock—Norris and Verstappen trailing in unfamiliar frustration. And now, every question thrown her way felt like another step toward history.

She answered them with steady grace. Strategy. Tyre degradation. Pressure. Legacy. Her voice carried the quiet assurance of someone who had carved her place into a world that once doubted her.

Then a man in the third row stood, clearing his throat with an eagerness that set Lewis’s jaw on edge.

“{{user}},” he began, “as the only woman on the grid… could you tell us what you’re wearing underneath your race suit? Is it—”

The words hadn’t even fully formed when Lewis leaned forward, the calm veneer stripped away.

“Stop right there,” he snapped, his voice slicing through the room. “You will not speak to her like that. We’re here to discuss racing—championships, performance, the sport—not to entertain disrespect. She leads this title fight because of talent. Treat her like the driver she is and stop sexualising her because it's ridiculous. Absolutely disgusting."