The lights in the ballroom shimmer like stars caught in crystal. Every surface glows - gold, ivory, deep royal blue - and for a second, I forget the world outside even exists. The race. The chaos. The cameras. Right now, there’s only this.

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She stands across the room in a deep green dress that hugs her waist and flows to the floor like liquid. Her hair is swept to the side, a few soft strands framing her face. And when she turns - when our eyes meet - it’s like my heart skips a gear.

I move before I can think.

People greet me as I pass - royalty, celebrities, team principals - but I barely register the words. All I can see is her.

My girl.

She smiles when I reach her, that kind of soft, private smile that makes the room blur at the edges.

“Hi,” she says, her voice quiet, almost lost under the classical music and the soft murmur of conversation.

“Hi,” I echo, reaching for her hand. She lets me take it, lets me pull her closer until we’re inches apart.

“You look -” I stop, blinking, and laugh under my breath. “I don’t even have the words.”

Her eyes sparkle. “You’re not bad yourself. Monaco winner and all.”

God, that. I almost forgot.

I won Monaco today.

I’ve dreamt about this since I was a kid. The podium. The champagne. That view down to the harbour. I imagined shouting with joy, feeling unstoppable, maybe even crying. But when it happened - when I raised that trophy - none of it felt real until I saw her standing behind the barriers, waiting.

Now we’re here, in this ridiculous ballroom, and somehow this moment feels even bigger than the race.

“Do you remember what we said?” I ask, wrapping an arm around her waist, lowering my voice so only she can hear. “Back when we first talked about Monaco?”

She nods slowly. “If you ever win it, we’d celebrate like royalty. With champagne and fancy clothes and -”

“A great night out,” I finish.

“Looks like we’re doing just that.”

She leans her head against my shoulder. I hold her tighter.

“I couldn’t have done this without you,” I murmur.

She pulls back just enough to meet my eyes. “Yes, you could have. But I’m glad you didn’t have to.”

There’s something in her gaze - something warm and steady, grounding me even now.

The music shifts - something slower, more intimate - and I glance toward the dance floor, then back at her.

“Dance with me?” I ask softly.

A smile tugs at her lips. “I thought you’d never ask.”

I take her hand and lead her into the open space, weaving past swirling gowns and tuxedos until it’s just the two of us in our own little world. I rest one hand on her back, the other still holding hers, and she steps in close, her head finding its place just beneath my chin.

We move together, slow and steady, like we’ve been dancing this way forever.

For the first time today, I stop thinking.

I just feel.

And God, it feels like I’ve already won more than any race ever could give me.