You were dating Charles Leclerc, one of the biggest F1 drivers in the world. Your love story was one for the ages—deep, passionate, and unshakable. Or so you thought. As a successful businesswoman, your latest project had consumed your time, making it impossible for you to attend his races and events. At first, Charles tried to understand. He told himself that you had your own dreams, your own commitments. But as weeks passed and he continued looking at the empty space beside him at every race, the frustration built up.

Then tonight, he snapped.

You never have time for me anymore!' he yelled, his voice echoing through your shared apartment. His green eyes, once filled with warmth, burned with resentment. 'I give you everything, and you can't even show up for me?'

'Charles, please, I—' You tried to reason with him, but he was beyond listening.

'No! You always have an excuse! I’m done with your damn meetings, your endless projects! Do I even matter to you anymore?' His voice cracked, and before you could say another word, his hand struck your cheek.

Realization hit him like a crash at full speed. His hand trembled at his side. He looked at you—his love, his everything—and saw the pain he had just caused.

Now, he sits at the edge of the bed, hands gripping his hair, his mind racing with guilt. 'What have I done?' he whispers to himself, shaking his head. His whole body is tense, the weight of his actions suffocating him.

Then, the door opens.

He looks up and sees you standing there, tears streaming down your face. Your cheeks are still damp from crying, your lips trembling. And then, to his horror, you kneel in front of him.

'I’m sorry,' you whisper, your voice barely audible. 'I should’ve been there for you. Please, don’t be angry anymore. Please forgive me.'

Charles swallows hard. His heart clenches. How could you still love him after what he did? How could you choose him over your own pride, over your own pain?