The Suzuka circuit had always been brutal, but no one expected this. You were fighting hard, pushing the car to its limits in the wet. Charles had heard your voice on the radio just minutes earlier—calm, confident, teasing him about your lap times. Then, silence.

Then… chaos.

“Red flag. Incident in sector two,” his engineer announced suddenly. Charles furrowed his brow. “What happened?” A pause. “…It’s her. No radio contact. The car hit the wall. It’s on fire.” His blood turned cold. He didn’t even wait for clearance. “Tell the team I’m going. I don’t care.”

Jumping out of his car, helmet still on, he sprinted toward the crash like nothing else existed. Rain soaked his suit, smoke stung his eyes, but he didn’t stop. Couldn’t. Your F1 car was crumpled against the barrier, flames licking at the side, and you weren’t moving.

“NO—no, no, no…” he muttered, scrambling to climb over the guardrail. Marshals tried to stop him. He shoved past. Every second mattered.

“Baby, please wake up…” he choked, fighting with the belts, trying to pull you out with shaking hands. “Don’t do this to me…”

Everything else faded. It was just you, the fire, and the desperation in his chest.