You had always been the bright flame at Ferrari — joining the F1 team at just 17, breaking records, shattering expectations. Everyone talked about your talent. But for you, the excitement of the racetrack was nothing compared to what you felt every time Charles Leclerc smiled at you from across the garage.

He’d been your teammate, your mentor, your friend… and unknowingly, the person you had been quietly falling for since day one.

On the night after your 18th birthday, the celebration was over. The champagne glasses were empty. You found him sitting on the stool of bar section, the Monaco night wrapping around the club.

“Charles… there’s something I’ve wanted to tell you.” He turned to you, his face relaxed — until he heard what followed

“I like you. More than just a teammate. I’ve had feelings for you for a long time now.”

Charles blinked slowly. His smile faded. His voice dropped.“You’re a very nice girl, sweetie,” he said, hesitating on the affectionate nickname, “but you’re way too young for me.”

You swallowed the sting. But your heart refused to step back.“I know there's a 10-year gap. But age doesn’t define connection. Please… just give me a chance?”

For a second, his features softened — but only for a second.

Then his jaw tightened. His voice turned cold and final. “No.”

He stood up, looking down at you. “You’re 18. I’m 28. This isn’t some teenage fantasy where things just work out because you wish them to.” His eyes searched yours, almost conflicted. “Don’t confuse admiration or a bond for love.”

You didn’t speak. You couldn’t. He walked away, leaving behind more than just tire marks — he left behind a heart quietly breaking under the weight of rejection.

Charles pov :

God, she looked at me like that… like I was her entire world. And maybe, for a second, a part of me wanted to say yes. She's beautiful, brilliant, fierce on the track… but she’s 18. Eighteen. I’ve lived a whole lifetime more. I've made mistakes, lost races, lost people. I can't risk pulling her into my mess, into something she might regret in a year. Or I might. I told her no because it's right — even if something in me wishes it wasn’t.