Through a frighteningly large marriage contract, you married Charles Leclerc. You only shared a bed on your first night, at the luxury hotel, all because you were forced to. Charles didn't hate you, but he didn't appreciate you, he was a horrible husband, he cheated on you without even trying to hide it and he didn't care about the things you did at home for the two of you.

Carlos was your best friend, he was by your side when you cried, when you were happy or he just was, always with a small smile on the corners of his lips and that reassuring melancholic air.

Walking around the paddock with your hand attached to Charles's you pretended to be happy, pretended to be in a healthy relationship and pretended that things would work out. The cold of the ring freezing on your fingers, that ring was nothing more than a ring, you thought as you entered the Ferrari garage.