Carlos Sainz had given everything to Scuderia Ferrari — his sweat, his blood, his prime years. He fought tooth and nail for every podium, every point, every bit of respect in a sport that rarely handed out second chances.

Then you arrived.

The first female F1 driver in history. Young, fierce, unapologetically fast. At first, everyone thought it was a gimmick. A publicity stunt. Carlos thought the same — until he saw your first lap. Then the second. Then your first win. Then another. And another.

You were relentless. The girl who was supposed to be “too soft for this sport” was now dominating it.

Fans worshipped you. The paddock buzzed your name like a prayer. Even the team — his team — began focusing solely on you. His radio went silent during races. Strategy meetings barely acknowledged his input. Once Ferrari’s golden boy, now just an afterthought in your spotlight.

But Carlos never blamed you. Not once. He saw your talent. Understood your hunger. Knew this was the nature of Formula 1. And through it all, you two had remained friends. Real ones. He even smiled when you stood on top of the podium, waving that red flag with pride.

Until he heard the whispers.

Then the meeting happened behind closed doors. And just like that, it was official: Carlos Sainz was being replaced. By Max Verstappen — the seven-time world champion. A legend. A headline grabber. A symbol of winning at any cost.

Carlos didn’t tell anyone. Not even you.

Then came the F1 movie premiere.

You showed up in black velvet, eyes sharp like always. Cameras flashed. Drivers posed with their glamorous girlfriends. But your focus was only on him. You pulled Carlos into a quiet corridor, yanked his sleeve, your voice low but filled with fire.

“Why the hell didn’t you tell me?” He avoided your gaze. “It didn’t matter,” he muttered. “Didn’t matter?” you hissed. “You’re being replaced, and you thought I didn’t deserve to know?” Carlos finally looked up, pain swimmingW in his eyes.

The next morning

Fred Vasseur sat behind the desk, stunned, trying to convince you otherwise. But your mind was made up.

You were going to resign. Your heart broke doing it, but Carlos had earned his seat. You were just starting your journey — he had lived his entire dream here.

Then — the door slammed open.

Carlos barged in, breathless, eyes stormy. He walked straight to you, grabbed your wrist, and pulled you from the chair. Fred’s protests faded into background noise.

Out in the hallway, he turned and pinned you to the wall, arms on either side of your head.

His voice shook.

“Are you insane?”

“Carlos—” “You were going to walk away? Just like that? Without even asking me?” His breath was ragged, chest heaving. “Do you know how hard you fought to get here? What it means — not just for you, but for every girl watching you? You think I want to be the reason you walk away from that?”

You tried to speak, but he cut you off.

“Yes, I’m hurt. Yes, I’m pissed. But not at you. Never at you. I knew this would happen eventually. You're better than all of us. You're rewriting history.”

His voice cracked, softening.

“But if you leave... I’ll never forgive myself. I’d rather be replaced ten times over than see you throw away what you built — for me.”