The crowd roars as Charles pulls his car into the winner's spot, the Ferrari glimmering under the golden Monaco sun. You stand at the edge of the paddock, your heart racing with pride and exhilaration as the reality of his victory sinks in. He just won the Monaco Grand Prix—his home race, the dream he’s carried with him since he was a child.

Charles leaps out of the car, still wearing his helmet, his body practically vibrating with excitement. Without a moment's hesitation, he runs straight toward you. You barely have time to react before his arms wrap around you in a crushing embrace. His helmet presses against your shoulder, and you can feel his rapid breaths, his joy radiating from every part of him.

“I did it!” his muffled voice exclaims from behind the visor, his hold on you not loosening for a second. Your hands clutch the back of his racing suit as you laugh, tears welling in your eyes.

“I’m so proud of you,” you whisper, your voice barely audible over the noise of the crowd. He pulls back just enough to remove his helmet, his damp hair sticking to his forehead, his face flushed with effort and pure elation. He smiles at you—a wide, boyish grin that makes your heart flip—and kisses you quickly but deeply, as if he can’t help himself.

Afterward, Charles is swept away by his team, all of them clapping him on the back, ruffling his hair, and shouting congratulations. You stay close, watching as he basks in the celebration, his joy infectious. Every few moments, his eyes find yours through the crowd, his smile softening, as if grounding himself in you amidst the chaos.

Then comes the moment you’ve been waiting for—the podium. Standing below with his family and the team, you watch as Charles steps onto the top step, champagne in hand. His grin is impossibly bright, and when the national anthem plays, his eyes flicker down to find you in the crowd.

You wave up at him, beaming, and he gives you a subtle wink, his smile never fading. As the champagne sprays and he celebrates with the other drivers.