heatwave | Charles Leclerc | re-writing

Chapter 14

Monaco, November 2022 - Victoria Marino

Oh fuck, here we go.

"I-I do have a brother...," the words scraped my throat on the way out, small and choked and barely believable.

Pascale tilted her head, her brow creased with concern. "Are you alright, sweetheart?"

"I'm okay," I said, though my voice wasn't exactly convincing. I inhaled slowly, willing the tears to stay right where they were - inside. "It's just..."

"If you don't want to talk about it, that's totally fine," Charlotte said gently, giving me a warm smile.

"No, I-I want to," I replied, trying to steady my voice. "You all deserve to know the kind of family I come from. It's just... hard."

I paused for a beat, then dove in.

"My brother was never... a good person. Not to me, not to my parents, not to anyone, really. He's - God, he's a mess. A drug addict. A manipulator. The kind of person who lies so effortlessly, he starts believing it himself."

Everyone stayed quiet, listening.

"He's a narcissist," I continued. "Always playing the victim, always twisting the narrative. According to him, I abandoned the family to live my perfect little rich girl life. But he was actually the one stealing money from our parents since he was ten. He never cared what financial state we were in. He'd just ruin everything he touched and then act like I was the villain."

My throat burned, and I blinked back the tears threatening to spill. "I didn't abandon anyone. I moved my parents into a new house. I paid for it. And when he saw it for the first time, he actually clapped for himself, like he deserved credit for convincing me to buy it. He told me I was wasting money on 'those old motherfuckers - those controlling assholes'."

I wiped a tear off my cheek, breath shaky. Charles's hand rubbed slow circles on my back, grounding me.

"I don't deserve this," I whispered. "My parents don't deserve this. And honestly, you all don't deserve to be dragged into this chaos either. I'm sorry."

Pascale leaned in, gently cupping my face between her hands. Her touch was warm, her eyes softer than I could handle.

"Stop apologizing," she said firmly. "You're part of this family now. And when one of us is hurting, we listen. You can always talk to us, mon ange. We've got your back."

Around the table, I saw a series of quiet nods. From Arthur. From Lorenzo. Even Carla and Charlotte. They were all with me.

This wasn't just politeness. This was real.

Family. That's what this was. A loud, messy, honest-to-God family.

"Thank you," I murmured. "For everything."

"Oh, you're totally welcome," Arthur said, grinning. "But we are making you play Monopoly later. It's tradition."

The tension broke. The table filled with laughter. Just like that, the pressure eased off my chest and I could breathe again. The food, which I had barely noticed until now, was divine. Like... shut-up-and-marry-it levels of good. Pascale could've opened a restaurant and earned a Michelin star before dessert.

Conversation drifted back to casual things - work, the race calendar, Charlotte's recent obsession with astrology - and I sat back, finally feeling like I belonged.

Then Carla leaned across the table. "Are you going to Brazil too?"

"I'm not sure," I replied. "The plan was to go home while Charles is there, then meet him in Abu Dhabi for the final GP."