𝙾𝚛𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚛𝚢┃ Charles Leclerc┃

Chapter Twelve - The Best Friend

The crash during qualifiers was not just an accident; it was a challenge to my skill and integrity. My mind echoed with the roar of the engine and the strategy to discuss without losing composure. This confrontation off the track was a battle of respect and resolve, as crucial as any race on it.

This wasn't just about the crash—it was about asserting my place on the track, demanding respect in a world where every inch matters.

"Anastasia, I'm sorry." Max said quickly. Cautiously.

My jaw cocked to one side. "You're sorry? Max, what the hell were you doing?"

Max had greeted me at the door of my McLaren suite, away from any desperate media junkies or prying eyes. Even when I first opened the door, he looked like a child who was finally admitting to their parents that they had stolen a pound coin to buy sweets from the corner shop.

He visibly swallowed. "I-I'm sorry. I just got carried away."

I could feel the steam starting to seep from my ears as I relived the crash over and over in my head. "Carried away? You could've killed me what that driving! Hell, and yourself. It wasn't even a race, I genuinely can't fathom why you were attacking so hard."

"It wasn't my choice." Said a small mumble.

My eyes fixated on Max Verstappen. He was looking at the floor, clasping his fists together and fidgeting his feet against the carpet. Never once had I seen him look so awkward.

"What do you mean, 'it wasn't your choice'? I'm pretty sure it was you behind that wheel, Max." I frowned. I probably shouldn't have blown up quite so much so fast, but I was pissed. His driving had been reckless, and he could've seriously hurt the pair of us.

He hesitated. "GP, my race engineer, kept telling me to attack. To not focus on getting the fastest time but to focus on distracting you. I kept telling him 'no', 'no I'm not doing that', and he eventually stopped." His head shook. "I thought it was left alone, and I could finally just get a flying lap in. But, then Christian got involved."

I hummed hastily, raising a single eyebrow.

"Ana, you know full well that disagreeing with your race engineer is bad enough. But disagreeing with your team principal? My seat would've been filled so fast." Max watched me closely.

My face folded in disbelief. "Max, you're a three time world champion. They would be mad to replace you." As I spoke, I could feel Max's guilt emanating from his skin. It appeared that he truly did feel bad about the situation, which only made me ponder even more. "So, you're saying it was Christian behind this whole thing? He wanted me off the track?"

Max took a couple of steps back, in the direction of the door of my suite. "Look, I shouldn't have said anything. I just wanted to apologise. I hope there's no hard feelings, Anastasia."

My expression was flat and confused as I watched him leave. What was burning frustration only five minutes ago was now a feeling of deep-rooted pity. "No hard feelings, Max."

He smiled weakly at me, before slinking out of the room.

My seething anger towards Max may have disintegrated, however, the sensation only grew when I thought about Christian fucking Horner.