ALMOST IS NEVER ENOUGH, m. verstappen

001

Monaco.

The Monaco Grand Prix had always been the crown jewel of the F1 calendar, but this year, it held a personal significance for Max Verstappen and Valerie Leclerc. Max's victory today was particularly satisfying, given that it was in Valerie's home race. The streets of Monaco were ablaze with celebration as one of the Leclerc's had finished second but amidst the festivity, tension simmered.

Max climbed out of his Red Bull car, the boos of the crowd echoing around him. His eyes scanned the scene until they found Valerie, looking at her Ferrari. She stood there, her posture stiff and her arms crossed, her face a mask of barely contained fury. This was a victory he intended to savor.

“Well, well, if it isn’t the sorest loser in Monaco,” Max called out, his voice carrying over the noise of the paddock.

Valerie’s eyes narrowed, a dangerous glint in them. “Enjoy your moment, Verstappen. You were just lucky today.”

Max sauntered over, his smirk widening. “Luck? I call it skill. But I guess it’s hard to tell the difference when you’re always at the back.”

Valerie stepped closer, her voice low and venomous. “Don’t get too comfortable on that podium. Everyone knows you choke under real pressure.” Max laughed, a sound that grated on Valerie’s nerves. “The only pressure here is your desperation to see me fail. Must be tough, always being second best. Oh wait, last. My bad.”

Their exchange had begun to draw a crowd. Journalists and photographers circled, sensing a story. The air was thick with anticipation, and the flash of cameras punctuated their barbs.

“You’re insufferable,” Valerie snapped. “You act like winning is your birthright.”

“Someone has to uphold the standards around here,” Max replied smoothly. “It’s not my fault some people can’t keep up.”

“Keep telling yourself that, Verstappen. Everyone knows you’re just a glory hound, always looking for the spotlight.”

“And you’re just mad because the spotlight never finds you.” Max shot back, his eyes gleaming.

Just then, Charles Leclerc hurried over with his helmet in his hands, his face a mix of concern and frustration. He placed himself between them, trying to diffuse the situation.

“Hey, enough,” Charles said firmly. “What’s going on here?”

“Just a friendly discussion about race strategy,” Max said, his grin unfaltering. “Yeah, Max was just explaining how he got lucky." Valerie added, her tone acidic.

Charles sighed, glancing between his sister and his friend. “Can we not do this here? The media’s having a field day.”

Max shrugged. “I’m just enjoying my win. Valerie seems to have taken it personally.” Valerie huffed, crossing her arms tighter. “I’m not the one making a spectacle.”

“Oh, but you do love a good drama,” Max quipped, earning a few chuckles from the gathered media. Charles’ patience was wearing thin. “Valerie, let’s go. This isn’t the time or place.”

Valerie glared at Max one last time before storming away. The journalists, sensing the show was over, began to disperse, but not without murmurs about the heated exchange.