Eyes Don't Lie | Charles Leclerc

Part 27 | Barracuda

March 5th, 2023

It was the first media day of the 2023 season, and I could feel the weight of the cameras and microphones waiting for me before I even stepped into the paddock. My heart raced in a way that had nothing to do with driving. I'd been here a hundred times before, but this felt different, like I had something to prove, not just to everyone watching but to myself. 

I adjusted my Ferrari hat as I stepped out of the car, the sun glaring down as the hot desert air greeted me. The paddock was buzzing with activity...engineers, crew members, fans lining the barricades, all of them waiting for the drivers to arrive. Carlos was already ahead, greeting people with his usual easygoing charm. 

I took a deep breath, squared my shoulders, and put on the media trained smile that had been drilled into me over the years. "Showtime," I muttered under my breath, forcing the nerves down as I walked through the gate.

It felt strange to be back in the spotlight, knowing that the last time I faced this kind of pressure, everything had fallen apart. The end of last season still haunted me in ways I didn't like to admit. Abu Dhabi, the storming out, the skipped gala, I wasn't proud of it. And I knew that today, the questions would come, the ones asking if I was ready, if I had recovered, if this year would be any different. 

As I walked through the paddock, I kept my expression neutral, even as the flash of cameras started and reporters began to crowd around. It was all part of the game, show strength, show confidence, even if you're not feeling it. I waved at a few fans, smiling as they cheered. But it was all automatic, muscle memory. My mind was miles away, replaying the same text message Aria had sent me this morning.

You're ready for this Charles. You've trained. You've got a new start. Keep moving forward, I'll always support you and be by your side.

 Still, the anxiety was raging beneath the surface, threatening to break through. I glanced at Carlos as we headed toward the media pen. He caught my eye and gave me a quick nod, like he knew exactly what was going through my mind. 

"You good?" he asked, his voice low so the microphones wouldn't pick it up. 

"Yeah," I replied, more out of habit than truth. "Just...getting back into the groove." 

Carlos smirked, giving me a friendly clap on the shoulder. "You'll be fine. You've done this a million times. Besides, you've got a whole new season ahead of you. Don't look back." 

I nodded, appreciating the words, even if the nerves still clung to me. My media day schedule was packed...interviews, photoshoots, sponsor meetings. It was the same routine, but after the turbulent end to 2022, every camera pointed at me felt sharper, every question carried more weight. People wanted to know if I could still handle it. If I could be the driver they expected. 

As we walked toward the Ferrari garage, I caught a glimpse of my car under the sun, the team logo gleaming like a symbol of everything I had fought for, and everything I was still fighting to prove. I plastered on that smile again as the first set of reporters circled around me, microphones ready, eyes full of expectation. Inside, the tension was building, but on the outside, I was composed, collected. Ready to answer the same questions in a dozen different ways. It was what I had to do. 

The moment the first camera light blinked red, signaling the start of an interview, I took a breath and stepped into the spotlight. 

"Charles, how are you feeling heading into the first race of the season? Is this the year Ferrari makes the comeback?" 

I let the words settle for a second, letting the familiar rhythm of media day take over. I knew what they wanted to hear, and I knew how to deliver it. 

"I'm feeling good," I said, my media trained smile firmly in place. "It's a new year, a new car, and a new start. The whole team's been working incredibly hard over the winter, and we're ready to give it everything." 

It was the same line I'd rehearsed on the plane, the same polished answer that wouldn't make headlines but would keep the press satisfied. But even as I spoke, there was a small part of me that wasn't here. A part of me that was still thinking about Monaco, about Aria, and the kiss we shared that was now etched into my memory. 

It was hard to focus completely, knowing that I still hadn't told her how I truly felt. I needed to figure out how to handle this, and soon. For now, though, I had to get through this. One question at a time.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞

By the time the last interview wrapped up, I was utterly drained. Media days always took it out of me, but this one felt especially long. I rubbed the back of my neck as I walked beside Carlos, heading toward the paddock exit. The fans had gathered in their usual spot, and as soon as they spotted us, they ran forward, cameras and notebooks in hand, calling out for photos and signatures. 

Carlos, ever the social one, waved and stopped to sign a few things, and I followed him, though my energy was on its last legs. I smiled for a few pictures, signed a couple of caps, all while thinking about getting out of here as quickly as possible. A few more fans pressed in, and I was starting to feel overwhelmed when suddenly, the crowd shifted. 

The fans' attention snapped away from us and rushed toward another figure approaching the exit of the paddock. I didn't think much of it at first. Maybe it was another driver, someone bigger, more exciting. But then I caught a glimpse of the person they were all running toward. Max. 

I frowned, feeling a flicker of annoyance. Of course, it's Max. The defending champion always draws the crowds. But as the swarm of fans cleared for a brief moment, I saw something that made my heart stop cold. He wasn't alone. Max was holding hands with someone...a woman. 

I blinked, the world slowing down as I recognized her face. Emma. My ex. A wave of cold washed over me, my entire body freezing in place. It couldn't be real. Emma, the woman I had once shared everything with, walking hand in hand with the man I had spent the last season battling on the track, the man I resented for winning. 

I tried to pull my eyes away, but I couldn't. It felt like a nightmare playing out in front of me, one I was powerless to stop. I saw them move closer, her hand still locked with his. My stomach churned. And then, Max caught sight of me. For a brief moment, our eyes locked across the paddock, and I prayed he would just look away, that he'd pretend he didn't see me standing there, frozen in place. 

But he didn't. Instead, he gave me a look that sent a surge of anger through my body. He smirked. Then, with that same cocky grin, Max winked spitefully, almost as if he knew exactly how much it would sting. My heart dropped into my stomach, and I felt the ground disappear beneath my feet. 

Everything in me wanted to yell, to lash out, but I was stuck in place, paralyzed by the mix of rage and disbelief. It felt like a punch to the gut, the air knocked out of me as I tried to process what I was seeing. My heart pounded in my chest, the edges of my vision blurring. I could feel the panic rising, clawing its way up my throat as my breath quickened. Everything around me became a haze, Carlos's voice, the fans' excitement, even the noise of the paddock faded into the background. 

All I could see was them. Max and Emma. Together. I couldn't breathe. The walls were closing in, and I knew I was on the verge of a panic attack. I needed to get out of here, now. But I couldn't move. Everything was slipping away, the control I had over my body slipping through my fingers.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

Author's Note: It's so weird writing Max as a villain because he's literally pookie, but do it for the plot I guess?

Also thank you for everyone reading, commenting and voting! 5.5k views so far ❤️ Never thought I'd make a standalone story aside from my F1 One Shot book, so I appreciate you all!!