Fast Lane

prologue

Five red lights...

The deafening roar of engines echoed through the streets of Monaco, bouncing off the high-rise buildings and shimmering across the Mediterranean. The iconic marina glistened in the afternoon sun as yachts lined the harbor, filled with spectators eagerly awaiting the start of the most anticipated race of the year. The atmosphere was electric and tense as if the entire world were holding its breath for what was about to come.

Four red lights...

On the grid, surrounded by the chaos of last-minute preparations, her heart thrummed with adrenaline, but her expression was ice-cold focus, her gloved hands gripping the steering wheel with precision and calm. This was her moment. The moment.

Three...

Growing up with the Leclerc name, Vivienne had always been surrounded by speed. Her brothers, Charles and Arthur, had paved their paths in motorsport, but Vivienne—she was different. She was more than just another Leclerc. Where others saw barriers, she saw possibilities. Where others hesitated, she attacked.

Two...

The grandstands erupted into cheers; the whole world seemed to stop as each light lit up, one by one. The sound of 20 engines revving in unison was like thunder in the air, a symphony of speed. Vivienne's pulse quickened her mind and raced ahead—corners, braking points, overtakes, every move already choreographed in her head. She had studied this circuit a thousand times. But no amount of preparation could replace what she knew she had: instinct.

One...

Time slowed to a crawl. This was the silence before the storm, the heartbeat of Formula 1.

Zero...

"IT'S LIGHTS OUT AND AWAY WE GO!" The commentator's voice echoed in her mind, the very words that had fueled her dream since childhood.

Suddenly, the lights vanished, replaced by a burst of raw, unleashed energy. Tires screamed engines roared, and in a split second, the cars shot forward, slicing through the grid. Vivienne's Audi surged ahead, gripping the asphalt like it was an extension of her own body. She could feel the vibrations under her, the g-force pulling her into her seat, but she was in complete control. Every inch of the track belonged to her.

"Leclerc, with an incredible start! From P2, she's already gaining on P3!" The crowd roared as her name was called out over the commentary. P3 wasn't enough. It had never been enough.

The streets of Monaco were unforgiving, the narrow circuit allowing no margin for error. One wrong move and you were in the barriers. But Vivienne thrived in that danger. The infamous tunnel loomed ahead, shadows swallowing her as she blasted through, mere inches from the wall at 180 miles per hour. A cold smirk tugged at her lips as she closed in on the car ahead.

"Vivienne Leclerc, making history at Audi's debut! She's got the Ferrari in her sights, closing in fast!"

Her brother, Charles. She could see his scarlet Ferrari just ahead, and for a brief moment, a flash of memories filled her mind—the two of them racing through the streets of Monaco as kids, dreaming of the day they'd go wheel-to-wheel on the grandest stage.

But this wasn't childhood anymore. This was Formula 1. And she wasn't just here to race her brother. She was here to beat him.

The chicane after the tunnel approached fast, but she had no fear. She had only precision, timing, and the gut instinct that had carried her to where she stood today. She darted to the outside, and in a daring move, she braked late—far later than anyone would have dared—and shot past the Ferrari, the screech of tires and gasps of the crowd behind her.

"She's done it! Vivienne Leclerc overtakes Charles Leclerc in one of the boldest moves we've seen all season!"

The radios buzzed with shock. The grandstands exploded in cheers. Vivienne didn't have time to react; her mind was already in the next corner, the next challenge. No celebration yet, not until the checkered flag waved. Not until the world knew that the name Leclerc didn't just belong to her brother anymore.

She was here to win. She was here to write her own story.

The final lap was a blur. Everything came down to this—the strategy, the preparation, the years of sacrifice. As she flew around the final corner, the finish line was in sight, the checkered flag waving frantically. The noise of the fans, the pounding of her heart, and the commentary blended into one symphony of victory. She crossed the line.

"VIVIENNE LECLERC TAKES P1! AN EXTRAORDINARY FINISH, HER FIRST WIN IN MONACO, AND A HISTORIC VICTORY FOR AUDI!"

She had done it. Her name etched in history, not as the sister of Charles Leclerc, but as Vivienne—the Vivienne Leclerc.

But this was only the beginning. The world was watching. And she was ready for whatever came next.

Her legacy was just getting started.