Driven by Fate- CHARLES LECLERC

Decisions, Victory, and Everything After

POV: Carlotta Damian

The car roared beneath me, a beast of speed and precision. Each lap was flawless, each corner an exercise in control. The fans, the team, even the other drivers blurred into the background as I focused on one thing—winning.

With every lap, I couldn't help but think about the future. Ferrari, Red Bull, McLaren... the offers were there, hanging in the air like a promise. The idea of leaving F2 was growing in me, and I knew, deep down, that if the opportunity came, I'd accept. Formula 1 was the ultimate goal, and I was ready to take that leap.

Lap after lap, my confidence grew. The gap between me and the car behind, Carlos, widened slightly with each turn. As I approached the final laps, my radio crackled to life.

"Damian, last lap. Bring it home."

I breathed deeply, the adrenaline surging through my veins as I flew through the final turns, the finish line in sight.

"And Carlotta Damian crosses the line—SHE WINS THE GRAND PRIX!" the commentator's voice boomed, excitement spilling through every word. "What an incredible performance! She's dominated from start to finish. What a talent we're seeing here, ladies and gentlemen!"

I crossed the line, my heart racing faster than the car beneath me. I'd done it.

Victory.

The team's radio filled my ears with cheers. "Carlotta, you did it! P1, baby! Incredible drive!"

A smile spread across my face as I started the cooling lap. The engine hummed contently as if it, too, was celebrating. I parked the car in front of the giant white sign marked "1", and stepped out onto the track. The moment was surreal. I climbed up onto the nose of my car, standing tall with both arms raised in my signature victory gesture—rock horns, with my index and pinky fingers extended, fists closed tight.

The fans erupted into cheers, their voices a deafening roar as they chanted my name. "Damian! Damian!"

I hopped down, running straight to my team. The embrace was tight, filled with joy and pride. Each member congratulated me, and though my helmet was still on, I smiled so wide I thought it might break my face.

Post-race interviews were next. I pulled off my helmet and shook my hair free, still buzzing with adrenaline.

"An incredible victory, Carlotta," the interviewer started. "How are you feeling after such a dominant race?"

I grinned, still catching my breath. "It feels amazing. The car was perfect, the team did an incredible job, and I'm just... over the moon. I gave it everything today, and it paid off. I'm hoping this is just the beginning, and, hopefully, F1 is on the horizon for me soon."

The interviewer smiled. "We can't wait to see that! Congratulations again!"

The podium ceremony was a whirlwind of emotions. Carlos stood in second, Piastri in third. Max and Charles had fought hard but finished just behind. When the Italian national anthem played, a wave of pride hit me. I was standing here, first place, with the world watching.

As the champagne bottles popped, I aimed mine at Carlos and Piastri, drenching them both in the sticky sweetness of victory. The team below the podium cheered as I sprayed them, laughing as they tried to dodge the spray.

I was handed the trophy, a shining symbol of everything we had achieved, and a medal that hung heavy around my neck. The applause rang out as I looked into the crowd, seeing familiar faces, feeling the energy from everyone who had believed in me.

As I stepped down, something caught my attention. Max was off to the side, arguing with his father, frustration written all over his face. He stormed away, clearly upset. I didn't hesitate—I followed him, catching up just outside the paddock.

"Hey," I called, pulling the medal from around my neck. "Here. This belongs to you."

Max stopped, confused, but took the medal. "What are you doing?" he asked, his tone guarded.

I smiled. "I don't need it. I'll see you on track next time, and we'll see who's better then, right?"

He stared at the medal for a moment, then at me. "You're crazy, Damian."

"Maybe," I said with a grin, walking away.

Charles was standing alone nearby, looking unusually downcast. He hadn't performed as well as he'd hoped, and it showed. I couldn't leave him like that. Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out my silver bracelet, the one I always wore, inscribed with The Right Person.

"Here," I said, handing it to him. "You've earned this."

Charles looked at me, surprised. "Carlotta, I can't—"

"Yes, you can. I want you to have it. You're going to be the right person at the right time, trust me."

He smiled, taking the bracelet. "Thank you."

After a whirlwind of interviews and congratulations, I finally stepped out of the paddock, carrying the real trophy back to my hotel. The team would get a replica, but this one was mine to keep.

On the flight home, exhaustion hit me like a freight train. I sank into my seat and drifted into a deep sleep, the events of the day replaying in my mind like a dream.

When I woke up, I was back in Monaco, the world outside the plane glittering in the early morning light. As I unpacked my bags, something shiny caught my eye, nestled carefully inside the box that held my trophy. A bracelet, this time not mine, but one with the initials C&L engraved on it.

Leclerc.

I smiled, pulling out my phone. Snapping a quick photo with the bracelet around my wrist, I sent the picture to Charles with a simple message: Thanks. It looks great.

Later, as I settled into the calm of my room, my phone buzzed again. This time, it was Daniel.

"You've made quite an impression on Charles and Max today," he said, a hint of amusement in his voice. "We should all get together in Monaco soon. What do you think?"

I laughed softly, already knowing my answer. "Sounds good to me. Let's make it happen."