Driven by Fate- CHARLES LECLERC

The Final Showdown

POV: Carlotta Damian

Abu Dhabi. The place where dreams come true, or crumble under the weight of expectations. I had qualified on pole for the final race of the F2 season, and the excitement pulsed through my veins like electricity. The track glistened under the desert sun, and the roar of engines reverberated through the air, a symphony that only motorsport lovers could understand.

I stood with my team, tension high, but confidence radiating from all of us. We had worked for this moment. I had worked for this. My race engineer came over the radio during qualifying, his voice steady but filled with pride.

"Alright, Carlotta. P1 confirmed. Amazing lap, you absolutely nailed it."

I exhaled, a mixture of relief and exhilaration washing over me. "P1? Wow. Thanks guys!" I replied, a smile creeping across my face under the helmet. "Let's finish strong tomorrow."

Qualifying had been intense, each lap pushing me and the car to the edge. But I had made it. Now, I just needed to finish what I started.

Later that afternoon, I was in my changing room, trying to relax, but my mind was still buzzing from the adrenaline of the day. I lay back on the little sofa, closing my eyes, just needing a moment of peace before the storm of tomorrow.

A knock on the door broke the quiet.

I hesitated for a second before getting up to answer. When I opened the door, there was Charles, standing there with that familiar smile. Before I could say anything, he leaned in and kissed me, his lips soft but urgent against mine. My heart skipped a beat, and I quickly closed the door behind us, fumbling with the lock before he kissed me again, more intensely this time.

"I couldn't leave without wishing you good luck," he whispered, his hands sliding under my race suit, his touch sending a shiver down my spine.

I let out a soft moan, kissing him back, our laughter filling the room like we were two teenagers sneaking around. It felt reckless, it felt dangerous, but it also felt so right.

"Good luck," he said again, stealing one last kiss before heading toward the door. "You'll be amazing."

With a final smile, he slipped out, leaving me with my heart racing for more than just the upcoming race.

LIGHTS OUT AND HERE WE GO!

The race had begun. I shot off the line like a bullet, my focus narrowing to the track ahead. Every corner, every straight felt like a dance I had rehearsed a thousand times, but today it was different. This was for the championship.

The laps flew by, each one more exhausting than the last. Sweat poured down my face, my hands gripping the wheel tighter with every turn. The competition was fierce, but I held my ground, refusing to let anyone take the lead.

Lap after lap, I stayed in front, my car responding perfectly to every command. And then, finally, the checkered flag waved. I crossed the finish line, victorious.

"P1, Carlotta! World Champion!" my engineer's voice rang through my helmet. "You did it! You're the world champion!"

Tears welled up in my eyes, my breath catching in my throat. I pulled off my helmet, letting the tears fall as I placed it gently on top of the car. The screen in front of me flashed a video of my celebration, the words "WORLD CHAMPION" displayed in bold letters.

I stepped out of the car, my legs shaky, and I knelt before it in reverence. The crowd roared, chanting my name. Damian, Damian, Damian.

The fans turned up the volume on Keep Up, the song that had become my anthem, and the familiar beat reverberated through the stands.

I smiled and pointed at the crowd, joining in with the little dance that had become a meme, a symbol of my tenacity. Even when the car was slow, I always brought it home in the points. Today, I brought it home for the title.

The Arab prince approached me, handing me the shining trophy. It was heavy, and as I lifted it high above my head, the weight of it settled in—a culmination of years of hard work, sacrifice, and determination.

My team gathered around, hugging me tightly. Their faces were a mix of pride and joy, and they handed me a small box. I opened it and found a beautifully crafted bracelet with something written on it. It says: Always a part of us, 8.It was delicate, but strong—just like the journey we'd been on together. The number 8 was the number I chose to race with, because if you turn it around it formed a ♾️. I burst into tears, overwhelmed by the emotions of the moment.

"Thank you, thank you guys for everything," I managed to say, hugging each of them. "These past two years have been the best of my life."

After the celebrations, I joined the crowd to watch the F1 race. Naturally, I was rooting for Charles, but the battle for the championship was fierce. In the end, Max Verstappen took the title once again, his third consecutive championship.

With the races done, I made my way back to the paddock, catching sight of Andrea, Charles' trainer. "Where's Charles?" I asked.

"In his room. He's taking it hard," Andrea said with a sigh.

I nodded and made my way to his door, knocking gently. When the door opened, Charles stood there, looking utterly defeated. Without saying a word, I pulled him into my arms and kissed him all over his face, wiping away the sadness that lingered in his eyes.

"It's okay," I whispered. "Next year, we're going to win. Together. I promise."

Charles finally smiled, pulling me closer. "I love you," he said softly, and my heart soared.

"I love you too," I whispered, before his lips claimed mine again, this time with a fierceness that made me weak in the knees.

We held each other close, not needing to say anything more. The world outside could wait—because in that moment, we had each other, and we had next season.

Later that night, as we lay in each other's arms, I thought about the future. The challenges, the victories, and the moments that would define us. It was just the beginning.