Enemies to lovers // C. Leclerc x C. Sainz

Chapter 2: The Breaking Point

{{[C H A R L E S' POV]}}

The roar of the engines filled the air as the cars lined up on the grid. It was race day, and the tension was palpable. The heat of the tarmac mixed with the anticipation of the crowd, creating an electrifying atmosphere. I sat in my car, gripping the steering wheel, my mind focused on the task ahead. The lights went out, and we surged forward, the race beginning with a burst of speed and precision. I navigated the first few corners, finding my rhythm and pushing the car to its limits. Every move was calculated, every decision critical. As the laps ticked by, I found myself in a fierce battle with Max Verstappen. His aggressive driving style and relentless pace were well-known, and today was no different. We jockeyed for position, neither willing to back down. Then it happened. In the heat of the battle, Max's car clipped the rear of mine, sending me into a spin. I fought to regain control, my heart pounding in my chest. The car skidded across the track, and I managed to avoid the barriers, but the damage was done. My race had been compromised. A surge of anger welled up inside me, hotter than the engine that roared beneath me. "What the hell was that?!" I shouted over the radio, my voice shaking with frustration. "He just hit me!" The response from the pit wall was calm, trying to defuse the situation. "We saw it, Charles. Focus on getting back in the race. We'll deal with it later." But I couldn't let it go. The red mist had descended, clouding my judgment. As I re-joined the track, I could see Max ahead, his car unscathed and continuing to push forward. The anger bubbled over, and I found myself pushing harder, my driving becoming more aggressive. "He's not getting away with this," I muttered, my grip on the steering wheel tightening. I closed the gap, my focus laser-sharp. The world narrowed to just the two of us, the other cars fading into the background. I could feel the rage fuelling me, driving me to take risks I normally wouldn't consider. "Charles, keep it clean," the voice over the radio cautioned. "We need to finish the race." But the warning fell on deaf ears. My mind was consumed by the need to reclaim my position, to show Max that he couldn't push me around. I made a daring move on the inside, forcing my way past him. The cars brushed against each other, the tension palpable. For a moment, I felt a surge of satisfaction. I had made my point. But the aggressive driving had taken its toll. My tires were wearing down, and the car wasn't handling as well as it should. I could hear the team over the radio, their concern evident. "Charles, you need to back off. You're risking the car." I gritted my teeth, the anger still simmering. But I knew they were right. Pushing any harder would only lead to disaster. I took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm inside me. The focus shifted back to finishing the race, to doing the best I could with the situation I had been dealt. As the race drew to a close, I crossed the finish line, my position far from where I had hoped. The frustration was still there, but it was tempered by a sense of reality. Racing was as much about managing emotions as it was about skill and strategy. In the paddock, I climbed out of the car, ripping off my helmet. Max was already there, his expression a mix of defiance and indifference. I walked over, my steps heavy with unresolved anger.

"What's your problem, Max?" I demanded, my voice low but intense. "You can't just hit people off the track!"

He shrugged, his demeanour infuriatingly casual. "It's racing, Charles. Deal with it."

I felt the urge to retaliate, to escalate the confrontation. But I forced myself to take a step back. This wasn't the place or the time. The anger would need to be addressed, but not here. Back in the Ferrari garage, the team gathered around, their expressions a mix of support and concern. The race might be over, but the season was long, and there would be more battles ahead. I knew I needed to find a way to manage my emotions, to channel that intensity into something constructive. "Good job getting back in the race, Charles," one of the engineers said. "We'll review the incident and take it from there." I nodded, the anger still simmering but beginning to fade. The road ahead was challenging, and I needed to stay focused. Max and I would meet again on the track, and I was determined to be ready. As the sun set over the paddock, I took a deep breath, steeling myself for the battles to come. Racing was a test of skill, strategy, and emotion. Today, I had faced a challenge and learned a valuable lesson. The game had changed, but I was ready to play.