The evening glow hung low over the circuit, casting a golden hue as the Monaco Grand Prix weekend approached. Charles Leclerc had stayed a bit later than usual at the track, making the most of the time before practice laps the next day. He was deep in thought, focused on the race—until a laugh cut through the air. Looking over his shoulder, Charles spotted a woman standing by one of the paddock garages, talking animatedly with Lando Norris.
She had Lando’s mischievous smile and the same bright glint in her eyes. He recognized her from pictures online—Lando’s sister, Y/N.
Lando caught sight of Charles staring and grinned, waving him over. “Leclerc! Meet my sister, Y/N,” Lando said with a casual shrug, as if he hadn’t just introduced Charles to one of the most famous faces in the paddock. “She came to watch me this weekend, though I’m sure she’ll tell you she’s here for all the cars, not just McLaren.”
“Guilty as charged,” Y/N laughed, extending a hand to Charles. “It’s a pleasure. I’ve heard a lot about you—though, thankfully, not all of it from Lando.”
Charles grinned, sensing the brotherly teasing that had likely taken place. “Nice to meet you, Y/N. I hope Lando’s stories were somewhat… fair?”
She gave him a playful smile. “He may have left out your Monaco heartbreaks, but I know about them all the same. But I hear you’re unstoppable this year,” she said, her eyes flickering with excitement and kindness.
He nodded, feeling surprisingly at ease under her gaze. “I’ll try not to disappoint.”
The trio chatted for a while, but as the night wore on, Lando excused himself, claiming he had "a million pre-race routines to check off." It wasn’t lost on him that his sister and Charles seemed to be hitting it off better than expected.
The next day was a whirlwind for both drivers. Charles focused on his practice runs, finding his rhythm and getting a feel for the track. He thought little of the previous evening, his mind entirely on the race. But as he parked back in the paddock, he caught a glimpse of Y/N again, cheering with a few other McLaren fans, her eyes lighting up as she noticed him.
After practice, Charles found himself wandering over, his heart beating just a bit faster. “Did you enjoy the laps?” he asked her.
“More than you’d think,” she replied with a smile. “It’s one thing watching on TV, but being here… you feel the energy of every turn.”
They ended up exploring the paddock together, talking about everything from childhood memories to the pressures of the track. Y/N’s warmth and humor charmed him, and soon, Charles found himself wanting to see her as much as he wanted to win the race.
By race day, Charles was nervous. His entire family was there to support him, and his team had put in their all to get him ready. But there was something else—a strange mix of excitement and anticipation that had nothing to do with the Grand Prix. As he looked up at the stands before taking his spot on the grid, he saw Y/N, her smile bright and encouraging. She gave him a thumbs-up, and in that moment, the noise of the crowd seemed to fall away.
The lights went out, and Charles took off. The race was intense, with cars skimming around him, his reflexes honed and sharp. As he fought through each corner, he felt Y/N’s encouragement with every turn. In the end, Charles didn’t win that day, but he did make the podium.
After the race, he looked up and saw her waiting near the McLaren garage, clapping with unabashed pride. Ignoring the cameras and the reporters, Charles made his way over to her, still in his racing suit, his face beaming.
“Well done, Leclerc,” she teased, though her smile was genuine. “That was incredible.”
“I’ll do even better next time,” he said, catching his breath, “especially if you’re there to watch.”
She laughed, giving him a knowing look. “Is that your way of asking me to come to every race now?”
He shrugged, trying to hide his grin. “Maybe. Or maybe just asking you to dinner.”
And as they walked away from the track together, Charles realized that sometimes the best victories weren’t always about crossing the finish line first.
