Race and Enemys

Real Life

Evelyn Parker adjusted her sunglasses, surveying the circuit below as the roar of engines reverberated through the stands. The Dutch Grand Prix was an ocean of orange, the crowd a pulsing mass of energy, all for Max. He'd invited her, of course—his most loyal fan, his best friend. She'd be lying if she said she didn't love the rush, the thrill of it all, even if it was a stark contrast to the polished world of galas and banquets the Parker name usually tied her to.

Reporters drifted near her VIP suite, aiming their cameras and microphones in her direction. She was, after all, the Evelyn Parker—the billionaire heiress who embodied everything pristine and perfect, from her couture wardrobe to her flawless demeanor. The media couldn't resist, especially with her presence here in Max's corner. They hungered for some hint of drama, a headline to fill tomorrow's papers: "Parker Heiress Sighting: Evelyn Supports Verstappen at His Home Grand Prix."

And just like that, a reporter edged closer, microphone in hand and smile too eager. "Ms. Parker! A moment, please?"

"Of course," Evelyn replied smoothly, glancing quickly at the cameras aimed at her. She'd mastered this a long time ago—the subtle, carefully crafted responses her mother had taught her. A Parker is elegance embodied, Evelyn; never give too much of yourself away, her mother's words echoed in her mind.

"It's wonderful to see you here at Zandvoort supporting Max Verstappen. I think fans would love to know what keeps you two so close after all these years," the reporter probed, her expression warm but keen.

Evelyn's smile remained, perfectly serene. "Max and I have been friends for years. We've been through a lot together, and I'll always support him. He's worked incredibly hard for this, and I wouldn't miss it for anything."

The reporter's eyes gleamed. "And what do you make of the rivalry between Max and Charles Leclerc? Some say they're at each other's throats."

A flicker of tension passed through Evelyn. She'd been with Max through it all, from the days when he and Charles had once been friends to the simmering animosity that had grown between them. The two drivers were relentless competitors, but it went beyond the track—it was personal. They were complete opposites in almost every way, their dynamic a volatile mix of ambition, pride, and grudges both had long held close.

She glanced down at the Ferrari team's section of the pit wall, where Charles Leclerc stood, oblivious to her gaze. The Monegasque driver had a calm, steely focus as he reviewed data with his engineers, unfazed by the media storm around him. Evelyn didn't know him beyond what she'd read in the press, but she could see why he and Max clashed. Charles was calculated, patient, everything Max wasn't. And yet, they were both driven, uncompromising in their pursuit of victory, and neither was willing to step down from their rivalry.

"I think rivalries are just part of the sport," Evelyn replied, choosing her words carefully. "Max and Charles both have a passion for winning. It's intense, but that's what makes them the drivers they are."

The reporter nodded, satisfied for now, but before she could press further, Evelyn's gaze caught something unexpected—a figure in red making his way through the crowd, clearly headed in her direction.

Charles Leclerc.

She held her breath, not because of his reputation but from sheer surprise. Charles never approached Max's team or their guests. Their unspoken rule was to keep as much distance as possible. Yet here he was, his confident stride unmistakable, his gaze fixed directly on her. The cameras noticed immediately, their flashes intensifying, catching every second of this unexpected encounter.

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