national treasures| Charles Leclerc

thirteen

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I'm walking through the paddock, minding my own business, when I hear his voice.

It's a sound I've been trying to tune out, trying to forget. 

But there it is, unmistakable and too close for comfort.

I glance over my shoulder, my steps faltering for a moment when I spot Charles standing with his Ferrari teammates. 

They're talking, laughing, casually like everything is normal—like they don't know the history between us, like they've never seen us together.

I try to ignore them, but then I catch a few words.

"I have to admit, Camille's been impressive this season," Charles says, his voice light but with an edge of sincerity that almost catches me off guard. 

"She's been putting in the work. I'm not surprised she made it to the podium today. She's always had that drive."

I stop dead in my tracks, the words unexpectedly hitting me. 

It's not the first time I've heard him say something nice about me in passing, but something about this feels different.

It's too casual, too offhand like he's saying it because it's expected, not because he means it. 

I know him too well to be fooled by the charm he's putting on for his teammates.

I keep walking, but my mind races. 

The moment he's finished speaking, they laugh again, and the conversation moves on. 

But I can't shake the words, can't shake the feeling that they're hollow.

I want to believe him. 

I really do. 

But after everything we've been through—after how he left without a word, how he made promises he never kept—I can't help but wonder if this is just another part of his act.

Maybe he's just being polite for the cameras. 

Maybe this is his way of making sure no one thinks there's bad blood between us.

I feel a pang of frustration twist in my chest. 

I don't know why it bothers me so much.

It shouldn't matter—he's the one who disappeared, the one who left me behind without a second thought.

But hearing him speak about me like that, so easily, so publicly, makes everything feel... unresolved. 

Like all the pain, all the questions, they're still lingering, just below the surface, waiting for me to make sense of them.

I wish I could stop caring. 

I wish I could tell myself that his words don't matter, that I don't need them to move on. 

But here I am, standing in the middle of the paddock, feeling like I've been knocked off balance all over again.

I shake my head, trying to push the thoughts away. 

I can't keep dwelling on him, on his words, on the past. 

I've worked too hard to get where I am now to let anything—especially Charles—undermine that.

But as I walk toward my team, I can't help but feel like I'm still stuck in that old place, unsure of how to break free.

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The cameras are rolling, and I try to keep my expression neutral as I sit in the chair, the bright lights almost blinding. 

It's just another interview for Drive to Survive, but something about today feels different.

I've done this a hundred times—questions about racing, about the team, about the usual drama that comes with F1. 

But today, the interviewer seems to have a different angle in mind.

He leans forward, a glint in his eye as he glances at his notes. 

"We've seen a lot of Camille Thomas in the media lately, especially with her impressive results. But let's dive a little deeper—how do you feel about her family background? She's had a pretty tough upbringing, and I imagine that must've shaped her a lot. Do you think that's impacted her racing career?"

The question hangs in the air, and for a split second, I'm caught off guard. 

I wasn't expecting this—personal, invasive, and completely unnecessary. 

The interviewer's trying to get some sort of soundbite, maybe stir things up for the show, but the moment he says "family background," I feel something shift in me.

I know what he's implying. 

The media loves to dissect Camille's past, to put her under a microscope, to question her strength or her ability. 

It's been the same since she broke into F1—always more than just her talent, always more about who she is, and where she comes from.

And it makes my blood boil.

I lean forward, catching the interviewer's eye. 

I can feel the tension building, the camera's lens trained on me. 

But something in me knows I can't let this slide. 

I won't let them use Camille's family as some sort of narrative to diminish who she is, to turn her story into some sort of sob story just for the sake of drama.

"Camille is one of the strongest people I know," I say, my voice steady but firm. 

"Her family background has shaped her, yes. But it's shaped her into someone who fights for what she wants, who doesn't back down, no matter what life throws at her. That's what makes her such a strong competitor in this sport."

The interviewer raises an eyebrow, clearly trying to push further. 

"But do you think her past has affected her, you know, her approach to racing?"

I feel my jaw tighten, but I don't look away. 

"I think you're missing the point. Camille's past doesn't define her—it's her present, her work ethic, and her passion for the sport that drives her. What happened in the past is just that—history. It doesn't take away from the fact that she's one of the most talented drivers on the grid."

I can feel the weight of the words as they leave my mouth. 

There's no hesitation, no second-guessing. 

Camille deserves to be recognized for her talent and her grit, not for the circumstances she was born into.

The interviewer seems to sense that I'm not going to give him the drama he's looking for, and there's a flicker of frustration in his eyes. 

"So, no regrets about how things ended between you two?"

I let out a small, almost imperceptible sigh. 

This is where it always comes back to, isn't it? 

The history between us. 

But I won't let that distract from what I just said.

I stand up, signalling the end of the interview. 

There's no more to say, not here, not now.

And in that moment, I realize that defending Camille, and standing up for her, is something I'll do no matter where we are or what's been said in the past.

I can't change what happened between us, but I'll be damned if I let anyone tear her down now.