national treasures| Charles Leclerc

nineteen

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆

The noise is deafening, and it's hard to escape it.

Everywhere I turn, there's another headline, another article speculating about my relationship with Charles.

The media, as always, is looking for something to latch onto.

This time, it's a photo of us in the paddock after the race—nothing more than a fleeting moment captured by a photographer, but apparently, it's enough to fuel rumours once again.

I've learned to ignore a lot of what the media says about me, especially after everything with my family and the years of racing.

But when they start making assumptions about my personal life, it cuts deeper than I like to admit.

It's hard enough to navigate the pressure of being the first female driver in F1, but now it feels like I can't even exist without being scrutinized.

I slip into the driver's lounge, looking for some solitude, but of course, I run into Lewis.

He's sitting by the window, looking over race strategy notes on his tablet, but the second he notices my mood, he sets it down and looks at me with that calm, understanding gaze that makes him such a good friend.

"What's up?" he asks, his voice warm, but sharp enough to cut through my frustration.

I drop my bag onto the chair next to him and let out a long breath, my hands rubbing my face.

"It's just... the media again. They're still talking about Charles and me. It's getting ridiculous. Every time we're seen together, it's like they think we're on the verge of a dramatic reunion."

Lewis leans back, his eyes narrowing slightly as he takes in my words.

"I know how it feels. But you can't let them get to you, Camille. You've come so far. Your driving speaks louder than any headline ever will."

I know he's right, but it doesn't make the frustration go away.

"It's just hard when it feels like everything I do, everything I accomplish, is overshadowed by this narrative they're creating. I want to be known for my racing, not for the past I've tried to move on from."

Lewis gives me a small smile, the kind that feels like he's trying to reassure me without downplaying my frustration.

"You're more than just the headlines. You're one of the most talented drivers on this grid, and that's what people should be focusing on. But the media? They love drama. Let them have it. You just keep doing your thing."

I want to believe him.

I want to be able to shut out the noise and focus on the track, but it's hard when every race, every podium finish, feels like it's just another step in proving that I'm not just a side story in Charles' life.

I've spent so long fighting to be seen for who I am, not who I was.

"I just... I don't know if I can keep ignoring it," I admit, my voice quieter now. "Sometimes it feels like it's never going to stop."

Lewis nods, understanding the weight of it all.

"I get it. But you don't have to do it alone. I'm here, and I know you're strong enough to push through this. Focus on the next race. Focus on getting better with every lap. Let your driving answer them for you."

His words sink in deeper than I expect, and for the first time today, I feel a little lighter.

I've been holding so much in, fighting battles on all fronts—on the track, in the media, and within myself.