national treasures| Charles Leclerc

twenty-six

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It's a quiet moment in the paddock, the noise of the race weekend muffled just enough that I can hear my own thoughts. 

Camille is nearby, talking with Lewis, her laugh rising above the usual hum of the crowd. 

I want to go over to her, to talk, but something stops me. 

The tension between us feels like an invisible wall, one I've spent so long trying to break down.

I've been thinking about this for days now—how to find the words to make her see me. 

Not the Charles who left her all those years ago, not the one who made mistakes and ran from what we had. 

No. 

The man I am now. 

The one who's learned, who's grown, who understands the weight of his own actions. 

But how do I get her to see that?

I need to be honest with her. 

Really honest. 

Vulnerable, even.

Taking a deep breath, I step forward, moving toward her and Lewis. 

My pulse quickens with the thought of what I'm about to do. 

I've never shared this part of myself with anyone, not like this. 

But if I'm going to have any chance of mending what's broken between us, I have to show her the truth of who I am now.

I interrupt their conversation softly, my voice lower than usual. "Camille, can we talk for a second?"

Her eyes meet mine, a flicker of something in them—suspicion, maybe, or hesitation. 

She's still guarded, but I can't back down now. 

Not when I'm this close.

"Of course," she says, her tone polite but distant, as though she's unsure what to expect.

I motion for her to follow me to a quieter corner of the paddock, away from the prying eyes of the media. 

As soon as we're out of earshot, I turn to face her, my heart pounding in my chest. 

The words I've been rehearsing feel like they've tangled themselves into a mess of emotion.

"I've never told anyone this, but... when I was younger, before racing became my whole world, I had a different dream. A simpler one. I wanted to be like my father, someone who could just be there for the people he loved, not just for the spotlight or the races."

I pause, my throat tightening. 

"But I got so caught up in everything—the fame, the pressure—that I lost sight of that. I lost sight of what really mattered."

Her expression softens slightly, but she doesn't interrupt. 

I take that as a sign to continue.

"I never wanted to hurt you, Camille. I was so scared, so unsure of who I was becoming, that I pushed you away. I ran. And now... now I see the consequences of that every day. I see how much I lost in the process." 

I take a breath, feeling exposed in a way I never have before. 

"I don't expect you to forgive me overnight, but I need you to know that I'm not the same person who made that decision. I'm different now. I just... I needed you to know that."

There's a long silence between us. I watch her carefully, searching for any sign of what she's thinking. 

I don't know what I was expecting, but the quiet is heavy. 

I can feel my heart beating in my ears, waiting for her response.

Finally, she looks up at me, her expression unreadable.

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I look up at Charles, the weight of his words sinking in. 

For the first time in a long time, he's not the confident, guarded driver I once knew. He's raw, open, and vulnerable. 

It's a side of him I haven't seen in years, and it catches me off guard. 

I thought I had built up enough walls around myself to never let anyone in again, but in this moment, those walls start to crack.

His admission about his father, his dream, and how he lost sight of what mattered makes something shift in me. 

I've always known Charles had layers, but hearing him speak so openly, so honestly, it's like I'm seeing a new side of him—one that is human, flawed, and real.

I feel the hesitation in my chest, the same fear I've had for years—fear of getting hurt again, of opening myself to him and finding that I'm still the one who gets left behind. 

But something about this moment feels different. 

I want to believe it's different.

I take a deep breath, my heart racing, and decide to speak. 

I'm not sure what will come out, but I know it's time to share something with him. 

Something I've kept locked away for so long.

"I never told you this," I begin, my voice shaky. 

"But when you left, when you cut things off with me, it was like everything I had worked for, everything I thought I was, disappeared. I felt like I wasn't enough, like I wasn't important enough to stay in your life. And I've carried that with me ever since." 

I swallow hard, the lump in my throat thick. 

"I thought if I just focused on racing, on proving myself, I could outrun that feeling. But I haven't been able to. Not really."

I look at him, my eyes meeting his, and for the first time in a long time, I see something different in his gaze. 

There's no judgment, no pressure. 

Just understanding.

"I don't know if I can forget everything that happened, Charles," I continue, my voice more steady now. "But maybe I can start forgiving. Maybe... maybe I can start trying again."

The words hang in the air, fragile and uncertain, but they feel like a weight lifted. 

For so long, I thought the anger and the hurt would define me, that I'd never be able to let go. 

But now, with him standing here, so vulnerable, I feel like I'm finally able to breathe again.

Charles steps a little closer, his expression soft. 

"You don't have to forget, Camille. I wouldn't ask you to. But if you're willing to try, I'm here."

I nod slowly, my heart thumping in my chest. 

I don't know what the future holds for us, but for the first time in years, I feel like maybe there's room for something new—something that might just be worth fighting for.