national treasures| Charles Leclerc

thirty-three

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It feels like the media is everywhere. 

Cameras are inescapable, and the headlines—they're relentless. 

Every single day, there's a new story, a new angle. 

"Is Camille ready for the pressure of a public relationship?" 

"Can she handle the personal and professional juggle?" 

They're not just questioning her abilities as a driver, but our connection, too.

 It's like they've decided that if they can't tear us apart, they'll at least make us second-guess everything.

I can feel the frustration bubbling up inside me, that tight knot in my chest every time another reporter asks me the same damn questions. 

Why can't they just leave us alone? 

Why does it matter so much to them? 

The truth is, it's not just about us anymore—it's about the story they want to tell, the narrative they can create, regardless of what it means for us.

I've always hated the attention that comes with being in F1, but this—this is different. 

It's personal. 

It's about Camille. 

And no matter how many times I tell myself that I can handle it, that we can handle it, I feel the weight of it all pulling at me.

I want to protect her.

I want to shield her from the chaos, the invasive questions, the scrutiny that seems to follow us at every turn. 

But the truth is, I can't keep hiding. 

The moment we were spotted together, it was like the floodgates opened, and there was no going back. 

It feels like I'm walking a tightrope, trying to balance everything, trying to be there for her, while also managing the fallout of the public eye.

Some days, it feels like we're just one step away from falling. 

The criticism is louder than the support, and it's starting to wear on me. 

Camille's strong, stronger than I could ever be in this situation. 

But I see it in her eyes, too—the way the pressure gets to her, how it chips away at her confidence. 

And that's when I wonder if I'm doing enough. 

If I'm doing the right things to help her.

I want to be the one she can lean on, the one who can take some of the weight off her shoulders. 

But how do you protect someone when the whole world is watching? 

How do you keep someone safe when the very thing you're trying to shield them from is the same thing you're constantly facing yourself?

I can't help but feel like I'm failing. 

I wish there was a way to make it stop—to turn off the cameras, to shut out the noise. 

But that's not the reality we're living in. 

The only thing I can do now is stand beside her, face the storm together, and hope that we can find our way through it without losing who we are in the process.

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Every headline feels like a blow, each one landing with a heaviness I can't seem to shake. 

The articles ask the same questions over and over.

"Is she professional enough to handle F1?" 

"Can she balance a personal life with the pressure of racing?" 

And then there's the added scrutiny of Charles—how the media twists every look, every gesture between us, questioning if he's a distraction or a support.

But the truth is, I know this isn't just about me anymore. 

It's about all of us. 

It's about the way our relationship—our private, fragile thing—is now a headline. 

It's not just my race times that are under a microscope; it's everything. 

Every move I make feels like it's being dissected and judged by people who know nothing about who I am or what I've been through.

I've always known that being in F1 would mean living under the spotlight. 

I've learned to handle the pressure that comes with being the first woman in this sport, but this—this is different. 

This feels like something I can't outrun. 

The judgment isn't just about my skills or my ability to race anymore; it's about me as a person. 

And I can't escape it.

Charles has always been my comfort, the person I could lean on when everything else felt too heavy. 

But now, it feels like even our moments together are under the microscope, like every look, every touch is open to interpretation. 

What was once private, once sacred, is now something for the world to see, and I can't help but feel exposed. 

There's no space for us to just be, to figure things out in our own time.

I know I'm stronger than I used to be. 

I've built a career in F1 despite all the odds. 

But lately, the weight of it all is starting to make me question if I'm truly ready for this. 

For the constant dissection of my life, my choices, my relationship.

I want to be with Charles.

I want to be who I was before, when everything was simpler and quieter. 

But now, it feels like the world's expectations are drowning out everything else. 

And I'm not sure if it's worth it anymore. 

Maybe some things are better left in the past—safe and untouched by the noise of the world.

But then I look at Charles, and I feel the pull again, the spark of what we had before, and I wonder if I can find a way to hold onto that while still navigating all of this. 

I want to believe that we can handle it, but the doubts are creeping in, and I'm unsure where the line is between what's worth fighting for and what's just too much to bear.