Ellie Marceau had lived in Monaco her whole life. The glitz, the yachts, the whispered affairs—it was all part of the scenery. She worked as a freelance interpreter, fluent in four languages and emotionally unavailable in all of them.
Until she met Charles Leclerc.
It was supposed to be a one-time gig. Ferrari needed a translator for a private event with high-profile Italian sponsors. Ellie wasn't even a motorsports fan—cars were just background noise to the city she'd grown up in.
But then she saw him.
Charles.
His smile didn't look like it belonged on magazine covers. It looked real. It disarmed her. And when he shook her hand and said, "I hope you're not too bored translating all this nonsense," she laughed. Actually laughed.
That was the beginning.
The thing about beginnings is, they don't warn you how brutal the endings will be.
They started seeing each other quietly. Dinner in hidden rooftops. Walks after midnight along Port Hercules. She loved how normal he made everything feel.
He loved how unimpressed she was by the fame.
Ellie never cared about the cameras, the fandom, the red uniforms. She only cared when his eyes found hers across a room, and he mouthed, "You okay?"
But dating Charles came with a price.
He wasn't just Charles. He was Leclerc.
The golden boy of Ferrari. The hometown hero. The driver with all of Monaco resting on his shoulders.
And Ellie—just a girl from the same city—was suddenly thrust into a world she didn't ask to be part of.
The whispers started first.
"She's a nobody."
"Just a phase."
"She won't last the season."
Then came the press. Paparazzi outside her apartment. Articles about her "mysterious past"—as if being a translator was suspicious.
Charles tried to shield her, but he was drowning in pressure too. The 2024 season was brutal. DNFs. Pit stop chaos. Team orders that made no sense.
"I'm losing everything," he told her once, staring at the ceiling in her apartment, sleepless at 3 a.m.
"You're not losing me," she said, running her fingers through his hair.
He didn't say it back.
The first real fight was in Zandvoort.
She flew out to surprise him.
He didn't look happy to see her.
"You shouldn't be here," he said, jaw tight. "There's enough noise already."
"I'm not noise, Charles."
But that's how it started to feel. Like she was one more thing he had to manage.
He apologized later. Of course he did. With flowers and his forehead pressed to hers and that familiar line: "You keep me grounded."
But Ellie didn't want to be an anchor dragging him down.
She wanted to be chosen.
It all came to a head in Suzuka.
Charles crashed in qualifying.
Everyone blamed the car. The team. The track.
Ellie blamed herself.
She'd texted him right before he went out.
