White Horse - Chapter 9: November 2023 - Part 1
White Horse - Chapter 9: November 2023 - Part 1
Pairing: Max Verstappen x Isabelle Leclerc (Original Character)
Summary:
Max Verstappen is a World Champion. Isabelle Leclerc is invisible.
She watched her family give up everything for Charles’ career—Arthur’s karting, their father’s savings, even her childhood horse. She understood. She never asked for more.
But Max does. He notices the things no one else does, listens when no one else will, and puts her first in ways she never imagined. With him, she isn’t an afterthought—she’s a choice. And for the first time, she realizes she doesn’t have to be invisible.
Warnings and Notes:
we have now moved on from Charles bashing to bashing his whole family, Discussions of toxic past relationships, talk about loosing a childhood pet, toxic families...I think that's it?
Part 1 of November, Part 2 will follow.
As always big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble
Meanwhile on Twitter:
@/PitLanePrincess: Isabelle Leclerc is the ultimate fashion inspiration for people who actually have to get dressed for work. A thread on why she’s the best follow if you want outfits that are stylish and wearable. 🧵⬇️
@/PitLanePrincess: Love the WAGs who serve high fashion, but let’s be real—I am not showing up to a Monday meeting in a full Mugler catsuit. Isabelle? She gives you real outfits. Blazer, midi skirt, chic top = effortless.
@/PitLanePrincess: She mixes high and low so well, but the best part? She actually responds when people ask where things are from.
@/PitLanePrincess: She genuinely answers people??? I messaged her once about a bag, fully expecting nothing, and she just. Replied. Like a normal person.
@/PitLanePrincess: I swear she could afford to wear designer head-to-toe, but she chooses to mix H&M, Mango, and Zara with her Max Mara coats and Chanel flats. It’s aspirational but still possible.
@/PitLanePrincess: She rewears things!!! Some of these girls wear a $6K dress once and never again. Meanwhile, Isabelle’s been styling the same Max Mara coat for three years and making it look fresh.
@/PitLanePrincess: Also, she actually wears realistic shoes?? No five-inch stilettos, just sleek boots or comfy-yet-chic heels..
@/workwearqueen: If I ever ran into her in real life, I just know she’d be so sweet. Like, I could compliment her outfit, and she’d compliment mine back.
@/GridGossip: Some of these WAGs are giving editorial fantasy, which I love, but Isabelle is the one actually giving wearable inspiration.
@/everydayelevated: Isabelle Leclerc, if you see this, just know we appreciate you 🫶💖
***
The first time, Isabelle didn’t even think about it.
Max’s grey sweater—the one he practically lived in—had a hole in the sleeve. She watched him tug at the fraying threads absentmindedly, completely unaware of how worn it looked, how it sagged off his frame like it had given up.
So the next time she was out, she picked up a new one. Nothing dramatic. Same color. Same softness. Just... better. Better fabric. Better fit. Something that looked like him, only a little more cared for.
When she handed him the small box later that night, she hesitated—half-expecting him to shrug it off or barely notice.
"Your old one was falling apart," she said quickly, when he raised an eyebrow at the offering.
Max lifted the sweater out, turning it over in his hands. Then, with typical nonchalance, he peeled off the old one right there in the living room and tugged the new one on.
Isabelle watched carefully as he moved, adjusting the sleeves, testing the stretch.
After a moment, he nodded, satisfied. "Yeah. This is nice."
She exhaled, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. He didn’t realize it, but that was all the encouragement she needed.
After that, it started happening more and more.
A pair of jeans—no longer skin tight but a more relaxed fit that flattered his strong thighs… A new jacket—light, practical, something he would actually wear but wouldn’t make her wince when she saw it in photos.
She was careful. Isabelle never pushed, never tried to change how he dresses. Max liked simple, comfortable clothes, and she respected that.
She just made sure those things fit properly. Looked effortless instead of careless.
She told herself she wasn’t interfering.
She really meant to believe that.
But then Max walked into the living room one afternoon wearing an ancient Red Bull polo—wrinkled, slightly faded from too many washes—paired with sagging sweatpants that looked like they might give out at any moment.
Isabelle, mid-scroll on her phone, just... stopped.
Stared.
"Max, mon amour," she said carefully, setting her phone down. "Do you actually like that shirt?"
He looked down, frowning as if only now realizing what he was wearing. "Uh... yeah?"
"Are you sure?"
His frown deepened. "...Should I not?"
She sighed, standing up and crossing the room, smoothing down the skewed collar. "It's fine," she lied, fingers lingering longer than necessary. "But... you’re a world champion. You could look like it off-track too."
Max raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Are you saying I dress badly?"
Isabelle paused, choosing her words with painstaking care. "I’m saying... you have potential."
Max squinted at her, crossing his arms. "I wear what’s comfortable."
"I know," she said patiently. "But comfort and style aren’t enemies. You can have both."
Max narrowed his eyes, suspicious. "Are you planning something?"
"No," she said, way too quickly.
Which was how, the very next day, she dragged him into a high-end boutique in Monaco.
Max resisted, obviously. He grumbled when she handed him a proper button-down. Scoffed at the tailored jacket she picked out. Refused—loudly—the first two pairs of trousers she suggested.
It took a fair amount of coaxing—and maybe a few well-placed kisses—to get him into the fitting room.
But when he stepped out...
Isabelle knew.
She folded her arms across her chest and smirked as Max caught sight of himself in the mirror and visibly paused.
The sharp lines of the jacket, the way the button-down skimmed his frame, the clean, simple look that made him seem even more confident, even more himself—it was all there, clear as day.
"Huh," Max said, tilting his head.
"Huh," Isabelle echoed, smug.
Max frowned at his reflection, pulling at the jacket slightly, testing the fit. His mouth twitched—like he hated to admit it—but even he couldn’t deny what he saw.
"Alright," he muttered. "Maybe you have a point."
Isabelle beamed, grabbing another item off the rack with a glint in her eye.
"Good," she said, already handing it to him. "Because we’re just getting started."
***
Max learned pretty quickly that shopping with Isabelle wasn’t a quick in-and-out mission.
It was a strategic operation. A full-scale reorganization of his wardrobe. And apparently, his entire life.
At first, he protested. Loudly.
“I don’t need that many clothes,” he grumbled as she held up yet another impeccably tailored jacket, inspecting it with that critical little tilt of her head.
“Yes, you do,” Isabelle said without even looking at him. “You can’t wear Red Bull merch everywhere, Max.”
“I literally can,” he pointed out.
She gave him a look—the kind that somehow managed to say you absolute idiot without her even opening her mouth.
“And you shouldn’t,” she said sweetly.
He groaned, but he took the jacket from her anyway, grumbling under his breath as he did.
By the time they left the boutique, Max was carrying more bags than he had ever carried in his life.
He looked like a particularly fashionable pack mule.
He kept muttering about "overkill" and "consumerism," but every time they passed a shop window, he caught himself glancing sideways—checking the fit of his new coat, adjusting the collar just slightly. He thought Isabelle didn’t notice.
She noticed.
She just didn’t say anything. Smugness was a reward best delayed.
That night, Max thought the ordeal was over.
It wasn’t.
Isabelle helped him “put everything away”—which, he quickly realized, meant completely dismantling his existing wardrobe.
At first, she just meant to hang the new things up neatly. Then she opened the closet.
And froze.
"This is a disaster," she said, hands on her hips.
Max, lying sprawled across the bed and scrolling through his phone, barely glanced up. "It’s fine."
"It’s not fine," Isabelle said, already pulling out a hoodie that looked like it had been through a minor war.
Within minutes, there were piles everywhere—keep, donate, burn immediately—and Max could only watch as his closet was systematically conquered.
When she was finally done, the place looked... Organized. Manageable. Almost stylish.
Max sat up, surveying the damage. "Wow," he deadpanned. "It’s like I live here and yet I have no control over my own belongings."
Isabelle smirked, smoothing out a freshly hung blazer like a queen surveying her kingdom. "You don’t," she said, utterly unapologetic. "I do now."
Max shook his head but didn’t argue.
Instead, he stayed right where he was, watching her fold a few sweaters with that little furrow of concentration she always got when she was focused.
A thought crossed his mind, and he grinned.
"You’re enjoying this," he accused.
She shrugged, not even pretending to deny it. "I like making sure you look good."
Max swung his legs off the bed, stood, and crossed the room to wrap his arms around her from behind.
"I already do look good," he teased, resting his chin on her shoulder, feeling her laugh vibrate against him.
She hummed, pretending to think it over. "Hmm. You look better now."
Max laughed, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek. "Fine. You win."
Isabelle turned in his arms, smiling up at him like she knew exactly how thoroughly she had just triumphed.
"You’ll thank me later," she promised.
And he did.
When he walked into the paddock a few days later—wearing a properly fitted shirt, no skinny jeans, no wrinkled team hoodie in sight—he caught the double takes.
The subtle stares. The media whispers. Even a few casual compliments from people who usually didn’t say a word to him about anything off-track.
Max just smirked, tugging his new jacket straight as he passed by.
Yeah.
Isabelle was right.
Again.
And maybe—maybe—he didn’t mind at all.
***
Instagram Post: @/f1hq
Comments:
@/LightsOutMemez: Forget the championship. The biggest win of the season is whoever got Max out of those cursed skinny jeans.
↳@/PaddockSpy: Max Verstappen in an outfit that actually fits him… we are witnessing history.
↳@/ChecoMode: You’re telling me Max Verstappen had style potential this whole time and we never knew???
@/GridGossip: I don’t know what’s more shocking—the fact that Max won again or the fact that he did it while dressed like an actual style icon.
@/YukiFanClub: The only logical explanation is that Max’s girlfriend run interference. No man just wakes up one day and decides to dress better ON HIS OWN.
↳@/WAGWatch: Whoever picked this outfit, we thank you for your service.
↳@/RedBullChaos: This is definitely the work of a woman. And we love her for it.
↳@/PaddockSpy: I don’t know who’s responsible for Max Verstappen’s wardrobe glow-up, but I hope they’re having a great day.
@/ChecoP1: Max Verstappen’s biggest flex isn’t his trophies. It’s the fact that he now has functional drip.
↳@/MaxAndCats33: If he posts a mirror selfie in this outfit with his CATS, I’m actually going to lose my mind.
@/RedBullChaos: This is definitely the work of a woman. And we love her for it.
@/PaddockSpy: I don’t know who’s responsible for Max Verstappen’s wardrobe glow-up, but I hope they’re having a great day.
@/SoftLaunchDetective: First, he dresses better. Next, he starts smiling more. Before you know it, he’s dropping a blurry hand pic on his story.
↳@/DRSDrama: If this man posts one artsy Instagram story of his hand intertwined with someone else’s, I’m DONE.
@/FIAFits: The fact that it took this long for Max to upgrade his wardrobe tells me that he fought this change for MONTHS.
@/DTSTherapist: This is like when a man gets a haircut after years of looking the same and suddenly everyone realizes he’s actually attractive.
↳@/SoftLaunchAnon: Max Verstappen having a wardrobe evolution was not on my 2023 bingo card.
@/PaddockFashion: Okay but the best part is that it’s still so Max. Just… upgraded.
↳@/OversteerStyle: It’s like someone took his usual wardrobe and just refined it a little. No drastic changes, just subtle improvements.
↳@/TireDegTrends: He’s still wearing jeans, just… normal-fitting ones. And the shirt? Still casual, but suddenly it works.
↳@/StyleUnderCut: This is the equivalent of adding a subtle aero upgrade that shaves off two tenths per lap.
↳@/WAGWatch: Whoever did this didn’t erase Max’s essence, they just polished it. A true masterclass.
@/DriveToSurviveChaos: Netflix better not cut this from the next season. This is important.
***
The first thing Lewis Hamilton noticed when he walked into the paddock was not the weather, or the press, or even his own team's busy chatter.
It was Max Verstappen.
Specifically, Max Verstappen looking... polished.
Lewis actually stopped mid-step, doing a blatant double-take.
Max wasn't wearing the usual crumpled team polo and horrendous skinny jeans combo he seemed genetically programmed for. No. Today, Max was wearing dark, well-fitted jeans, a simple but perfectly tailored black jacket over a clean, crisp white t-shirt. His hair looked like it had seen a brush in the last 24 hours. His trainers were still comfortable, yes—but new. Coordinated.
Lewis stared at him like he was an alien.
"Am I in the wrong paddock?" Lewis muttered under his breath.
George Russell sidled up next to him, carrying a coffee, and followed his gaze.
He whistled low under his breath. "Well, well, well. Look who discovered fashion."
Lewis shook his head slowly. "No, I'm serious. What happened. Who is that."
Max caught sight of them then, gave a casual nod, utterly unfazed.
George narrowed his eyes, studying him.
"I mean... he's still Max," George said. "Just upgraded."
Lewis blinked, stunned. "I didn't even know he owned a jacket without a sponsor logo on it."
"Maybe," George said, taking a slow sip of his coffee, "maybe it's the girlfriend effect."
Lewis turned to him. "The what?"
George shrugged, completely serious. "You get a girlfriend who actually cares about what you look like, and suddenly—" He gestured vaguely at Max. "—that happens."
Lewis frowned. "He’s had girlfriends before."
George grinned. "Yeah, but he’s never dressed like he wanted to impress anyone before."
Lewis squinted, suspicious. "Do we even know if he has a girlfriend?"
George raised an eyebrow. "Do you think he picked that jacket out himself?"
Lewis opened his mouth. Closed it. "...Good point."
Meanwhile, Max strolled past them, earbuds in, calm as anything. No logos, no oversized hoodie, no worn-out sweatpants. Just effortless, unsettling effort.
Lewis watched him go, still frowning.
"I don’t like it," he muttered.
George laughed. "You’re just mad because he’s pulling it off."
Lewis huffed. "I’m mad because now I have to outdress Max Verstappen. And that was never supposed to happen."
George clapped him on the back, grinning. "Welcome to the new world order, mate."
As Max disappeared into the Red Bull hospitality, several team members turned to watch him too, murmuring quietly.
Because when even Max Verstappen starts dressing suspiciously well... You know something’s up.
***
Daniel Ricciardo was minding his own business—sort of—lounging near the espresso machine, casually watching the paddock buzz by, when Max walked in.
Daniel did a casual glance up—and promptly choked on his coffee.
Because there was Max. Wearing tailored jeans. A clean, fitted jacket. A proper, ironed t-shirt. Looking... put together in a way that was frankly illegal.
Daniel slammed his cup down, pointed at him dramatically across the hospitality lounge. "You. Stop."
Max paused mid-stride, raising an unimpressed eyebrow. "What?"
Daniel stood up, hands on his hips. "You can't just waltz in here looking like a Zara model on casual Friday and act like nothing happened."
Max gave a tiny, infuriating smirk. "I can and I did."
"No, no, no." Daniel waved a hand wildly. "You look suspiciously… functional. Coordinated. You match, Max."
Max just shrugged like it was no big deal. "Maybe I learned."
Daniel squinted at him. "No," he said. "Someone taught you."
Max gave him a pointedly neutral look.
And that’s when Daniel grinned.
Like the world's most annoying lightbulb had gone off over his head.
He practically cackled as he leaned in.
"YOUR GIRLFRIEND."
Max said nothing. Not a word.
Which was exactly how Daniel knew he was right.
"You absolute simp," Daniel whispered, giddy. "You let her overhaul your entire wardrobe."
Max rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide the tiny flicker of a smile.
Daniel clasped a hand over his heart. "God, I love love."
"Shut up," Max muttered, but there was no heat in it.
Daniel leaned back, arms crossed, studying him. "So what’s next, mate? Weekly skincare routines? Matching Christmas jumpers?"
Max gave him a long-suffering look. "If you tell anyone—"
Daniel grinned wider. "Don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me." He paused, then added gleefully, "Mostly because everyone else already suspects something."
Max groaned.
Daniel beamed. "Can’t wait for you to show up next race weekend in proper loafers and a linen shirt. Monaco chic."
Max muttered something in Dutch under his breath that was probably deeply unflattering.
Daniel just slung an arm around his shoulder anyway, still laughing.
"You," Daniel said fondly, "are so whipped, and it’s beautiful."
Max shoved him off, but he was smiling—real, relaxed, the way he only was when he let his guard down completely.
***
The room was too quiet when she entered the meeting in the evening.
Isabelle felt it the moment she stepped in—like walking into a room where someone had just been talking about you. That sticky tension. The abrupt silence. The way no one met her eye.
She sat down, opened her laptop, and waited.
The project lead began reviewing the concept pitch. It was hers. Her layout. Her color palette. Her vendor list. But her name? Nowhere on the slides.
No credit. No mention.
Léa was presenting it like it had fallen from the sky.
And no one blinked.
Isabelle closed her laptop.
Slowly. Deliberately.
“Interesting,” she said, her voice smooth. “I must’ve blacked out while watching someone else design my project.”
Léa blinked. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
The room stilled.
For a moment, Isabelle said nothing else. Just looked at them. Really looked—at the two junior designers who’d whispered and sabotaged, at the project manager who let it happen, at the senior designer who'd praised her ideas only to present them as someone else's.
“You’ve all been treating me like I don’t belong here since the day I started,” she said, calm and clear. “At first I thought it was because I was new. Then I thought maybe it was because of my last name. But now I understand—it’s because you’re afraid of me.”
Léa scoffed. “Afraid? Please.”
Isabelle turned to her. “Yes. Afraid. Because you’ve seen what I can do. You’ve seen how good I am. And instead of rising to meet me, you’ve spent months trying to cut me down.”
She stood. Quiet. Unshakable.
“You tried to twist my success into nepotism. You told people I only got clients because of who my brother is.” She paused. “You do realize I designed Max Verstappen’s penthouse, right? I didn’t just walk through it and fluff pillows. I created it. Every material. Every layout. Every detail. Because he trusted me. Not the Leclerc name. Me.”
No one moved.
“And the irony?” Isabelle continued, voice like silk on steel. “You thought I wouldn’t fight back. Because I’m quiet. Because I’m kind. Because I don’t yell or gossip or throw people under the bus.”
She tilted her head, smile sharp.
“You mistook my silence for weakness. That was your first mistake.”
A long pause.
Then she picked up her laptop, her bag, and her portfolio binder.
“I’m resigning effective immediately,” she said. “I refuse to spend another second giving my talent to people who try to tear me down instead of rising up themselves.”
She walked toward the door, paused, and turned back.
“One more thing,” she added, eyes narrowing. “The next time you decide to steal someone’s work, you might want to make sure they’re not ten times the designer you are.”
Then she left.
No one stopped her.
***
Team Redline Stream – Transcript
(Stream already in progress. Max is mid-race, casually chatting with the guys and chat.)
Max: "Yeah, I’m alone tonight. Again. My girlfriend’s still at work."
Luke Crane: "Is she ever not at work?"
Max: (Sighs.) "Rarely. I keep telling her it’s too much, but she says she’s fine."
Chris Lulham: "Classic."
Chat:
The way Max sounds so fed up"She says she’s fine" <- she is absolutely not fineBro is one bad day away from staging a full interventionTell her we said QUITHe’s about to unionize her workplace himself
(Max continues driving, glancing off-screen every so often. His focus flickers.)
(A door opens in the background. Max immediately looks up.)
Max: "Oh, you’re home." (Pauses.) "It’s almost midnight."
(A short silence. Max’s expression shifts.)
Max: "You haven’t eaten yet?" (His eyes narrow.) "Why? What do you mean you forgot?"
Chris: "Uh-oh."
Luke: "It’s happening."
Chat:
MOTHER HEN VERSTAPPEN HAS LOGGED INRIP to her but Max is about to lecture her for 20 minutesSomewhere, Jos is crying because Max turned into his momRed Bull gives you wings, but Max gives you forced meals
Max: (Grumbling in Dutch.) "You work all day and don’t eat? That’s not okay." (Pauses, then scoffs.) "No, I don’t care if you’re ‘not hungry.’ You’re eating something."
Chris: "Do you even know how to cook?"
Max: (Flatly.) "I know how to order food, Chris."
Gianni Vecchio: "Yeah, she’s doomed."
(Max is still focused on the conversation off-screen, visibly exasperated. Then, suddenly, he freezes mid-turn, his entire body going still.)
Max: "...Wait. What?"
(Silence. His mouth opens slightly, then closes. He blinks.)
Max: "You quit your job?"
Chris: "OH?"
Gianni: "HELLO?"
Chat:
SHE DID WHAT NOWMAX IS BUFFERINGDID WE MANIFEST THIS????Homie forgot how to drive for a second
Max: (Still staring off-screen, jaw slightly slack.) "Wait, like—actually? You actually quit?"
(A few beats of silence. Then, suddenly, Max exhales and leans back in his chair, shaking his head with a smirk.)
Max: "Finally."
Gianni: "Finally?"
Max: (Grinning now.) "Yes, finally! I’ve been telling her for months to leave. They treated her like shit."
Chris: "You sound happier about this than she probably is."
Max: "Because she deserves better. I told her that place wasn’t good enough for her." (Pauses, then softer.) "They should’ve known better than to treat her like that."
Chat:
MAX VERSTAPPEN, NUMBER ONE SUPPORTER
"Finally" LMFAO bro has been WAITING
He’s so relieved omg
Someone check on her ex-boss, they just felt a chill
Bro went from shocked to proud so fast
Red Bull Racing HR is shaking rn
I need a Max Verstappen in my life
Max: (Still grinning, shaking his head.) "So what now?" (Pauses, listening.) "Yeah? Taking time off? Good. You need it."
(His tone softens slightly, his expression fond. Chat goes feral.)
Chris: "So no more insane work hours?"
Max: (Smirks.) "Nope. Now it’s just insane hours listening to me talk about my simulator settings."
Chat:
She quit her job and he’s acting like he won his fourth titleMax really went "welcome to unemployment, babe"Bro is GLOWINGSupportive boyfriend era is PEAKING
Meanwhile on Twitter:
📌 @/F1TeaSpill: MAX VERSTAPPEN ON STREAM JUST CASUALLY DROPPED THAT HIS GIRLFRIEND QUIT HER JOB AND WENT "FINALLY." BRO HAS BEEN WAITING FOR THIS MOMENT 😭😭
↳ @/RacingGirlie: THE WAY HE WAS SO READY WITH THAT RESPONSE LMFAO 💀 ↳ @/TireDegradationStan: He forgot how to drive for a second. The shock was REAL.
@/GridGossip: Max Verstappen finding out his girlfriend quit her job and IMMEDIATELY going: ✅ "Finally." ✅ "They treated you like shit." ✅ "You deserve better."
Boyfriend of the YEAR.
↳ @/MonacoMafia: Bro is celebrating her resignation more than his championships 😭 ↳ @/DR3nation: She quit her job and he’s THRIVING ↳ @/RedBullSimps: The way he went from SHOCKED to RELIEVED in under five seconds
@/F1GirlfriendsAnonymous: Not Max Verstappen exposing himself as the softest, most supportive boyfriend alive. He really said: 🔹 "You deserve better." 🔹 "If they don’t respect you, don’t waste your time there." 🔹 "Take time off, you deserve it."
And y’all still think he’s cold???
↳ @/DutchLion44: THE WAY HE WAS SO SINCERE ABOUT IT 🥺 ↳ @/OversteerOverlord: This man went from "I have no emotions" to "I will support my girlfriend unconditionally" real fast
@/FormulaLover: "NO MORE LATE NIGHTS AT WORK?" "NO, JUST LATE NIGHTS LISTENING TO ME COMPLAIN ABOUT SIMULATOR SETTINGS."
MAX PLS 😭
↳ @/PitStopPrincess: Her old boss just felt a chill down their spine ↳ @/DannyRicFave: Soft!Max is the best Max. I don’t make the rules.
@/PaddockChaos: How much do you bet that Max has been trying to convince his girlfriend to be his full-time trophy wife for MONTHS and she just wasn’t having it 💀
↳ @/RedBullRacingWife: "Finally." <- That was a man who has been campaigning for this moment ↳ @/GridTeaSpill: You KNOW he’s been like "you don’t need to work, just stay home, I’ll buy you whatever you want" and she’s been like "absolutely not" 💀💀 ↳ @/OvertakeAddict: Mans was celebrating her quitting before SHE even processed it 💀
@/MonacoMafia: MAX WAS SO READY FOR THIS MOMENT 😭 "Finally" <- that’s not just relief, that’s VICTORY.
↳ @/DutchLion44: He’s been battling corporate capitalism on her behalf for MONTHS ↳ @/PaddockGossip: He really wanted her to be living that soft life and she was like "Nah, I have a job" 😂 ↳ @/RaceStrategyFails: Man had a 10-step plan for her retirement and she foiled it by having ambition
@/F1TinfoilHat: Max Verstappen trying to turn his girlfriend into a trophy wife and failing is so funny to me. Like you just KNOW he was pulling out all the stops. 🚗 "You can have any car you want." 🏠 "Live anywhere you want." 💍 "You don’t need to work, just be with me." And she really went, "No, I have emails to answer."
↳ @/RB20Fan: She quit her job and he was the happiest person in the room 😭 ↳ @/F1MemesDaily: Plot twist: She’s about to find another job and he’s gonna LOSE IT 💀
@/LightsOutMax: Max Verstappen has won three world championships, dominated the grid, and still lost to his girlfriend’s corporate job.
↳ @/SoftMaxFan: The way he’s been fighting for MONTHS and she was just like "No ❤️" ↳ @/PaddockPrincess: Bro was ready to pay her a salary just to stay home and she STILL refused 💀💀 ↳ @/F1Spill: "Finally." <- that was not just relief, that was a mission accomplished moment
@/RedBullGirlie: I need someone to ask Max in an interview if he ever tried to get his girlfriend to be a full-time trophy wife because I know he did
↳ @/PaddockClown: He absolutely pitched it like a Red Bull contract ↳ @/RB20Fanatic: "I can provide you with a top-tier environment, all the resources you need, and a long-term vision for the future." ↳ @/DR3Memes: Drive to Survive voice "And in that moment, Max Verstappen realized… he was not winning this one."
@/FrontRowF1: I don’t even think Max was mad that she worked. He was mad that they treated her badly. Boyfriend of the Year tbh.
↳ @/RB19Stans: Yeah, his first reaction after shock was pure rage at her old job 😭 ↳ @/F1Himbos: He was 100% ready to go to war with that company ↳ @/Lap1Drama: He’s been FUMING about how they treated her and now he won
@/F1Takes: Max Verstappen was sitting there on stream like:
👀 "Wait, you quit?" 😳 "You actually quit?" 😌 "Finally." 😤 "They treated you like shit anyway."
Sir, have you been campaigning for this???
↳ @/PitLaneGossip: Bro had an entire strategy in place. He’s been pushing this agenda for MONTHS. ↳ @/RB19Forever: His immediate relief tells me he lost sleep over this job more than SHE did 💀 ↳ @/MonacoMadness: Man heard "I quit" and didn’t even process it before celebrating
@/SoftVerstappen: Max really thought his biggest opponent was Lewis Hamilton when in reality it was his girlfriend’s work ethic
↳ @/PaddockTea: Man has three world titles and 0 influence over her career choices 😂 ↳ @/DR3Fanatic: She’s out there being an independent woman and he’s just like please let me fund your life↳ @/GridGossip: I fully believe he has pitched the trophy wife life at least once and got rejected immediately
@/MaxForPresident: Max celebrating his girlfriend quitting like it’s his own career milestone is so FUNNY to me
↳ @/PodiumPredictions: She said "I quit" and he unlocked a new level of happiness↳ @/SoftTyresOnly: The way he’s genuinely delighted while she’s probably still processing it 💀 ↳ @/MonacoMafia: If she gets a new job he might actually riot
@/LandoStan33: Max Verstappen is a billionaire and his girlfriend still refused to quit her job for OVER A YEAR. Queen behavior.
↳ @/OvertakeObsessed: She refused to be a WAG full-time and he just had to deal with it
@/MonacoMadness: Max: "They don’t respect you. Just quit." Her: "I like working." Couldn’t have been me. You think I’d rather be working than living the dream as a rich man’s problem?
↳ @/Lap1Drama: Imagine saying NO to Max Verstappen telling you to never work again ↳ @/PodiumPredictions: The way I would’ve handed in my resignation the second he hinted at it↳ @/F1TeaSpill: Why suffer at a 9-5 when you could be a full-time F1 WAG???
@/MidfieldMess: I respect Max’s girlfriend for standing her ground but personally? I would have been at home in silk pajamas with a cat by now.
↳ @/RB20Memes: If my man said, "Quit your job, I’ll take care of you," I’d be gone in 0.2 seconds.↳ ↳ @/DR3Laughs: Max’s girlfriend WORKED while he was literally BEGGING her to relax. I COULD NEVER.
↳ @/RB19Tactics: I’d be in Pilates class at 10 AM on a Tuesday living my best life ↳ @/SoftMaxFan: She really CHOSE to work when she could’ve been a full-time rich girlfriend.↳ @/OvertakeGuru: RESPECT TO HER but I would’ve folded immediately.
@/GridGossip: Max Verstappen’s girlfriend really QUIT HER JOB on her own terms, months after he told her to, and not because he’s a billionaire but because she finally decided she was done.
SHE REALLY DOES NOT CARE ABOUT HIS MONEY.
↳ @/SoftVerstappen: This is actually insane. ↳ @RB19Defense: Girl had a multi-millionaire boyfriend BEGGING her to quit and she STILL waited. ↳ @/LightsOutRB: She worked herself into the ground because she didn’t want to rely on him??? Couldn’t be me.
***
At first, Isabelle seemed fine.
She took a shower, scarfed down a sandwich…and then she just sat on the couch, staring at nothing.
“So… how does it feel to be unemployed?”
Isabelle turned to face him with a breezy smile. “Great. Amazing, actually. I should’ve done it sooner.”
Max folded his arms across his chest, not buying it for a second. "Uh-huh."
She narrowed her eyes at him. "What?"
"You’re saying that like someone who is definitely not fine," Max said.
She rolled her eyes. "I just don’t see the point in dwelling on it."
"Okay. But not dwelling isn’t the same as being fine."
She laughed, short and sharp. "Max, I quit a job that was making me miserable. I did the right thing."
"Yeah," Max agreed easily. "But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t feel weird."
He could see the argument forming on her face—the automatic instinct to insist she was fine, she was strong, she could handle anything.
But then she hesitated.
Her mouth opened like she was about to say something else—something defensive, probably—but instead, her face crumpled.
And just like that, she was crying.
“Oh, Schatje.” Max pulled her into his arms without hesitation.
"I don’t know why I’m crying," Isabelle mumbled against his shirt, voice thick with tears.
"Because it’s a big change," Max said quietly, rubbing slow circles over her back. "Because you worked hard for that job, even if it sucked. Because you’re human, and this stuff is hard."
She sniffled against him. "I feel stupid."
"You’re not stupid," he said firmly, dropping a kiss into her hair. "You’re figuring it out. That’s brave."
She exhaled shakily, the tension in her shoulders finally starting to unravel. "I don’t even know where to start."
Max grinned. “Well, in the meantime, you can always be my trophy wife.”
That earned a wet, incredulous laugh. “Excuse me?”
“You know, live a life of luxury. Lounge around, spend my money—”
“I’m not going to be your trophy wife.”
“Why not? You’d be great at it.”
“I like working,” she shot back, slipping out of his embrace just enough to glare at him.
Max smirked. “Yeah, but you also like expensive pastries, and being my trophy wife means you can have as many as you want.”
She groaned, wiping at her face. “You’re impossible.”
“And yet, here you are, still crying all over me,” Max teased, reaching out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear.
Isabelle huffed. “Fine. I’ll be your trophy wife for a week. Just to try it.”
“Deal,” Max said easily. “I’ll even buy you a designer handbag.”
She laughed again, finally looking a little more like herself. “You are ridiculous.”
***
Meanwhile on Twitter:
@/F1Spotted: Y’all, Max Verstappen just walked into Chanel Monaco, and I’ve never seen a man more determined in my life.
@/SoftCompound: What’s the vibe? Casual browsing or “I know exactly what I want” levels of confidence?
@/F1Spotted: He walked in, went straight to the handbags, and told the SA, “I need something classic. Not too flashy. She prefers gold hardware.”
@/F1Tea: NOT “she prefers gold hardware” ??? Who is SHE???
@/GridGossip: That is a man DEEPLY in love.
@/F1Spotted: The SA showed him a couple of options, and he just went, “That one. I’ll take it.” No hesitation. No second thoughts.
@/RBR_obsessed: Not even checking the price tag 💀💀💀
@/EngineModeYES: The way he’s spending like a man who never wants her to work again.
@/McLarenMemeLord: “She likes gold hardware” AND “I’ll take it” in the same shopping trip… pray for this man, he’s down catastrophically.
@/OversteerFanatic: Do we think this is a “Congrats on quitting your terrible job” gift or a “Please let me keep funding your lifestyle” gift?
@/TyreDegSzn: He’s doubling down on the trophy wife agenda.
@/PadelAndPitStops: Next thing we know, she’ll be posting one of those soft-focus Insta stories of the bag with the caption: “spoiled 💚”
@/F1Spotted: He left with the biggest grin, holding the Chanel bag like it was a trophy.
@/Multi21Pls: He has 3 WDCs but THIS is his greatest achievement.
***
Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Emilie Abadie
Isabelle: I did a thing.
Emilie: Oh god.
Emilie: What kind of “thing”?
Emilie: Like... a normal person thing? Or a you thing?
Isabelle: I quit my job.
Emilie: ...you WHAT
Isabelle: I gave notice yesterday.
Isabelle: Well, technically I handed in my resignation with zero notice.
Isabelle: So... I guess I just quit.
Emilie: ISABELLE
Isabelle: I know.
Emilie: YOU QUIT Emilie: LIKE Emilie: YOU’RE FREE?
Isabelle: Apparently.
Emilie: Belle. Emilie: BELLE.Emilie: THIS IS A MOMENT.
Isabelle: I’m half proud, half panicking.
Emilie: That’s valid. Emilie: But mostly: GOOD FOR YOU. Emilie: You’ve been miserable for months. This is overdue.
Isabelle: I just kept thinking I could fix it.
Emilie: You are not a human Band-Aid. Emilie: You do not have to patch up dysfunctional men in button-down shirts.
Isabelle: That’s a very specific burn.
Emilie: It’s targeted and deserved. Emilie: Also: I’m proud of you. Emilie: And I’m taking you out for champagne and carbs.
Isabelle: I don’t know if I want to celebrate or cry in a corner.
Emilie: We’ll do both.
Isabelle: ...Okay. Isabelle: I could be convinced.
Emilie: I’m ordering us dessert too. You’re unemployed and hot, it’s a new era.
Isabelle: Thank you. I think?
Emilie: You’re welcome. I love you. I’m proud of you. And I swear to god if you try to go back I will physically block the door.
Isabelle: Noted 😅
***
Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Emilie Abadie
Emilie: What have you DONE to my friend.
Emilie: Miss “I’m fine,” Miss “It’s not that bad,” Miss “Maybe if I just do a little more…”
Emilie: She QUIT.
Emilie: HER. JOB.
Emilie: No backup plan. No exit strategy. Just mic drop and walk out.
Max: Yeah. Fantastic, right? Good for her.
Emilie: GOOD???
Emilie: MAX.
Emilie: SHE ACTUALLY STOOD UP FOR HERSELF AND WALKED OUT.
Emilie: Don’t “good for her” me!!
Emilie: I mean yes—good for her, but also
Emilie: who are you
Emilie: and what have you done to the girl who used to apologize to printers when they jammed
Max: I didn’t do anything 🤷♂️
Max: She decided on her own.
Max: She deserved better.
Max: She knows that now.
Emilie: You’ve been boyfriend-ing too well
Emilie: She’s out here setting boundaries and reclaiming her peace like a whole queen
Emilie: And I’m just watching it happen like ????
Max: So you’re saying I’m a good influence?
Emilie: I’m saying you’re terrifying
Emilie: She’s turning down nonsense and choosing herself
Emilie: Do you even understand the level of personal growth we’re dealing with?
Max: She deserves it.
Emilie: Yeah. She really does.
Emilie: Also if you hurt her I will throw a stiletto at you. Custom Louboutins. It’ll be personal.
Max: Fair.
***
Isabelle wasn’t even sure why she had let Emilie drag her out shopping today. She didn’t need anything. She barely ever bought anything for herself—at least, nothing extravagant.
She liked nice things…but she had never been hung up on brands, and she much preferred pieces that didn’t make her look like a walking billboard advertisement for a luxury brand.
(Though she did quite like the absolutely gorgeous Chanel Flap Bag that Max had presented her with a few days ago. He had kept that ridiculous promise of buying her a handbag and she had been too amused to call him out on it.)
“You know, now that you’ve officially quit your job, we need to celebrate,” Emilie said as they strolled into Hermès.
Oh, right, now she remembered. Namely that she had quit her job literally days ago and was now officially unemployed.
Isabelle sighed. “This is the celebration,” she said drily. This and the boozy brunch they had had before going shopping.
“No, no, you buying something is the actual act of celebration.”
“I am not buying another handbag.”
Emilie gave her a flat look. “That’s what you said last time.”
“Yes, and I meant it,” Isabelle shot back. “Max literally bought me a Chanel bag the other day.”
Emilie stopped in her tracks. “He bought you a Chanel bag?”
Isabelle shifted awkwardly. “…Yes.”
“Like, you mentioned it in passing, and he surprised you later? Or was this a ‘we walked into the store, and he casually dropped his credit card’ kind of situation?”
Isabelle sighed, rubbing her temples. “It was a joke.”
“A Chanel bag was a joke?”
“I told him I’d be his trophy wife for a week.”
Emilie looked at her like she’d grown three heads. “And his response was to buy you a Chanel bag?”
“…Yes?” Isabelle said weakly.
Emilie grabbed her by the shoulders. “Isabelle. Your boyfriend is so far gone for you, I don’t think he even remembers what normal human relationships look like.”
Isabelle grimaced, thinking back to that black credit card that was tucked into the back of her wallet. “Can we move on?”
“No. Because you just quit your job, you’re technically unemployed, and your extremely rich, extremely besotted boyfriend is throwing designer bags at you. You are living the trophy wife dream.”
“I am not his trophy wife.”
“I mean, technically, no. But spiritually? You are this close.” Emilie held her fingers an inch apart, eyes gleaming with mischief.
Before Isabelle could protest, a well-dressed sales associate approached with a warm smile. “Miss Leclerc, lovely to see you again.”
Emilie, distracted by a nearby display of silk scarves, barely noticed. “We’d love to see that Kelly bag in black—oh, and maybe the taupe as well.”
The sales associate nodded. “Of course. Mr. Verstappen has his account on file for your purchases.”
Silence.
Emilie’s head snapped up so fast Isabelle was surprised she didn’t give herself whiplash.
“I’m sorry. What did you just say?” Emilie asked, her voice an octave higher than usual.
The associate remained composed. “Mr. Verstappen has set up a standing account for Miss Leclerc. She’s free to make any purchases at her convenience.”
Emilie turned to Isabelle so slowly and so dramatically that Isabelle knew she was never going to hear the end of this.
“Isabelle.” Emilie’s voice was deadly serious. “Are you telling me that Max—your Max—has a shopping account set up for you at Hermès? And you weren’t even going to mention it?”
Isabelle’s face burned. “I— I didn’t think it was important?”
Emilie clutched her own chest like she was on the verge of fainting. “Not important? Isabelle. Your boyfriend is Max Verstappen. He has a personal account at Hermès for you. That means you can walk in here at any time, pick whatever you want, and they just charge it to him?”
The sales associate, clearly trained to deal with these types of reactions, simply nodded. “That is correct.”
Emilie turned back to Isabelle, looking utterly scandalized. “And you don’t use it?”
“I— well, no,” Isabelle admitted, feeling like she was digging herself into a deeper hole. “I don’t need anything.”
Emilie dramatically staggered backward. “I’m sorry. You’re telling me that you could have been out here living your best trophy wife life, and you haven’t been?”
Isabelle groaned. “I knew I shouldn’t have come today.”
Emilie turned back to the associate with a blinding smile. “Yes, please. Bring out everything.” Then, lowering her voice, she added, “And maybe a glass of champagne for me because I need to process the fact that my best friend is living in an actual fairy tale.”
The associate merely nodded, disappearing into the back.
Isabelle folded her arms, glaring at Emilie. “You’re being dramatic.”
“I’m being reasonable,” Emilie countered. “Because, let me get this straight—Max put his credit card on file at one of the most expensive boutiques in Monaco for you to use whenever you want, and you never told me?”
Isabelle groaned, covering her face. “I don’t even use it! I’ve never—”
Emilie held up a hand. “No, no, this is incredible. You could walk in here and buy, like, five bags, and they’d just say, ‘Of course, Miss Leclerc, Mr. Verstappen has already taken care of it.’”
“I’m not doing that!” Isabelle hissed, mortified.
Emilie smirked. “But you could.”
“Em—”
“No, no, let me have this moment.” Emilie leaned against the counter, shaking her head. “I knew he was obsessed with you, but this? This is next-level. Like, top-tier boyfriend behavior. Do you know how many women would kill for this?”
Isabelle sighed. “I don’t want to take advantage of him.”
Emilie threw up her hands. “You wouldn’t be! You’re his girlfriend! He’s obsessed with you! Have you met Max? If anything, he’s probably annoyed you don’t use it more.”
Emilie turned thoughtful for a moment. “Does he do this at other places too? Like, do you walk into Dior and they just start pulling things for you?”
“I don’t know!” Isabelle whisper-yelled. “I don’t go around testing it!”
“Well, you should,” Emilie said firmly. “Because if my boyfriend was this obscenely rich and obsessed with me, you’d best believe I’d be letting him spoil me on principle.”
Before Isabelle could argue, Emilie’s phone buzzed. She glanced at it, then cackled. “Oh my God. I’m texting him.”
Isabelle’s eyes widened in horror. “No, do not—”
Too late. Emilie had already typed:
Emilie: Why didn’t you tell me you have a shopping account for Isabelle at Hermès? I just found out and I think I need medical attention.
Seconds later, Max responded.
Max: And?
Emilie turned her phone toward Isabelle with a smug grin. “Look at that. He’s not even fazed.”
Isabelle groaned.
A moment later, another message from Max came through.
Max: She never uses it. Tell her to buy something.
Emilie let out an actual shriek of delight. “I knew it.”
Isabelle covered her face with her hands. “I hate both of you.”
Emilie just smirked, turning back to the sales associate, who had just returned with an armful of options. “Alright, let’s start with the classics.” She turned to Isabelle with a wicked grin. “Because if you don’t pick something, I will.”
Isabelle knew, with absolute certainty, that she had lost this battle, but that didn’t mean she had to go down without a fight.
“I don’t need another bag,” she tried again, crossing her arms as Emilie eagerly surveyed the selection now laid out in front of them. The sales associate had clearly taken Emilie’s enthusiasm as permission to bring out the best pieces—the kind that weren’t just sitting out on the shelves.
Emilie rolled her eyes. “Need? Isabelle, we’re past ‘need.’ This is about principle. Your ridiculously rich boyfriend, who would literally hand you the world if he could, wants you to use his account. And here you are, acting like you don’t deserve it.”
Isabelle shifted uncomfortably. It wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate Max’s generosity—it was just that… no one had ever really spoiled her before. She had spent so long being overlooked, so long having to sacrifice things for the sake of her family, that being on the receiving end of such thoughtful indulgence felt foreign.
Emilie must have sensed it because her teasing softened into something more gentle. “Hey,” she nudged Isabelle’s arm. “You know Max, right? He’s not the kind of guy who does things halfway. If he put his card on file here, it’s because he wants you to have nice things. Not because he expects anything, not because he’s showing off. Just because he loves you.”
Isabelle exhaled slowly. She did know that. She saw it in the way Max always made sure she ate before he did, in how he paid attention to the little things—how he remembered things about her that even her own family forgot.
Her fingers traced over the soft leather of a cream Verrou bag. It was beautiful. And maybe—just maybe—she could allow herself to accept this part of their relationship.
Before she could talk herself out of it, she looked up at the sales associate. “I’d like this one, please.”
Emilie let out a triumphant squeal. “Finally!”
The associate smiled. “A wonderful choice, Miss Leclerc. We’ll have it wrapped for you shortly.”
Isabelle bit her lip, suddenly feeling a little giddy. It was just a bag. But at the same time… it wasn’t. It was a reminder that, for the first time in her life, she was with someone who didn’t just see her—he cherished her.
As they waited, Emilie picked up her phone and quickly typed something. Isabelle frowned. “What are you doing?”
Emilie smirked. “Updating Max.”
A moment later, his response came through.
Max: Finally.
Isabelle groaned. “You two are a nightmare.”
Emilie grinned. “We’re your nightmare.”
And maybe, just maybe… Isabelle didn’t mind that so much.
***
The sun was warm on her skin as Isabelle let herself be pulled along Avenue de Monte-Carlo, Emilie dragging her from Valentino to Gucci to Miu Miu in a blur of bright storefronts and designer bags.
She should have been tired.
Instead, she felt a little giddy — her new purchase swinging lightly from her hand, perfect indulgence.
It was a perfect afternoon.
Until it wasn’t.
Isabelle had always known where she stood in her family. She had learned not to expect invitations, had conditioned herself to not mind when she was left out of things that should have been obvious.
But still—walking into Goyard with Emilie and coming face-to-face with her mother and her brothers’ girlfriends, all out shopping together like some picture-perfect family outing, stung.
They were all standing together, arms full of shopping bags, laughing about something before her mother’s eyes landed on her.
“Oh,” her mother blinked, clearly surprised to see her. “Isabelle.”
Isabelle forced a polite smile. “Maman.” She nodded at the other women. “I didn’t realize you were all going out today.”
The immediate flicker of guilt across her mother’s face told Isabelle everything she needed to know. They hadn’t forgotten to invite her. They just hadn’t thought to include her at all.
“Oh, it was just a last-minute thing,” her mother said quickly, like that made it better. “We thought we’d do a little shopping before lunch.”
A lunch Isabelle wasn’t invited to either, apparently.
Her brothers’ girlfriends, who had always slotted so seamlessly into the family, exchanged glances, clearly uncomfortable. One of them, Charlotte —Lorenzo’s girlfriend—offered a hesitant, “We didn’t think you’d be interested.”
As if Isabelle never had interests. As if she hadn’t spent years watching from the outside, always an afterthought.
Emilie, standing beside her, said nothing. But Isabelle could feel the rage radiating off of her, the way her best friend’s hands had curled into fists.
Isabelle inhaled slowly, pushing back the familiar wave of hurt. She had learned long ago that showing how much this bothered her never got her anywhere. So instead, she kept her voice light, pleasant—graceful in a way they didn’t deserve.
“Well, I hope you’re all having a lovely time,” she said smoothly. “It’s a beautiful day for shopping.”
Her mother smiled, relieved that Isabelle wasn’t making a scene. “Yes, it is. And what about you, ma chérie? Out with a friend?”
“Yes,” Isabelle said simply. “Just enjoying the afternoon.”
She felt Emilie shift beside her, felt the sudden tension in the way her best friend’s grip tightened around her shopping bag.
“Oh, we picked up something special, actually,” Emilie said, voice perfectly even—but Isabelle knew that tone. She was angry.
She held up the unmistakable Hermès bag. Her mother’s gaze flickered to the bag.
“That’s lovely,” she said, her tone still light.
Isabelle just hummed in response. “Well, we won’t keep you.”
And with that, she turned—head held high, posture poised—pulling Emilie along with her.
They were barely out of earshot before Emilie exploded.
“Are you kidding me?”
Isabelle exhaled slowly. “Emilie—”
“No, Belle, no,” Emilie fumed. “They just—what, decided you didn’t even exist today? Like, ‘oh, we’ll just go shopping without Isabelle, she won’t care’?” She scoffed. “And the fact that your mother didn’t even apologize—”
“Em,” Isabelle sighed. “It’s not—”
“Don’t you dare say it’s not a big deal,” Emilie cut in. “Because it is. And I know you. I know it hurts.”
Isabelle swallowed. “I don’t want to think about it.”
Emilie scoffed. “Fine. But you know who would be furious about this?”
Isabelle shot her a look.
Emilie smirked. “Your boyfriend.”
“Em—” she warned.
“Oh, don’t Em me,” Emilie huffed. “You know he’d lose his mind if he found out they just left you out like that.” She paused, then muttered, “Actually, I kind of want to tell him. Just to watch him get all—” She gestured vaguely. “Dutch and possessive and mad.”
Isabelle bit her lip. Because, yeah. Max would be furious.
Emilie turned, eyes blazing. “How are you not furious right now?”
Because she was furious. Because she was hurt. But she had learned—long, long ago—that showing it didn’t make a difference.
So instead, she just smiled faintly. “I have better things to focus on.”
***
Text Conversation: Max Verstappen & Emilie Abadie
Emilie: Just so you know, your girlfriend is too classy for her own good.
Max: ?
Emilie: We just ran into her mother and her brothers’ girlfriends while we were shopping.
Emilie: Guess who wasn’t invited on their little girls’ outing?
Max: Tell me you are kidding.
Emilie: I wish I was.
Emilie: They didn’t even try to hide it. Just said it was “last minute”. Charlotte said they didn’t think she’d “be interested”.
Max: Tell her to use the card.
Emilie: What card?
Max: The one in her wallet. Black Card. Behind the receipts she never throws away. My name on the back. Hers on the front
Emilie: YOU GAVE HER A BLACK CARD???
Max: She never uses it. So tell her to.
Emilie: i— oh my god
Max: Anything she wants. Anything that makes her feel the way they don’t.
Emilie: You’re insane
Emilie: I love it
Max: Belle deserves better than scraps.
Max: and tell her I said if she doesn’t buy herself something outrageous, I will.
Emilie: You’re dangerous when you’re emotional.
Max: No. I’m dangerous when people hurt her
Emilie: Honestly? Same.
Emilie: Consider it done.
***
By the time Emilie got back to their café table, her hands were still shaking from how hard she was gripping her phone.
Isabelle barely glanced up from stirring her tea. Too calm. Way too calm for what had just happened.
Emilie stared at her for a moment — at the careful, practiced ease in Isabelle’s movements, at the way she tucked every ounce of hurt so deep inside you might almost miss it.
But Emilie knew her too well.
She could see the small tells. The stiffness in Isabelle’s shoulders. The slight tremor at the corner of her mouth. The way she stirred her tea even though it had long gone cold.
She hated it. Hated how often Isabelle had been forced to wear that mask around the people who should have loved her most. Hated that Isabelle had spent so much of her life being overlooked, sidelined, treated like an afterthought in her own family.
Emilie set her jaw and dropped into the chair across from her.
"We’re using the card," she announced without preamble.
Isabelle blinked up at her, perfectly innocent. "What card?"
Emilie narrowed her eyes. "Don’t play dumb. The card."
Isabelle sighed, setting her spoon down neatly. "I’m not using it, Em."
"You are," Emilie said, practically vibrating with frustration. "Max said you should."
"He always says that," Isabelle muttered, folding her hands neatly in her lap. "He was half-joking when he gave it to me."
Emilie stared at her — this girl she loved like a sister — and felt the white-hot burn of protectiveness flood her chest.
"Belle," she said flatly. "He put your name on a black Amex. That’s not a joke. That’s basically marriage proposal."
Isabelle flushed lightly but lifted her chin, stubborn even in her embarrassment. "It’s for emergencies."
Emilie made a strangled noise. "And what exactly do you call today? Getting iced out of your own family in public counts as an emergency in my book!"
Isabelle shook her head, the corner of her mouth tugging in a small, resigned smile. "Retail therapy doesn’t fix anything."
Emilie leaned in, fire still burning under her ribs. "It fixes your mood," she said fiercely. "And it reminds everyone watching that you’re not some forgotten little sister. You’re the woman whose boyfriend gave her a credit limit bigger than their combined mortgage."
Isabelle gave her a sharp look. "Emilie," she said warningly. “I literally just bought a Hermès bag.”
"And?" Emilie demanded. "You earned it."
Because Isabelle never asked for anything.
Because Isabelle spent her whole life making herself smaller, quieter, easier — trying not to take up space that no one seemed willing to offer her.
And now?
Now she had someone who saw her, who chose her, and Emilie would be damned if she let Isabelle keep hiding from that.
"I’m just saying," Emilie pressed, voice gentler now, "Max didn’t give you that card because he wanted you to buy him groceries. He gave it to you because he wanted you to know you’re taken care of. No conditions. No strings."
Isabelle’s hands curled slightly around her teacup.
She looked so small in that moment, so heartbreakingly unsure of her own worth, and Emilie’s chest ached.
"Belle..." she said softly. "You deserve to be someone’s priority. And he’s trying to show you that you already are."
Outside, Monte Carlo carried on — laughter, footsteps, the clatter of shop doors swinging open and shut — oblivious to the way Isabelle was holding herself together with sheer force of will.
Finally, Isabelle let out a shaky breath and gave Emilie a small, reluctant smile.
"Maybe just... one thing," she said quietly.
Emilie grinned like she’d just won the Monaco Grand Prix. "One thing now," she said smugly. "Ten things later."
Isabelle laughed — properly, this time — and the sound bubbled up between them, fragile and bright and so achingly beautiful that Emilie almost teared up.
She would burn the whole damn world down to protect that laugh.
"And for the record," Emilie added, gathering her bag with a wink, "if you don’t use it, I will."
"I think that would technically be fraud," Isabelle said, smiling into her tea.
"Semantics," Emilie said breezily. "Let’s go make Max proud."
And for once — just once — Isabelle let herself be pulled to her feet without arguing, letting herself believe that maybe, just maybe, she was allowed to be loved exactly as she was.
***
The garage buzzed around Max — the usual sounds of a race weekend: drills, chatter, tires being rolled out, pit crew moving like clockwork. He should have been in the zone. Usually, he was.
But not today.
Today, he was angry.
Not the hot, reckless kind of anger that made his hands shake on a steering wheel —
No, this was quieter. Sharper.
The kind that sat in his chest like a stone, heavy and cold.
He thought about Isabelle standing there, smiling politely while her own family overlooked her like she was invisible.
He thought about the way she brushed it off, like she didn’t even expect to be seen anymore.
It made him want to punch something.
Or someone.
Preferably a Leclerc.
He was mid-checking the tire pressures on the sheet when his phone buzzed in his pocket.
Max glanced around, making sure no one was watching too closely, then slipped it out quickly.
Notification: American Express: €9.50 spent at Seaside Juicery.
Max stared at it. For a beat too long.
Then, despite himself — despite everything — he smiled.
The smallest, stupidest purchase imaginable.
Nine euros.
Smoothie, maybe. A Tea. A little something.
But she had used it.
She had listened.
He tucked the phone back into his pocket, feeling stupidly giddy, the anger in his chest cracking just a little.
"Something good?" GP asked, wandering over with a tablet tucked under his arm.
Max shrugged, too casual. "She bought something."
GP blinked. "Who?"
"Isabelle. With the card I gave her. Nine euros," Max said, smirking.
GP laughed under his breath. "Well, congratulations. That's basically free compared to the psychological warfare you went through to get her to accept it."
Max just smiled — that rare, real one that didn’t make it to the cameras.
There was a short pause as the engineers passed by with fresh tire sets, shouting numbers back and forth.
Then Max added, way too casually, "She also bought a Hermes Bag. And she quit her job."
GP turned, full attention on him now. "What?"
"Yeah." Max reached for a bottle of water, twisting the cap off. "Told them to go fuck themselves. Finally."
GP whistled low. "Good for her."
Max shrugged like it was nothing. "She agreed to be my trophy wife for the week while she figures out what she wants to do."
GP choked on his laugh.
"Trophy wife?" he repeated, like he needed clarification.
Max deadpanned, "She makes coffee. Looks pretty. Yells at me to sleep more. Very demanding job."
GP shook his head, grinning. "You’re unbelievable."
Max’s expression softened slightly, the edge still there under it.
"I just want her to have something that’s hers," he said quietly. "Not whatever scraps her family bothers to throw her."
GP studied him for a long beat, then clapped him on the shoulder.
"You’re a pain in the ass, Verstappen," he said, voice light but warm. "But you’re a good one."
Max only shrugged again and grabbed his helmet, fitting it under his arm.
"She deserves better," he said simply. "Always has."
And then he headed toward the car, a little lighter than he'd been an hour ago — a little less furious, and a lot more in love.
***
Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Max Verstappen
Max: I got another card notification
Max: felt very proud
Max: thought maybe you finally bought something for yourself
Isabelle: …it was necessary
Max: €160 on cat toys is necessary??
Isabelle: YES
Isabelle: They’re enrichment tools.
Max: They’re getting a better life than I did growing up
Isabelle: They’re very intelligent
Isabelle: They need stimulation
Max: You bought them a mini velvet couch.
Isabelle: It’s chic and it matches the living room
Max: You’re matching the decor for the cats now??
Isabelle: …a little
Isabelle: You said anything I wanted
Isabelle: I want the cats to live in luxury
Max: I respect the commitment
Max: Does this mean i’m getting upgraded toys too?
Isabelle: Do you need stimulation enrichment?!
Max: If it comes with you feeding me treats and scratching my head too, yes.
Isabelle: MAX
Max: 😂
Max: “enrichment tools” she says
Max: You bought them a miniature sofa!
Isabelle: It matches the living room aesthetic.
Max: We are officially insane.
Max: We have matching furniture with the cats
Isabelle: You say that like it’s a bad thing
Max: It’s not. I’m obsessed with you and apparently with our spoilt cats too.
Isabelle: You started this.
Max: True
Max: I am so proud of my little trophy wife spoiling the cats instead of herself.
Isabelle: Sassy and Jimmy deserve nice things.
Max: So do you.
Isabelle: I’m working on it
Max: You’re perfect and the cats are about to live better than 90% of Monaco.
Isabelle: As they should
Max: Send me pictures when it arrives
Max: I want to see Sassy sitting on her tiny couch like she owns the penthouse.
More Posts from Biblioteca-da-meia-noite and Others
White Horse - Chapter 21: June 2024 - Part 2
Pairing: Max Verstappen x Isabelle Leclerc (Original Character)
Summary:
Max Verstappen is a World Champion. Isabelle Leclerc is invisible.
She watched her family give up everything for Charles’ career—Arthur’s karting, their father’s savings, even her childhood horse. She understood. She never asked for more.
But Max does. He notices the things no one else does, listens when no one else will, and puts her first in ways she never imagined. With him, she isn’t an afterthought—she’s a choice. And for the first time, she realizes she doesn’t have to be invisible.
Warnings and Notes:
we have now moved on from Charles bashing to bashing his whole family, Discussions of toxic past relationships, talk about loosing a childhood pet, toxic families, mention of the loss of a parent. Apparently I am once again messing up my chapter numbering on Tumblr. 21 is correct according to AO3 and Wattpad though. No, you didn't miss anything, I promise.
As always big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble
Meanwhile on Twitter:
@/F1GossipQueen: DID CHARLES JUST REALIZE MID-INTERVIEW THAT HE FORGOT HIS OWN SISTER’S BIRTHDAY??? HELP LMAO
@/monacosfinest: "Wait… we forgot." Nah, Charles, YOU forgot. The whole damn family forgot. How do you ALL forget???
@/f1tea:The way Charles’ whole face DROPPED when he put the dates together… This is cinema.
@/isabellesimpgc: This man just short-circuited ON CAMERA realizing he forgot his little sister’s birthday. I would be in hiding.
@/horsegirlupdates: ISABELLE WAS AT THE MONACO GP. SHE CELEBRATED WITH THEM. SHE SAID NOTHING. SHE JUST LET THEM ALL FORGET. I’M SICK.
@/f1trolls:Charles: "Do you have my phone? I need to fix this." Bro, there is no fixing this.
@/girlinthepaddock: The fact that Isabelle hasn’t posted ANYTHING since Monaco…
@/charlesleclercfans:Charles, buddy, you’re not getting out of this one 💀
@/f1chaos:Charles really went from “living his childhood dream” to “realizing he was the worst brother in real-time” in under five seconds. Iconic.
@/monacoprincess:The way he literally STOPPED TALKING, STARED INTO THE VOID, and then went, "Wait… we forgot." BRO. YOU FORGOT. YOU.
@/paddockgirlies:Isabelle spent her whole life supporting her brothers and they couldn’t even remember her birthday??? She didn’t even TELL them they forgot, she just let them be happy while she suffered in silence. I’M SICK.
@/girlwhocriessports: Okay but imagine being Charles and realizing ON LIVE TV that you forgot your sister’s birthday while the entire world watches. This is worse than any DNF he’s ever had.
@/ferrariwoes: Charles, in Monaco: "This is the best day of my life!"Charles, two weeks later in Canada: "Oh my god, I forgot my sister’s birthday."
@/isabellesimp: She just kept quiet and let them all forget. She didn’t even correct them. She probably just went home alone and cried. Do you understand how HEARTBREAKING that is????
@/paddockinsider: Ferrari’s biggest strategy blunder this year wasn’t even on the track—it was the entire Leclerc family forgetting Isabelle’s birthday.
@/F1TeaSpiller: Not Charles Leclerc realizing DURING AN INTERVIEW that he forgot his own sister’s birthday… and then Arthur and Lorenzo probably finding out THROUGH HIM. This family is actually unbelievable.
🔗 Clip attached
@/GridGossip:So let me get this straight:
Isabelle was in Monaco the entire weekend.
She celebrated Charles’ win with him.
She didn’t say a word about her own birthday.
And not a single one of her brothers remembered.
They really just treat her like she doesn’t exist, huh?
@/TifosiDrama:Not a single post. Not a single mention. She was right there, and they STILL forgot. I don’t blame her for ignoring them now.
@/OversteerObsessed: So you’re telling me Isabelle’s birthday was on the same day as Charles winning Monaco for the first time ever, and they were so caught up in the win that they just… forgot about her?? I’m actually speechless.
@/FormulaShady: The Leclerc brothers are about to have the worst sibling PR disaster in F1 history. Isabelle is LITERALLY the forgotten Leclerc.
@/WheelyFastWAGs: Isabelle spent years supporting her brothers—showing up to races whenever she could, celebrating their successes—and they can’t even remember her BIRTHDAY?!
@/TyreDegAndDrama: No, but let’s really sit with this: she was literally there. Not far away. Not off somewhere else. She was in Monaco, with them, and not one person thought, “Oh hey, it’s Isabelle’s birthday.”
@/OvercutOverload: Charles’ brain loading like an old Windows XP computer when the journalist asked about winning on his sister’s birthday.
@/Lap1Carnage: I need you all to understand how humiliating this is. You are a public figure. You win Monaco. A journalist gives you the perfect setup to say something nice about your sister. And instead, you find out ON LIVE TV that you forgot her birthday.
@/TifosiTears: I would like to formally apologize to Isabelle for ever associating her with the rest of them. She deserved better.
@/ChaosMode: The fact that fans remembered her birthday but her own brothers didn’t… Yeah, I’d be ignoring them too.
@/PaddockClownery: Imagine your family finally realizing they forgot your birthday WEEKS LATER because a journalist had to remind them. The bar is in hell.
@/F1BurnerAccount: The way he didn’t even tried to play it off like “Oh yeah, we celebrated privately” or something. Just full, raw realization on live TV.
@/F1Shambles: The fact that Isabelle has been radio silent on social media ever since Charles’ Monaco win is crazy. Not a single like, comment, or post. Just pure, calculated silence.
@/F1Shambles: The worst part? She did congratulate Charles. She literally posted on her story, “So proud of you, Charles!” right after the race, and then? Poof. She disappeared.
@/TifosiTears: No, because the fact that Isabelle still took the time to post a congrats for Charles, even after they forgot her birthday, and then just vanished is so much worse.
@/Lap1Carnage: So you’re telling me she remembered her brother’s biggest moment, but not a single one of them remembered her birthday? Yeah, no, that’s insane.
@/PaddockDrama: She posted for Charles, probably waited the whole day for someone to remember, and then dipped. That’s actually heartbreaking.
@/FrontWingDamage: Okay, but like… does anyone know if she had people around her that day? Like, friends? A boyfriend? Someone who did remember?
@/TyreDegAndDrama: I need to believe that someone in her life actually gave her the love she deserved that day, because if she spent it completely alone while celebrating Charles?? I will LOSE IT.
@/LightsOutDrama: It’s actually insane that her whole family was busy celebrating Charles, and not one of them was like, “Oh wait, isn’t today also Isabelle’s birthday?”
@/PaddockGossip: At this point, I’m praying she has some secret friend group or a boyfriend who treated her like a queen that day, because her family really did nothing.
@/ChaosMode: We need a national investigation into Isabelle Leclerc’s inner circle. I refuse to believe that nobody took care of her that day.
@/WDCworthy: What if she’s actually in a happy, secret relationship and her boyfriend was the only one who celebrated her? Imagine the plot twist.
@/PaddockMess: I swear if she had to spend her birthday alone, while her whole family was out celebrating Charles, I’m gonna start swinging.
@/OvercutOverload: The fact that she stayed silent instead of calling them out makes it so much worse. She didn’t even fight them on it. She just… left.
@/TyreWhisperer: This whole thing is giving “quietly heartbroken but won’t let it show” energy, and I hate it here.
@/PaddockBanter: Honestly, I don’t even need her to forgive them. I just want her to be happy with people who actually appreciate her.
@/LightsOutSlander: Praying she has a secret billionaire boyfriend who flies her around on private jets and showers her in designer gifts, because her family clearly isn’t doing their job.
@/PaddockRoyalty: This woman is literally giving “soft-spoken princess energy.” I need her to have a rich, older boyfriend who treats her like absolute royalty.
@/IsabelleLeclercFanclub: Forget the Leclerc brothers. We’re officially in our Protect Isabelle at All Costs era.
***
Text Messages: Belle Verstappen & Charles Leclerc
Charles: I just realised. I just—I can’t believe I forgot. Your birthday. Monaco. You were there. And we didn’t say a word. I didn’t say a word.
Charles:You smiled at me. You waved. And I didn’t even remember it was your day. I’m so, so sorry.
Charles: Please call me. Please. I need to talk to you.
Charles: I didn’t mean to forget. I swear. I didn’t— God, Isabelle. Please just pick up.
[Incoming Call: Charles Leclerc → Belle Verstappen] Status: No answer. Call forwarded to voicemail.
Charles (Voicemail): Isabelle, it’s me. Please pick up. I know I don’t deserve that right now but I… I need to hear your voice. I need to know you’re okay. We messed up. I messed up. I forgot the one day I shouldn’t have. And I didn’t even notice. I don’t know how I let that happen. I love you. Please… just call me back. Please.
***
Text Messages: Emilie Abadie & Max Verstappen
Emilie: He finally realized. Charles. The birthday. Belle. It hit him. Live. On camera. Mid-interview. It was honestly Oscar-worthy.
Max: wait what
Max: CHARLES REALISED??
Emilie: Karun Chandhok brought it up during the post-race interview and you could see the panic download into his brain in real time. I watched it happen. It was magnificent.
Max:Since when are you watching press conferences?? You once told me F1 was “cars doing ring-around-the-rosy with ego problems.”
Emilie: I still stand by that! But I had a feeling someone was going to slip. And I was right.
Max: Belle hasn’t texted me yet.
Emilie: Same. I tried calling. Went straight to voicemail. I’m going over. She might not answer the door but I’m staying the night either way.
Max: Thank you. Really
Emilie: She’s my best friend. You think I’d leave her to spiral alone while the entire Leclerc clan is just now realizing they’ve been garbage?
Max: I’m so pissed, Emilie. They made her feel invisible. And now they’re shocked she walked away?
Emilie: They don’t get to play the concerned family card after a year of not seeing her. After missing her birthday.
Max: She was right there. In the garage. She waved at Charles.
Emilie: And he smiled right through her. I’ve never wanted to throw an expensive shoe at someone more.
Max: you should’ve I would’ve paid the fine
Emilie: Consider it noted for next time.
Max: Let me know when you’re with her Tell her I love her Tell her I am coming straight home.
Emilie: I’ll tell her.
***
Leclerc Family Group Chat
(Members: Arthur, Isabelle, Charles, Pascale)
Charles: guys GUYS we forgot Belle’s birthday
Charles: we forgot her birthday it was TWO WEEKS AGO she was IN THE GARAGE IN MONACO
Arthur: wait what …wait WHAT
Pascale: Charles, what are you talking about? We didn’t— … Oh mon dieu.
Charles: she didn’t say anything she just stood there and none of us said a word
Arthur: okay wait has anyone spoken to her since then?
Charles: I texted her about Canada no reply
Pascale: She hasn’t answered me either.
Arthur: I haven’t heard from her since I asked if she was coming to the factory visit. That was like… the week after Monaco?
Charles: she hasn’t answered ANY of us?? FOR TWO WEEKS??
Lorenzo: I just caught up. I’m going to her apartment. Right now.
Charles: please tell her I’m sorry tell her I didn’t mean to forget I didn’t—
Arthur: we all did, Charles don’t make it sound like it’s just you
Pascale: This isn’t about blame. It’s about fixing it.
Lorenzo: I’ll message when I get there. Don’t blow up her phone. Let me check she’s okay.
Charles: okay thank you
Arthur: tell her we love her please
Lorenzo: I’ll handle it. Let me talk to her. Just… give her space. Don’t crowd her all at once.
Charles: Okay. Please let us know when you get there.
***
Call & Message Log – Belle Verstappen’s Phone
(Missed Calls and Messages – All timestamps in Monaco Time)
Incoming Calls:
Charles Leclerc (19:02) – Missed Call → Voicemail Left
Arthur Leclerc (19:15) – Missed Call
Emilie Abadie (19:20) - Missed Call
Pascale Leclerc (19:27) – Missed Call
Arthur Leclerc (19:39) – Missed Call
Pascale Leclerc (20:01) – Missed Call → No voicemail
Arthur Leclerc: 19:17
Belle, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realise either. I don’t even know how we missed it. Please text me back. I’m freaking out a little.
19:22
Are you okay? Please just say something. Anything.
20:03
I’m so sorry. We were idiots.
Pascale Leclerc: 19:25
Ma chérie… I didn’t realise. I thought I messaged you, but I sent it to Charles by mistake. That’s not an excuse. You deserved more. Always. Please let me come see you. I miss you.
20:12
We didn’t mean to hurt you. I didn’t mean to forget. I love you, mon ange.
***
The sun had dipped low behind the Monaco rooftops, casting the living room in honeyed gold. The windows were cracked open, letting in the hum of the sea and the occasional passing scooter. The only sound inside the apartment was the faint, rhythmic purr of cats.
Belle was asleep on the couch, curled sideways with a throw blanket tangled around her legs. One of Max’s hoodies was pulled over her tank top, far too big on her and smelling faintly of motor oil and cedarwood. Sassy was curled on her feet, Lilly sprawled along her hip like a guard, and Jimmy had claimed the pillow beside her head, face pressed dramatically into her hair like he paid rent.
She hadn’t meant to fall asleep. She’d only meant to rest her eyes.
But the last few days had caught up with her: the tension, the silence, the weight of being both forgotten and known too well.
The buzz of the apartment buzzer stirred her cats but not her. Only when Emilie let herself in—quietly, using the key Belle had given her months ago—did Sassy finally stretch and jump down, tail flicking as if to say you’re late.
Emilie padded through the flat on socked feet, arms full of a canvas tote bag stuffed with snacks, a fuzzy blanket she’d stolen from Belle’s apartment once and never returned, and a bottle of overpriced juice she insisted helped with “emotional hydration.”
She spotted Belle still asleep, cats half-glued to her like warm, fuzzy armor, and her heart cracked open.
Of course Belle had fallen asleep like this. Of course she hadn’t answered her phone.
Emilie set the tote on the coffee table and sank to her knees beside the couch, brushing a strand of hair from Belle’s face.
“Hey,” she said softly. “Sleeping Beauty.”
Belle blinked slowly. Her voice, when it came, was husky and quiet.
“Mm. What time is it?”
“Almost eight.” Emilie smiled gently. “You missed Max’s win.”
Belle sat up slowly, rubbing her eyes as Lilly gave a sleepy grumble and re-settled herself in her lap.
“He won?”
Emilie nodded. “Dominated. It was very on-brand. I texted him back for you. Said congrats and that you were passed out under a pile of cats.”
Belle huffed a breath of a laugh. “Thanks.”
“He asked if you were okay.”
“I’m…” Belle paused. “Better, now.”
Emilie hesitated, then sat down beside her fully, the cushions dipping slightly. “Charles realised.”
Belle’s body stilled.
“During the post-race interview. Karun Chandhok mentioned Monaco. Said something about your birthday being the same day as his win. And you could see it—click. Like his brain got punched in the face.” Emilie’s voice was flat. “He didn’t realise, Belle. Not until someone reminded him you exist.”
Belle exhaled slowly, hands curled in the fabric of the hoodie. “And now he’s spiraling?”
“Of course. Called you. Texted you. Voicemails. I think Arthur’s panicking too. Pascale’s probably mid-emotional breakdown.”
Belle looked over, finally meeting her best friend’s eyes. “You’re watching press conferences now?”
Emilie shrugged, suddenly sheepish. “Lando made a joke on Twitch last week that press media days are ‘elite chaos.’ I got curious. Stayed for the spectacle. Didn’t expect it to turn into a soap opera starring your brother.”
Belle blinked. Then grinned—softly, genuinely—for the first time in days. “You’re watching F1 now because of Lando Norris?”
Emilie lifted her chin. “It’s not serious. It’s anthropological.”
Belle laughed, the sound cracking slightly at the edges, but real.
“I’m also staying here tonight,” Emilie added, pulling a blanket from the tote and draping it over them both. “Because I love you. And because Max will kill me if I leave you alone.”
Belle rested her head against Emilie’s shoulder, voice small. “You don’t have to fix it.”
“I’m not here to fix it,” Emilie murmured. “I’m here so you don’t have to carry it by yourself.”
Belle closed her eyes again.
The texts from Charles buzzed softly on the coffee table. She didn’t reach for them. She didn’t need to.
Not tonight.
She had Emilie. She had Max. She had a stuffed lion upstairs and cats who loved her without question. And when she was ready—on her terms—she would decide if the rest of them deserved her again.
But for now?
She ignored the buzzing.
And let herself be held.
***
Group Chat: HELP ME
(Members: Daniel Ricciardo, Lando Norris, Oscar Piastri, Lewis Hamilton, Carlos Sainz Jr., George Russell, Alex Albon, Nico Hulkenberg, Nico Rosberg, Sebastian Vettel, Mark Webber, David Coulthard, Sergio Pérez, Fernando Alonso, Kimi Räikkönen, Zhou Guanyu, Logan Sergeant, Esteban Ocon, Lance Stroll and Valtteri Bottas)
Oscar: He figured it out. CHARLES FINALLY FIGURED IT OUT.
Lando: WAIT WHAT SOMEONE PLEASE CONFIRM
Daniel: Karun said it was Belle’s birthday during the Monaco win and you could see Charles’ soul leave his body in real time. It was glorious
Carlos: He needed the right trigger (also I am still mad)
Lewis: He was fully smiling at first Then hit the mental brick wall of oh no
George Russell: The smile-drop was cinematic. Might’ve been the most emotional acting we’ve seen all season.
Alex: Does anyone have the clip? For science?
Nico H.: I have it bookmarked.
Sebastian: He really didn’t realise until that exact moment? Not even a whisper before?
Zhou: I still can’t believe it took someone else saying her name for him to remember she has a birthday.
Logan: No, no, let’s all take a moment: He had an entire win In Monaco In front of his family And forgot his sister’s birthday
Oscar: SHE WAVED AT HIM.
Carlos: IN THE GARAGE IN FERRARI RED
Fernando: Imagine forgetting a sister who treats you like that.
Lance: My jaw is still on the floor. He spiraled like he was trapped in a washing machine
David: Live PR disaster. I actually winced.
Sergio Pérez: Dios mío. Max is going to be furious
Nico R.: Max doesn’t need to say a word. His existence is already revenge enough
George: Speaking of Max: Has anyone checked if he’s okay?
Oscar: He’s not. But he’ll be home soon.
Valtteri: This chat is giving Drive to Survive a run for its money
Lando: IMAGINE BEING BELLE Standing there. Birthday. Monaco. Forgotten. AND secretly married to Max Verstappen???
Daniel: Plot twist: she should dropped the wedding photos on Charles’ birthday Just for symmetry
Carlos: Don’t give me ideas I will do it
Oscar: He didn’t remember Until someone else reminded him she existed.
George: True.
Lewis Hamilton: Justice for Belle.
Daniel Ricciardo: Justice. And snacks. And ten thousand cats. She deserves it all.
Fernando: And peace. Away from that chaos.
Kimi: Took him long enough.
***
Lorenzo stood at the foot of Isabelle’s old apartment building, staring up at the cream-colored stone façade like it might blink back at him. The shutters were open on the third floor—her floor—but nothing inside looked familiar. No string lights. No potted herbs on the windowsill. No pale curtains drifting in the breeze the way they used to when she’d leave the balcony door cracked open for the sea air.
He buzzed the door anyway.
Once. Then again.
No response.
The hallway was quieter than he remembered. Less lived-in. The echoes of memory were louder than the footsteps on the stairs as he climbed, more out of muscle memory than belief. He reached her old door and knocked.
No answer.
He stood there, unsure of what to do. His hands itched to call someone—Charles, Pascale, anyone—but that wouldn’t fix this. Not yet.
Then the door across the hall creaked open.
“Looking for Isabelle?” a warm, vaguely amused voice asked.
Lorenzo turned. An older woman stood in the doorway, wearing a robe and holding a mug of tea. Madame Fortier. He remembered her vaguely—Belle used to bring her pastries sometimes when she baked too much.
“Yes,” he said, suddenly unsure of his voice. “Is she home?”
The woman smiled, kind but surprised.
“Darling, she moved out almost a year ago.”
Lorenzo froze.
“What?”
Madame Fortier nodded. “Lovely girl. Packed everything very neatly. She left a plant on my windowsill as a thank-you.”
A beat passed. Lorenzo’s pulse ticked strangely in his throat.
“Where did she go?” he asked, trying to keep his voice steady.
The woman sipped her tea, then tilted her head thoughtfully.
“Oh, she moved in with her boyfriend,” Madame Fortier said, smiling warmly. “Lovely man. Very polite. Treated her well, from what I saw. Always held the door. Picked her up in that fancy little car. She seemed happy.”
Lorenzo’s stomach dropped.
Moved in with her boyfriend.
A year ago.
And none of them knew.
“Right,” he said, the word catching slightly in his throat. “Thank you.”
He walked back down the hallway slowly, like his legs were moving through water.
Outside again, the sunlight felt harsher than it had minutes ago.
Belle had always been the quiet one. The background Leclerc. Never the loudest voice at the table, never the one asking for attention. But she'd been the glue. The calm. The one who remembered birthdays. Who showed up at Arthur’s karting meets with water bottles and quiet encouragement.
Who texted Lorenzo before his exams just to say you’ve got this.
And she hadn’t told them.
Not about the move.
Not about the boyfriend.
Not about… any of it.
It wasn’t just out of character. It was completely, utterly un-Belle.
She didn’t let people she loved run into walls like this. She didn’t let them go blind into guilt and panic. Unless—
Unless she’d stopped expecting them to see her at all.
Lorenzo felt that thought like a punch to the chest.
Had they really made her feel that invisible?
And someone else—some quiet, polite boyfriend in a fancy car—had known her better than any of them did.
***
Leclerc Family Group Chat
(Members: Arthur, Isabelle, Charles, Pascale)
Lorenzo: Update. She doesn’t live at her old apartment anymore.
Arthur: what?
Pascale: What do you mean she doesn’t live there anymore??
Charles: Lorenzo please tell me that’s not what it sounds like
Lorenzo: Her neighbor says she moved out. Almost a year ago. Moved in with her boyfriend.
Arthur: SHE HAS A WHAT
Charles: SHE HAS A BOYFRIEND??
Pascale: Since when?! She never said anything! She never brought anyone to dinner—did you meet him??
Lorenzo: No. None of us did, clearly.
Arthur: what if he’s the reason she’s not answering what if something happened
Charles: don’t say that don’t even think that she’s just mad at us right?
Arthur: no but— think about it she hasn’t answered in two weeks. she didn’t say a word about moving. not a single thing about this guy. what if she’s not okay?
Pascale: She would’ve told us. She always told us if she was scared. Or uncomfortable.
Lorenzo: Not if she doesn’t trust us anymore. Not if she thinks we stopped listening.
Charles: no. no. no no no. I saw her in the garage. She smiled. She waved.
Arthur: people smile when they’re drowning, Charles
Pascale: I’m calling her again. Right now.
Charles: Already did. Straight to voicemail. I’ve texted. I’ve DMed. Nothing.
Arthur: what if something happened
Lorenzo: We don’t know that. Don’t spiral. But we do need to find her.
Charles: I can ask someone at Ferrari. Maybe they know where she’s been.
Pascale: No. No more waiting for her to come to us. We go to her.
Arthur: but we don’t know where she is
Charles: She has a boyfriend we didn’t even know about She moved out a year ago She’s not answering She’s not talking to any of us
Lorenzo: Then we find someone who has seen her recently.
Charles: Who? Because it’s clearly not us.
***
Charles sat by the window, motionless. The clouds blurred past beneath them, soft and ghostlike, but he didn’t see any of it. His phone rested in his hand, screen black, battery threatening to die with a solemn 9% glaring up at him. He hadn’t put it down since they’d left the tarmac.
No new messages. No calls. No Belle.
He’d left voicemail after voicemail. Texts that felt like fragments of apology and panic, all swallowed into silence.
Across the aisle, Nicolas Todt had his laptop open and his phone pressed to his ear, murmuring in rapid-fire French. Every few minutes, he would pause, pinch the bridge of his nose, and mutter something like “catastrophe” or “this is a PR disaster.”
Which, to be fair, it was.
“No, non, it wasn’t intentional,” Nicolas said sharply into the phone. “Yes, we’re working on a statement. No, she hasn’t responded.”
Belle’s name had been trending since the post-race interview. Not because she’d done anything. But because Charles had forgotten her. On her birthday. In Monaco. While she stood right there in the garage, smiling like she didn’t want to be seen and knowing no one had remembered.
Charles swallowed the lump rising in his throat.
Across the cabin, Arthur sat slumped beside Alexandra. His arms were crossed tightly, mouth drawn into a hard line. He hadn’t said much since boarding. But his silence didn’t feel defensive. It felt heavy. Like guilt.
Alexandra was the only one not pretending to be calm.
“You forgot her birthday,” she said. Again. Quietly, but without softening the blow.
“I know,” Charles rasped, eyes fixed on nothing.
“No,” she said sharply, “you don’t. You forgot, Charles. All of you did. She was there. In the garage. And no one even looked at her properly.”
Arthur flinched beside her, but didn’t respond.
From the aisle, Joris Trouche—normally calm, endlessly competent, the kind of man who could manage a logistics meltdown without raising his voice—was pacing with thinly veiled fury. He’d tried sitting down twice. Failed both times.
And now, he stopped in front of them, tone clipped. Controlled. But barely.
“I’ve known Isabelle since she was thirteen,” Joris said, staring them down. “She sent me homemade cinnamon cookies when I was stuck in the hospital with a stress fracture. She used to ask how my mum was doing.”
He turned to Charles. “And you—she waved at you in Monaco. On her birthday. And you smiled like she was anyone.”
Charles opened his mouth, but nothing came out.
Joris’s voice wavered—angry, but undercut by something else. Something personal.
“I’m angry at you,” he said quietly. “But I’m angry at myself too. I should’ve remembered.”
In the front cabin, Joris was pacing. He’d been quiet since takeoff, but now his temper was burning through the thin layer of professionalism that usually cloaked him like armor.
“I should’ve remembered,” Joris said suddenly, sharply. “I should have reminded you. I always remind you. And I—I forgot too.”
Arthur stirred. “We didn’t mean to hurt her.”
Joris snapped his gaze toward him. “You don’t have to mean it. You did it anyway. You only noticed her absence when it became public embarrassment. That’s not love, that’s damage control.”
Nicolas finally ended his call and shut the laptop with a soft but definitive click. “If anyone has a prayer of salvaging this, it’s not through spin,” he said. “It’s through action. Apologies. Honesty. Real words. Not just statements.”
Charles didn’t answer. Couldn’t.
Because Belle hadn’t responded to a single one of his messages. She hadn’t returned his call. She hadn’t even opened them.
And she always used to answer. Even when she was mad. Even when he didn’t deserve it.
He stared out at the clouds, jaw clenched, fists curled against his thighs.
He’d won in Monaco.
And lost the only sister he’d ever had.
***
Group Chat: GRID 2024
Members: Max Verstappen, Charles Leclerc, Carlos Sainz Jr., Lando Norris, Oscar Piastri, Lewis Hamilton, George Russell, Alex Albon, Daniel Ricciardo, Nico Hülkenberg, Lance Stroll, Fernando Alonso, Sergio Pérez, Esteban Ocon, Zhou Guanyu, Logan Sargeant, Pierre Gasly, Yuki Tsunoda
Charles:Where is my sister? Does anyone know where Isabelle is???
Charles: I’ve called. I’ve texted. She’s not answering. She’s not at her apartment. Her neighbor says she MOVED OUT A YEAR AGO. She’s GONE and I don’t know where she is!!!
George: Charles. Deep breath.
Carlos: She’s safe.
Charles: YOU KNOW WHERE SHE IS???
Carlos: Yes. She’s not missing. She’s just not talking to you.
Charles: And YOU KNEW THAT?? You ALL knew she moved out and didn’t say anything???
Carlos: You forgot her birthday, Charles. You don’t get to have an opinion.
Charles: You KNEW?! You KNEW and you didn’t tell me?? You remembered her birthday and let me humiliate myself in front of the world?!
Carlos: She told me not to say anything because she didn’t want pity cupcakes. Her words. She asked for one thing. I respected that.
Charles: SHE’S MY SISTER.
Carlos: Then maybe you should have treated her like that.
Oscar: Charles. Stop.
Charles: No, Oscar, he LET me forget!
Oscar: No. You forgot. YOU. He just respected her boundaries. She didn’t want a spotlight apology. She wanted to be seen before she disappeared. And none of you did.
Oscar: Belle asked Carlos not to tell you. Because she knew you’d make it about yourself.
Charles: Excuse me??
Oscar: YOU forgot her birthday. You smiled right through her in Monaco. You didn’t notice she moved out. You didn’t notice she disappeared. And now you’re mad at Carlos for respecting her boundaries?
Charles: I have a right to be upset!
Oscar: Belle has a right to protect herself. You’re upset because you’re losing control. She’s not missing, Charles. She’s finally choosing herself. And you can’t stand that it wasn’t you who got to decide when or how.
Lando: ...wow
Daniel: Oscar just cleared the entire grid.
George: No survivors.
Charles: Wait. Wait—how do you ALL know where she is?
Charles: Wait. WHAT ARE YOU NOT TELLING ME
Pierre: wait why does this chat feel like everyone’s in on something except me
Lando: She’s fine. She’s not alone. She’s safe. That’s all that matters.
Charles: HOW DO YOU KNOW THAT??
Oscar: Because she’s home.
Charles: What does that mean??
George: ...not our story to tell
Carlos: Exactly.
Yuki: What is happening. I feel like I skipped an episode.
Lando: Welcome to Drive to Survive: Emotional Damage Edition.
Oscar: Charles, stop texting. Start listening.
Charles: I need to fix it.
Carlos: Then don’t make this about you.
Lewis: And maybe… for once… Try earning your sister’s forgiveness instead of assuming you’re entitled to it.
Daniel: All I’m gonna say is… maybe next time don’t wait until post-race interviews to remember the people standing in your corner.
Lewis: And maybe sit with this one for a while before demanding answers. Sometimes silence is the only language people have left.
Charles: … I just want to fix it.
Oscar: Then stop trying to own her pain. And start listening.
***
Group Chat: HELP ME
(Members: Daniel Ricciardo, Lando Norris, Oscar Piastri, Lewis Hamilton, Carlos Sainz Jr., George Russell, Alex Albon, Nico Hulkenberg, Nico Rosberg, Sebastian Vettel, Mark Webber, David Coulthard, Sergio Pérez, Fernando Alonso, Kimi Räikkönen, Zhou Guanyu, Logan Sergeant, Esteban Ocon and Lance Stroll)
Oscar: I might’ve gone too hard. But also I really don’t think I did.
Lewis: Nope. You didn’t. You said what needed to be said.
Carlos: I’ve been biting my tongue for two weeks. Thank you for saying it out loud.
George: You cleared him so thoroughly I think I need to book you for emotional landscaping.
Lando: You had him pacing like a dad who just realized he missed Parent-Teacher Night. It was glorious.
Daniel: Honestly? That was better than Spa 2021. You lapped him emotionally.
Alex: Did you see Pierre and Yuki’s confusion?? They looked like they opened Netflix halfway through season 3.
Oscar: They’re still trying to figure out why we all suddenly act like Max Verstappen is Belle’s guard dog husband.
Zhou: Wait. Should we add Pierre and Yuki to this chat? Like a prep class before the meltdown?
Logan: Absolutely not. They’ll trigger Charles into another “WHERE IS MY SISTER??” monologue and I’m emotionally out of snacks.
Esteban: Pierre would tell Charles.
Mark: Back to the point—Oscar, you did good. He needed the mirror held up. Guilt isn’t the same as accountability.
David: And accountability isn’t the same as entitlement. He forgot that. You reminded him.
Sebastian: You all know what gets me? She didn’t even leave angry. She left quietly. And that says more than shouting ever could.
Carlos: That’s what kills me. She still doesn’t want us to fight over her. She just wanted to be seen.
Lewis: And now she finally is. By the one person who actually looked before it was too late.
George: Max is probably already privately planning to change his will and tattoo her name on his chest.
Lando: He's in full "mine" mode. He’ll probably growl at anybody that comes close to her for the remainder of the week.
Daniel Ricciardo: Wait until Charles finds out. About the wedding. About the “Mr. and Mrs. Verstappen” monogrammed towels.
Oscar: He doesn’t deserve to even have a fucking opinion about it. And he doesn’t get to drag Belle through more of his guilt spiral.
Lewis: And if he does?
Oscar: Then we remind him. She’s not invisible anymore. And she never has to be again.
Sebastian: Long live Belle Verstappen. She deserves peace.
Carlos: And we’re making damn sure she keeps it.
***
Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Victoria Verstappen
Victoria: I just saw the clip. Charles finally realized, didn’t he?
Victoria: I want to throw my phone through a wall. How did it take a live interview for it to click??
Victoria: Is Belle okay? Please tell me she’s okay. Tell me you’re with her.
Max: I’m flying back tonight. Emilie’s with her now. She’s safe. Quiet. But… not okay. Not yet.
Victoria: Of course she’s not. She was standing there in the garage and smiled at him, and he didn’t remember. I don’t know how she held it together.
Max: Because that’s what she’s always done. Hold it in. Make it easier for everyone else.
Victoria: Not anymore. She doesn’t owe them that. She never did. And if Charles tries to guilt her into “moving on,” I swear to God.
Max: He won’t get the chance.
Victoria: Good. And when you get home—hold her tight, okay?
Max: Always. I’ve got her, Vic. She’s not alone anymore.
Victoria: She better not be. Because if any of them make her feel small again, I will drive to Monaco and handle it myself.
Max: You’ll have to get in line behind me.
***
Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Jos Verstappen
Jos: Just saw the clip. The post-race interview.
Max: He only realized because Karun mentioned it. Didn’t even remember on his own.
Jos: I want to drive to Maranello and punch something.
Jos: You tell me—right now—is she okay?
Max: Emilie’s with her. She says Belle’s sleeping. Quiet. She hasn’t messaged me yet. But I’m heading home.
Jos: Good. Don’t leave her alone with that silence. She’ll pretend she’s fine. She’ll say it doesn’t matter. But this? This hurt her. You can see it in the way she vanished.
Jos: Belle doesn’t demand space. She disappears when she feels like no one wants her in the room.
Max: I know. She doesn’t have to say it for me to hear it.
Jos: I’m proud of her. She stood up for herself the only way she knew how. By walking away.
Jos: But I swear to God, if that brother of hers ever makes her feel like that again— I don’t care if he’s a Leclerc. I will make sure he never forgets who she is again.
Max: You’ll have to beat me to it. I’m not letting them near her until she says she’s ready. If she ever is.
Jos: That’s my boy. You take care of her. And tell her this family—the one she chose—has her back. Always.
***
Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Sophie Kumpen
Sophie: I just watched the interview.
Sophie: Max… he forgot her birthday. She was standing in the garage. She smiled at him. And he didn’t even blink. Like she was nobody.
Max: He remembered live on camera. Karun said something about Monaco and her birthday, and it hit him mid-answer. You could see it crash into him.
Sophie: God, I hope it crushes him.
Sophie: How is Belle? Have you spoken to her?
Max: Emilie’s with her. She says she’s safe. Sleeping. Quiet.
Sophie: She’s always quiet when she’s hurting. Always. You remember that, Max. The softer she gets, the harder she’s holding herself together.
Max: I know. That’s why I’m coming home.
Sophie: Good. She needs you. Not the Max who wins races. You. The one who holds her hand when she’s anxious. The one who brings her tulips on Thursdays because she mentioned liking them once.
Sophie: Because the people who were supposed to protect her? They failed her.
Max: I’ll never let her feel like that again.
Sophie: I know you won’t. Because you see her. And that’s the most anyone can give someone who’s spent their whole life being overlooked.
Sophie: You tell her I’m coming by next week. No pressure. Just lunch. And she can sit on the balcony and not say a word if that’s all she wants. I’ll just be there.
Max: She’ll love that. She loves you.
Sophie: I love her. And if her family can’t act like it, she’s more than welcome in ours.
***
Max sat in his seat, elbow propped against the armrest, forehead resting against his knuckles as the private jet hummed through the night. The win from earlier that day already felt like a lifetime ago. He hadn’t celebrated. Not really. He’d shaken hands, answered the questions, smiled on the podium because it was muscle memory now.
But the second the press conference ended, the weight had dropped onto his chest.
Charles had realized. Finally.
Live. On camera. Because someone else—Karun, of all people—had mentioned Belle’s birthday.
It had taken that long. Two weeks.
Max had replayed the press clip on his phone once—watched Charles’ face shift in slow motion from charm to dawning horror. Watched him falter, then spiral. And Max hadn’t felt a drop of pity.
Because Belle had stood in that garage. She’d smiled. She’d waved. And her own brother had looked through her.
Across the aisle, Lando was sprawled in his seat with a blanket half-pulled over his face, earbuds in, legs stretched into Oscar’s personal space. Oscar had given up fighting it and was half-asleep against the window. Daniel was flipping through something on his iPad, likely pretending not to watch Max out of the corner of his eye.
The silence was comfortable. Familiar. But Max’s mind was anything but.
Daniel had commandeered the seat across Max and was watching the proceedings like a therapist in a sitcom.
Finally, Lando broke the silence.
“Sooo…” he said slowly, cautiously, “how’s Belle?”
Max didn’t even look up. “Emilie’s with her. She said she’s okay. Belle was sleeping. Under the cats. Emilie said she looked peaceful.”
Lando hesitated. “Right. So… you know… she’s safe?”
“Yeah.”
“But you’re still brooding.”
“I’m not brooding,” Max muttered.
Daniel leaned over the seat, grinning. “Oh, you are. Brooding with intensity. I haven’t seen this level of moody since Lando ran out of oat milk last week.”
“Hey,” Lando protested, “that was a crisis. And also—can we talk about how terrifying Emilie is?”
Daniel burst out laughing. “So your crush is confirmed.”
Lando went pink. “I do not have a crush.”
Oscar stretched, deadpan: “You stalked her on instagram and accidentally liked a post from 2019.”
“That was admiration! That’s different.”
Max finally glanced over, managing a small smirk despite the pressure in his chest. “You are a brave man,” he told Lando sagely, who glared at him.
Lando groaned, pulling his hoodie over his head. “Why did I say that out loud?”
Daniel looked way too delighted. “Because you’re into emotionally terrifying women with sharp cheekbones and moral clarity. Honestly? Taste.”
Oscar nodded solemnly. “Elite taste.”
“I hate all of you.”
“You love us,” Oscar yawned.
Max’s smile faded again as he looked back at his phone. The moment passed, quiet settling again like dust.
Lando, quieter now, asked, “Do you think Belle’s okay?”
Max didn’t answer right away. He was thinking of her curled on the couch. Of Emilie sitting beside her. Of their cats acting like tiny sentinels. He thought of the unopened texts, the unreturned calls.
“I think,” he said eventually, “she’s tired. Of being forgotten. Of being an afterthought. Of being quiet and still never heard.”
The other three fell silent. Even Daniel looked serious now.
Max looked down at the screen. Still nothing.
“But she’s not alone,” he added. “Not this time.”
Oscar nodded. “You’ll be home soon.”
Max’s voice was soft but certain. “Yeah. And when I get there, I’m staying. No more paddock games. No more silence. She doesn’t have to carry any of it alone anymore.”
Lando peeked out from his hoodie. “You’re like… scarily romantic for someone who once said feelings were ‘a distraction’.”
Max huffed a laugh. “Turns out she’s the only distraction I want.”
Daniel wiped an imaginary tear. “Beautiful. Print that on a mug.”
Oscar: “Tattoo it on your neck.”
Lando: “Put it on team merch. Limited edition.”
Max smiled faintly, then leaned back, still clutching his phone.
Let them joke.
Because the second they landed, he was going home. To her.
And this time, he wasn’t letting anyone—not a team, not a calendar, not even her family—make her feel invisible again.
***
Text Messages: Alexandra Saint-Mleux & Belle Verstappen
Alexandra: Hey, Isabelle. I know it’s late. I just… I wanted to say I’m thinking about you.
Alexandra: Charles realized during the post-race interview. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him look so gutted. I wish it hadn’t taken that for him to see what he missed.
Alexandra: I don’t want to say the wrong thing. I’m sure a lot of people already have. But you didn’t deserve to be forgotten. You never have. And I’m sorry.
***
Text Messages: Alexandra Saint-Mleux & Charlotte Di Pietro
Alexandra: Hey. Just a heads-up before it hits you through someone else: We forgot Belle’s birthday.
Charlotte: …what?
Alexandra: All of us. Her entire family.
Charlotte: No. No way. It was during Monaco, wasn’t it?
Alexandra: Yes. She was in the garage, Char. Waved at Charles. Smiled at all of us. And not one of us remembered.
Charlotte: Oh my god.
Alexandra: Charles realized during a post-race interview today. The interviewer mentioned her birthday and I watched it hit him like a truck.
Charlotte: Is Isabelle okay?
Alexandra: She hasn’t answered anyone. Not even Pascale.
Charlotte: That’s not “okay.” That’s Isabelle shutting the world out.
Alexandra: Exactly. And the worst part? She didn’t say anything. She let us all forget. She didn’t expect us to remember.
Charlotte: Because we’ve done it before. Not like this. But still. God.
Alexandra: I texted her. No reply. She might answer you if you try. You’ve always been gentle with her.
Charlotte: I will. Thank you for telling me. And for not pretending it’s less awful than it is.
Alexandra: She deserves more than silence and spin. She always has.
Charlotte: I’ll try to reach her tomorrow. Even if she doesn’t answer… she’ll know someone tried.
Alexandra: That’s all we can do now. Try. And mean it.
***
The apartment was quiet when Max stepped inside.
Soft light filtered in through the curtains, casting golden stripes across the hardwood. The cats didn’t rush to greet him—they were already curled up in their usual spots, half-asleep and full of judgment. Sassy lifted her head briefly from the back of the couch, flicked her tail in acknowledgment, and went right back to sleep.
Max dropped his duffel gently by the door, kicked off his shoes without a sound, and padded into the hallway. Every step closer to the bedroom felt heavier. Not with dread. But with something deeper. Something like relief tied up in knots of worry.
He pushed the door open quietly.
There she was.
Belle, curled on his side of the bed, her frame barely a ripple beneath the duvet. One of his old shirts hung off her shoulder, too big and soft and completely hers now. Her hair was a mess, her breathing slow and steady.
He’d spent days missing her. And now, seeing her like this—peaceful, untouched by the storm her family had just realized they created—he nearly broke.
Max crossed the room slowly, sliding into bed behind her without a word. His hand found her waist beneath the blanket, fingers curling gently. His nose tucked into her shoulder, lips brushing against the skin just below her ear.
She stirred.
“Mm?” she murmured sleepily, voice raspy and warm. “Max?”
“Hey,” he whispered. “I’m home.”
Belle rolled toward him without hesitation, arms winding around his middle, burying her face in his chest like she hadn’t seen him in months. He held her tighter. One hand cradling the back of her head, the other tracing slow, soothing lines down her spine.
“Did Emilie let you in?” she mumbled.
“No. She left me a note that said ‘fridge is stocked, don’t screw it up.’” He paused. “Also, she stole my last protein bar.”
Belle huffed a sleepy breath of laughter. Then: “I’m glad you’re here.”
“Me too,” Max said softly. “I’ve missed you.”
She pulled back just enough to look up at him. Her eyes were puffy, tired—but clearer than he expected. The ache he saw in them was quieter now. Calmer. He reached up, brushing his thumb gently beneath one eye.
“They all texted,” she said.
He nodded. “I know.”
“And called. Voicemails. Messages. Even Alexandra, I think.” Her voice was neutral, but her fingers had curled into his shirt. “I shut off my phone. I just… I can’t deal with them right now.”
“You don’t have to.”
She exhaled slowly. “They forgot, Max. Not just my birthday. Me. And now they’re panicking, but not because they miss me. Because they feel guilty. It’s not the same.”
Max didn’t rush to fill the silence. He let it settle between them, warm and safe and honest.
“They’ll say sorry,” he said eventually. “But that doesn’t mean you have to forgive them all at once. Or at all. That’s your call.”
Belle swallowed. “I just… I don’t know if I want to let them back in. Not after this. Not when it took two weeks and an interview for them to notice.”
Max leaned down, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Then don’t. You don’t owe them anything.”
She closed her eyes, breathing him in. His presence. His steadiness. The way he never told her what she should feel—just made space for what she did.
“You always see me,” she whispered.
“Always,” Max said. “Every day. Every version of you. Even the one who hides under a blanket and ghosts her whole bloodline.”
Belle laughed, watery and real. “I love you.”
Max smiled, burying his face in her hair. “I love you more.”
They stayed there, wrapped in warmth and honesty and quiet defiance.
Her family could wait. The texts could sit unread. The apologies could pile up.
Right now, she had Max. And that was enough.
***
Text Messages: Max Fewtrell & Lando Norris
Max Fewtrell: BRO. You saw it, right?? Charles fully crashed his soul mid-interview??
Lando: Unfortunately, yes. It was like watching someone remember they left the oven on... and also their sister.
Max Fewtrell: Iconic. Karun was like “her birthday, right?” And Charles just downloaded a full panic attack.
Max Fewtrell: I screamed. Like—out loud. In public.
Lando Norris: It was kind of beautiful tbh. Like watching karma arrive with a mic and a production crew.
Max Fewtrell: Is his sister okay though? Do we know? Does she have a burner Twitter? I feel like she would.
Lando Norris: She’s fine. Emilie’s with her.
Max Fewtrell: Who’s Emilie?
Lando Norris: ... She's Belle’s best friend. Sharp. Dangerous. Possibly psychic. Says terrifyingly accurate things about my emotional state and then walks away in heels
Lando: She’s terrifying. Also brilliant. And she’s like…scarily beautiful.
Max Fewtrell: You have a crush on her, don’t you.
Lando: …I didn’t say that.
Max Fewtrell: YOU ABSOLUTELY DO OH MY GOD YOU DO This is the best gossip of the day and Charles had a meltdown on live TV
Lando: Shut up Also can we go back to Charles??
Max Fewtrell: No Because now I want to know why you know where Belle is And how you know Emilie’s with her And why you’re being so weirdly calm
Lando: …because I went to the wedding?
Max Fewtrell: THE WHAT
Lando: ...
Max Fewtrell: LAN THE WEDDING
Lando: Yeah. Belle and Max Verstappen. They got married. I was invited. Very small. City Hall. No media. Emilie picked the flowers
Max Fewtrell: MAX. VERSTAPPEN?!
Lando: Yes
Max Fewtrell: YOU MEAN TO TELL ME CHARLES IS HAVING A BREAKDOWN ABOUT FORGETTING HIS SISTER’S BIRTHDAY AND DOESN’T EVEN KNOW SHE’S MARRIED TO HIS RIVAL???
Lando: Correct
Max Fewtrell: I need to lie down. And then I need popcorn And possibly therapy But also more of this
Lando: Same. Group chat is chaos Do not ask to be added It’s war in there
Max Fewtrell: This is better than Drive to Survive You’ve been sitting on this gossip for HOW LONG?
Lando: Long enough to know I value my life And Max Verstappen would kill me if I leaked it before they were ready
Max Fewtrell: Fair
Lando: You think Charles is spiraling now… Wait until he finds out Max is family now
Max Fewtrell: My god. This is better than Netflix.
***
Lorenzo had barely slept.
After learning Isabelle hadn’t lived in her old apartment for nearly a year, he’d paced half the night in his kitchen, replaying every memory, every text, every moment he should have noticed and didn’t. His phone was full of unanswered group chat pings and hollow apologies.
By morning, he couldn’t sit still anymore.
He needed answers.
So he went to the one place he knew she would be at 8 am on a Monday morning.
Her job.
Atelier Renard Architects.
Clean glass facade, minimalist signage, nestled on the edge of the marina like it had always been there. Isabelle used to say she loved that building more than half her portfolio—it knows exactly what it is and makes no apologies for it.
The receptionist didn’t recognize him at first. He introduced himself politely—Lorenzo Leclerc, Isabelle’s brother—and tried not to notice the pause.
Then the woman gave a hesitant smile. “Oh… Isabelle. Yes, of course. I’m sorry, I didn’t realize—”
“I just wanted to stop by,” he said, trying to keep his voice calm. “She’s not answering her phone. I thought maybe she was working, or—”
“Oh.” The woman’s expression faltered. “She doesn’t work here anymore.”
Lorenzo blinked. “What?”
“She… quit. Months ago. November, I think? Maybe early December. It was quiet. No big announcement. She just cleared out her office in one evening.”
Lorenzo’s stomach dropped. “Did she say why?”
The receptionist grimaced. “There were some internal issues. She seemed calm. Almost… relieved.”
Lorenzo stepped back slightly, reeling.
Quit.
She’d quit the one job she had fought tooth and nail for. The one thing she always lit up talking about.
And no one in her family had noticed.
Not one of them.
“I’m sorry,” the receptionist said gently. “I assumed you knew.”
Lorenzo nodded stiffly. “No, thank you. You’ve been kind.”
He left quickly. Didn’t wait for anything more.
Outside, he leaned against the edge of a planter and braced both hands on the cool stone, breath catching.
Isabelle hadn’t just moved.
She hadn’t just gone quiet.
She’d walked away from everything they thought they knew about her.
And no one—not a single one of them—had been close enough to notice it happening.
She’d untethered herself from them all.
And now?
Now they had no idea where she stood.
If she was hurt. If she was gone.
For the first time in years, panic didn’t just flicker in Lorenzo’s chest—it bloomed, wide and wild.
He pulled out his phone. Called her again. Straight to voicemail.
***
Text Messages: Alexandra Saint Mleux & Emilie Abadie
Alexandra: Hey Emilie. I just wanted to check in. Do you know how Isabelle is doing?
Emilie: She’s resting. She’s emotionally exhausted. And no, she’s not answering anyone right now.
Alexandra: I figured. I wasn’t going to ask you to make her talk, I just… Wanted to make sure she’s okay. Truly.
Emilie: You all want to make sure she’s “okay” now. Where was that energy six months ago? Or a year ago? Or on her birthday?
Alexandra: I know. You’re right. We failed her. I’m not pretending we didn’t. I’m just trying not to make the same mistake twice.
Emilie: Then don’t turn this into your redemption arc. Belle is not your apology vessel. She doesn’t owe anyone grace she hasn’t given herself yet.
Alexandra: …Okay. That’s fair. I’m not trying to earn points. Just… trying.
Emilie: Trying is good. But don’t expect updates or access. She gets to choose who gets that now. And when.
Alexandra: Of course. Is she alone?
Emilie: No. Her boyfriend’s with her. He’s been looking after her. And he likes taking care of her.
***
Max blinked his eyes open just as Belle shifted in his arms and pushed herself up slightly, hair tousled and sweater slipping off one shoulder. Her eyes were tired, but calmer now. Clearer.
“Hi,” she whispered, voice rough with sleep.
“Hi,” he murmured back, brushing her hair behind her ear. “How are you feeling?”
She hesitated. “Better. Now that you’re here.”
He kissed her forehead. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Belle sat up a little more, folding her legs under her. Max followed, still close, watching her carefully.
There was something in the way she looked at him now. Like she was on the edge of a cliff, heart in her throat, trying to trust the air would catch her.
“I have to tell you something,” she said softly, her fingers playing with the hem of her sleeve.
Max stilled. “Okay.”
“I was going to wait,” she said. “I didn’t want to do it over the phone, or in the middle of all the… noise. But you’re here now, and I don’t want to keep it from you.”
“Belle,” he said gently, “you can tell me anything.”
“I have something for you.”
Max blinked. “Is this a surprise-I- am-mad-at-you gift or a I-love-you-so-here’s-something-cute gift?”
Belle rolled her eyes, but her lips curved slightly. “The second one.”
“Good,” he said. “I was going to guess that anyway.”
She opened the drawer of her bedside table and pulled something out of it, only to placed it gently in his lap.
A lion plush.
Max looked down at it, brows drawing together. It was small, soft, slightly chubby around the middle with a fuzzy, mane and button eyes. Not something he’d seen before.
He ran a hand over its head slowly, confused but already fond of it. “Where did this come from?”
“I bought it the day after you left for Canada,” Belle said quietly. “I was shopping for a gift for Victoria’s baby, and I saw him. And I couldn’t put him back.”
Max looked at her, then back at the lion, frowning slightly in thought. “For Victoria’s baby?”
She shook her head. Her voice was soft, but steady. Belle’s eyes met his.
“For ours.”
The words hit him like a gear shift in slow motion. He blinked, heart thudding, mouth parting, but no sound coming out. He looked at her, really looked at her—at the hoodie draped over her shoulders, at the hand resting on her stomach without thinking, at the way her eyes shimmered but didn’t waver.
“You’re—” His voice cracked. “You’re pregnant?”
Belle nodded. “Twelve weeks, now. I thought it was the anemia at first. I went in for a check-up and they… they did an ultrasound.”
Max’s hand found hers without hesitation, fingers lacing tightly. “And everything’s okay?”
She nodded again, breath catching this time. “There was a heartbeat. A strong one. I saw it.”
He stared at her in awe, overwhelmed, his brain scrambling to keep up while his heart surged forward.
The plush lion sat between them on the bed, quiet and steady.
Max looked down at it, then back at her. “You’re serious?”
Belle’s voice cracked then, just a little. “I didn’t want to tell you over the phone. I wanted it to be here. With you. Home.”
And Max—Max didn’t even realize he was crying until she touched his cheek, brushing the tears away with the gentlest smile.
“You’re having our baby,” he said, the words tumbling out of him like something sacred.
Belle’s breath caught.
And then Max let out a shaky laugh—half in disbelief, half in awe. “You’re having our baby.”
She bit her lip. “Is that… okay?”
“Belle,” he said, looking at her like she’d just given him the universe, “it’s perfect.”
He looked down, then up at her again.
“Twelve weeks?” he said. “So that means…”
“December,” Belle murmured. “Right before the new season.”
His grin was slow, bright, and stunned. “A Verstappen off-season baby. We’re so on-brand.”
Belle laughed, soft and teary.
Max reached past her, picked up the lion, and pressed it to her stomach with gentle reverence.
“Hey, little one,” he said quietly. “I can’t wait to meet you.”
***
White Horse - Chapter 22: June 2024 - Part 3
Pairing: Max Verstappen x Isabelle Leclerc (Original Character)
Summary:
Max Verstappen is a World Champion. Isabelle Leclerc is invisible.
She watched her family give up everything for Charles’ career—Arthur’s karting, their father’s savings, even her childhood horse. She understood. She never asked for more.
But Max does. He notices the things no one else does, listens when no one else will, and puts her first in ways she never imagined. With him, she isn’t an afterthought—she’s a choice. And for the first time, she realizes she doesn’t have to be invisible.
Warnings and Notes:
we have now moved on from Charles bashing to bashing his whole family, Discussions of toxic past relationships, talk about loosing a childhood pet, toxic families, mention of the loss of a parent. Apparently I am once again messing up my chapter numbering on Tumblr. 21 is correct according to AO3 and Wattpad though. No, you didn't miss anything, I promise.
As always big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble
Text Messages: Gianpiero Lambiase & Max Verstappen
GP: Heard about the post-race press. Are you and Belle okay?
Max: I’m fine. Belle’s shaken. Tired. But she’s okay. (ish.)
GP: “Okay-ish” isn’t exactly reassuring, mate.
Max: She’s stronger than she thinks. But it hit her hard. Even after everything… she still hoped they’d see her.
GP: That’s the cruel part. Hope.
Max: Yeah.
GP: Is she at home? You with her?
Max: I am.
Max: Doesn’t feel like enough.
GP: It’s enough. You’re there. You see her. That’s already more than most have ever done.
Max: She deserves better than this.
GP: She’s got it now. She’s got you.
GP: (and the cats.)
Max: True. Jimmy thinks he’s her bodyguard.
GP: Smart cat.
GP: Tell her we’re all thinking about her, yeah?
Max: I will. Thanks, GP. For checking in.
GP: Always. She’s part of the team now. Whether she likes it or not.
***
The breakfast table was too quiet.
A spread of croissants, jam, fresh fruit, and espresso cups sat untouched in the center of the table—untouched because no one could eat. Lorenzo’s revelation from the day before hung in the air like a thundercloud.
Isabelle had quit her job.
Months ago.
Without telling a single one of them.
Charles still hadn’t wrapped his head around it. Isabelle had always loved her work. She breathed design. She stayed up late sketching, doodling floor plans on napkins, whispering ideas into voice memos when she thought no one was listening.
And then one day… she just walked away from it. From them.
Arthur sat with his head in his hands, looking half-murdered by guilt. Pascale was pale and tight-lipped, stirring her tea without drinking it.
“I don’t understand,” Pascale whispered. “How could she just… leave her job? She worked so hard for it.”
“She didn’t just leave,” Lorenzo said, pacing. “She ghosted the entire office. Packed her things in one night. Sent a polite goodbye email. Nothing else.”
“And no one noticed?” Arthur asked, stunned.
“No one bothered to notice,” Charles muttered.
Pascale looked toward Alexandra. “Did you know anything?”
Alexandra hesitated, then straightened a little. “She’s safe.”
That got everyone’s attention.
Charles’s head snapped toward her. “What?”
“I texted Emilie,” Alexandra said, calm but firm. “Isabelle’s best friend. She replied this morning. Said Isabelle is okay.”
A collective breath was held—and slowly released.
“Why didn’t you say that sooner?” Pascale asked, eyes wide.
“Because you were all too busy spiraling,” Alexandra said. “And because Emilie was clear: Isabelle doesn’t want to talk to any of you right now.”
Charles swallowed hard.
“She’s mad,” he said. “Of course she’s mad.”
“She’s not mad,” Alexandra said. “She’s hurt. She’s done. There’s a difference.”
Lorenzo closed his eyes. Arthur muttered something under his breath.
Then Alexandra added, almost absently, “She’s not alone. Emilie said her boyfriend likes taking care of her.”
A beat of stunned silence.
“Oh my god,” Arthur muttered. “She has a sugar daddy.”
Charlotte choked on her orange juice.
Pascale actually dropped her spoon.
“Arthur!” Alexandra hissed, scandalized.
Arthur looked wildly between them. “Think about it! Moved out. Quit her job. No one knows where she is. Isabelle’s always been quiet, not mysterious. What if she—”
“No. No,” Charles said quickly, shaking his head like that would erase the words from the room. “She wouldn’t. Isabelle is not like that.”
“People change when they feel abandoned,” Arthur muttered, clearly spiraling now. “This is how Netflix documentaries start.”
“I will kill whoever that man is,” Charles muttered, eyes narrowing like he was already imagining chasing someone through the Monaco harbor with a champagne bottle.
“I’m just saying,” Arthur hissed, “stranger things have happened! And let’s not pretend we’re not a family of unresolved emotional issues. We all have daddy issues!”
A beat of stunned silence.
Then Pascale, horror dawning on her face, said, “Excuse me?!”
Arthur looked up, mid-sip of juice. “What?”
Pascale blinked, stunned. “Since when?!”
Arthur just stared at her. “I mean, come on. Dad died when we were kids, Charles is out here trying to win his approval from the afterlife, I started karting again like I have something to prove, and Isabelle— Isabelle moved in with a mysterious man and quit her job because he "likes taking care of her!"
“Oh my God,” Pascale said faintly, sinking into her chair.
“Okay, this is going off the rails,” Alexandra groaned.
Lorenzo pinched the bridge of his nose. “Arthur, this is not about your unresolved need for paternal validation.”
Arthur shrugged helplessly. “I was just trying to explain that maybe Isabelle was looking for emotional stability and someone gave it to her. And maybe he also had a good skincare routine and a yacht. I don’t know.”
“She moved in with her boyfriend,” Lorenzo said sharply. “Not a sugar daddy. Her boyfriend. That’s what her old neighbor said. She left the firm. Left her apartment. But she didn’t run away. She just stopped waiting to be seen.”
Arthur groaned, slumping in his seat. “We didn’t even know she had a boyfriend.”
“Because she didn’t tell us,” Charles said bitterly. “Because she stopped expecting us to care.”
“Or because she knew you were going to freak out.” Charlotte murmured.
Charles raised an eyebrow. “What does that mean?”
Charlotte looked up, startled. “What?”
“You said that like you know something.”
Charlotte hesitated. “I don’t know anything.”
“Charlotte,” Lorenzo warned.
She shifted. “It’s just—she’s always been around racing. She used to hang around the paddock all the time. If she was seeing someone, I wouldn’t be shocked if it was someone from the grid.”
Silence.
Then Arthur: “Wait. You’re saying she could be dating someone we know?”
Charlotte winced. “I said maybe. Don’t start spiraling.”
“I’M ALREADY SPIRALING,” Charles announced.
Alexandra sighed, sipping her coffee. “And now we’ve entered the panic phase.”
Arthur leaned back, muttering, “If it’s Fernando I swear to God—”
Pascale clapped her hands together. “Enough.”
But Charles barely heard her.
Because if Belle was dating someone from the paddock…
Then there were nineteen men it could be, currently on the grid.
And not one of them had said a word.
***
Group Chat: GRID 2024
Members: Max Verstappen, Charles Leclerc, Carlos Sainz Jr., Lando Norris, Oscar Piastri, Lewis Hamilton, George Russell, Alex Albon, Logan Sergeant, Daniel Ricciardo, Nico Hülkenberg, Lance Stroll, Fernando Alonso, Sergio Pérez, Esteban Ocon, Zhou Guanyu, Logan Sargeant, Pierre Gasly, Yuki Tsunoda, and Valtteri Bottas
Charles: SOMEONE TELL ME
Who is dating my sister??
Charles: IS IT FERNANDO?? Are you her sugar daddy?? Just tell me. I need answers.
Fernando: Pardon?
Lewis: Oh we’re doing this.
George: Charles, breathe.
Oscar: You’re spiraling. Please stop.
Pierre: Wait WHAT??
Yuki: I feel like I’ve walked into the last five minutes of a telenovela
Fernando: Charles. I’m flattered. But no.
Charles: OK FINE. MAX. Charles: IS SHE DATING JOS?!
Logan: …bro
George: I need to leave this chat forever
Lando: oh my god
Max: What. Did. You. Just. Say.
Charles: I don’t know, okay?? Everyone’s being weird. She’s gone, she moved, she quit her job, no one’s telling me anything and YOU’RE ALL BEING WEIRD.
Max: Don’t you ever say something like that again.
Max: Not as a joke. Not out of panic. Not ever.
Max: Belle is your sister, Charles. She deserved your attention, your support, your respect—and she didn’t get any of it. Max: And now you want to cover up your guilt by making a disgusting joke like that?
George: Whoa.
Charles: It’s not a joke! She smiled at him during Monaco!
Max: You forgot her birthday. You forgot her entire life outside of your world. And now you’re so desperate to catch up you’re throwing shit against the wall like it doesn’t have consequences?
Oscar: He’s right. That was low, man.
Lando: Way out of line.
Max: You’re panicking and flinging names around like this is a soap opera, and you’re forgetting that this isn’t about you.
Carlos: He’s right.
Max: Belle isn’t your property. She doesn’t owe you updates of her life. And the fact that your first instinct is to accuse my father of something that insane? That tells me everything I need to know about where your priorities are.
Max: You’re not trying to protect her. You’re trying to control the fallout of your own guilt.
Alex: Oof.
Oscar: He’s not wrong.
Lando: I mean, he’s definitely not wrong.
Daniel: That was… surgical.
Max: You forgot her birthday. You didn’t realise she moved or that she quit her job. And now that it’s all blowing up in your face, you’re treating your sister like a scandal to manage instead of a woman who deserves better than you’ve given her for years.
Charles: Max…
Max Verstappen: Don’t. You had every chance to show up. And you didn’t.
Oscar: …Well. That was the cleanest emotional takedown I’ve ever witnessed.
Pierre: I’m afraid to even type right now.
Alex: Respectfully, that needed to be said.
Lewis: Sometimes silence is the most respectful response. And sometimes it’s watching Max drop a nuke and sipping your tea.
Charles: … I’m sorry.
Max: Don’t say sorry to me. Say it to her.
Daniel: And maybe do it without accusing her of having a sugar daddy next time.
Fernando: Sincerely never thought I’d be defending Jos Verstappen’s honor in a group chat. And yet. Here we are.
Pierre: Did we all just witness character development in real time?
Oscar: No, we witnessed Max finally snap.
Carlos: Honestly? Fair.
Max: Now if you’ll excuse me, my wife wants to go see her horse.
***
Group Chat: HELP ME
(Members: Daniel Ricciardo, Lando Norris, Oscar Piastri, Lewis Hamilton, Carlos Sainz Jr., George Russell, Alex Albon, Nico Hulkenberg, Nico Rosberg, Sebastian Vettel, Mark Webber, David Coulthard, Sergio Pérez, Fernando Alonso, Kimi Räikkönen, Zhou Guanyu, Logan Sergeant, Esteban Ocon, Lance Stroll and Valtteri Bottas)
Oscar: (sends screenshots) Are we gonna talk about that??
Lando: I don’t think I’ll ever emotionally recover.
George: That wasn’t an argument. That was Max opening a precision-cut emotional autopsy on Charles.
Daniel: Surgical strike. Zero survivors.
Carlos: I think I stopped breathing somewhere between “not your property” and “scandal to manage.”
Alex: And he still managed to slip in “my wife” at the end like it was casual.
Lewis: Subtle as a sledgehammer. Iconic.
Sebastian: Imagine standing that close to the truth and just completely going off the deep end. JOS VERSTAPPEN?!?!
David: Charles is lucky we’re not recording this for Drive to Survive. This would be season finale material.
Fernando: Still recovering from the fact that I had to defend Jos Verstappen’s honor today. Truly humbling times.
Mark: Also Max casually confirming "wife" like we didn’t hear that bomb drop.
Lando: The whole chat: staring at “my wife” like: [INSERT SHOCKED PIKACHU MEME]
Logan: Also Max: anyway gtg horseback riding with Belle bye
George: Meanwhile we’re left here emotionally blinking like stunned goldfish.
Zhou: Respectfully? That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen in a group chat.
Logan: He read Charles’ whole life like it was a menu.
Esteban: No crumbs left. Truly an artist.
Lewis: I hope Belle gives Max a damn medal.
Carlos: It’s what he deserves.
Lando Norris: At this point Max could straight up declare war on Monaco and all of us would follow him.
Nico H.: Only if Belle asks nicely though.
Fernando: Honestly, after that? She deserves her own Grand Prix.
Sebastian: Belle Verstappen GP. Street circuit. Emotional trauma bonus points.
David: Winner gets emotional literacy and a free hug.
Lando: Charles gets last place. Obv.
Oscar: Someone check on Charles, though. Like... at a distance. With caution.
George: Give him a juice box and a reflective corner.
Lewis: He needs to sit with this one. You’re up, Seb.
Sebastian: I hate you.
Carlos: And next time? Maybe start by actually listening to Belle. and not accuse her of having a sugar daddy.
Oscar: Can we also talk about how Charles accused Fernando of being Belle’s sugar daddy?!?
Lando: No because I actually SCREAMED when I read it Out loud. In a public place.
George: Charles really said “if the unhinged shoe fits…”
Lewis: Fernando being asked if he’s the sugar daddy of a 25-year-old woman live in a chat is peak 2024.
Daniel: The best part is Fernando didn’t even deny it immediately. He said “pardon” like a man trying to calculate if this was a compliment or an insult.
Fernando: I was genuinely weighing my options.
Logan: He 100% thought about it for a second Did the math in his head Age difference analysis
Carlos: He pulled out a mental calculator before answering.
Alex: Plot twist: he was flattered.
Fernando: I am flattered.
Logan: ARE YOU NOT TOO OLD FOR THIS SIR
Fernando: Age is just a number. Experience is a blessing.
David: Shut up you're scaring the children
Daniel: I'm crying. This man is two bad decisions away from opening a luxury wine bar in Marbella.
Zhou: Would 100% attend Fernando’s shady rich sugar daddy wine parties tbh.
George: You know somewhere there's an alternate universe where Fernando is soft-launching Belle on Instagram with a blurry wine glass and a cryptic caption.
Sebastian: Don’t manifest that energy.
Lewis: The timeline barely survived Charles forgetting her birthday We are NOT surviving "Fernando Alonso soft launches Belle Verstappen."
Oscar: Good morning to everyone except Charles for inventing this nightmare.
Carlos: He should be banned from texting before noon.
Daniel: Imagine Belle reading that conversation The secondhand embarrassment would kill her instantly
Lando: Max would bury Charles under the Red Bull Energy Station if Belle found out
Fernando: That’s why I stayed calm. For everyone’s safety.
David: You’re a better man than I am.
George: Let’s be honest Max’s entire speech wasn’t just a takedown It was a warning.
Lewis: And Charles still doesn’t realize how close he was to emotional decapitation.
Daniel: Fernando being accidentally involved will forever be my Roman Empire
Lando: Same. Sugar Daddy Alonso 2024 Never Forget.
Kimi: I don’t care.
Fernando: Good. One sane man among us.
Mark: Honestly Kimi deserves a medal for surviving this chat with brain cells intact.
Lando: Meanwhile I’m Googling “how to recover from emotional whiplash" and "can you sue your friend for public embarrassment.”
Oscar: Suing Charles for pain and suffering. Class action.
Lewis: Count me in.
Daniel: Put me down for emotional damages and lost productivity.
Carlos: And mental anguish from hearing "Jos" and "sugar daddy" in the same sentence.
George Russell: I’m still trying to bleach my brain from that.
Sebastian Vettel: The worst part is… We know it’s only going to get worse.
Valtteri: Spain is going to be the emotional equivalent of a demolition derby and I'm here for it…
Oscar: Prayers up for Charles. He’s about to get hit with the reality sledgehammer.
***
The air smelled like sun-warmed hay and old wood and something softer — something Max couldn’t name but recognized instantly as peace.
The stables weren’t far from the city — a quiet, tucked-away stretch of land up in the hills — but it might as well have been another world compared to the chaos vibrating through the paddock, the media, the group chats.
Belle was already a few steps ahead of him, moving with easy, instinctive confidence down the center aisle. Her hair was pulled back in a loose braid, and she wore one of his oversized hoodies over her jeans, the sleeves pushed up to her elbows. Even in battered sneakers, even in dusty sunlight, she looked luminous.
This, Max thought, is who she really is.
Not the invisible sister standing silently in the Ferrari garage.
Not the afterthought.
Not the forgotten one.
Here, among the horses and the golden dust motes, Belle was someone else entirely. Someone free.
He watched as she reached Fleur’s stall — the mare with the soft eyes and white coat — and the change in her was immediate. Belle’s whole body softened. Her voice dropped into something low and sweet, barely a whisper, as she murmured to the horse in French, offering a gentle hand.
Fleur pressed her nose into Belle’s palm like she had been waiting for her all day.
Max stayed back, leaning against a beam, just… watching.
Belle ran her fingers through the mare’s mane, smiling quietly when Fleur nosed into her ribs for a treat. She laughed, soft and breathless, pulling a carrot from her pocket like she’d always known it would be needed.
Max felt something hot coil under his ribs.
Not anger. Not yet.
Something heavier.
Because standing there, watching her, Max didn’t understand — and probably never would — how the people who were supposed to love her first and fiercest could have ever made her feel like this side of her wasn’t worth seeing.
How did you miss this?
How did you miss her?
How could you look at Belle — at her patience, her stubbornness, her gentleness — and think she was someone it was okay to forget?
Max didn't know how Charles or Pascale or Arthur or even Lorenzo could live with themselves.
She had been right there, waving from the garage, smiling through being overlooked, standing quietly beside them her whole life — and they’d blinked, and she was gone.
He didn’t know if they'd ever get her back, not in the way they thought they were entitled to.
And maybe they didn’t deserve to.
Max shoved his hands into his pockets, feeling the steady beat of his own pulse against his knuckles. He wasn’t angry on his own behalf — he was angry for her. For every memory she had where she learned she needed to be small to survive. For every year she thought invisibility was safer than asking for more.
But here — here, she didn’t shrink herself.
Here, she was all soft light and warm hands and quiet magic.
He watched as Belle rested her forehead against Fleur’s, closing her eyes. Whispering something Max couldn’t hear.
He didn’t move.
He would wait forever if it meant she never had to be small again.
When she finally turned toward him, cheeks flushed, hair tangled in the breeze, Max just smiled — slow and sure — and opened his arms without a word.
Belle crossed the space between them like it was the most natural thing in the world.
And when she folded herself against his chest, Max pressed his mouth to the top of her head and thought, fiercely, I will never let you feel invisible again.
Not here. Not with him.
Never.
***
Belle sat curled into the armchair, hands knotted in the hem of her sweater. Her phone buzzed on the low table beside her — again — and she flinched without meaning to.
She didn’t pick it up. She hadn’t read any of them. Not a single message.
Across from her, Simone sat, notebook closed, pen resting untouched on the armrest. She didn’t need notes yet. She was just watching — waiting for Belle to breathe first.
"You don’t have to," Simone said finally, nodding toward the phone. "We can leave it buzzing all session if you want. This is your hour."
Belle looked down at her hands.
"I don’t know what they want," she said, voice thin. "I don’t know if I want to know."
"That's a choice," Simone said simply. "It’s your choice."
Belle twisted the hem tighter. "They keep calling. Texting. DMing. It’s like... once Charles realized, they all remembered I exist."
"That realization isn’t yours to carry," Simone said. "You didn’t make yourself invisible. They chose not to see you."
“You haven’t answered,” Simone asked, her voice even…non-judgemental.
Belle shook her head, pressing the rim of the mug tighter against her palms.
“I don’t know if I want to,” Belle whispered.
Simone leaned forward slightly. “You’re allowed to make that choice, Belle. Access to your life — your heart — isn’t something anyone is automatically entitled to. Not even family.”
Belle blinked hard.
“It feels… wrong,” she admitted. “Like I’m being cruel. But also like… maybe it’s finally protecting myself.”
Simone nodded. “Both can be true.”
They sat with that for a moment, letting the air between them settle.
"I feel like if I open one message, I’ll lose the ground I gained," she whispered. "Like they'll pull me back in before I even realize it."
Simone nodded slowly. "That fear is real. It’s valid. But remember — reading a message doesn’t obligate you to answer. They don’t get to set the terms anymore. You do."
Belle sat with that for a long moment, staring at the phone like it was a bomb she didn't know how to disarm.
"You can read what they have to say," Simone continued gently, "and then decide how much access you want to give them. How much of yourself you want to offer back. Or none at all. But the decision has to come from a place of power — not guilt."
Belle swallowed hard, something inside her cracking open.
"I don’t want to live my life shrinking," she said, so quietly it barely made it into the room.
"You don’t have to," Simone said simply. "You’re allowed to grow bigger than the spaces they built for you."
Belle wiped under her eyes, feeling the tears spill anyway.
"I’m pregnant," she said, almost impulsively, almost defensively — like the words had been trying to claw their way out of her for days.
Simone didn’t react, didn’t widen her eyes or gasp or rush forward.
She just smiled, slow and warm.
"Congratulations," Simone said.
Belle let out a shaky laugh, covering her face for a moment.
"I haven’t told most people yet," she admitted. "It’s... still just mine and Max’s, mostly. But I—"
She broke off, chest tight.
"I don’t want my baby to feel the way I felt," Belle whispered. "Invisible. Like they have to earn love. Like being quiet or not causing trouble makes them easier to keep around."
Simone nodded slowly. "You don’t want them to feel like they have to disappear to be safe."
Belle’s throat closed. That was it. That was everything.
"I want them to know," Belle said, tears slipping freely now. "Every second. That they matter. That they are wanted."
"You can give them that," Simone said gently. "Because you know what it feels like to need it."
Belle hugged her knees tighter to her chest, breathing in slow, ragged pulls.
"I don't know if I can be enough," she whispered.
"You already are," Simone said simply. "You're enough because you see them. The way you should have been seen."
Belle wiped her face roughly with her sleeve, heart pounding painfully against her ribs.
Simone leaned in just a little, voice steady.
"You get to break the cycle," she said. "Not by being perfect. Not by fixing everything. But by loving without conditions."
Belle stared down at her belly, still barely showing under the oversized sweater. A secret, soft and growing.
Not alone anymore.
Not invisible.
Not shrinking to fit someone else's version of worth.
She exhaled shakily.
"I think," Belle said slowly, "I’ll read the messages. Because it’s my choice now."
Simone smiled. "Exactly."
Belle sat back in the chair, letting the silence settle.
For the first time in a long time, it didn’t feel heavy.
It felt like freedom.
***
The cats were asleep — a warm, purring pile on the foot of the bed — and the only sound in the room was the hum of the city beyond the windows and the soft rustle of Max shifting beside her.
Belle sat curled up in the corner of the bed, Max’s hoodie swallowing her whole, the phone clutched in both hands.
She hadn’t wanted to look. Not at the missed calls. Not at the voicemails. Not at the dozens of unread messages blinking like warning lights across every app she had.
But now… Now she read them.
One by one.
Apologies. Explanations. Pleading.
Arthur. Lorenzo. Charles.
And Maman. Always Maman.
Maman:Ma chérie… I didn’t realise. I thought I messaged you, but I sent it to Charles by mistake. That’s not an excuse. You deserved more. Always. Please let me come see you. I miss you.
Belle stared at the words, blinking back the slow, stunned weight building behind her eyes.
Because if her mother had texted Charles that morning — if she had thought about Belle enough to even try — then Charles would have known.
He would have remembered.
There wouldn’t have been blank stares in the Ferrari garage.
There wouldn’t have been celebrations swirling around her while she stood still, invisible.
There would have been a smile.
A hug.
A word.
Anything.
But there hadn’t been.
Because her mother hadn’t texted.
Not her.
And not Charles.
She hadn’t thought about her at all.
Belle felt the first tear slip free before she could stop it. Then another. And another.
Her hands shook as she lowered the phone to her lap.
She pressed her knuckles against her mouth, willing herself to breathe, to hold it together — but the ache was too deep. Too old. It cracked open the quiet places she thought she had stitched shut months ago.
The mattress dipped beside her, and Max’s arms were around her before she could say a word.
No questions. No demands. Just solid, unwavering Max, pulling her into his chest, pressing his chin to the crown of her head, wrapping her up like he could protect her from everything the world had failed to.
Belle buried her face in his hoodie and cried — deep, broken, shuddering sobs that shook her ribs and soaked the cotton between them.
Max held her through all of it. Rocked her gently like she was something precious. Whispered soft, fierce things into her hair — I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere. I love you.
When the tears finally slowed — when Belle could breathe without gasping — she shifted just enough to look up at him.
“She lied to me,” Belle whispered, voice barely above a breath.
Max tensed, not pulling away, but going still — like a storm gathering quietly over open water.
Belle twisted the fabric of his hoodie between her fingers, needing something to hold onto. “My mother. In her messages. She said… she said she thought she had texted me on my birthday. That she checked and realized she sent it to Charles instead.”
Max didn’t say anything.
Not yet.
He just waited.
“But if she had really texted Charles,” Belle said, blinking hard, “then he would have remembered. Wouldn’t he?”
Max’s jaw tightened against her forehead.
“He would have realized when he saw me. He would have known it was my day.”
Belle swallowed thickly. “He would have said something. Anything.”
She felt Max’s hand, slow and careful, run up her spine — like he was grounding himself as much as her.
“They didn’t forget by accident, Max,” she whispered, the crack in her voice slicing the room in half. “They just… didn’t think about me at all. And now she’s lying to make herself feel better. Or maybe to make me not be angry anymore.”
There was a long, vibrating pause.
When Max finally spoke, his voice was low. Dangerous.
“She lied to you." Not angry for himself. Angry for her.
“She lied to your face to protect her own feelings,” he said, tightening his grip around her protectively. “And she didn’t even think about what it would do to you.”
Belle didn’t trust herself to speak.
“She didn’t check,” Max said, every word precise and sharp. “She didn’t text you. She forgot you. And now she wants you to comfort her guilt so she doesn’t have to sit with the truth.”
Belle closed her eyes, tucking herself deeper into his chest.
Max’s voice dropped even lower. Colder. Deadlier.
“They don’t deserve to be the ones to tell you how much you matter, Belle,” he said. “Not when they couldn’t even see you standing right in front of them.”
Belle felt herself break apart a little more — not because of the anger in his voice, but because of the fierce, unyielding love underneath it.
Max pulled back just enough to tip her chin up, forcing her to meet his eyes.
“They can lie to themselves all they want,” he said, voice rough. “But you’re not invisible anymore. You never were. You are the most extraordinary thing I’ve ever seen.”
Belle tried to smile but it broke halfway through, another tear slipping free.
Max kissed her — not rushed, not desperate — but slow and sure and reverent.
“I see you,” he murmured against her mouth. “I will always see you.”
Belle clutched his hoodie tighter, feeling the words stitch into the broken places inside her chest.
And when she whispered, “Thank you,” it was the kind of thank you that carried a lifetime of hope she hadn’t known how to say before now.
Max brushed her forehead with his lips, arms still wrapped firmly around her.
***
The apartment was dark except for the soft glow of the city outside the windows, and the faint golden light spilling from the kitchen where Max was making tea.
The cats were already asleep, draped dramatically across the couch like tiny emperors, and Belle sat curled up at the dining table, phone in hand.
Her thumb hovered over the Instagram app for a long time.
She hadn’t posted anything in weeks. Maybe longer. Not since before everything cracked open — before her birthday…
It felt strange, almost dangerous, to think about letting the world see even a piece of her life again. To stop living like she needed to apologize for taking up space.
But she was tired.
She was tired of pretending her life was something to be ashamed of.
She was tired of being invisible.
Of hiding her joy like it was a crime.
She tapped into her camera roll.
The photo was simple. Max had taken it — taken earlier that afternoon, in the warm haze of the stables. Fleur was grazing and Belle’s arm was tucked around her neck, leaning against the warm white fur.
It wasn’t a professional shot.
It wasn’t curated.
It was real.
And for once, Belle didn’t care about anything else.
She clicked ‘post’ before she could talk herself out of it.
Caption:Some things were always meant to find their way back to you.
She stared at it for a moment, heart hammering — not with fear, but with something quieter. Something steadier.
Not everyone would understand.
Most wouldn’t even know what it meant.
But the people who mattered — the ones who knew her, who loved her — they would understand exactly what she was saying.
Max’s voice floated from the kitchen, casual and warm. “You want mint or chamomile?”
Belle smiled softly to herself.
“Mint,” she called back, slipping her phone onto the table, feeling lighter than she had in months.
No more hiding.
No more shrinking.
Her life was hers now.
And she was finally — finally — ready to live it.
***
Instagram Post: @/isabelleleclerc
Comments:
@/charles_leclerc: …From where did you get a horse??
@/arthur_leclerc: ??? SINCE WHEN DO YOU HAVE A HORSE AGAIN???
@/lorenzo_leclerc: Since when are you even riding again??
@/charles_leclerc: Isabelle. Please answer your phone.
@/arthur_leclerc: PLEASE RESPOND.
@/randomfan72: THE WAY SHE JUST DROPPED THIS WITHOUT CONTEXT???
@/f1updates: Isabelle disappearing for a week and then coming back with a horse is the most iconic thing I’ve seen in a while.
@/f1fanpage: Okay, but WHO GAVE HER A HORSE???
@/monacoroyalty: Isabelle casually revealing that she has a whole horse like it’s a new handbag is sending me.
@/gridgossip: He/she’s gorgeous! What’s their name? ↪ @/isabelleleclerc: Fleur ❤️ She’s a 7 year old Selle Francais mare.
@/emilie_abadie: God, Belle, she looks just like Blanche…
↪ @/isabelleleclerc: Like Mother, like Daughter ❤️
@/coralie.g: She looks like your childhood horse…
↪ @/isabelleleclerc: Because she’s her last foal 😭
@/horselover99: Omg did you always plan to start riding again? 🥹 ↪ @/isabelleleclerc: I never stopped wanting to. Just couldn’t afford to for a long time.
@/victorialaps: This is so random but… how did you even find her? ↪ @/isabelleleclerc: I didn’t. She was a gift. Best surprise ever.
@/f1updates: WAIT WAIT WAIT.
@/f1theories: GIFT?? FROM WHO??
***
The tea had just finished steeping when Max’s phone buzzed once. Then again. And again.
He frowned, setting down the mugs. It wasn’t like his phone to light up at midnight unless something dramatic had happened — and judging by the flood of notifications, the world had just decided to catch fire.
But when he flipped it over, his chest tightened in a very different way.
It wasn’t chaos. It wasn’t panic.
It was Belle.
Her name. Her Instagram. A new post.
Max opened it instantly, barely breathing.
The photo was simple, quiet — Fleur leaning into Belle’s hand, golden light painting everything soft around them.
But it wasn’t the picture that hit him hardest.
It was the caption.
some things are always meant to come back to you.
Max stared at the screen, heart thudding slow and heavy in his chest.
It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t flashy. It wasn’t a declaration.
It was a quiet, stubborn reclaiming of everything Belle had once been taught to hide — her dreams, her peace, her self.
And she hadn’t asked permission.
She hadn't needed anyone’s blessing.
She had simply... posted it.
Without apology.
Without explanation.
Max set the phone down, grabbed both mugs carefully, and crossed the living room to where Belle sat curled up at the table, her knees tucked under her, the soft edges of exhaustion lingering around her eyes.
She looked up when she heard him, tentative, like part of her was still braced for criticism she didn’t deserve.
Max didn’t say a word.
He placed the tea down. Then he crouched in front of her, sliding his hands over her knees, resting his forehead gently against hers.
No words. Just this.
Just I'm proud of you.
Belle let out a soft, shaky breath, her hand sliding into his hair, holding onto him like he was the only thing keeping her tethered — because sometimes, he was.
“You saw it?” she whispered.
Max smiled against her skin.
“I saw everything,” he murmured. “And I see you, liefde. Always.”
Belle’s breath hitched.
She closed her eyes and let herself believe it — let herself soak in the truth of it without second-guessing.
She wasn’t invisible here.
She was home.
And Max — Max was exactly where he had always promised he would be:
Right here. Always. With her.
***
Leclerc Family Group Chat
(Members: Arthur, Isabelle, Charles, Lorenzo and Pascale)
Arthur: Shared Isabelle’s Instagram post
Arthur: …So. Uh.
Arthur: When were you guys planning on telling me that Isabelle suddenly has a HORSE?
Charles: SHE HAS A WHAT.
Lorenzo: Excuse me??
Arthur: A horse, Lorenzo. A living, breathing, four-legged animal. You know. Like the one that was sold when she was a teenager.
Charles: No. No way. That’s not possible.
Arthur: Look at the photo. LOOK AT IT.
Charles: It looks exactly like Blanche.
Lorenzo: That’s not possible.
Arthur: AND YET.
Lorenzo: Okay. Okay. Let’s just—think about this logically.
Arthur: Sure. Logically. Isabelle now has a horse that looks IDENTICAL to the one that was sold to pay for Charles' karting?!?!
Arthur: LOGICALLY, how does that make any sense?!
Charles: Who gave her a horse?
Arthur: WHO KNEW SHE STILL WANTED ONE???
Lorenzo: …Clearly, not us.
Pascale: …We should have known.
Arthur: …Maman?
Pascale: We took away something she loved.
Pascale: And then we never gave it back.
Charles: We didn’t have the money.
Pascale: No. But when we did have the money, we put it into restarting Arthur’s karting career.
Arthur: …
Charles: …
Lorenzo: Merde.
Pascale: And we never even considered doing the same for Isabelle.
Pascale: Not once.
Arthur: I—Maman, I didn’t even think—
Pascale: No. None of us did.
Pascale: She cried for weeks when we sold Blanche. And then, one day, she just stopped talking about it.
Pascale: I thought she had let it go.
Charles: She didn’t let it go. She just realized no one was listening.
Pascale: And I, her own mother, let her believe that if it wasn’t about racing, it wasn’t important.
Lorenzo: We all did.
Arthur: We failed her.
Pascale: And yet she still loved us enough to stay.
Pascale: Even when we didn’t see her.
Charles: We need to fix this.
Arthur: Step one: find out who gave her the horse.
Pascale: Step one: apologize.
Arthur: Step two: figure out how we didn’t even KNOW she was riding again.
Lorenzo: When would she have had the time?
Pascale: She found a way. Because we didn’t give her one.
Pascale: Do you know what hurts the most?
Charles: What?
Pascale: That I don’t even know what kind of life she’s been living.
Pascale: What she loves. Where she goes. Who she spends time with.
Pascale: She grew up right in front of me, and I don’t know her at all.
Arthur: …How do we fix this?
Pascale: I don’t know if we can. ****
Meanwhile on Twitter:
@/F1TeaSpillerIsabelle Leclerc just casually dropped a photo of a whole horse on Instagram, and her brothers had NO IDEA she was even riding again. The family drama is writing itself.
↳ @/LandoSimp44: How do you not notice your sister getting into an expensive, time-consuming hobby???
↳ @/FerrariF1Stan: Maybe because they’ve never paid attention to her interests in the first place…??
↳ @/LeclercFanGirl16: Charles and Arthur are spiraling in the comments, Lorenzo is confused, and Isabelle is just out here ignoring them all. QUEEN.
@/F1GossipGirlHold on. Isabelle didn’t just get any horse. If I’m reading this correctly, this foal is from her childhood horse. The one her family SOLD.
↳ @/MaxForPresident33: Oh, so she’s still THAT angry. And honestly? Good for her.
↳ @/RedBullRacingUpdates: The way she’s been quiet for two whole weeks and then dropped a horse like a bombshell?? I need to know who gave it to her.
↳ @/FerrariDramaAccount: Isabelle’s silence has been screaming for a week straight, and now this. The Leclerc brothers are doomed.
@/F1MemeLordLeclerc brothers: "We totally care about our sister." Also the Leclerc brothers: Completely unaware she’s been riding again and now owns a horse.
↳ @/CharlesFanClub: Yeah, Isabelle is 100% still mad. She really said, "You forgot my birthday? Watch this."
↳ @/MonacoMess: Isabelle is SO passive-aggressive and I respect it.
↳ @/HorseGirlFC: I just KNOW she’s been waiting for the perfect moment to drop this. Iconic behavior.
@/F1InsiderTalk: No, but real talk—if her brothers had no idea she was even riding again, that means they haven’t been paying attention to her at all. That’s rough.
↳ @/TifosiQueen: She had a birthday and they forgot. Now she has a whole damn horse and they didn’t even know she still liked horses.
↳ @/MonacoGossip: Isabelle could disappear to another continent, and I swear they wouldn’t notice until someone tagged them in an Instagram post.
↳ @/ArthurFan27: I love Arthur, but the way none of them know anything about her is actually kind of sad.
@/ChaosModeF1I just KNOW Isabelle had this horse for a bit before dropping it like a bomb on Instagram. The drama, the suspense, the Leclerc brothers losing their minds in real time.
↳ @/MaxVerstappenDefenseSquad: The fact that she didn’t post anything about her birthday but came back with a horse tells me everything I need to know.
↳@/FerrariWoes: I feel like this was the final straw moment.
@/RedBullTroll33Okay, but WHO gave her the horse? Because that’s a serious gift.
↳@/ F1ConspiracyClub: If it was Charles or Arthur, they wouldn’t be so confused in the comments. If it was Lorenzo, he wouldn’t be freaking out too.
↳ @/FerrariPain42: Soooo… secret boyfriend? 👀
↳@/F1ShippersAnonymous: If this turns out to be a soft launch, I WILL lose my mind.
@/MonacoRoyaltyI don’t know who gave Isabelle Leclerc a horse, but I do know that person knows her better than her own family does.
↳ @/FerrariNation: …Damn. That’s actually heartbreaking when you put it like that.
↳ @/IsabelleLeclercDefenseSquad: She really just had to go out and find people who see her, huh?
↳ @/WhoGaveHerAHorse33: Someone get me the details. NOW.
@/F1ChaosModeThe funniest part of this is that Isabelle still hasn’t responded to any of her brothers. Just posted her horse and dipped.
↳ @/LeclercFamilyUpdates: The sheer level of pettiness. I love her.
↳ @/TifosiHeartbreak: Isabelle really said you forgot me, so now I’m forgetting you.
↳ @/FerrariShambles: I want a documentary about the exact moment Charles realized they were bad brothers.
@/F1SpicyTeaI know we’re all laughing, but this actually makes me so sad for Isabelle. Imagine your whole family forgetting your birthday, ignoring you for years, and then being SHOCKED when you move on with your life.
↳ @/MonacoMess: They didn’t even know she still loved horses.
↳ @/FerrariF1Pain: The worst part? She didn’t even make a dramatic callout post about her birthday. She just let their silence speak for itself.
↳ @/TifosiAngstClub: She is the human embodiment of "I no longer expect anything from you."
@/F1ConspiracyClubIsabelle didn’t just buy this horse. Somebody gave it to her, according to her. Whoever they are, they know her better than her entire family.
↳ @/SoftLaunchDetective: If this is a secret boyfriend reveal, it’s the most dramatic and poetic one I’ve ever seen.
@/MonacoRoyalty: Isabelle Leclerc is the queen of quiet revenge. No loud callouts. No arguments. Just a perfectly timed Instagram post that says everything.
↳ @/FerrariTears: And the best part? Her brothers are LOSING IT in the comments.
↳ @/ArthurLeclercDefenseSquad: Arthur is panicking like she’s about to disappear forever.
↳ @/CharlesHasNoClue: Charles sounds like he’s five seconds away from personally investigating who gave her the horse.
↳ @/TifosiDetectives: The thing is, they should know. But they don’t.
@/TifosiMess: So let me get this straight:
Isabelle’s family forgot her birthday.
She disappeared for two weeks.
Charles finally remembers that he has a sister.
Isabelle comes back with a horse.
Drops it on Instagram like it’s a casual Tuesday.
Her brothers have no idea where it came from.
I am obsessed with this timeline.
↳ @/FerrariAngst: I’m still stuck on "they didn’t even know she was riding again."
↳ @/CharlesNeedsHelp: The way they suddenly care now that it’s public.
@/F1SoftLaunchDetective: I’ll say it. Whoever gave her the horse loves her more than her own family does.
↳ @/FerrariHeartbreak: And that’s why the Leclerc brothers are panicking.
↳ @/RedBullInsider: Just waiting for the next phase of this drama. I know something bigger is coming.
↳ @/TifosiConspiracies: I have a gut feeling that when we find out who got her the horse, the internet will EXPLODE.
***
Text Messages: Arthur Leclerc & Belle Verstappen
Arthur: I don’t really know how to start this.
Arthur: But I guess the first thing I need to say is—I’m sorry.
Arthur: I keep thinking about when I had to stop karting. How devastated I was. How unfair it felt.
Arthur: You know, when I was younger, I used to think we were the same.
Arthur: We both lost something for Charles. We both had to step aside.
Arthur: But the difference is, I got my second chance.
Arthur: And you never did.
Arthur: They gave me my dream back. But nobody ever thought to give you yours.
Arthur: And the worst part is, I never even thought about it.
Arthur: I was so focused on getting my own dream back that I never stopped to ask if you wanted yours.
Arthur: Or if you were even okay.
Arthur: I remember when they sold Blanche. You locked yourself in your room for days. Maman kept saying you’d get over it.
Arthur: But you never did, did you?
Arthur: I should have noticed. I should have asked.
Arthur: I should have known that you never stopped loving it. That you never moved on just because we assumed you did.
Arthur: But we never gave you a choice, did we?
Arthur: You were always the one who had to sacrifice something. You were always the one who had to step aside.
Arthur: And I never even thought about how much that must have hurt.
Arthur: I let myself believe you were fine because it was easier than realizing we left you behind.
Arthur: When I saw that horse, I thought my heart stopped. She looks just like Blanche.
Arthur: I had to read your post three times before it sank in. That you never let go of that part of yourself. That you found your way back.
Arthur: And none of us even knew.
Arthur: I don’t know where to start making this right. I don’t know if I even can.
Arthur: I don’t expect you to answer me. I don’t even know if I deserve an answer.
Arthur: But Isabelle, if there is even the smallest chance that I can fix this, that I can fix us—
Arthur: Tell me how. And I’ll do it.
Arthur: No hesitation. No questions asked.
Arthur: Je suis désolé, petite sœur.
Arthur: And I miss you.
***
Group Chat: HELP ME
(Members: Daniel Ricciardo, Lando Norris, Oscar Piastri, Lewis Hamilton, Carlos Sainz Jr., George Russell, Alex Albon, Nico Hulkenberg, Nico Rosberg, Sebastian Vettel, Mark Webber, David Coulthard, Sergio Pérez, Fernando Alonso, Kimi Räikkönen, Zhou Guanyu, Logan Sergeant, Esteban Ocon, Lance Stroll and Valtteri Bottas)
Lando: (sends screenshots) Belle is choosing violence.
Carlos: She posted Fleur 😭
Alex: Softest betrayal ever. I’m crying.
Sebastian: That's not just any horse. That’s the horse.
Zhou: WAIT??? THAT'S THE FOAL FROM HER CHILDHOOD HORSE??
Fernando: The symbolism is destroying me. Quiet vengeance at its finest.
David: Imagine getting obliterated by your sister posting a horse.
Lance: Charles is about to have another breakdown isn’t he
Oscar: He’s already melting down in her comments.
Logan: WHO GAVE HER THE HORSE THOUGH
George: who do you THINK
Nico Hülkenberg: lol max the softest secret husband in existence
Daniel: max is so whipped it's beautiful
Lewis: He literally said “my wife wants to visit her horse” the other day with the softest voice known to man
Kimi: Good. Someone should love her properly.
Lando: the LECLERC BROTHERS are LOSING IT
Oscar: literally fighting for their lives in the comments while Belle is posting like nothing happened 😂
Fernando: This is what true passive-aggressive excellence looks like. I’m so proud.
Valtteri: horse girl revenge >>> everything
Zhou: also can we talk about how she hasn’t answered a SINGLE one of them
George: Do you think Charles is gonna figure it out soon??
Carlos: absolutely not.
Oscar: he's gonna lose his mind when he finds out Max bought her the horse
Daniel: WAIT TILL HE FINDS OUT THEY'RE MARRIED LMAOOOO
Lando: oh my god he still doesn't know
Lewis: beautiful chaos.
Alex: 10/10 no notes
Oscar: Honestly Belle just won the soft war without even lifting a finger.
Daniel: She dropped a horse and bounced. ICON.
George: Meanwhile Charles is running around Monaco like a headless chicken.
Carlos: good. he deserves to sit with this.
Fernando: actions have consequences. and sometimes those consequences come with four legs and a braided mane.
***
Meanwhile on Twitter:
@/coraliegaudin: I don’t think people really get how much Isabelle Leclerc sacrificed. I knew her at university, and she was one of the smartest, hardest-working people I’ve ever met. But she never seemed happy. A thread.
↳ @/coraliegaudin: She wasn’t the type to talk about herself. She showed up, did the work, and left. No parties, no celebrations, nothing. Just school and her jobs.
↳@/coraliegaudin: And she always had jobs. She tutored, did internships, and worked at a stable. Yes, a stable.
↳@/coraliegaudin: I remember seeing her come to class still smelling like hay, her hands rough from work. And the thing is? That was the only time she ever looked truly alive.
↳@/coraliegaudin: She never told people why, but I found out later—her family sold her childhood horse when she was a teenager.
↳@/coraliegaudin: She didn’t ask them to fix it. She didn’t ask for help. She just worked. Worked herself into the ground to afford even a few hours of riding time.
↳@/coraliegaudin: I remember once, someone asked her why she never celebrated her grades. She just said, “It’s not that important.”
↳@/coraliegaudin: Not that important. Graduating with top honors. Getting a degree. None of it mattered to her. Because all she ever wanted was something she lost years ago.
↳@/coraliegaudin: And now, she has a horse again. Not just any horse—the foal of the one she lost.
↳@/coraliegaudin: I don’t think people understand how huge that is. This isn’t just a gift. It’s her entire dream given back to her.
↳@/coraliegaudin: She spent years giving up things for other people. But someone finally gave something back to her.
↳@/coraliegaudin: If anyone deserves that kind of love and thoughtfulness, it’s Isabelle Leclerc. I hope she’s finally as happy as she always deserved to be.
***
Text Messages: Lorenzo Leclerc & Belle Verstappen
Lorenzo: Isabelle.
Lorenzo: I know you probably don’t want to hear from me.
Lorenzo: But I need to say this.
Lorenzo: I’m sorry.
Lorenzo: I don’t know how we forgot your birthday. I don’t know how we’ve made you feel so invisible.
Lorenzo: But we did. And I hate that it took this for me to realize how badly we’ve failed you.
Lorenzo: You’ve been riding again. I didn’t know. And that’s the problem, isn’t it?
Lorenzo: I should have. I should have asked. I should have paid more attention.
Lorenzo: But I didn’t.
Lorenzo: I should have asked what you were up to. I should have…I should have known that you were riding again. And that you moved. And that you quit your job. But I didn’t.
Lorenzo: I just assumed you were fine, even when you had every reason not to be.
Lorenzo: I don’t expect you to answer.
Lorenzo: I just need you to know—I see it now. I see you now.
Lorenzo: And I will spend however long it takes making sure you never feel forgotten again.
Lorenzo: I love you, Isabelle.
Lorenzo: Whenever you’re ready.
***
Meanwhile on Twitter:
@/Clara_Marelli: So I wasn’t going to say anything, but seeing all the speculation about Isabelle Leclerc and her new horse? I need people to understand why this is such a big deal. Because I knew her back when she lost her first horse, and let me tell you—it broke her.
↳@/Clara_Marelli: Isabelle wasn’t just a horse girl, she was the horse girl. You know how some kids live and breathe a sport? That was her with riding. It wasn’t just a hobby, it was everything.
↳@/Clara_Marelli: She used to come to school with hay in her hair because she’d wake up early to ride before class. She had riding gloves permanently stuffed in her pockets. She sketched horses in the margins of her notebooks. It was who she was.
↳@/Clara_Marelli: And then one day, she stopped.
↳@/Clara_Marelli: We were all confused. She never shut up about riding, and suddenly, she wouldn’t even mention it. If you asked about her horse, she’d just give this tight little smile and say, “She’s gone.” No explanation. No emotion. Just… gone.
↳@/Clara_Marelli: We only found out later that her family sold her horse to help fund Charles’ racing career. And look—I get it, racing is insanely expensive, and the Leclercs aren’t the first family to make sacrifices for motorsport. But this wasn’t just some hobby she could pick up again later.
↳@/Clara_Marelli: This was the thing that made her happiest, and it was ripped away from her.
↳@/Clara_Marelli: And what made it worse? She never complained. Not once. She just swallowed it, like she had already learned that what she wanted didn’t matter.
↳@/Clara_Marelli: After that, she changed. She got quieter. She stopped sketching horses. She stopped talking about anything she loved, really. It was like she decided—consciously or not—that if she didn’t care about things, they couldn’t be taken from her.
↳@/Clara_Marelli: And now, years later, she suddenly posts that she has a horse again. And her own brothers didn’t even know she was riding.
↳@/Clara_Marelli: That tells me everything. It tells me that she never stopped missing it. That, at some point, she must have started riding again, but she kept it completely to herself. She didn’t tell her family. She didn’t trust them with it.
↳@/Clara_Marelli: And honestly? That makes me so, so sad. Because they should’ve been the first to know. They should’ve noticed that she was still hurting.
↳@/Clara_Marelli: Instead, she had to find her way back to something she loved on her own.
↳@/Clara_Marelli: Whoever got her that horse—because let’s be real, this wasn’t a random purchase—they didn’t just give her a gift. They gave her back a part of herself. And that means more than her family probably even realizes.
@/F1Girl99: This is actually so heartbreaking. The way she just shut down after losing her horse?? And her family didn’t even realize??
@/LeclercNation: Nah, this makes the whole thing so much worse. Like, it’s one thing to forget her birthday, but not even knowing she still rides??
@/redbullgirly: “She didn’t trust them with it” is actually such a devastating sentence. Imagine having to hide the thing that makes you happiest because you know your family won’t care.
↳@/arthurfairy: The fact that she got a horse again but didn’t tell a single soul in her family tells me everything I need to know about how much that hurt her.
@/gridgossip: Everyone’s talking about how sad this is, but can we also talk about who got her that horse? Because that’s not a small gift. That’s a “someone knows exactly what you lost and wanted to give it back” kind of gift.
@/tifositilidie: Imagine being Charles or Arthur and realizing you never even thought about getting her back into riding.
↳@/ohmyf1: The fact that they restarted Arthur’s karting career but didn’t do the same for Isabelle and just assumed she got over it… yeah, that’s rough.
@/chaoticquadrant: Isabelle’s silence about all of this is louder than anything she could’ve said.
@/pitlaneprincess: The fact that a random classmate knows more about Isabelle’s pain than her own family is WILD.
@/verstapwinning: I actually can’t get over the part where she just stopped talking about things she loved after they sold her horse. That’s not just sadness, that’s trauma.
@/softforcharles: I love Charles, but the way they all just assumed she was fine… like, did no one ever ask her if she wanted to ride again??
↳@/F1andChill: I’m just saying—if my sibling was secretly riding again and I found out from Instagram, I would simply pass away from shame.
@/IsabelleLeclercFan: The worst part? She didn’t even announce it like “Look what I got!” She just posted it, like it was a casual thing. That’s how you know it meant everything to her.
@/formula1tea: Okay, but do we think her family even realizes what this means yet?? Or are they still stuck on the “Wait, she rides?” stage?
@/offtrackchaos: Imagine Charles thinking she just outgrew the horse phase, only to find out she’s been hiding it from them for years.
@/arthurisstressed: Arthur’s probably having a full-blown crisis over this. You just know he’s the type to blame himself.
@/MaranelloMess: Isabelle’s whole family right now: “Wait… are we the villains?”
↳@/tifosiprincess: Yes. Yes, you are.
@/undercutf1: Like imagine realizing your sister got back into her childhood passion, something that was taken from her, and you had no idea. No one knew. That’s insane.
@/arthurwasfoundshaking: Arthur realizing he got his dream back but she never did… oh, he’s spiraling.
@/paddocksecrets: Her whole family just realized in real time that they don’t actually know her anymore.
@/charlesnation16: Charles must be freaking out because, in his head, Isabelle never even mentioned wanting to ride again. But the reality is she probably knew they wouldn’t care, so she never said anything.
@/leclercsdaughter: Imagine looking at your sister’s post and realizing someone else—not you, not your family—gave her back the thing you all took away.
@/mclarendreaming: The fact that there was ZERO lead-up. No hints. No casual mentions. Just BAM, full horse.
@/paddockwhispers: At this point, someone needs to check on the Leclerc group chat. I know they are LOSING IT.
@/padlockpundit: Someone said this isn’t just a gift, it’s an apology on behalf of the universe, and honestly?? Yeah.
@/blisteringbarnacles: I can’t tell what’s funnier—Twitter solving this mystery in real-time or the fact that Isabelle is probably watching all of this unfold while sipping tea.
@/hamiltonshalo: Someone find out how much horses cost because I need to understand just how deep this gift goes.
@/GridTea: Sorry, but how do you have a sibling making millions in F1, and you’re out here working three jobs and shoveling horse stalls just to afford riding lessons?? I need someone to make it make sense.
@/F1DramaFiles: So Charles was making Ferrari money and Isabelle was out here grinding like a broke college student?? He couldn’t spare a little “my sister should live like a human being” fund???
@/OverworkedLeclerc: She was out here studying, working multiple jobs, AND still showing up to races when she could. Meanwhile, her whole family forgot her birthday. I would simply cut everyone off.
@/HorseGirlAnon: Do you know how EXPENSIVE equestrian sports are? And she worked her own way back into it with no support? That’s insane. She deserved so much better.
@/TifosiMess: Charles in every interview: “Family is everything.”Meanwhile Isabelle: was forgotten at every major milestone in her life.
@/F1Receipts: It’s also the fact that Isabelle has never once publicly complained about it. No bitter comments, no shade—she just put her head down and worked. Meanwhile, Charles was out here with a whole family support system hyping him up.
@/F1Overthinker: Not to be dramatic, but if I were Charles, Arthur, or Lorenzo, I would simply never recover from the public dragging happening right now.
@/F1TeaSpiller:
Charles: “I’m so grateful to my family for supporting me.”
Isabelle: literally working at a horse stable just to be around them again.
@/JusticeForIsabelle: Nah, the fact that she was grinding through multiple jobs while Charles was out here buying sports cars, yachts, and luxury vacations is actually making me sick.
@/MonacoMess: Me reading Isabelle’s old interviews where she barely mentions herself and only hypes up her brothers, knowing now they weren’t doing the same for her: [GIF: "This is so much worse than I thought."]
***
Text Messages: Pascale Leclerc & Belle Verstappen
Pascale: Ma chérie, please talk to me.
Pascale: I saw your post. The horse… she looks just like Blanche.
Pascale: I didn’t know you were still riding.
Pascale: I should have known.
Pascale: I should have asked.
Pascale: I don’t have the words to tell you how sorry I am.
Pascale: When we sold Blanche, I told myself you would be okay. That you were strong. That you would move on.
Pascale: But that was just me making excuses. I should have fought harder for you.
Pascale: And then when we had the chance to give you back what you lost… we didn’t even think to.
Pascale: Isabelle, please. Say something.
Pascale: Ma fille, I know I don’t deserve an answer right now.
Pascale: I love you. So, so much. ***
Text Messages: Sebastian Vettel & Charles Leclerc
Sebastian: Charles. Saw Belle’s post. Wanted to check in.
Charles: I’m fine.
Sebastian: You’re not. And that’s okay. But pretending doesn’t help.
Charles: It’s just— She has a horse, Seb. A whole horse. And she never told any of us.
Sebastian: Maybe you weren’t listening.
Charles: I WOULD HAVE REMEMBERED A HORSE.
Sebastian: Would you? You didn’t remember her birthday. You didn’t notice she moved out. You didn’t notice she left her job. What makes you think you would have noticed a horse?
Charles: It’s a HORSE, Seb! Not a haircut!
Sebastian: It’s not about the horse. It’s about what the horse represents. Freedom. Love. A piece of herself you never asked about. Or thought to give back.
Charles: It feels like she lied to us.
Sebastian: She didn’t lie. She protected herself. There’s a difference.
Charles: She didn’t even give us a chance to fix it.
Sebastian: Charles. You don't get to demand trust from someone you ignored. Trust is built. It’s not owed.
Charles: I just— I thought she was okay.
Sebastian: Because it was easier to think that than to ask.
Charles: She posted a horse, Seb. A HORSE. HOW LONG HAS SHE BEEN HIDING A HORSE??
Sebastian: (typing) (long pause) Charles. Focus. It’s not about the horse.
Charles: IT’S A LITTLE ABOUT THE HORSE.
Sebastian: Focus.
Charles: I’m trying.
Sebastian: Try harder. She deserves better.
***
Meanwhile on Twitter:
@/F1TeaSpiller: Okay, so if you’re confused about why Isabelle Leclerc’s new horse is causing a meltdown, buckle up, because this is some Shakespearean family drama.
↳@/F1TeaSpiller: Basically, years ago, when Charles was climbing the motorsport ranks, the Leclerc family didn’t have the money to support all three kids in racing. Arthur had to stop karting, and Isabelle—who was really into horseback riding—had her horse sold to fund Charles’ career.
↳@/F1TeaSpiller: Yes. You read that correctly. They sold her childhood horse to support Charles.
↳@/F1TeaSpiller: Now, obviously, funding a motorsport career is insanely expensive, and a lot of families make sacrifices. But imagine being a teenager, loving your horse, and then one day—boom. Gone.
↳@/F1TeaSpiller: What makes it worse? Unlike Arthur, who eventually got the chance to restart his racing career, Isabelle never got that opportunity with riding. The family focused on Charles and never revisited her dreams.
↳@/F1TeaSpiller: Fast forward to now, and Isabelle just casually drops on Instagram that she owns a horse again—and it looks eerily similar to the one they sold.
↳@/F1TeaSpiller: Her brothers (Charles, Arthur, Lorenzo) all freaked out in the comments because they clearly had no idea she was even riding again, let alone that she had bought a horse.
↳@/F1TeaSpiller: And this is where it gets messy. Because it means:
They never asked about her interests.
They had no clue she had started riding again.
They didn’t even know where she was living.
She never told them about any of this—which, like… speaks volumes.
↳@/F1TeaSpiller: Anyway, people are connecting the dots and realizing Isabelle has probably been pulling away from her family for a while, and they just… didn’t notice.
↳@/F1TeaSpiller: Because let’s be real—how do you forget your sister’s birthday, AND not know she got back into the thing she loved most as a kid??
↳@/F1TeaSpiller: TL;DR: The Leclerc brothers are in big trouble right now.
↳@/F1TeaSpiller: Oh, and the final kicker? Isabelle agreed in the comments that the horse was a gift. The way Isabelle phrased her post—“some things will always come back to you”—makes it sound like this horse is directly connected to the one she lost. Apparently it was her childhood’s horse last foal.
↳@/F1TeaSpiller: If that’s true? Then someone—who is not her family—went out of their way to find a descendant of her old horse and give her back a piece of what she lost.
↳@/F1TeaSpiller: And I have questions.
↳@/F1TeaSpiller: Because if her own family didn’t do this… who did?
***
The restaurant buzzed with quiet conversation and clinking silverware, candlelight glinting off polished glasses. It should have been relaxing — a rare, normal night in Monaco, tucked into a corner booth with Alexandra, sipping wine and trying to pretend that everything wasn’t on fire.
It wasn’t working.
Charles could barely focus on anything she was saying. His mind kept looping back to Belle’s Instagram post.
A horse. A goddamn horse.
Captioned cryptically, like some kind of soft dagger straight into his already-shredded guilt.
He hadn’t even known she still rode. He hadn’t known she had a horse.
What else didn’t he know? What else had he missed while he was busy pretending everything was fine?
He stabbed his fork into his salad with unnecessary violence.
Alexandra reached across the table, covering his hand. “Eat. You’re spiraling.”
Charles muttered something about not being hungry, but then — movement over Alexandra’s shoulder caught his eye.
He straightened immediately.
Across the room, near the outdoor terrace, sat two very familiar figures.
Emilie Abadie. And Lando Norris?!
Together. Laughing.
Leaning in too close over a shared plate of something fried.
It didn’t look like a casual meeting.
It looked like a date.
Charles’s blood pressure spiked instantly.
Because if Emilie was here — and laughing — that meant Belle wasn’t spiraling alone somewhere. Or worse — she wasn’t telling Emilie to tell him anything.
He shot up from his seat before Alexandra could stop him.
"Charles," she hissed, trying to grab his sleeve. "Sit down!"
But he was already marching across the restaurant, half-blinded by panic, guilt, and the deep, bone-deep need to do something.
Emilie spotted him halfway across the room. Her smile dropped like a rock into the ocean.
"Emilie," he said, voice tight. "We need to talk. About Belle."
Emilie set her wineglass down with infuriating calm.
"I’m having dinner," she said coolly. "Sit down or leave."
Charles didn’t sit. He couldn’t. The panic was a living thing inside him.
“She posted a horse,” he said, almost accusingly. “A horse! She never said anything! She’s still not answering me. You’ve seen her. You know. Why won’t you just—just tell me what’s going on?!”
For a second, Emilie just stared at him.
Then — like a blade sliding out of a sheath — her smile disappeared.
"You think you're owed answers now?" she asked, voice so sharp Charles actually leaned back a fraction. "After months of ignoring every warning sign? After standing in the same garage with her and looking through her like she wasn’t even real?"
Charles’s throat worked, but no sound came out.
"You want to know why she’s not answering you?" Emilie went on, soft and lethal. "Because you only want her when it's convenient. When it fits your schedule. When it doesn't mess up the perfect story you tell yourself about your family."
“Emilie—”
"No," she cut across him, fierce and furious. "You don’t get to interrupt. You didn’t text her. You didn’t notice she moved. You didn’t notice she quit her job. You didn’t notice when she smiled through being forgotten on the day that should have been about her."
Charles flinched like she’d slapped him.
"You forgot her birthday," Emilie said, each word a scalpel slicing down to bone. "And you think a few panicked phone calls are enough to fix that?"
He opened his mouth. Closed it.
"You don't love Belle the way you should," Emilie said, voice low, devastating. "You love the idea of her. The safe, quiet little sister who never asks for anything. Who never demands too much. Who lets you shine without ever threatening your light."
Charles stared at her, feeling hollowed out, feeling cracked open.
"You didn't see her when she needed you," Emilie said. "And now you don't deserve to see her at all — not until she says you can."
Beside her, Lando sat perfectly still, wide-eyed — half in awe, half in something dangerously close to admiration.
Charles shook his head, trying to hold onto something, anything.
“I just want to make it right—”
"Then start by not making it about you," Emilie snapped. "Start by realizing that sometimes you don’t get to be the hero of the story you broke."
Charles felt like the floor had dropped out from under him.
For a long moment, the restaurant spun around him — laughter, silverware, clinking glasses — but all he could hear was Emilie’s voice, merciless and true.
And he knew, in some terrible, undeniable way, that she was right.
He wasn’t the center of Belle’s story anymore.
He wasn’t even a footnote.
He had made himself a ghost in her life, and now he was furious that he couldn’t haunt it.
Emilie leaned back in her chair, perfectly calm now, like she hadn’t just torn him apart at the seams.
"Now," she said, reaching for her wine again, "go back to your table. Apologize to Alexandra. And maybe — if you’re lucky — figure out how to be someone your sister actually wants to let back in."
Charles didn’t say anything. He couldn’t.
He turned away on shaking legs, retreating across the restaurant under the weight of his own failure.
***
Text Messages: Charles Leclerc & Belle Verstappen
Charles: Isabelle.
Charles: I know you probably don’t want to hear from me. I get it. I’m still going to say this anyway.
Charles: I was fifteen when they sold Blanche. I knew how much she meant to you. I knew how much it would break your heart.
Charles: And I still let it happen. I told myself it wasn’t my decision. That it was out of my hands. That it was for the greater good.
Charles: But that’s not the truth. The truth is, I was selfish. I was scared. I was so focused on keeping my own dream alive that I let them take yours away.
Charles: I didn’t fight for you. I didn’t even try.
Charles: I keep thinking about that day. The way you looked at them. At me. Like you finally understood that nothing you said was ever going to change it. And still, I stayed quiet. I just let it happen.
Charles: You didn’t scream. You didn’t cry. You just… disappeared inside yourself. And we all pretended it would get better on its own.
Charles: It didn’t.
Charles: When Arthur got his second chance years later, we celebrated. But we never once thought about giving you yours. We just assumed you had "moved on."
Charles: I see now how wrong that was. You didn’t move on. You just learned how to survive being left behind.
Charles: And then we forgot your birthday. You were standing right there. Wearing Ferrari red. Smiling at me. And I still didn’t see you.
Charles: I keep asking myself how many times we made you feel invisible without even realizing it.
Charles: I don’t blame you for shutting us out. I don’t blame you for walking away. You deserved better than what we gave you.
Charles: And I’m sorry. I am so, so sorry.
Charles: I don’t know how to fix this. Maybe I can’t.
Charles: But I want to try. If you’ll let me.
Charles: If you need space, I’ll give you space. If you need time, I’ll wait. If you never want to speak to me again, I’ll understand.
Charles: But if there’s any chance at all—any way to rebuild even a fraction of what we broke— I’ll do whatever it takes.
Charles: No excuses. No conditions. No timeline.
Charles: I’ll wait as long as you need. I’ll listen as long as it takes.
Charles: You mattered then. You matter now. You always have. Even when we were too blind to see it.
Charles: I love you. I’m so sorry I ever made you doubt that.
Hey girl, I love you and your stories <3
Can I maybe request an enemies to lovers with a female reader and Elijah, which leads to a threesome between her Elijah and Klaus. Maybe with a little punishment and very kinky maybe with a little light bondage and just light beds in general, I'll leave the details up to you
thank you already <333
Captive
18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}
{Elijah Mikaelson x Klaus Mikaelson x Vampire!Reader} You are being held captive by a group of nasty witches, being tortured, starved of blood and interrogated night and day... You've lost all hope, until two old enemies show up to save you, and you spend the evening reminiscing and making up for lost time.
♡♡ Thank you lovely anon! Its been so long since I did a ménage à trois with the boys & it's always so much fun to write! ♡♡
7.1k words {hehe} - Warnings: smut, lots of drinking, Klaus being a little shit, oral sex {m! and f! receiving}, a little bondage, praise kink, a little punishment, slight dom!Elijah and Klaus, blood sharing, rough sex, double penetration, overstimulation && aftercare ...
@gorgeouslydangerous @starkleila @lydia1369sworld @notleylaaa @vampiresluv
@myanmy @xflowerbombxo @maryvibess @always-and-forever-daydreaming
@spnaquakindgdom @amournoir @meeom @damienmorton @wickedmuse
@cs-please @complicatedandconfusing-25 @youcanhavemybuckanyday @akala6670229 @yeaiamme2
@itsjulzandmydiamonds @witch-of-letters @elijahstwink @rosecentury
@amanda08319 @starshipcookie @li-da-savage @veggie-eggrolls @spideybv28
@sunkissedebony97 @idk00sblog @savannaounana @sekaishell @b1tchy
@loving-and-dreaming @fancycassie-stayfancy @hcqwxrtss123 @iamawkwardandshy @ziayamikaelson
@absolutemarveltrash @darkened-writer @nina6708 @evasmlp
@madeinmyownmind-blog @lovelyy-moonlight @blacknightrises @poppet05
In the dark, dingy cell; there was no way to tell the passage of time. Not that you were in any condition to care about that.
It had been so long, you had forgotten the feeling of sunlight kissing you skin, the smell of flowers in the wind, the sound of birds chirping in the morning, the taste of rich red wine, the laughter of friends. The last few days- weeks? months?- were spent in a haze. Time had become a distant concept.
All you knew now was cold, stale, dirty water, and the constant pain of hunger, and the agony of torture.
At first you blamed your captors, with their unrelenting desire to grab at power. Then you blamed your stupidity, your lack of caution. But most of all you blamed the Mikaelsons, for they were who the witches had targeted. They were the ones you were being tortured for.
If only you had not made such enemies, if only you hadn't gotten involved, you could have lived your immortal life without consequence, without guilt. You would have avoided all the pain, all the torture. Indulging in men of that caliber always came with a price, you just didn't expect it to happen to you.
In a way, it was a mercy that your body had long since given out. That you had become too weak, too hungry, to do much more than lay against the dirty floor, staring blankly ahead. Soon your limbs would stop working, only dust left in your veins. You would desiccate and die a slow, painful death, the only relief would be your own insanity.
It was there, in that dark place, where you accepted your fate. The witch's spells kept you trapped, you were too weak to even crawl out the door, and there was no one who knew where you were, no one who would come for you.
That is, until you felt the cold chill of the witch's magic suddenly disappear, like a weight lifted from your shoulders. Then the sound of fighting outside, the screams of the witches and their death rattles, and the door creaking open. And a cold laugh you never thought you would hear again.
"Isn't this a sight?" Klaus said, crouching down outside of the cell, leaning close to the ground to meet your eyes, "I never thought I'd see you in such a state, little fox."
His tone was light, almost mocking, and his grin was as cold as ever. You blinked a few times, hoping you were imagining things, that the delirium had finally set in. You had experienced plenty of hallucinations since the witch's had captured you.
But he didn't disappear. He stayed, watching you, like a snake waiting to strike.
"She looks awful," He mused, looking you over.
"And she smell even worse," another voice chimed in, his soft lilting accent completely unfamiliar, and yet somehow familiar at the same time.
"You've let yourself go, sweetheart," Klaus teased.
"Are you going to sit and gawk, or are you going to rescue the poor girl," The second man said, his voice growing closer as he joined Klaus.
It was Elijah, his way with words unmistakable, even in the attempt at an American accent he spoke with now.
"I was actually thinking about killing her, would it be easier?" Klaus replied, his grin widening, "What do you think brother, is she a lost cause?"
Elijah peered through the bars, his dark eyes taking you in. You wanted to hide, or scream, or cry. His face bringing back a thousand buried memories, all the reasons why you had tried so hard to forget him.
"I'd say she's quite beyond salvation," he said, "but you know I could never resist a damsel in distress, even one as ugly as this."
That hurt, even though you certainly deserved it. Many great fables are written about the tragic love affairs of humans, but nothing compared to the heartbreaks between vampires.
Klaus laughed at the pain in your eyes, the way they watered ever so slightly, despite how weak and dehydrated you were. But he reached out and grabbed the iron gate, tearing it off the hinges with a grunt.
"I think we're past pleasantries, don't you agree, love?" He asked, striding into the cell and lifting you up.
The moment his hands touched your skin, you knew it was real. That by some divine miracle you were rescued and it was by the worst possible people.
"You should really take a bath, it's unbecoming for a lady to smell like a sewer." Elijah commented, watching the way you were limp in Klaus' arms.
You choked out a half laugh, half sob, every small movement felt like sandpaper rubbing against your skin. You swallowed hard and it felt like a knife had been forced down your throat.
"Fuck you," you wheezed.
"There she is!" Klaus said, holding you bridal style, "We were wondering if you had actually died."
Elijah reached out and placed a hand on your head, smoothing out your hair and giving you a gentle smile. You leaned into the touch, the first kindness you had felt in so long.
Klaus carried you out of the cell, and into the room above. He sat down in an old wooden chair, the same one you had been tortured in countless times. Your breathing hitched and you tried to struggle, but he held you tight, pressing his face into your neck.
"Relax," he said, "I'm not going to kill you … yet."
The threat hung in the air, and Elijah rolled his eyes at his brothers' dramatics. You felt the tip of his tongue lick up your neck, and his fangs graze your skin, before pulling away.
"Any of them still kickin'?" He asked Elijah, who was peering around the room.
"One, she's alive. Barely," he replied, his gaze falling on a witch laying face down on the floor, her neck was at a weird angle, no doubt snapped by Elijah.
He dragged her to the middle of the room, her body limp, but you could hear the faint beating of her heart, her blood still pumping. She was still clinging to the last threads of existence. Her blood smelled divine, the sound of her heartbeat was music to your ears.
"Here's a deal," Klaus said, pulling your attention back to him, "I give you her blood, and you answer our questions. Sound fair?"
Your lips were chapped and your throat was dry, but you forced out an answer, "Yes, please."
You hadn't begged for anything the entire time the witches had imprisoned you. Not for freedom, not for mercy, not for blood, not even for your own life. But in that moment, all of your pride had been stripped away, and there was nothing left but desperation.
Elijah lifted the witch up, biting down on her wrist and offering it to you. The taste of fresh blood filled your mouth, and you moaned, gulping down as much as you could. But the relief didn't last long, as he pulled away.
"Enough," he said, his grip tight, "can't have you drinking too much."
You felt life returning to your limbs, your bones tingling as you were able to wiggle them, your skin turning from a gray pallor to its usual color. It wasn't much, but it was more than enough to take the edge off.
"Now, let's start with the obvious," Elijah said, "Why are you here?"
"On vacation," you replied sarcastically, your voice hoarse, but not as quiet as before.
Elijah didn't say anything, instead he gave you a cold stare, daring you to make another joke. You shrunk away, but not much. It had been so long since you had been with them, but the way they made you feel, was ingrained into your bones.
"The witches, what do they want from you? I will not ask you again," He asked, the anger behind his words making you nervous.
"They wanted you two," you said, "they knew we had...history."
"History?" Klaus said, chuckling, "that's a very bland word for what we had."
You bit your tongue. He wasn't wrong, but you weren't willing to admit that to them.
"They thought I could get to you, so they tortured me," you explained.
"And could you? Get to us?" Elijah asked, his eyes narrowed.
You didn't respond, instead you looked down. The truth was, you had been avoiding them for centuries and to do that, you always kept tabs on them. So yes, if you wanted to, you could have gotten to them, but that would have meant reopening old wounds, and the last thing you wanted was to feel that pain all over again.
"We could always compel the answer out of you," Elijah mused.
You shook your head. It wasn't that they couldn't, but that they didn't need to. You were already at their mercy, and had no desire to fight them.
"I... I kept your secrets, no matter how much they tortured me," You said, "I never told them anything."
"How noble," Klaus replied, rolling his eyes, "your loyalty is truly inspiring, sweetheart."
His grip tightened on your body, his fingers digging into your skin. It was starting to make you angry. Yes, they had saved you, but the way they spoke to you, the way they were acting, it was too much.
"Fuck off," you snapped, "I could have given them anything, and yet, here I am, starving and tortured. So maybe a little respect would be nice, you prick."
Elijah let out a short, sharp laugh, while Klaus glared at you. But after a moment he grinned and chuckled, the sound sending a shiver up your spine.
"You were always so bold," Klaus said, "you never were afraid of me."
"She's a fool then," Elijah replied.
"Well, what is life without a few fools, brother?" Klaus asked.
"Boring," you replied, earning a smirk from both of them.
Elijah leaned down, grabbing the witch by the hair and placing her head on your lap. She was so close to dying, you could hear her heartbeat getting weaker and weaker. You looked down at her, the smell of her blood filling the air, and licked your lips.
"Drink up now, you've earned it," he said, stroking the back of her head.
You sank your teeth into her neck, the taste of her blood filling your mouth, as you greedily sucked up as much as you could. Nothing tasted better than draining the life out of a witch.
When you finished, you tossed the body aside, licking your lips and wiping your mouth. You were finally able to relax, your stomach full, your skin returning to a healthy color. You stood up, steady and sure on your feet for the first time in months.
"Where do you think you're going?" Klaus asked, reaching out and grabbing your wrist.
"A hotel, I'm thinking luxury suite, room service, a month long spa treatment, the works," you replied, "thanks for the save, I'm off."
You tried to pull your arm away, but his grip tightened, yanking you towards him.
"Such hubris, little fox," he said, his voice cold and menacing, "you don't really think we're going to just let you go, do you?"
You struggled in his grasp, but it was no use. He was too strong, and you were still too weak. You looked to Elijah, a silent plea, but he just shrugged, an amused smile on his lips.
"What the hell do you mean?" You asked.
"Well, there is the fact that you owe us a favor, but also," he said, leaning forward, his mouth brushing your ear, "I still think your lying,"
And with that, he reached for your neck and with one swift move he snapped it. You didn't even have a chance to react, and as you fell to the ground, the world fading away.
When you woke up, you were somewhere else, on a large, incredibly comfortable sofa, the smell of leather and wood in the air. The light was dim, and it took you a moment to get your bearings. You heard a crackling fire, the sounds of music playing from somewhere, and the voices of the Mikaelson's arguing.
"I don't believe she was lying," Elijah said.
"Really, I'm surprised at you brother," Klaus replied, "considering how she ended things with you,"
Elijah sighed and didn't respond. You couldn't see him, but you imagined him adjusting his suit, and the way his jaw twitched when he was annoyed.
"I'm not inclined to trust her either," Elijah said, "But I think holding her captive is pointless,"
"She's a risk," Klaus argued, "and she's not leaving till I'm sure she's not lying."
You sat up and glanced around, trying to see where they were. It was a large living room, the furniture was ornate and expensive, with antique looking paintings on the wall, and bookshelves lining every surface. There was a coffee table next to the sofa you were on, and your eyes landed on a fresh horror that was laying there.
You let out a blood curdling scream, one that echoed in the space and made Klaus and Elijah appear almost instantly. You were still staring, frozen in place, unable to look away.
A human head was sitting on the table, his skin pale and his eyes wide and lifeless. It was one of the witches that had tortured you, and it was sitting there, staring at you.
"Jesus Christ, is that necessary?" You snapped, pointing at the head.
Klaus grinned, looking down at the head, and shrugging, "I thought you would appreciate the gesture,"
"I don't!" You exclaimed.
"Perhaps you could have done something a little less barbaric," Elijah suggested.
"Oh come now brother, where's the fun in that," Klaus replied, and Elijah rolled his eyes.
"It's a peace offering," Klaus replied, walking over and lifting the head up, tossing it from one hand to the other, "do you like it?"
"No!" You yelled, covering your eyes and trying not to gag, "I want it gone, get rid of it,"
"Oh, come on little fox, don't be so uptight," He replied, his voice low and dangerous, "I remember when you used to enjoy this sort of thing,"
An awkward tension filled the room. Elijah cleared his throat and Klaus laughed.
"Too far?" He asked.
"Just a bit," Elijah replied.
"Sorry, my bad," he said, turning his attention back to you, "now, let's discuss how you're going to repay us."
"What, not even a hello, or how are you?" You asked, standing up.
Elijah gently pushed you back down onto the sofa. He sat down next to you, giving you a small smile, and placing a hand on your knee. You felt your heart skip a beat, and you cursed yourself for the reaction. You had been the one to ruin things with him, and yet, being near him again, it made you wish you hadn't.
"This happy reunion calls for wine!" Klaus called, he chucked the head somewhere out of sight and strided over to a mini bar, pulling out a bottle and glasses, "unfortunately I don't have anything fancy at this particular bar, but this is a decent 1990s vintage, which I think is passable,"
"I don't drink anything after the 1900s," Elijah replied, leaning back against the sofa.
Klaus scoffed, but didn't reply, instead he poured himself a glass and downed it in one gulp.
"Fine," he grumbled, "make me go to the cellar, like some sort of servant,"
"If the shoe fits," Elijah quipped.
You watched the exchange, trying to process everything that had happened. They were different now, their accents and mannerisms, not to mention their appearances. But the easy banter between them, and the way they were able to get under each other's skin, that hadn't changed one bit.
"Are you two ever not at each other's throats?" You asked, leaning back, "seriously, you are worse than an old married couple."
"Far worse," Klaus yelled, before disappearing down a hallway, off to retrieve the good wine.
"Don't mind him," Elijah said, turning to you, "he's never been very appreciative of fine cuisine."
"I know. He's a heathen," you replied, smiling.
Elijah didn't return the smile, his gaze fixed on you, a strange expression on his face. His eyes were dark and intense, and the longer he looked, the more uncomfortable you felt.
"You've changed," he said.
"So have you," you replied, "it's been centuries and I wasn't exactly eager to run into either of you again."
He didn't respond. The silence hung in the air, neither of you wanting to talk about the elephant in the room. What had happened, was painful, and neither of you had really moved on.
"Why did you do it?" He asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
You bit your lip. A million lies flashed through your mind. The truth was cruel, and you didn't want to admit it, but it was the only option.
"Because I was bored," you admitted, "and I didn't know any other way to handle it, so I turned it all off,"
"And found a far more vigorous lover in the process," Klaus said, suddenly appearing with an older bottle of wine.
He handed it to Elijah, who looked over the label and nodded. Klaus gave you a wink and sat down on the chair across from the two of you.
Elijah didn't speak, and you couldn't read his expression. He looked hurt, and his gaze turned away from you. Guilt was a feeling you spent a lot a time accepting back into your life, but to witness the consequences, that was far worse.
"Whoops, still a sore subject I see," Klaus teased.
"Niklaus, shut up," Elijah snapped.
Klaus threw his hands up in mock surrender, and didn't say anything, a satisfied smile on his face. He was just as much to blame as you, but clearly he had no remorse and was loving the awkwardness of the moment.
Elijah uncorked the wine and poured a glass for all three of you. The tension in the room was still palpable, and as much as you wanted to apologize, you knew that nothing would fix what you had done.
"To reunions, and bloody witches," Klaus said, raising his glass, "to past lovers and new enemies, to the future, whatever that may bring,"
He chuckled and took a long drink. You and Elijah didn't move, still looking away from each other.
"Oh, come on, I'm not doing this whole thing alone," Klaus said, glaring at the two of you, "let's play a game,"
"You know, I'm not really in the mood for a game," you said, crossing your arms.
"Well, lucky for you, I'm not asking," Klaus replied, his voice dripping with false kindness, "now, the rules are simple, tell the truth or take a drink,"
"We are not children," Elijah protested, "we don't need games to imbibe,"
"Oh, I beg to differ," Klaus said, "so, what shall we ask first? Hmmm... oh, how about, why were you in New Orleans?"
You stared at him, unsure if you should just answer, or try to get out of the game. He was looking at you, his eyes narrowed and his jaw set. You could feel his anger, and the last thing you wanted was to piss him off.
"I needed an answer to a question," you replied, "it's… important to me,"
Klaus and Elijah exchanged a glance, both of them curious about what you meant.
"How intriguing," Klaus said, leaning back, "and what was this question?"
"Doesn't work that way," you replied, a smile creeping onto your face, "it's your turn,"
"Clever girl," Klaus replied, grinning.
"My turn," Elijah said, turning to Klaus, "where did you find this bottle,"
"Why does that matter?" Klaus replied, annoyed.
"I don't remember seeing that year in the cellar," Elijah replied, taking a sip.
"Perhaps it was from your secret stash…" Klaus asked, smirking, "the one I'm not supposed to know about?"
Elijah glared at him, and you stifled a laugh. Their arguments were always funny, and this was no exception.
"Well, I was feeling sentimental, so I grabbed one of the better years," Klaus explained, "what's the harm in a little nostalgia,"
Elijah didn't say anything, his gaze turning back to the glass, swirling the wine around.
"My turn," you said, "how did you find me?"
"Simple," Klaus said, "we have spies everywhere, and witches are the most gossiping creatures on the planet. When I heard they were torturing a lovely little vampire that matched your description, well… we just had to see for ourselves,"
You were shocked, that they had gone out of their way to find you. You hadn't expected them to care, or even remember you, and to know they had saved you just because they could, it was a strange feeling.
"But, why bother saving me?" You asked, genuinely curious, "you don't owe me anything, not after how I left things,”
They both fell silent, exchanging a glance that seemed to have an entire conversation within it. After a moment, Elijah spoke.
"It's always better to know where our enemies stand," he said, "you are a useful asset, and a potential enemy,"
"And," Klaus added, "we love killing witches who get too big for their boots,"
Elijah glared at him and then sighed, "That too,"
You didn't say anything, their reasoning making perfect sense. You had a history with the two of them, but that didn't mean you were friends.
Elijah's arm stretched behind you, casually resting on the back of the couch. His fingers brushed your shoulder and you felt your breath catch. His hand was warm and you could feel his thumb stroke your shoulder.
"What did the witches ask you?" he said, his voice soft and low. “Tell us the whole truth,”
His hand moved subtly to the back of your neck, a quiet threat, one that didn't require words. You understood the unspoken message and knew that if you didn't give him an answer he was happy with, then you would end up the same way as the head that was somewhere in the house.
"They asked about your weaknesses, how to kill you," you admitted, "I told them to go fuck themselves and in return they upped to torture severely,”
Klaus snorted, clearly impressed. He poured himself another glass, while Elijah gave you a satisfied nod.
"Why the loyalty? We haven't spoken in centuries," Elijah asked, his fingers tracing the curve of your neck, "I seem to remember you hating us both,"
You picked up your glass and took a long drink, not saying anything.
"Not a fan of the question?" He asked.
"It's not loyalty, but self preservation," you said, shrugging, "the wrath of witches is one thing, but you two? That's a death wish,"
Klaus laughed and held up his glass, "well played, sweetheart,"
Elijah didn't remove his hand, his fingers lightly caressing the nape of your neck, his gaze never wavering from yours.
"My turn," you said, trying not to squirm under his touch, "why not kill me? You are clearly afraid I hold secrets you rather I didn't,"
"Call it … Nostalgia," Klaus said, a wicked grin on his face, "I do so love to reminisce, and if I am being honest, you are one of the more fun memories,"
"Ah yes, your one weakness, sentimental attachment to those you've slept with," you quipped, taking another drink, the alcohol warming your throat.
"I guess it's the one thread of our humanity we've never been able to shake," Klaus admitted.
You raised your glass and downed the rest of it, setting the glass down with a small clink. Elijah refilled it, his hand now resting on your lower back. You tried to ignore it, but every touch made you more aware of him, and less able to concentrate.
"Let's make a deal," Klaus said, his expression serious, "we will let you go, if you answer why you are in New Orleans,"
You bit your lip, wondering if they would even believe you.
"I'm here because..." you paused, looking down at the ground, "I heard a witch here can help with... Fertility,"
They both froze, a stunned look on their faces.
"A baby?" Elijah asked, his eyes wide.
"Is that what you've been chasing all these centuries?" Klaus asked, clearly surprised.
You looked up at both of them, two of the oldest beings to walk this earth. Them, of all people, you hoped would understand your reasons.
"I've experienced everything I've ever wanted too in my long life," you began, your hands twisting in your lap, "climbed the tallest mountains, swam in the deepest oceans, drank with Kings of long forgotten empires, fucked and fed from the greatest artists, poets, warriors and philosophers the world has ever known... but now I wish for only one thing,"
You stopped, swallowing a lump in your throat, blinking back the tears that were threatening to fall.
"To be a mother," you whispered, "to impart my wisdom on someone, and love them more than anything. To show them the beauty of the world and watch them grow up, have children of their own, and carry on a legacy. It's the one thing I haven't done, and the one thing I want most in the world,"
You thought that Klaus would laugh, perhaps even mock you, but he didn't, instead his expression was sympathetic, and Elijah's was one of understanding.
"You are not the wild, reckless creature that we used to know," Klaus said, "you have changed,"
"And so have you," you replied.
The three of you sat in silence for a few minutes, letting the weight of the conversation settle.
"Did you find what you were looking for?" Elijah asked, his arm now firmly around your waist.
"All I found was a chains and a cell," you replied, "I was a fool, blinded by hope. All that awaited me was pain,"
Klaus poured you another drink, they couldn't help you, but at least they could offer you a distraction.
The night quickly dissolved into a drunken revelry. The three of you laughing and drinking, the old days a source of amusement. Your belly was full of blood and wine, and the tension between the three of you had dissipated.
"Now that I have determined you aren't a threat, it's time to get down to the real questions," Klaus said, "who is the better lover? Me or my dear brother,"
"Seriously?" You exclaimed, rolling your eyes.
"What?" He replied, "I'm just curious, I promise I won't get jealous,"
"I'm not answering that," you said.
"Yes, well, I would rather not hear the answer," Elijah interjected.
"You are no fun," Klaus replied, and then leaned forward, his gaze intense, "I'm going to assume it's me,"
"Interesting assumption," you said, raising an eyebrow, "but if we're talking about skills, there is a clear winner,"
Elijah grinned, and Klaus shot you an offended look. You laughed and finished the rest of the wine, setting the glass on the table.
"And I've always preferred passion over... Enthusiasm," you said, a hint of teasing in your voice.
Elijah didn't look up from his drink, his face neutral, but you could tell he was smiling. Klaus huffed, and crossed his arms.
"I would be delighted to remind you," Klaus said, leaning forward and placing a hand on your thigh, "just say the word, and we can retire to a more comfortable location."
You grabbed his wrist and twisted, until you felt his bones shatter. He cried out in pain, then quickly recovered, the bones snapping back into place.
"That's not how this works," you replied, smiling sweetly.
He stared at you, his expression changing from shock to a pleased smile.
"Still the same fire, I see," he replied, "a good reminder of the past,"
"If I were to sleep with either of you again, it would be on my terms, certainly not when I'm held captive," you snapped.
"Who said anything about holding you captive," Klaus replied, "if we were, you would still be shackled to the wall,"
"Some might enjoy that sort of thing," Elijah remarked, his cheeks were a bit rosy from drink and you enjoyed how it made him seem less cold.
"Have you done that sort of thing Elijah?" You teased, "I never would have taken you for a deviant,"
He shrugged, a sly smile on his face, "I don't divulge such things,"
"Oh, please, you can tell us," Klaus said, "unless you haven't, and are simply trying to pretend like you have,"
"Or perhaps he has and is ashamed of the things he's done," you added, laughing.
Elijah glared at the two of you, the playful glint in his eyes giving him away. He simply stood up and held out his hand to you, the confidence in his stance and the way he looked at you sent a jolt of heat through your body.
"The only way to know for sure, is to experience it for yourself," he said, his tone seductive, "I'll leave the choice up to you,"
You stared at him, a sudden desire coursing through your veins. This was a terrible idea, but at the same time, a chance to have a night of freedom and pleasure after months of torture was an offer you couldn't resist.
"If I say no, am I free to go?" You challenged, meeting his gaze.
"You were never a prisoner," he replied, "the only person keeping you here is yourself,"
He was right. They hadn't chained you, or compelled you, and now that the threat of danger was gone, there was nothing stopping you from walking out the door. But that was not what you wanted, and the look in his eyes was too enticing.
"Alright, but I need a shower first, I still smell of dungeon and witch piss," you said, standing up and taking his hand, "and you better not disappoint,"
He smiled, his eyes dark with desire, and pulled you into his arms, his lips crashing into yours. The kiss was intense, and you clung to his shoulders, melting into his embrace.
Klaus scoffed, he loathed being left out.
"Really?" he grumbled, pouring himself another glass. "Can you keep the noise to a minimum, I would prefer to have a little sleep tonight,"
You let out a soft giggle, "oh, don't pout, you can come too,"
Klaus raised an eyebrow, looking to his brother for an answer. Elijah nodded, a smirk on his face.
"If she insists," Elijah said, his voice smooth, "you know I've never been good at denying her,"
Klaus immediately got to his feet, throwing his glass of wine into the fireplace. The flames leapt up, the red embers glowing, illuminating the room in a fiery light. He walked over and wrapped an arm around your waist, his lips brushing your ear, his hand cupping your ass.
"Do you have any idea how many times I've fantasized about having you in bed again?" He whispered, his breath hot against your neck.
You smiled and pushed him away, enjoying his expression of surprise.
"Well, then, why are we still standing here," you said, sauntering out of the room, "the night won't last forever,"
Elijah caught up with you in the hallway, wrapping his arms around your waist and pressing you up against the wall. He kissed you, his hands sliding down to your thighs and lifting you up. You wrapped your legs around his waist and ran your fingers through his hair, deepening the kiss.
He carried you all the way to his bedroom, never once breaking the kiss. The room was dark, and the bed was large and covered in dark silk sheets. He pointed to his bathroom, and you pulled your tattered clothes off, leaving them on the floor.
You went into the bathroom and turned on the shower, waiting for the water to get warm. You felt his arms wrap around you and turned around, letting him press you up against the tile. He kissed you again, his tongue slipping into your mouth. His hands roamed your body, exploring every inch of bare skin, his touch igniting a fire within you.
Klaus quickly joined you, he had undressed in the other room, and stood naked in the doorway. You smiled at him, enjoying the way his muscles flexed as he moved.
Elijah pulled away from you to undress and you watched as his shirt was unbuttoned and fell to the ground. His pants followed, and your eyes roamed his body, admiring his muscular frame. The two of them were opposites in many ways, but they both had a beauty to them, and right now you could hardly choose which one you wanted more.
You took both their hands and pulled them under the steamy water, running your hands across their skin. Their bodies were warm and firm, their skin soft under your fingertips. You kissed Elijah, while Klaus kissed and licked your breasts, his hands wandering between your legs.
You could feel his fingers brush against your wet core, his thumb pressing against your clit. He slowly circled the sensitive nub, sending a wave of pleasure through your body. Your hands wandered down to Elijah's cock, gently stroking the hard length.
Elijah kissed you, his lips trailing down your neck, his hand gently caressing your breasts. You moaned, enjoying the feeling of their hands on your body.
Their touch was overwhelming, hands and mouths everywhere, and it was only when the water started to turn cold that you all stepped out, laughing and breathless.
Elijah pulled you on to his bed, and you fell on to his chest. His lips found yours and you lost yourself in his kiss. You felt the bed dip and Klaus pressed his lips against your shoulder, his hands running along your thighs. He kissed his way down your spine, his hands pushing your ass up in the air.
His lips trailed along the curve of your lower back, his fingers tracing the line of your hip. He placed a soft kiss on your inner thigh and you moaned, anticipation coiling in your stomach.
You felt his tongue flick across your pussy and you gasped, arching your back. He chuckled and began licking and sucking, his tongue expertly teasing your clit.
Elijah's hands cupped your face and you turned your attention back to him. His eyes were blown wide with lust, his gaze fixed on yours. You kissed him, the taste of the wine still lingering on his lips. His cock was hard against your stomach and you could feel his desire pulsing through his veins.
Your hand trailed down his chest, and you wrapped your fingers around his cock, slowly stroking the thick shaft. His eyebrows arched in pleasure, and you could feel his muscles tighten.
You kissed your way down his chest until you were level with his cock. You ran your tongue along the underside of his shaft, enjoying the sound of his low moans. A gentle hum left your throat and you felt him shudder.
You took him in your mouth, gently sucking and swirling your tongue. He groaned, his hands tangling in your hair. His grip tightened and you increased your pace, taking his length deeper.
Klaus moved away for a moment, and you could see Elijah observing whatever he was doing, a dark smile spreading across his face. You felt the bed dip as Klaus returned, and he grabbed your wrists, pinning them behind your back.
A moment later, the soft leather of a belt wrapped around them, and he secured the belt, tight enough that you couldn't move, but not too tight that it hurt.
Elijah's eyes met yours, and a wicked smile played across his lips. "Do you enjoy being tied up? Being helpless and at our mercy?" He asked, his voice a deep growl.
You nodded eagerly, taking him further into your mouth. His eyes darkened, and he grabbed a fistful of your hair, his hips thrusting forward. You could feel him hit the back of your throat and gagged, your eyes watering.
Klaus kissed your lower back, then positioned himself at your entrance. You gasped as he slowly slid inside, the stretch sending waves of pleasure through your body. He held still for a moment, letting you adjust to his size, then slowly began to move.
You moaned, the sensation of being filled by both of them overwhelming. They began to move in a steady rhythm, Klaus thrusting into you while Elijah fucked your mouth. You were helpless, pinned between them, unable to do anything but submit.
The sound of their pleasure sent a shiver of delight through you, and you felt yourself getting closer and closer to release. Elijah's breathing became ragged, and his grip on your hair tightened. You knew he was close, so you focused on pleasuring him, moving all the way down and swallowing.
He let out a low groan and came, his hot release spilling into your mouth. You swallowed every drop, then pulled away, gasping for air. You smiled up at him, his expression one of bliss.
Klaus continued to thrust into you, his pace increasing. He leaned forward and bit into your shoulder, his fangs sinking deep. You cried out in pain and pleasure, your body shuddering. His bloodlust combined with his own pleasure, the feeling overwhelming, but just as you were about to cum, he stopped.
You let out a whine, and he chuckled, his hands squeezing your ass.
"I don't think I'm quite ready for this to end," he murmured, pulling out.
Elijah's hands moved down to your arms, pulling you forward and guiding you onto his lap. You straddled him, your hands still bound behind your back, and his cock brushed against your wet core.
"Do you remember how you used to love riding me?" He whispered, his lips brushing against yours.
You nodded, eager for him to fill you. He grinned and lifted your hips, slowly lowering you onto his cock. He gripped your hips and began to move you up and down. You moaned, resting your head on his shoulder and grinding your hips.
Klaus positioned himself behind you, and you felt his hand trail down your back. His fingers traced the line of your ass, and then he spread your cheeks, exposing your other hole.
"You are such a pretty little thing," he murmured, pressing a finger against your ass, "all tied up and at our mercy,"
He slid a finger inside, the tight ring of muscle giving way. You moaned, the feeling of being filled by both of them overwhelming.
Klaus coated his cock with a lubricant and pressed it against your ass. Elijah held you still, his lips claiming yours in a heated kiss. You could feel the tip of Klaus' cock pushing into your ass and whimpered, the stretch bordering on painful.
Klaus slowly sank into you, letting out a low groan. He began to thrust, his movements slow and deep. The feeling of both of them inside you was almost too much, and you moaned, your body trembling.
"Are you enjoying this, love?" Klaus asked, his voice low and dangerous.
"Yes," you whimpered, unable to form a coherent sentence.
Elijah kissed along your jaw, his fingers digging into your hips, guiding your movements, rocking you back and forth on their cocks.
You felt the heat of their bodies pressed against yours, and their hands were everywhere, stroking, caressing, and teasing. The smell of their sweat and desire was intoxicating, and you were lost in the pleasure, your mind spinning.
Klaus pulled on your wrists, his mouth colliding with the side of your neck. You cried out as he bit into you, his fangs piercing your skin. Elijah kissed the other side, mirroring his brother's bite.
The combination of the pleasure and pain was too much, and you came, your orgasm crashing through your body. You writhed in their arms, your body trembling, waves of ecstasy washing over you.
They kept you pinned between them, bouncing you up and down, their movements rough and animalistic. The belt came loose, and your hands came free.
You wrapped your arms around Elijah's neck as another orgasm hit, this one even more intense than the last. He smiled at the look of pure bliss on your face and kissed you, his hands tangled in your hair.
Klaus groaned, pressing himself deep as he came, then he slowly pulled out, kissing the nape of your neck.
Elijah soon followed, his eyes meeting yours as he shuddered, spilling into you. You collapsed against him, exhausted and sated. He gently stroked your hair, his gaze soft and loving.
"I forgot how good you are at that," you mumbled, your eyes drifting closed.
He chuckled, his fingers gently tracing patterns on your skin. You snuggled against his chest, enjoying the warmth of his embrace.
Klaus laid down next to the two of you, his eyes bright, and a smile on his face. "What about me? Any thoughts?" He asked, and you giggled, the alcohol still coursing through your system.
"You were pretty good, too," you replied, reaching out and patting his arm.
He grinned, his hand coming to rest on the top of your thigh. "I don't know why we didn't do this earlier, it would have saved us all a lot of trouble," he said.
Elijah nodded, a small smirk on his lips, "you may be right,"
"I'm sorry for leaving you the way I did," you said softly, running your hands through Elijah's hair, "and thank you for coming to save me,"
He nodded, pressing a soft kiss against your forehead, then helped you off his lap, and onto the bed, covering the three of you with a silk sheet.
"Do you mind if I stay here a while? It's been so long since I've had a good night's sleep," you mumbled, your fingers curling into Elijah's chest, holding him tight.
He didn't reply, just pulled you closer, his hand stroking your back, lulling you to sleep.
"We've got all the time in the world, love," Klaus said softly, his voice barely a whisper, "we'll make sure no more nasty witches get their hands on you,"
It had been so long since you had felt so content, you could feel the warmth of their skin, smell their cologne, hear the beat of their hearts. You could taste the blood and whiskey in the air, and it felt right, like you had come home.
m & s | sebastian vettel
like my dirty diana jenson fic, the reader will have a name and last name and faceclaim, but you are more than welcome to use any other faceclaim!! or name if you want <3 this is just for fanfic purposes :) part 2 coming soon <3
fcaeclaim elizabeth olsen
2018
MESSAGES
s
hi, i heard you’re taking a break. just wanted to let you know that our house in monaco is still available if you want to stay there.
m
oh, you never sold it?
s
selling it didn’t feel right. you still have your key?
m
yes. i’ll think about it. i might stay here in LA though
S
oh. sounds fine too. i figured you would want to get out of america, but where ever you feel comfortable :) you deserve to take a break
m
thank you, sebastian. so do you..
s
eventually
only angel - ʟɴ⁴
the one where she hits it off one of his driver friends, and meets a new version of lando in the very same night.
part one | part two | part three | part four | part six | part seven | part eight | part nine | part ten
contains; fluff, dom!lando, nsfw, smut; manhandling, oral (m & f), slit-fucking?, fingering, orgasm denial, kinda voyeurism?, squirting, crying, degradation kink, praise kink; talks of loss of virginity, swearing.
…
…
‘glamour on the grid’, they called it.
“it’ll be fun!” keegan exclaimed, shrugging his shoulders. “come on, lando.”
the four were sat in a sports bar somewhere in melbourne — the group being lando, lily, keegan, and max. lando wasn’t quite sure why they’d gone to a bar, when only two of the four would be drinking — max and keegan — but he’d agreed nonetheless after lily said she wouldn’t drink if he couldn’t.
“and it’d be good for PR,” max added, tilting his head and raising his eyebrows. “come on, bob.”
“yeah, do it for the team!” the younger boy nodded enthusiastically.
lando sighed and flitted his gaze over to the girl beside him, “you’re going, right?”
“i mean, i have an invite.” she shrugged. “but i don’t have anyone to go with, it’s a pairs kind of thing.”
“go with me?” he asked softly, “i don’t wanna be on my own.”
keegan went to speak, probably to say something like ‘you’ll have us!’, but max kicked him under the table as to say — ‘shut up, they’re having a moment.’
“yeah, of course.” she smiled softly, the subtlest of blushes spreading across her cheeks when he kissed her forehead briefly — going unnoticed by all but max.
“so, that’s settled, and you need a suit, mate.” max nodded. “do you need a dress, lala?”
lala.
that stupid nickname max had for her — only the quadrant crew called her that. it was her initials, ria had written them down wrong one day, (they were three letters how did she even get that wrong?) and thus ‘lala’ was born.
“yeah, i do, i’ll just ask dior or something,” she shrugged, almost laughing at the nickname. “do you want me to get you a suit too, lan?”
“yes please, you know my sizes and stuff — i’ll just match you.”
max was sat there, watching the two talk, and something was different. the way lando’s gaze lingered a little more than it usually would, how his voice was soft and low, the look in his eyes that made her seem like she’d hung the stars in the sky.
and even keegan noticed it too. the way lily would blush a little deeper than usual for her, the way she was either constantly touching or looking at him in some way, and her inability to have anything but a smile on her face gave her away completely.
maybe they were dating? no, surely they’d have told them by now.
maybe they were…? the boys basically had no idea what was going on there, but they were going to find out.
-
lily wasn’t impressed, whatsoever.
it wasn’t the fact that he wasn’t with her, it was the fact he was with her, of all girls, of the girl he was having sex with for gods sake!
lando and callie had been chatting all night, and it was pissing lily off — she was very aware of her jealousy and she couldn’t give a fuck.
she was this beautiful blonde girl, tanned with the prettiest eyes lily had ever seen, and the most contagious laugh ever recorded — shit, lily would have taken her out herself if she wasn’t madly in love with the boy she currently had her hand on the arm of.
“you look fucked off,” max pointed out as the two laughed about something.
“i’m not,” she snapped, before sighing and realising that maybe max would be able to see through her lie. “okay, maybe i am, but that’s none of your business.”
“just go and flirt with someone else,” he shrugged nonchalantly. “lando’ll hate that, he almost— actually, that’s a story for another day. just go and find someone else to piss him off with.”
“i don’t want to piss him off though.” she sighed.
“oh, so there is something going on with you and bob then?” max caught her, smiling widely.
she had given herself away.
lily could have made up a lie about why she was annoyed — her time of the month, her dress was itchy, it was too hot — but no, she just let the truth fall from her lips.
in all honesty, everything was perfect, but she wanted her boyfriend— no, best friend to be by her side like he usually was.
“just don’t say anything, okay?” lily huffed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “i’ve only told lex and i don’t know who he’s told, carlos maybe.”
“i won’t, secret is safe with me, as long as this ends in a relationship.” max teased.
she rolled her eyes, before picking up her lemonade and heading off to find her new man for the evening.
-
“no way, i worked with them not too long ago,” he said, crossing his leg over the other as they sat in the quiet corner.
“yeah, i asked them to send me this for tonight last minute,” lily smiled, gesturing to the white sparkly dress clinging to her body. “and well, if this is last minute i really need to up my standards.”
he laughed in response, the adorable gap between his front teeth showing — and no, it wasn’t lando.
lily ainsley was sat with, and had been for the past hour, sir lewis hamilton… talking about fashion of all things.
“we should set up a collab or something,” lewis added, lily nodding as he reached for his drink.
unfortunately, lewis’ hand brushed hard enough against lily’s full glass to send it flying off of the table, somehow not breaking it, but getting lemonade all over the floor and a bit on the bottom of her dress.
“oh my god,” he gasped, clapping his hand to his mouth. “i am so sorry, lily, is it on your dress?”
“only a little bit, don’t worry.” she shook her head with smile, “it’s warm, it’ll dry.”
she couldn’t help but laugh as lewis’ panicked eyes stared at her nonchalance about the situation — lando had spilled many of drinks down her top when he was drunk on nights out — so this was quite minor.
“let me buy you another drink, please?” lewis said, clasping his hands together as he chewed on his lower lip.
“okay, yeah.” she shrugged, a free beverage of any kind was something lily never turned down.
they reached the edge of the busy bar together, and lewis saw the slightly anxious look in her eye, so he simply held his arm out for her to link through.
she mouthed a kind, ‘thankyou’ to him, before they made their way through the swarm of bodies together.
“dude, where’s lily?” keegan asked lando, tapping his arm, while he held up a piece of fabric that had come off of his designer jacket. “i wanna ask her where the fuck this goes.”
“i’m pretty sure that’s your pocket…” lando furrowed his eyebrows. “she’s around here somewhere.”
“what, she’s not with you?” keegan asked, looking at him confused — those two were usually a package deal.
“no—”
“oh there she is!” the australian exclaimed. “oh, fuck nah, she’s with lewis… i’ll go over later.”
“she’s with lewis?” lando’s head snapped up, searching for lily’s familiar face in the foreign crowd. “as in— what the fuck?”
there she was, in all of her angelic glory, laughing softly with one of his childhood heroes — well that was a sight he thought he’d never see.
lewis’ hand was loosely around her waist, mostly to stop her being swept away by the bustling atmosphere of the crowd.
to lando, it was a declaration of war.
-
the uber home was filled with a tense silence, the lingering scent of annoyance and jealousy tainting the air. neither of them spoke, either too stubborn or too pissed off with the night’s antics to talk.
her phone lit up, max fewtrell.
max fewtrell: let me know how it goes with sunshine. he was real pissed earlier. worse than when i broke his gaming chair. good luck!
“lewis?” lando spoke up roughly.
“what?” she looked up from her phone after she’d unlocked it.
“too busy talking to him to listen to what i’m saying, wow.” he huffed, god was this boy dramatic.
“sorry, i thought you were too busy with callie to acknowledge my existence.” she shot back, rolling her eyes as she replied to max.
‘he’s in such a piss. i should have just left it be. i hate your ideas, fuck you!’
“oh please, you were all over lewis! he’s double your fucking age, lily!” lando snapped, raising his voice at her — something he never did.
“well maybe that’s because you were too busy being a slut to acknowledge my existence!” she shot back.
he laughed, he fucking laughed.
the rest of the ride was silent, it wasn’t even tense — something was looming, lando was planning something, she could tell.
the uber was paid and tipped gratefully, and the two took the elevator back to their hotel room. his hands weren’t on her, which worried her a little — either she had upset him, or he was saving it for once they were behind closed doors (she hoped it was the latter of the two.)
the door closed behind them, and it was like a switch flipped inside of the brit.
“a slut, huh?” lando chuckled lowly, grabbing lily and throwing her over his shoulder roughly.
“lando— put me down, lando!” she hit his back, with no real force — but she didn’t want to seem desperate.
“shut up.” he grumbled, putting her down on the floor so she was stood up.
“thank—”
his hands were on her hips, spinning her away from him. lando’s large hands managed to undo the zip on the back of the dress with ease, before he pulled it down and pushed the item off of her body.
he smirked to himself as she let him, not protesting as he spun her back around to face him.
“on your knees,” he nodded, unbuttoning his shirt.
she looked up at him, dazed and very turned on by this new version of lando she was met with.
“are you deaf?” he snapped “i said on your knees.”
lily got her knees gently, the cold tiles of the floor making the position a little uncomfortable.
he nodded, tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek — she knew what he meant, wordlessly telling her to get to work.
his belt was undone by her slender fingers, and to her surprise, he wasn’t fully hard, meaning she was actually going to have to—
no, the first brush of lily’s fingers on his shaft sent it upward, slapping up against his abdomen. the thought of teasing him swirled around her mind briefly, but the look in lando’s eye told her to think otherwise.
a warm splatter of saliva dripped onto the tip of his cock, lubing the tip as she then took it in her mouth. her lips expertly wrapped around him, taking him deep down her throat straight away, swirling her tongue around every part she could reach. he groaned, clenching his jaw as he began to thrust slowly into her mouth.
she bobbed her head to meet his thrusts, tears welling in her eyes as he crammed his cock into her mouth.
“so much more polite with my dick in your mouth, aren’t you, angel?” he said, almost sweetly.
she made a muffled sound around him, not daring to pull off until his seed was deep in her throat.
her jaw was starting to lock, and the tears spilled down her face.
lily could feel him twitching inside of her mouth, and she was about to speed her movements up, when he pulled his cock out of her mouth.
loosely wrapping a hand around her throat, he pulled her gently, getting her to stand up, before pushing her onto the bed.
“ass up,” he commanded, helping her a little as she buried her face in the pillow.
he gazed down at her white underwear, clearly soaked and most likely ruined. one clean swipe rendered them (and her) useless, her panties tossed across the room with any dignity she had left.
“don’t even deserve to be fucked,” he muttered, taking his cock and pushing it though her folds, notching at her entrance.
he positioned his cock so it sat snugly in her puffy folds, bumping up against her clit every time he pushed forward.
“you think lewis could make you feel like this, baby?” he spoke cockily as she shuddered, thighs clenching as he pushed down her slit agonisingly slowly — holding back his own moan.
“n-no,” she choked out, moaning as her lower tummy fizzed with need.
“then why were you with him?” he pried, knowing the real reason — he’d spoken to max.
“tryna’ make—” she moaned softly as he brought his thumb forward to toy at her needy entrance. “get your attention, didn’t like seeing you with her.”
“so you were whoring yourself out with my rival?” he questioned lowly. “you could have just told me you were a pathetic mess for me, you know?”
her body was so hungry for him, pushing back against his slow thrusts into her slit — that the tears from earlier in their escapades resurfaced, streaming down her face.
he knew she was crying, but until there was an apology for calling him a slut, there wouldn’t be any letting up on her.
lando continued to thrust forward, her whimpers quiet and low. so, in aid of not being able to hear her, he slipped two fingers inside of her weeping entrance — pumping them hard and deep with no warning.
her slick was dripping onto his dick, coating it in a warmth as it slid back and forth though her folds. the previous stimulation of being buried deep inside of her throat helped him get close quickly, and he could tell she was close by the way her hips jerked when he scissored his fingers apart.
but he was closer than she was, and a sick though passed through his head and into his movements.
the brit pulled his fingers from her, grabbing his cock and pumping it on top of her ass. he let out a guttural groan, shooting thick webs of cum over her perfect ass and picturesque back — “fuck, stay there.”
she sobbed and whined out as his fingers left her hole, feeling empty without his digits stuffed deep inside of her.
he leaned down off of the bed and fished his phone out of his pants pocket, before repositioning himself as before.
“let me take a photo, yeah, baby?” lando asked roughly. “look so fucking pretty like this.”
she hummed, pushing her ass up toward him. flicking to the camera, he placed his hand on her lower ribcage, pulling her marked body back toward him, and snapped a photo.
“lando,” lily whimpered, thighs shaking a little at the loss of her much needed high.
“i’m sorry, what was that, lils?” he asked condescendingly, flipping her from her tummy onto her back. “wanna repeat that?”
“lan,” she murmured, lower lip caught between her teeth.
“oh, pretty baby,” lando teased, leaning over her so their faces met. “shoulda’ though ‘bout what you wanted before you decided to be a bitch.”
“i’m sorry,” she murmured. “didn’t mean it, promise, ‘m so sorry, lan.”
“there she is,” lando switched, his whole mentality flipped based on a few words. “there’s my pretty girl.”
“‘m sorry,” she repeated, tears streaming down her face.
“i know you are, i know you didn’t mean it.” he reassured her, pressing soft kisses to the tear stains on her cheeks. “tell me what you need, and i’ll give it to you, angel.”
the addition of the please popped on the end sealed the deal for him, and he nodded, gently connecting their lips as to say — sorry for being a prick.
“mouth, need your mouth.” she nodded quickly, “please.”
“mhm, there’s my good girl.” he praised, nodding at her as he gazed into her soul.
lando pressed kisses down from her throat, through the valley of her breasts, over her tummy, and softly began his mission to bring his girlfriend— no, best friend into a world of mind-bending pleasure.
“open up for me baby,” he asked softly, placing his hands on her inner thighs.
she spread her legs shakily, letting him have full access to her slick pussy.
lando flattened his tongue against her pussy, groaning against her as he lapped up her juices. he circled her clit, pressing his thumb into her entrance to tease her.
she clenched around him, moaning softly as he closed his lips around her clit, gently sucking it as he replaced his thumb with two thick fingers, sliding into her tight heat with a little resistance. lily whined, clenching around his digits as he set the same pace he had previously kept.
“lan…” she let out a guttural groan, eyes rolling back. “fuck— gonna cum…”
it was embarrassing how quickly she came, inner walls convulsing around his fingers, legs shaking, liquid gushing from her and a large portion of it spraying into his mouth.
he whined into her pussy pathetically, drinking her up without hesitation. “so pretty,” he murmured, toying with her clit as her hips bucked away from him.
“my pretty girl.”
-
the morning drew in, and the tanned arms around her body stayed here, tightening every now and again.
“morning.” he said groggily, lifting his head from the crook of her neck.
“good morning.” she yawned softly.
“i’m um… sorry, about yesterday.” lando began softly, “just um… i just didn’t like you and lewis, and i went the wrong way about it completely, i‘m sorry,” he sighed, blinking at the girl. “i shouldn’t have been with callie, i went there with you, not her.”
“it’s okay, lan, really, i overreacted — but i promise you, nothing is there with me and lewis, he’s just a friend i promise.” lily reassured him, gently carding her fingers through his soft curls.
“i know, i was being a twat.” he pursed his lips. “i’m sorry.”
“it’s okay, i promise.” she nodded softly, pressing a kiss to the tip of his nose.
“why don’t we make an agreement?” lando suggested. “while we’re doing this, there’s no one else. we’re like… exclusive to each other.”
a soft blush spread across her face, and she smiled at the boy wrapped around her.
“yeah, yeah that sounds good.”
-
god this one was actually so hard to write i almost died — more coming soon!
betrayal and rescue (pt.2) | cl16
Summary: your ex betrays you, but luckily your teammate has your back.
Warnings: ferrari driver!reader, single mom reader, misogynistic comments, fluff and Charles being such a sweetheart.
Part 1
The last month living with Charles have been a real dream come true for you and Mia, he has been a very important support for both of you during this time, he's a very caring and gentle person, his soft touch and kind nature is what you and Mia needed to really start healing. It was a rare, lazy Sunday with no commitments pulling you two away from bed, Charles lay propped against pillows, dozing lightly with Mia curled on his chest. You smiled at their peaceful forms, carding gentle fingers through Charles' tousled and soft chocolate curls.
Mia stirred, yawning widely before spotting you. “Mama! Morning!” she crawled over to snuggle into your side, little hand gripping Charles' shirt.
“Good morning my pretty girl!” you say softly at her, kissing her cheek. “Good morning Charlie!” you giggled.
Chuckling softly, Charles' arms wound around both of you as his eyes fluttered open, he smiled sleepily. “Bonjour, mes amours.” he murmured, pressing kisses to your heads. (good morning, my loves)
You sighed contentedly, resting your cheek against his warm and comfy chest. In that moment, all the cares and worries of the world felt so far away, here in your very own cocoon of blankets, surrounded by the love of your makeshift family, nothing could touch the three of you.
Your mind wandered back over the torturous last months you've spent trapped in your ex's grip... the constant walking on eggshells, never knowing what might set off his volatile temper, never having that feeling of safety or protection, even in your own home with Mia...
Now, Charles' strong arms encircled you both, radiating an unshakable calm, warmth and safety you'd never known before. His affection for you and Mia was unconditional, showering you daily with kind words, gifts, and adventures that filled your hearts to bursting.
Tears welled in your eyes as you peered up at Charles' handsome, adoring face. “I never thought I could feel this happy and content.” you whispered. “You gave me and Mia the life, the family, we always wanted.”
Charles' gaze softened, brushing away your tears with his thumb. “I'm the lucky one, princess.” he insisted gently. “You both brought me more joy than I ever believed possible.”
Leaning down to capture your lips in a slow and tender kiss, he poured every ounce of love into it that you still had trouble believing was truly yours after so long in the darkness. But in Charles' light, you and Mia were starting to heal, to believe, and to understand that happy endings do exist for those who keep hoping.
Mia let out a squeal of happiness. “Dada, Mama! Kisses!” she said giggling.
Charles smiled at her. “We have multiple kisses for you too, petite étoile.” (little star)
He said and then he started to fill Mia's face with kisses, who giggled more and was so happy, you smiled when you saw them, it was your beautiful family.
***
The Miami race weekend brought new challenges as you and Charles tried to keep your blossoming relationship private amid the media frenzy in the paddock and social media.
You two arrived separately to avoid suspicion, only allowing your hands to brush as you passed beside each other in the paddock Charles' eyes lingered with a smile, filling you with warmth.
During the practice sessions your radios remained businesslike, but his frequent checks that if you were hydrated or had enough fuel said everything. Small glances across the garage were your only connection, yet more intimate than any public display could be.
Qualifying came, neither of you hold back—though whether from passion for racing or each other, even if you weren't sure. You were pushing your cars to their limits as if nothing else existed.
After that, you stopped by Charles' driver room under the guise of strategy debrief. But as the door closed, his lips captured yours feverishly. Your restraint finally snapped under the tension of the day, the kiss is very slow and soft, as you two break away from the kiss, you place your forehead against his.
You gazed up at him worriedly. “Do you think people will start speculating about us?” you whispered softly.
Charles brushed his lips softly over your forehead. “Let them speculate baby, I don't care who knows how much you and Mia mean to me.”
His words filled you with joy and longing for the day you could shout your love from the rooftops, but for now, this stolen moment between you two, where the world fell away, was enough.
The press conference after the qualifying session were in full swing, you fielded questions professionally about setup choices and tire strategies that put both of the Ferrari cars on the front row for sunday's race.
But one of the journalists had an accusatory tone. “Some think it's no coincidence you and Leclerc are performing so well together... Care to elaborate on rumors of an forbidden relationship distracting you both?”
You started to reply calmly when another cut in. “Yeah, she's probably just sleeping her way to the top! Honestly, what else is a pretty face good for in a man's sport?”
Venomous laughter rose from some journalists in the room, your chest tightened in panic and rage —this was your nightmare scenario. Being a woman and also being in motorsports, you have often encountered derogatory and unpleasant comments about you and about women in general, it's like most men are bothered by the fact that a girl is faster than them on the track or that women deserve a place everywhere as them, that includes sports too. Before you could respond, Charles suddenly grabbed his microphone.
“That is completely unacceptable.” he said in a low, dangerous tone that chilled the room. His green eyes blazed with barely contained fury. “She is one of the most talented and dedicated professionals in this paddock, regardless of gender. The disrespect shown here today is a disgrace to the sport.” Charles leaned over the mic, jaw clenched. “I suggest selecting your next questions more wisely and showing my teammate the respect she deserves not only as a driver, but as a human being... If not, this conference is over.”
An uneasy silence fell as Charles grasped your trembling hand supportively under the table, you took a calming breath, regaining composure.
You swallowed dryly. ”Our performances speak for themselves, which I think is good for the team.” you stated clearly. “Charles and I simply push each other to excellence through our competition and partnership, that's all.”
Max Verstappen also wanted to give his opinion on the journalist's misogynistic comment towards you.
“Forgive me for being so bold, but I think that kind of comment is very out of place. I mean, considering that y/n is a mother and an exceptional driver and she deserves the same respect as all of us, right?” Max said, staring at the journalist, who was completely pale. “I think you should ask her about her race and strategy, and not about her private life, I don't know, that's just my opinion.” he said and dropped the microphone leaving everyone in the room speechless.
The rest of the questions thankfully remained respectful, but later, outside of the press conference room, Charles embraced you tenderly.
“No one gets to tear you down like that. You are so much stronger than their smallmindedness, okay?” he whispered in your ear.
You smiled up at him through happy tears, gripping his race suit. In that moment, you knew that with Charles by your side, you could overcome any obstacle that came your way.
Despite of those awful comments, the Miami Grand Prix was a huge success for both of you, with Charles taking victory and you claiming second place on the podium, the third 1-2 finish in the season for Ferrari, you're in total bliss. You two opted to skip the official afterparties and all the glamour, eager for some low-key family time.
Back at the hotel, Charles ordered a feast from room service while you and Mia showered away the sweat of the day. Emerging refreshed in pajamas, your heart overflowed seeing Charles play with Mia on the floor, her giggles echoing.
“Mama, dada won! Yay!” Mia squealed proudly as you bent to pepper her face with kisses, Charles beamed up at you, eyes sparkling.
“You were so incredible out there today babe!” he praised, helping you plate your overflowing meal spread across the suite's floors and furniture.
The three of you dined under the moonlight spilling through enormous windows, talking and laughing for hours as Mia dozed in your lap. Finally content and full bellies, the evening wound down with Mia yawning off to bed, Charles gathered you into his lap on the couch, kissing you so deeply and yet gently as if you were made of flickering glass.
“Thank you for giving me the family I never knew I wanted... For filling these months with a happiness I ever believed possible.” he whispered softly against your lips.
You cradled his handsome face, memorizing every beautiful line and facet. “I should be the one thanking you, you know? For trying to heal the wounds of my past and giving Mia and I the love and safety we always deserved.”
He shakes his head. “It has been such a pleasure, being with you and taking care of both of you it's been a journey, a beautiful one.” he whispered and you giggled softly.
Your relationship was far from traditional, that's for sure! But on nights like this, in the blissful quiet of each other's arms, it felt more right than anything you'd ever known.
***
You definitely enjoy the little breaks in-between races, it's were you can take a moment to ground yourself outside racing and just enjoy the calm and warm of your little family and that can be just a rewarding like a race win or a podium.
“Mama!” Mia screams a little. “A scary ghost is following me!” she says while running and giggling around the living room.
Almost a second later, Charles appeared hiding in a white blanket trying to catch Mia in his arms, but she runs away... He almost collide with the coffee table.
You laughed at their funny antics. “Oh no Mia! It's a really clumsy ghost.” you say while giggling.
“Boo! There's a sneaky little girl around here, I'm going to grab her in my arms and turn her into a little ghost!” Charles' said imitating the voice of a ghost.
Mia giggled again. “No, no! Bad ghost, really bad!” she covered her mouth. “Catch mama!” she said pointing at you.
You opened your mouth, shocked. “Me? But I'm just trying to make some tea!” you say. “It's not fair baby!”
You and Mia started run around the living room, making Charles crash almost with every single chair and the rug, you two laughed at him.
You feel and arm behind you. “Haha, gotcha!” he said in a mocking tone, making you and Mia collide to the rug, he took off the blanket, revealing is disheveled hair and a flustered cheeks.
“Dada, again, again!” she said giggling.
Charles giggled too. “Oh baby, maybe tomorrow, does that sounds good?” he asked her and she nodded.
You just smiled at him, you never saw him looking so radiant and joyful, it's like he's reliving things from his own childhood and it's so nice to see him like this with Mia.
You smiled. “You are a rather scary ghost and a little silly.” you giggled.
He chuckled softly. “Well, thank you, love! It's been years of practice.” he kissed your cheek.
“You know? You're amazing Charlie!” you say softly.
He looks at you. “Really? Well, um... Thanks darling, the truth is I only do what I can.” he blushed. “It's just me.”
You kiss the tip of his nose. “And that's why you're so amazing! You're you, as silly as it might sound, you're so passionate and so gentle at the same time!”
Mia smiled and kissed Charles' cheek. “Mwah! Dada kisses!” she said softly and he giggled.
“Do you want kisses, petite princesse?” he said to Mia and she nodded. “Okay, here we go!” (little princess)
Then he proceeded to cover Mia's face with kisses all over and she let out loud giggles, you smiled at the beautiful scene, and you realized something very important... You were in front of the love of your life and your little ray of sunshine, maybe everything would have been very different if you had tried from the beginning with Charles, or maybe not, but you are very sure of one thing... You are at home, in your safe place, with your two favorite people, the ones who keep you on your toes most of the time, but you wouldn't change it for anything in the world, Not even all the podiums or victories the world has to offer you, nothing compares to this.
White Horse - Chapter 19: June 2024 - Part 1
Pairing: Max Verstappen x Isabelle Leclerc (Original Character)
Summary:
Max Verstappen is a World Champion. Isabelle Leclerc is invisible.
She watched her family give up everything for Charles’ career—Arthur’s karting, their father’s savings, even her childhood horse. She understood. She never asked for more.
But Max does. He notices the things no one else does, listens when no one else will, and puts her first in ways she never imagined. With him, she isn’t an afterthought—she’s a choice. And for the first time, she realizes she doesn’t have to be invisible.
Warnings and Notes:
we have now moved on from Charles bashing to bashing his whole family, Discussions of toxic past relationships, talk about loosing a childhood pet, toxic families, mention of the loss of a parent
As always big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble
Leclerc Family Group Chat
(Members: Arthur, Isabelle, Charles, Pascale)
Pascale: Arthur, darling, don’t forget to pack your jacket for Montreal. It’s still chilly in the evenings.
Charles: It’s Canada, not the North Pole.
Arthur: I HAVE a jacket. You think I’m five?
Pascale: You never pack socks. I am allowed to worry.
Charles: Speaking of packing, who stole my hoodie?
Arthur: You left it at my place.
Charles: Anyone want to do dinner after the race weekend? I think I’m staying a few extra days.
Arthur: Yes! Let’s do something simple. Pizza night?
Lorenzo: I’m in.
Arthur: I’m not paying.
Charles: No one asked you to.
Pascale: Isabelle, do you still have that panna cotta recipe from Mémé?
***
If her family noticed she was avoiding them, Belle didn’t care.
She wasn’t answering texts. She wasn’t returning calls. She wasn’t engaging in their attempts to “check in.” Because checking in should’ve meant something before they forgot her birthday. Before she had to celebrate Charles’ win while pretending that it didn’t sting that not a single one of them had thought of her.
So she ignored them.
Instead, she focused on work, throwing herself into her projects with meticulous precision. Deadlines were met early, site visits were scheduled without hesitation, and her inbox was clear before lunch.
And when she wasn’t working, she was at the stables.
Her horse—her horse—was the one thing she allowed herself to fully indulge in. She spent hours at the barn, grooming Fleur, talking to her like she could understand every word. In some ways, Belle thought he did. Fleur huffed at her when she was tense, nudged at her pockets when she forgot treats, stood steady beneath her hands when she just needed a moment to breathe.
She could feel the foal kick against her hands when she brushed her, nudging her like he or she was already telling Belle, Hey, I am here!.
The quiet routine of it soothed her. Mornings spent at the barn, afternoons dedicated to architecture plans, evenings curled up with Max.
Belle had always been the one to reach out first. The one who swallowed her pride, who made the first move, who convinced herself that things didn’t hurt as much as they did. She had spent years pretending that being forgotten, being an afterthought, didn’t matter.
She wasn’t pretending anymore.
Max was watching her, concern evident in the way he leaned against the counter, arms crossed but not in frustration—just waiting. Because he knew she wasn’t okay. And Belle hated that she couldn’t just brush it off, hated that the words I’m fine stuck in her throat like splinters.
So she said nothing.
“Belle.” His voice was gentle, coaxing. “You can’t avoid them forever.”
She let out a humorless laugh, setting her bag down with more force than necessary. “I’ve spent my whole life being easy to ignore. Why should it be any different now?”
Max frowned. “That’s not—”
“They forgot my birthday, Max.” The words tumbled out before she could stop them, sharp and raw. “All of them. My brothers. My mother. They were so busy celebrating Charles that not a single one of them thought about me. Not for a second.”
He stayed quiet, letting her speak.
“I was standing right there,” she continued, voice shaking. “Smiling, hugging them, celebrating with them—and not one of them realized.”
Max’s jaw tensed. He had realized. He had held her that night, had felt the way she trembled when the weight of it all became too much.
“I kept thinking—this is it. This is the moment one of them is going to remember. But they never did.” She swallowed, shaking her head. “And now they’re texting me like nothing happened, like I’m just supposed to let it go because that’s what I always do.”
Max stepped closer, reaching for her hand. “You don’t have to let it go.”
Her fingers curled around his, gripping tight. “I don’t know how to talk to them without feeling like I’m screaming into a void.”
He squeezed her hand, grounding her. “Then don’t talk to them. Not until you’re ready. Not until you want to.”
***
Text Messages: Alexandra Saint Mleux & Charlotte Di Pietro
Charlotte: Okay. We never actually solved the Isabelle dating mystery.
Alexandra: Because it’s unsolvable. She’s a vault. I think even Charles doesn’t know.
Charlotte: Especially Charles doesn’t know. That man wouldn’t notice if she got married in front of him unless she handed him the bouquet and told him to hold it.
Alexandra: He’d probably ask why she was dressed up and where the catering came from.
Charlotte: Anyway. New tactic. We include everyone. Even the cursed options.
Alexandra: This is going to end in slander.
Charlotte: And that’s why we’re friends.
Charlotte: Charles – her brother. Illegal. Next.
Alexandra: Carlos – Has a girlfriend. Also I feel like he treats her like he treats his baby sister.
Charlotte: Lando – is single. But is also too loud and too twitchy…
Alexandra: Put him on the list of possibilities regardless.
Alexandra: Oscar – too sweet. He’d ask for permission to hold her hand. Also has a girlfriend. And Belle and Lily are friends. That would go against every girlcode.
Charlotte: George – Carmen would kill her.
Alexandra: Lewis – strong contender. They’re both calm. They like dogs. She could thrive in that quiet glam lifestyle.
Charlotte: And he has major “treat her like a queen in private, say nothing in public” energy. She’d eat that UP.
Charlotte: Okay. Now. Are you ready?
Alexandra: Oh no.
Charlotte: Fernando.
Alexandra: CHARLOTTE.
Charlotte: Think about it. Dominant. Mysterious. Daddy issues magnet. She likes men who speak softly but could ruin you.
Alexandra: And he would call her “bella” and offer her an espresso without saying a word. That’s dangerous.
Charlotte: She’d pretend to be annoyed by the attention and then buy a silk robe for his apartment.
Charlotte: I’m just saying. He has retired situationship energy. She’d never admit it, but she'd love it.
Alexandra: Lance Stroll -No.
Charlotte: Why not?
Alexandra: She’d get whiplash from how inconsistent his energy is. One day he’s moody spa dad, the next day he’s a TikTok e-boy in tactical fleece.
Charlotte: She’d spend half her life trying to figure out if he’s okay and the other half hiding his outfits.
Alexandra: Agreed. Logan Sargeant…Honestly I don’t think she ever even talked three words with him?
Charlotte: Can’t see it either. Alex Albon - also has a girlfriend. Isabelle doesn’t poach. She’s got morals.
Charlotte: Max Verstappen- …I mean it’s Max Verstappen. Power couple. Silent and intense. They’d communicate via eyebrow raises and telepathy.
Alexandra: Too risky. She would never do that. Also, Charles would die. Like actually. His soul would leave his body. And doesn’t he also have a girlfriend?
Charlotte: But isn’t Isabelle weirdly close with his sister?!
Alexandra: I think that’s only because they understand how it feels to have a brother in F1, right?
Charlotte: Sergio Pérez - too married.
Charlotte: Daniel Ricciardo - Too loud. Too chaotic. Too… Daniel.
Alexandra: Agreed.
Alexandra: Yuki Tsunoda– she’s too introverted for that kind of chaos. She’d cry trying to keep up with his snack schedule.
Alexandra: Zhou Guanyu – also a real option. They’re both elegant, soft-spoken, and I’ve seen her actually laugh at something he said. A real laugh.
Charlotte: That’s practically a proposal in Isabelle language.
Alexandra: And he’s calm enough not to flinch when she’s in her “I will disappear to the mountains with a book” era.
Charlotte: I want this one to be real. I could live with Zhou as my unofficial brother-in-law.
Charlotte: Valtteri Bottas - He has a mullet and a calendar of his own butt. It’s not happening.
Charlotte: Nico Hülkenberg – too tall, too German. Married.
Charlotte: Kevin Magnussen– Also married.
Alexandra: Pierre Gasly – Charles would actually kill him. And Kika would fight Belle for even trying to flirt with him.
Charlotte: Esteban – Also has a girlfriend, no way.
Alexandra: Okay. Final contenders:
Zhou
Lewis
Lando
Fernando “surprise daddy issues” Alonso
Charlotte: Do you think she’d go that rogue?
Alexandra: Honestly? Apparently she once dated a sculptor in university who thought emotions were “bourgeois illusions,” so… yes.
Charlotte: God, she would be Alonso’s beautiful mystery woman.
Alexandra: She’d show up to a race weekend in his Aston Martin hoodie and say it was a gift from a friend and never elaborate.
Charlotte: And Charles would just go, “I didn’t know you liked green.”
***
“I got married.”
Simone blinked once. “That’s a strong opener.”
Belle smiled faintly. “Surprise.”
Simone leaned forward just a little, resting her notebook on her lap. “Want to walk me through that one?”
Belle exhaled, tilting her head back against the cushion. The ceiling fan turned lazily above them. Everything smelled faintly of lavender and old books.
“It wasn’t planned,” she said. “Well, not by me. I mean, Max proposed. And we’d talked about getting married, eventually. But then after everything with my birthday and the race and… all of it, I just didn’t want to wait anymore.”
Simone nodded, quiet and listening.
Belle picked at the label on the water bottle. “So we got married at city hall. The next day. Just our closest people. No announcement. No drama. No press. Just… us.”
“And how did that feel?” Simone asked gently.
“Like peace,” Belle said. “Like a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. I didn’t feel invisible. Not for one second.”
Simone smiled softly. “That sounds like something worth holding onto.”
“It was,” Belle said. Then, after a pause, “It is.”
She sat in the quiet for a while, her gaze drifting to the window. A breeze moved the curtain like an exhale.
“But it came right after…” She hesitated. “They forgot my birthday. All of them. Charles. Arthur. Lorenzo. Maman. I was in the garage all day, and not one person remembered.”
Simone’s expression didn’t change, but Belle could feel her listening more intently.
“I didn’t want to be upset about it. It was Charles’ race—his first win in Monaco. I didn’t want to make it about me. But I stood there, in Ferrari red, and I felt like I didn’t exist.”
Her voice stayed even, but there was a rawness beneath it. “Carlos remembered. He asked me if he should tell them. I said no. Because if you have to remind people you exist, what’s the point?”
Simone waited a beat before responding. “That’s a very old wound, Belle.”
Belle looked down. “Yeah.”
“And how do you feel about marrying Max right after that?”
Belle gave a soft huff of breath. “Grateful. He reminded me I mattered. That I was seen. And it wasn’t because I asked for it. He just… knew.”
Simone nodded, watching her closely.
Belle was quiet for a beat. Then she blinked, shook her head a little, and murmured, “Sorry. I feel weird. Lightheaded.”
Simone straightened slightly. “How long have you felt like that?”
“I don’t know.” Belle pressed the water bottle to her cheek. “Since yesterday? Maybe the day before. Just a little dizzy. I figured it was stress or adrenaline. But it’s not going away.”
Simone raised a brow. “Are you eating? Sleeping?”
Belle nodded. “Yeah. Not perfectly, but enough. I had an iron deficiency a few years ago. Anemia. Maybe it’s that again.”
“I think it would be a good idea to get it checked,” Simone said gently. “Sooner rather than later.”
Belle nodded slowly. “I will. I promise.”
Simone smiled. “Good. You don’t need to power through everything, Belle. Not alone.”
Belle looked down at her hands.
“I’m not alone anymore,” she said softly. “That’s the part I forget.”
And for once, saying it out loud didn’t feel like tempting fate.
It felt like the truth.
***
Group Chat: HELP ME
(Members: Daniel Ricciardo, Lando Norris, Oscar Piastri, Lewis Hamilton, Carlos Sainz Jr., George Russell, Alex Albon, Nico Hulkenberg, Nico Rosberg, Sebastian Vettel, Mark Webber, David Coulthard, Sergio Pérez, Fernando Alonso, and Kimi Räikkönen)
Carlos: it’s been A WEEK ONE. WHOLE. WEEK.
George: You’re kidding.
George: I thought for sure someone would realise by now??
Oscar: They haven’t. Max said she hasn’t heard a single thing from any of them.
Daniel: I’m starting to believe they genuinely think Belle sprang fully formed into existence.
Lando: like Athena but in heels and with perfect emotional regulation
Carlos: I’m losing my mind. HIS OWN SISTER??? he FORGOT??
Alex: That’s actually unbelievable. I’m offended on her behalf.
Daniel: What do you MEAN the entire Leclerc family has just… ghosted her birthday like it never happened???
Carlos: No text. No call. No retroactive Instagram story with a cupcake emoji. NOTHING.
Sebastian: I can feel my blood pressure rising.
Nico R.: I am this close to sending Pascale an anonymous calendar.
Sebastian: Have they ever remembered without her prompting?
Oscar: Nope. Historically, Isabelle Leclerc was the family reminder system.
George: So now that she’s gone radio silent…
Lando: They’re just drifting through life like brainless goldfish.
David: The woman literally held that family together with calendar invites and emotionally intelligent sighs.
Fernando: They have lost their lighthouse. They are adrift in darkness.
Nico R.: Honestly, it’s kind of poetic.
Carlos: no. it’s INFURIATING. i saw her that day. she was STANDING THERE. in the garage. in red.
Carlos: And she told me not to say anything. Said she “didn’t want a pity cupcake.” I think about that sentence every night before I sleep. 😠
Daniel: My blood pressure rises every time I remember this.
Oscar: She’s being so graceful about it and I hate that for her.
Sebastian: She deserves better. I hope Max gives her the world.
Lando: He gave her a horse and a wedding. He did okay.
Lewis: I think we need a plan. A coordinated operation.
Oscar: Operation: Make Charles Realise He’s a Disaster?
Alex: That might take longer than we have.
George: Can we start a countdown clock?
Alex: How long do we wait before Charles realises?
George: End of the season. Final race. Then we riot.
Fernando: Or we leave clues like a scavenger hunt. See how long it takes him to get to: “YOU FORGOT HER BIRTHDAY.”
Lewis: And when they finally do remember?
Oscar: Too late. She already married the only man who actually treats her like she matters.
Carlos: damn right she did.
***
Gianpiero Lambiase had been through a lot with Max Verstappen—championship battles, rain-soaked qualifying sessions, angry radio rants, and more tire compound debates than he cared to remember—but nothing could’ve prepared him for this.
The meeting was already running five minutes behind schedule, which—by Red Bull standards—meant it was practically a full-blown rebellion. Christian was flipping through his notes with a sense of purpose usually reserved for press briefings and budget cap discussions. Helmut was sipping black coffee like it owed him money. Checo was leaning back in his chair; and poor Gemma from PR was already clutching her notepad like it was a life raft.
GP sat with his tablet open, notes prepped.
Max was… Max. Legs kicked out under the table, hoodie on, the faintest hint of smugness clinging to him like tire rubber after a street race.
They made it through power unit updates and marketing commitments before Christian asked, “Anything else we should know before we head to Canada?”
Max sipped his coffee. “Yeah, actually. I got married.”
Silence.
Utter, complete, stunned silence.
Gemma dropped her pen. Christian choked on his coffee. Checo looked like he’d just been told the sky was blue—zero reaction. Helmut blinked so slowly GP briefly considered calling a medic.
GP didn’t flinch.
Because, of course, he already knew.
Christian blinked. “You… what?”
Max nodded. “Married. Last week.”
“To whom?” Christian asked slowly, voice rising like a man realizing he’s stepped into a minefield.
“Isabelle Leclerc,” Max added, like he was announcing a new cat.
Gemma made a noise that GP could only describe as deeply managerial despair.
The room exploded.
“CHARLES’ SISTER?!” Christian yelped, almost standing.
Helmut Marko didn’t speak. He just turned his head, very slowly, and stared at Max like he was an alien.“You’re telling me… you married Charles Leclerc’s sister?”
Max nodded like they were discussing tire strategy. “Mhm.”
Gemma actually put her head down on the table.
“To clarify,” GP said calmly, “he’s not joking.”
“YOU knew?” Christian turned to him, utterly betrayed.
“I’m his race engineer,” GP replied, deadpan. “He tells me everything. Whether I like it or not. And I was the best man.”
Gemma made a small, distressed noise and began frantically flipping through her calendar. “Do we—do we have photos? An announcement plan? A press strategy?! Oh my God, do they even know in Maranello?”
“No,” Max said calmly. “We haven’t told anyone outside a few people. We like our privacy.”
GP didn’t even flinch.
Checo raised a hand. “I knew.”
Christian whirled. “You also knew and didn’t tell me?”
Checo shrugged. “I like my life. Also Belle looked beautiful in white.”
Helmut still hadn’t blinked. “And Charles?”
Max smiled, utterly unbothered. “He has no idea.”
Christian looked like he was about to combust. “You MARRIED Isabelle Leclerc, and Charles doesn’t know?!”
GP finally looked up. “You should’ve seen the garage in Monaco. She was invisible to them all weekend.”
That shut the room up.
Gemma put her head in her hands.
“Don’t worry,” Max said, far too cheerfully. “We’re going to post something soon. We just wanted it to be ours first.”
Christian sat back down like his soul had left his body.
Helmut finally spoke, voice low. “Just make sure we beat Ferrari in Canada.”
“Obviously,” Max said.
“I’m adding a press briefing to the schedule,” Gemma muttered, already reaching for her iPad. “And a PR damage control plan. And possibly a defibrillator for when Charles finds out.”
“I’ll bring snacks,” Checo offered.
Christian slumped back in his chair. “Next time, just send a memo.”
GP simply took another sip of his coffee and updated his notes:
Action Items:
Tire compounds
Charles may attempt murder – suggest more security in hospitality
Of all the chaos they’d weathered over the years, this might’ve been the most entertaining.
And somehow, exactly what he expected from Max.
***
Leclerc Sibling Group Chat
(Members: Arthur, Isabelle, Charles and Lorenzo)
Arthur: Mum just sent me this video of a duck in a raincoat.
Charles: I love that duck.
Lorenzo: Wait send it here.
Charles: He’s precious. His name is Biscotte.
Lorenzo: I’d die for Biscotte.
Arthur: We should get a duck.
Lorenzo: We cannot get a duck.
Charles: You sound just like Isabelle.
Arthur: Where is she, anyway? Haven’t seen her in like, weeks.
Lorenzo: She’s probably fine. You know how she is. Independent.
Charles: Yeah. Classic Isabelle.
***
The examination room was cool, almost too quiet, and Belle’s fingers twisted together in her lap as the doctor tapped something into the computer.
It had started as a check-up. Just routine. She hadn’t even told Max she was going—he had left for Canada, and she didn’t want him worrying over what she was sure was just her old anemia flaring up again.
The dizziness had crept up slowly—barely-there lightheaded spells, then the bone-deep fatigue, the occasional shortness of breath that made her pause halfway through brushing her hair. All things she’d felt before, years ago, when the iron levels had dropped low enough to make walking up a flight of stairs feel like climbing Everest.
She wasn’t worried about the dizzy spells. Not really.
She chalked them up to everything else: exhaustion, stress, not enough proper meals, the emotional fallout of a birthday that had quietly broken something inside her, and—most likely—a return of her old anemia. That had always been the explanation before.
Until the doctor, a middle-aged woman with a kind voice and gentle hands, glanced at her latest blood test results and hummed quietly to herself.
Belle shifted in her seat. “Is it bad?”
“No, not bad,” the doctor said, clicking through a few more pages. “Your iron is a little low again, but there’s something else. These hormone levels…” She looked up with a smile. “Have you taken a pregnancy test recently?”
Belle blinked. “A what?”
The doctor laughed softly. “I’m guessing that’s a no.”
“I came in because I thought I needed more iron.”
“You might,” the doctor said gently. “But these levels are more consistent with someone in the early second trimester. I’d like to do a quick ultrasound, just to check.”
Belle was still frozen when the nurse came in and helped her onto the examination bed. Still blinking in disbelief when the gel hit her skin. And completely silent when the screen next to her flickered to life with soft static… and then, suddenly, a tiny form.
And a heartbeat.
A heartbeat.
The doctor smiled again, reassuring and calm. “Well,” she said, adjusting the probe slightly, “there’s your explanation.”
Belle stared at the screen. The curve of a head. The flicker of movement. A little person, whole and real and—God—already so much bigger than she would’ve thought.
“You’re measuring right around twelve weeks,” the doctor continued. “Healthy heartbeat. Everything looks very good.”
Belle’s hand drifted hovered just above her own stomach like she was trying to connect the dots between what she was seeing and what her body had kept quiet for nearly three months.
“I didn’t know,” she said quietly. “I had no idea.”
“It happens,” the doctor said, kind. “Especially when the signs are subtle or easily mistaken. You’ve been under a lot of stress?”
Belle let out a hollow laugh. “You could say that.”
“Well,” the doctor said, pulling off the gloves, “Congratulations, Mrs. Verstappen.”
Belle just stared at the screen, the tiniest flicker of a heartbeat echoing through the room like a secret being whispered for the first time.
Twelve weeks.
Twelve weeks of carrying a life she hadn’t even known was there.
She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
So she did neither.
She just pressed a hand over her mouth and closed her eyes.
Twelve weeks.
Her heart was still racing, her brain still catching up—but even through the shock, something bloomed warm and steady in her chest.
A heartbeat.
A beginning.
A family.
***
Text Messages: Belle Verstappen & Emilie Abadie
Belle: Can you come over tonight?
Emilie: Of course. Do I need wine, sugar, firewood, or to hide a body?
Belle: Just you. Maybe chocolate. But mostly you.
Emilie: 👀 I’m bringing brownies and a hug and zero questions until you’re ready.
Belle: Thank you. I just… yeah. I need you.
Emilie: On my way as soon as I finish work. And I swear I won’t interrogate you (until at least the second brownie).
Belle: Fair.
***
Belle sat on the couch, knees drawn up beneath her, a soft throw blanket pooled in her lap despite the mild spring air drifting in from the open window. Her fingers twisted the corner of the fabric absently. Across from her, Emilie sat cross-legged, a steaming mug of rooibos tea cradled in both hands, watching her with quiet concern.
Belle didn’t look up.
Didn’t breathe in a different way.
Didn’t preface it with a sigh or a story.
“I’m pregnant,” she said.
The words hung in the air, crisp and absolute, like the crack of thunder before the rain.
Emilie blinked. “I—wait. What?”
Belle raised her eyes, slow and steady. “Twelve weeks.”
There was a beat of silence.
Then:
“Twelve weeks?!” Emilie nearly dropped her mug. “Belle! How—?”
“I thought it was anemia again,” Belle said, voice steady, almost clinical in its explanation. “I’ve been tired. Dizzy. It’s happened before. I booked a check-up just to be cautious, and then…” Her breath hitched. “The doctor said it was normal in pregnancy. And then there was… an ultrasound.”
Emilie’s face softened, mouth falling open slightly. “Oh.”
“I saw everything,” Belle whispered. “There was a heartbeat. Just… fluttering away. A baby.” She paused. “My baby. Ours.”
Gently, Emilie placed her mug on the coffee table and reached over, her hand brushing over Belle’s in quiet support.
“Have you told Max?”
Belle shook her head. “He’s in Canada. I couldn’t tell him over the phone. Not this. It’s too… big.”
Emilie nodded slowly. “Yeah. That’s not a FaceTime conversation.”
“He’ll be back in a few days,” Belle murmured. “I keep thinking I’ll feel ready by then.”
“And do you?”
“No.” A pause. Then: “Yes. A little.” She smiled faintly. “We talked about it, before. Not in any serious planning way. Just… someday. After everything settled. But we weren’t trying.” Her hand drifted unconsciously to rest over her stomach. “I think part of me always hoped it would happen anyway.”
Emilie’s thumb moved gently over Belle’s hand. “You’ve always wanted this.”
Belle nodded. “And now it’s here. And I don’t know if I’m terrified or just… in awe.”
“You’re both,” Emilie said softly. “And that’s okay. You’re allowed to be.”
“I just needed someone else to know,” Belle admitted, her voice barely more than a whisper. “Before him. Just… someone who could sit with me in this and not panic.”
Emilie’s smile was wobbly, but warm. “I’m doing my very best not to burst into tears or scream into a pillow, so you’re welcome.”
Belle laughed—a soft, wet sound—and wiped at her eyes. “You’re doing great.”
“You’re going to be a great mum, Belle.” Emilie’s voice didn’t waver. “And Max… Max is going to be ridiculous about it. Protective. Soft. Maybe a little panicked. But happy.”
Belle leaned into her, resting her head on Emilie’s shoulder. “I hope so.”
“He loves you,” Emilie said. “He’ll love this, too. It’s you. It’s his. That man would rebuild the planet if you asked.”
Belle closed her eyes and let herself breathe.
She wasn’t alone.
She never had been.
And when Max came home, she’d tell him.
The rest?
They’d figure it out together.
***
Instagram Post: @/f1hq
Comments:
@/f1girlie: imagine marrying max and not telling the world.
@/paddocktea: red bull pr team needs a drink and a nap IMMEDIATELY
@/f1lore: sooooo is this the soft launch or the chaos launch??
@/weheartgp: somewhere GP is just sipping his tea like he’s known for months. because he HAS.
***
Nico Hülkenberg was halfway through his second espresso when he spotted Kevin Magnussen exiting the Haas hospitality with his usual determined stride and a very distracted-looking PR intern trailing behind him.
Nico grinned.
“Hey, by the way,” he said cheerfully. “Did you know Max is one of us now?”
Kevin paused, raising an eyebrow. “Us?”
Nico tilted his head innocently. “The married ones. He got hitched.”
Kevin blinked. “Wait—Max Verstappen is married?”
“Yep,” Nico said, popping the “p” with far too much glee. “Secret wedding in Monaco. City hall. Small guest list. Lando dropped the photos like a grenade on the group chat. I’m still emotionally recovering.”
Kevin stared at him. “You’re kidding.”
“I never kid about matrimony, Kevin.” Nico leaned in slightly, lowering his voice like they were conspiring in a back alley. “It gets better. Wanna guess who he married?”
Kevin gave him a look. “Some model I’ve never heard of?”
Nico beamed. “Charles Leclerc’s little sister.”
Kevin actually stopped walking. “What?”
“Oh yeah,” Nico said. “Apparently she’s been dating Max in total secrecy for over a year. Nobody knew. Not even Charles. Especially not Charles.”
Kevin blinked. “So Charles doesn’t know his colleague is now his brother-in-law?”
“Correct,” Nico said, clearly delighted.
Kevin ran a hand over his face. “Oh my god.”
Nico sipped his espresso. “Welcome to Canada. The drama is international.”
Kevin exhaled. “I need a drink.”
“Oh don’t worry,” Nico said, already walking again. “The next group chat explosion is just hours away. I can feel it.”
And with that, they disappeared into the paddock chaos—two dads, too much gossip, and a rapidly approaching press session neither of them were emotionally prepared for.
***
Press Conference Transcript – Canadian GP
Participants: Max Verstappen (Red Bull), Lewis Hamilton (Mercedes), Nico Hülkenberg (Haas), Lance Stroll (Aston Martin), Pierre Gasly (Alpine), Oscar Piastri (McLaren) Moderator: Tom Clarkson
Tom Clarkson: Okay, gentlemen. Thank you for being here. Let's get started. First question comes from Emily Zhang at The Race.
Emily: Hi everyone. This question is for Max—there’s been a lot of buzz this week because people spotted you wearing a ring. Are congratulations in order?
(Max looks up calmly, shifts slightly in his seat. Oscar stares straight ahead like he’s seen this movie before. Lewis bites back a smirk. Nico Hülkenberg snorts into his water bottle.)
Max: Uh… yeah. I got married.
(Pause. Lance blinks. Pierre visibly chokes on air.)
Pierre: You what?
Lance: Wait, seriously? Like, married married?
Max: Married married.
Lewis: (grinning) About time someone noticed.
Tom: Okay, wow—so this is breaking news?
Oscar: Not for all of us.
Tom: Right. Okay, so… Max, who’s the lucky person?
(Max raises an eyebrow and doesn’t answer. Lewis covers a laugh with a cough.)
Nico: I mean, should I tell them? I feel like I should tell them.
Pierre: Wait, wait—you knew too?!
Oscar: I was at the wedding.
(Lance audibly gasps.)
Pierre: Oh my God. What is happening.
Max: I just like to keep my private life private. That’s all.
Tom: Okay, okay, I have to ask—do you plan to make a formal announcement?
Max: Eventually. Maybe. Depends how nosey you all get.
Lewis: Don’t look at me. I kept the secret. Like a vault.
Nico: I, on the other hand, told Kevin Magnussen immediately. Because this is cultural.
Tom: …Cultural?
Nico: We, the Married Drivers™, must stick together.
Max: I didn’t realize this came with a club membership.
Nico: There’s a newsletter. You’ll love it.
Pierre: Wait wait wait—who did you even marry??
Max: Next question?
(The whole room erupts into chaos.)
***
Meanwhile on Twitter:
@/f1teaaccount: MAX VERSTAPPEN JUST SAID "YEAH I GOT MARRIED" IN THE MOST CASUAL WAY POSSIBLE. DURING A PRESS CONFERENCE. OSCAR WAS AT THE WEDDING. PIERRE IS HAVING A LIVE MELTDOWN. I NEED A MINUTE. 🧍♀️🧍♀️🧍♀️
@/f1files: Max Verstappen casually breaking the internet mid-press conference and then saying “Next question” like it’s someone else’s problem is the most Verstappen thing I’ve ever seen.
@/chaosinthepits: Lewis Hamilton being smug. Nico Hülkenberg declaring a Married Drivers™ club. Oscar sipping his coffee like this is season 6 of a show he binged in one night. And Max? Max is just sitting there like he didn’t cause a media earthquake. Peak F1.
@/ferns_and_flags: me: trying to work max verstappen: married married also me: clears my schedule to investigate who tf the mystery spouse is
@/leclercsbiceps: pierre gasly's descent into madness upon hearing "i was at the wedding" from oscar deserves an emmy this is theatrical cinema #f1 #canadiangp
@/tifosipanic: Not Lance Stroll gasping like someone just spoiled the end of Titanic 😭😭😭 I love this sport.
@/formulawtf1: max: "I got married." lewis: grinning like a proud older cousin nico: "there’s a newsletter." oscar: "not for all of us." pierre: actively combusting this press conference has more plot twists than Drive to Survive #F1
@/wagsanonymous: me at 3am putting together a suspect board of all women max verstappen has ever spoken to in the past five years 🧵🧵🧵
@/journaldupitlane: MAX VERSTAPPEN IS MARRIED AND WE DON’T KNOW TO WHO F1 TWITTER IS ON FIRE I REPEAT 🔥🔥🔥
@/slowpitstop: “Max: Married married” “Pierre: WHO” “Max: Next question?” AND THEN HE JUST MOVES ON?? sir this is not a soft launch this is a strategic war tactic
@/oscarstanclub: Oscar Piastri has officially become the F1 Gossip Bestie™ he KNEW. he ATTENDED. he’s just sipping tea and watching chaos unfold like a pro
@/beyondthegrid: dear @F1 release the wedding photos. or the drivers' group chat logs. ideally both. sincerely, everyone
@/vettelismyco-pilot:
Lewis Hamilton saying “I kept the secret like a vault” with a grin should be illegal. I’ve never trusted a man more.
@/estebanoconstan: Pierre: “Who did you even marry?” Max: “Next question.” ME: screaming, crying, throwing the entire WDC leaderboard.
@/wheelsequalfeelings: Okay but what if Mrs. Verstappen is Isabelle Leclerc. Just hear me out.
Private ✅
Gorgeous ✅
Speaks French✅
Likes Horses ✅ Coincidence? I THINK NOT.
@/gridgossipgirl: Theories so far on who Max Verstappen married:
Isabelle Leclerc
A secret childhood friend who lives off the grid
A Red Bull engineer who’s been hiding in plain sight
That girl he looked at for 0.5 seconds in Austria 2023
Himself, for tax reasons
@/piastrivision: Oscar “I was at the wedding” Piastri refusing to elaborate is the most powerful move I’ve seen this year.
He knows. He’s watching the chaos. He’s THRIVING.
@/gridwivesanonymous: Okay but Max wearing a wedding ring, dropping “I got married,” and then pulling a Next question? is a level of chaos we were not prepared for.
It’s giving: she’s untouchable.
@/itsyasminmf: My favorite part is Max being so calm. Like, “yeah I’m married.” No further explanation. No photos. No name. No vibe check.
Who is she??
Where did she come from??
Does she know the power she holds??
***
Charles Leclerc had been weirded out since he arrived in Montreal.
It wasn’t anything obvious—no one was throwing punches or shouting across the paddock—but there was a definite chill in the air. People were polite, yes. Just… distant.
Carlos barely nodded at him that morning in the garage. Alex made a joke during the drivers’ briefing, but his eyes hadn’t flicked toward Charles once. Even Lewis had given him a smile that felt more strained than usual.
And Daniel? Daniel Ricciardo, who normally greeted everyone like a long-lost relative, had given him a thumbs-up from a distance and then walked off like he had somewhere better to be.
It made Charles feel like he’d walked into a conversation halfway through and everyone had forgotten to tell him the plot.
“You’ve noticed it too, right?” he asked Pierre later, in the Alpine hospitality.
Pierre looked up from his espresso. “The weird vibes?”
“Yes! Everyone’s being so—so strange.”
Pierre squinted. “Maybe they’re just grumpy. Travel hangover or something.”
“Carlos barely spoke to me,” Charles said. “Carlos. He gave me a nod.”
Pierre raised a brow. “Okay, yeah. That’s definitely weird. Did you say something dumb in a press conference again?”
“I—non! I have no idea. Everyone’s being all secretive. Like I missed a group chat.”
Pierre leaned back in his chair. “You think it’s about you?”
Charles gave him a look.
Pierre nodded. “Okay, fair.”
There was a pause, the sound of engines in the background, mechanics shouting somewhere beyond the fence.
“Oh, also,” Pierre added, like an afterthought, “did you hear Max got married?”
Charles blinked. “What?”
Pierre sipped his coffee. “Yeah. Quietly. No media. I think only a few drivers were invited. No one knows who the girl is, though.”
Charles frowned. “Max? Married?”
“Mhm.”
“And no one knows who to?”
Pierre shrugged. “Some say it’s someone he met through racing. Others think it’s someone from his childhood? I don’t know. It’s weird how no one’s said anything.”
Charles rubbed his temple. “Why is everyone suddenly getting married and giving me the cold shoulder at the same time?”
Pierre grinned. “Maybe it’s karma. Did you forget someone’s birthday or something?”
Charles scoffed. “No!”
***
Esteban Ocon had absolutely no intention of eavesdropping.
In his defense, Charles and Pierre weren’t exactly whispering. They were sitting two tables over in the Alpine hospitality area, sipping espresso like it was a wine tasting, and talking with that animated, slightly too-loud energy that came from a mix of jet lag and general Ferrari drama. Esteban was halfway through a protein bar and minding his own business when Charles’ voice shot up in pitch like he’d just been electrocuted.
“Max? Married?”
Esteban blinked.
He wasn’t sure what possessed him to tilt his head slightly, but something in Pierre’s very casual, very smug, “Yeah. Quietly. No media. No one knows who the girl is though,” caught his attention.
Max Verstappen. Married.
And apparently to someone so top-secret that even Pierre Gasly didn’t have a name? That was either the most carefully managed PR move in Formula 1 history—or something else entirely.
Esteban took another bite of his bar and stored the information in the mental folder marked “Paddock Chaos,” which was currently bursting at the seams.
Later, in the Aston Martin hospitality—peaceful, air-conditioned, and full of cucumber water—Esteban leaned toward Lance Stroll and casually said, “So, apparently Max Verstappen got married. I overheard Charles and Pierre talking. Charles looked like he’d swallowed a wasp.”
Lance paused mid-scroll through his phone. “I heard,” he whispered, sounding like he had seen an alien. “Max admitted it in the press conference. No one knows to whom.”
There was a long pause.
Then a voice behind them: “Yes, we do.”
Esteban turned—and immediately felt like he was twelve again and caught doing something he shouldn’t.
Fernando Alonso stood there, arms crossed, eyebrow raised like he’d been waiting his entire career for this moment.
“You do?” Esteban asked, cautiously.
Fernando just nodded. “Max married Isabelle Leclerc.”
The silence was immediate. Lance’s mouth fell open. Esteban blinked like someone had slapped him.
“Isabelle?” Lance said, voice almost cracking. “Charles’ sister Isabelle?”
“Mm,” Fernando said, looking entirely too satisfied. “The quiet one. The one who brings Charles coffee and vanishes into walls.”
Esteban just stared. “Does Charles know?”
Fernando tilted his head. “Do you think we’d be having this conversation if he did?”
“Oh my god,” Lance muttered.
Esteban could feel the chaos building like a weather system. “Wait—so Max married Charles’ sister, and no one told Charles?”
Fernando smirked. “Let’s just say… the Canada GP is going to be memorable.”
And with that, he walked off, leaving Esteban and Lance to sit there in stunned silence as the paddock spun on without them.
Esteban blinked. “I really didn’t mean to eavesdrop this hard today.”
***
Zhou Guanyu had seen a lot in Formula 1.
Petty rivalries. Heated debriefs. Drivers throwing silent tantrums in hospitality. But nothing—nothing—prepared him for the strange, simmering weirdness between Charles Leclerc and Carlos Sainz on the Thursday of the Canadian Grand Prix.
He’d noticed it in the paddock first.
Carlos, standing stiff near the Ferrari motorhome, arms crossed, chewing through a conversation with his engineer like it personally offended him. Charles, twenty feet away, pretending to be very absorbed in his phone, except his jaw was tight and his responses to the press were… terse.
Too terse.
Even for Charles.
Zhou didn’t consider himself nosy. But he was a driver, and therefore professionally attuned to weird vibes.
So when he found himself beside Oscar Piastri and Logan Sargeant near the McLaren espresso bar a few hours later, he didn’t waste time.
“Okay,” Zhou said, keeping his voice low. “What the hell is going on between Charles and Carlos?”
Oscar glanced up from his coffee. Logan nearly choked on his protein bar.
“What?” Oscar asked, too casually.
“They’re being weird,” Zhou said. “Weirder than usual. Did they fight? Did Charles forget Carlos’ birthday? Did someone dent the other’s scooter?”
Oscar sighed and looked over both shoulders. “I shouldn’t say anything.”
Zhou raised an eyebrow. “So you know something.”
Oscar hesitated. “It’s… not public.”
“That’s never stopped you before,” Logan added helpfully.
Oscar gave him a look. Then, under his breath, he said: “Charles forgot Belle’s birthday.”
Zhou blinked. “What?”
Oscar lowered his voice even more. “Like. Fully. Forgot. The whole family did. On race day. In Monaco.”
Zhou stared. “He forgot his sister’s birthday… at his home race?”
Oscar nodded grimly. “She was in the garage. Literally standing there in Ferrari red. And they didn’t say a word. Carlos was the only one who remembered. And he didn’t even say anything until after the race because Belle told him not to.”
Zhou blinked. “Wait—then why’s Carlos mad now?”
Oscar shrugged. “Because it’s been over a week and they still haven’t remembered. Not one of them.”
Logan muttered, “That explains the ice vibes.”
Zhou dragged a hand down his face. “Okay, but… why do you know all of this?”
Oscar coughed into his coffee. “I… may be in a group chat.”
Logan stared. “A group chat?
Zhou’s eyes narrowed. “What kind of group chat?”
“A support group for emotionally traumatized drivers who’ve witnessed Belle’s family be completely unaware that she exists,” Oscar deadpanned. “It’s also basically an emotional early-warning system for when Charles is about to get throttled.”
Zhou stared at them. “You people need hobbies.”
Oscar sipped his coffee. “We have one. It’s watching Max Verstappen become the most unproblematic romantic lead of 2025.”
Zhou blinked. “Wait. Max is dating Belle?”
Oscar grimaced. “No, he married her.”
“Oh no,” Zhou muttered. “Oh, no.”
And just like that, Zhou understood:
Something deeply unhinged was happening under the surface of the paddock—and he had officially fallen headfirst into the softest, most dramatic subplot of the season.
Logan looked like he’d just been hit by a rogue space hopper. “That’s… that’s insane.”
“Everyone else knows,” Oscar added. “Lewis. Checo. Even Fernando.”
Logan buried his face in his hands. “No wonder Carlos looks like he wants to strangle someone.”
Zhou leaned back, stunned. “So Charles forgot his sister’s birthday and has no idea she’s married to Max Verstappen?”
Oscar sipped his coffee. “Correct.”
“Jesus,” Logan muttered. “This is like… F1: The Soap Opera.”
***
Oliver Bearman wasn’t technically supposed to be paying attention to the drama.
He was here as a reserve. A professional. Focused. Ready.
But also? He was eighteen, observant, and currently watching what felt like a Cold War being waged in broad daylight between two of the most recognizable drivers on the grid.
Charles Leclerc and Carlos Sainz were not speaking.
Oh, they technically were. There were nods. Professional exchanges. Brief, clipped updates in front of the engineers. But no banter. No inside jokes. No calm debriefs over espresso machines.
It was like someone had taken a blowtorch to their famously chill teammate chemistry and then just… walked away.
Oliver couldn’t stop watching it unfold.
And he also couldn’t stop talking about it.
Kimi Antonelli was his newest victim, while they were both in hospitality rinking whatever disgusting protein shakes their trainer thought they should down.
“Hey,” Oliver whispered, “Have you seen this?”
Kimi blinked. “Seen what?”
Oliver gestured subtly. “Them. Carlos and Charles. They haven’t smiled at each other once today. That’s not normal.”
Kimi squinted, as if only now registering the frosty atmosphere. “Maybe Carlos is angry that Lewis took his seat?”
Oliver rolled his eyes. “It’s not that. They’d be more dramatic if it was about contracts. This is personal.”
Kimi shrugged. “Maybe Charles forgot Carlos’ birthday?”
“Carlos’s birthday was in September.”
“Maybe it’s delayed rage.”
Oliver narrowed his eyes. “No. This is fresher. I’ve been watching. This started in Monaco.”
“You studied it?” Kimi said, raising an eyebrow.
“I observed it,” Oliver corrected, because he was a responsible adult and definitely not gossiping like a paddock housewife.
Kimi tilted his head. “Okay, so what’s your theory?”
Oliver took a deep breath, eyes darting toward where Charles was pretending to read a telemetry report while Carlos muttered something to an engineer without so much as glancing in his direction.
“Alright,” Oliver said. “Theory one: Charles borrowed something from Carlos and never gave it back. Like… his espresso machine.”
“Espresso theft is serious,” Kimi acknowledged.
“Right?” Oliver nodded. “Or maybe—maybe Charles spoiled the ending of Drive to Survive before Carlos got to watch it.”
“That’s unforgivable.”
“Exactly. Or—and this is my strongest theory so far—Charles forgot something important.”
“Like what?”
Oliver’s eyes narrowed. “A birthday. An anniversary. A godchild’s christening. Something personal.”
Kimi shrugged. “Or maybe Carlos just found out Charles uses oat milk.”
“Now that would cause a meltdown.”
The two sat in silence for a moment, watching the two Ferrari drivers pass each other like ships in the night—professional, poised, and ice cold.
Finally, Kimi said, “You know what this reminds me of?”
Oliver turned to him, intrigued. “What?”
“That one time in karting when I called my teammate’s sister hot and he didn’t speak to me for two weeks.”
Oliver froze. “Oh my God.”
“What?”
“Kimi.”
“What?”
“WHAT IF THAT’S IT?” Oliver hissed. “What if this is about a sister?”
Kimi blinked. “Wait… Charles has a sister, right?”
Oliver nodded slowly, his eyes wide. “Isabelle.”
They stared at each other, the full conspiracy blooming in their minds.
“Oh my God,” Oliver whispered. “What if Carlos has a crush on Belle? And Charles just found out.”
“Or worse—what if someone else does, and Charles blamed Carlos?!”
“Holy shit.”
They stared back out at the garage where Charles and Carlos now stood side by side, not speaking, not looking at each other, arms crossed in near-perfect symmetry.
“This is better than a Netflix doc,” Oliver muttered.
Kimi popped his gum. “Think we’ll ever find out what actually happened?”
Oliver shook his head. “Nope. But I’m gonna keep guessing until I die.”
***
Belle pushed open the door to the boutique, the delicate chime above it greeting her like an old friend. The shop was quiet, tucked into a sun-drenched corner of the Rue Grimaldi, all pastel walls and honeyed wood. The kind of place that didn’t advertise but always had exactly what you didn’t know you needed.
She took off her sunglasses and slipped them into her bag, her fingers tightening slightly around the strap.
This was supposed to be simple.
A gift for Victoria.
Victoria’s baby girl was due any day now. And Belle had promised herself she’d find something special. Something lovely and thoughtful, because of course Victoria’s daughter would be surrounded by love, but Belle wanted her to have a gift that came from her aunt—not just from "Max’s wife."
She found a dress first—a pale pink with hand-stitched flowers at the collar. Classic. Sweet. Then a matching blanket, soft as clouds, and hat with the same hand-stitched flowers.
She set it gently in her basket together with a and a plush teddy bear so soft it felt like clouds in her palm.
Belle wandered slowly through the narrow aisles of the baby boutique, her fingers trailing over soft fabrics and pastel cotton. The shelves were filled with impossibly tiny clothes and lullaby-colored blankets, everything arranged just so, with little signs in looping handwriting that read “organic muslin” and “hand-knit in Provence.”
She wasn’t in a rush. She never was in here.
A shelf of plush toys caught her eyes: Stacked in a neat row: lambs, bears, bunnies…
And one lion.
It wasn’t particularly large, or fancy. Just soft and golden, with a slightly crooked smile and a fuzzy mane. There was something in its face—warmth, maybe. Bravery. A kind of quiet fierceness.
Belle stepped closer, hand reaching out before she even realized what she was doing.
Her fingers curled around the lion’s little paw, and something inside her chest ached.
She hadn’t meant to buy anything for herself today. Or rather—for the tiny secret she was carrying. The one Max didn’t know about yet.
Belle pressed her palm against the curve of her stomach, still small, still subtle, hidden beneath a loose linen blouse. She wasn’t showing yet—not really—but she felt it now that she knew. The flutter of exhaustion that settled in her bones, the faint nausea in the morning, the warmth that bloomed behind her ribs when she thought about what was coming.
Max was still in Canada. Still flying around corners at 300 km/h like gravity didn’t apply to him. And this… this wasn’t news she wanted to deliver over FaceTime, with a lagging signal and the sound of tire guns in the background. She wanted to watch his face when she told him. Wanted to see the softness break across it. The quiet awe. The love.
Twelve weeks.
She hadn’t told him. Not because she didn’t want to—but because she did.
Desperately. Properly. Face to face.
She’d imagined it already. A hundred times. Max, sitting across from her, some ordinary evening in Monaco. A quiet smile, a hand on her belly, eyes gone wide and soft. Maybe he wouldn’t say much at first. Maybe he’d just hold her. Maybe he’d cry.
He’d be terrified. He’d be overjoyed. He’d be Max.
The lion toy was still in her hand.
Belle looked down at it and smiled. “You’ll be ours,” she whispered, voice barely audible. “You’ll keep the little one safe.”
She added it to the pile at the register without a word. The shop assistant didn’t ask—just wrapped the plush in soft tissue and placed it in a separate bag.
Two bags.
She left the boutique with two bags.
One for a niece Max already loved.
And one for a child he didn’t even know existed yet.
But he would.
Soon.
When the moment was right.
***
Text Messages: Belle Verstappen & Max Verstappen
Belle: You really said “I got married” like you were ordering lunch.
Max: Was it too casual?
Belle: You caused a paddock-wide meltdown in under 10 seconds. Pierre choked on air. Lance gasped.
Max: Oscar didn’t blink.
Belle: Oscar’s soul left his body at the wedding, he hasn’t blinked since.
Max: Lewis was proud of me. Nico welcomed me to the Married Men Club™. Apparently there’s a newsletter.
Belle: What’s in the newsletter?
Max: Tips on DIY crib assembly and how to hide sim rig receipts, probably.
Belle: I should’ve seen that coming.
Belle: You handled it well.
Max: Thanks. I miss you.
Belle: I miss you too. But I did something today. Thought of you.
Max: Hmm?
Belle: Went shopping. Picked up a gift for Victoria’s little one.
Max: You didn’t have to do that, Schatje.
Belle: I wanted to. It’s a little dress and a swaddle. Very soft. Very pink.She’s going to look like a marshmallow.
Max: She’s going to love it. Vic and the baby.
Max:Few more days and I’m home.
Belle: Bring yourself. And a trophy.
Max: Bringing all of it. And coming home to you.
Belle: We’ll be here waiting ❤️
***
Group Chat: HELP ME
(Members: Daniel Ricciardo, Lando Norris, Oscar Piastri, Lewis Hamilton, Carlos Sainz Jr., George Russell, Alex Albon, Nico Hulkenberg, Nico Rosberg, Sebastian Vettel, Mark Webber, David Coulthard, Sergio Pérez, Fernando Alonso, and Kimi Räikkönen)
Carlos: it’s been 12 DAYS.
Carlos: AND CHARLES STILL HASN’T REALISED.
Lewis: I’m genuinely losing my mind.
George: At this point it’s not forgetfulness. It’s performance art.
Daniel: Has anyone told him yet??
Carlos: NO. SHE SAID NOT TO.
Alex: we made a pact.
Oscar: I made a pact. and i’m regretting it.
Nico H: update: i told Kevin.
Carlos: WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT
Nico H: Seemed fair.
Lando: ...fair tbh.
Daniel: ADD HIM
Nico Hulkenberg has added Kevin Magnussen to the chat.
Kevin: what the fuck did I just walk into
George: emotional support group
Alex: for max & belle truthers
Lewis: and leclerc accountability
Kevin: cool cool. carry on
Oscar: ...i may have also told Zhou and Logan.
Lando: YOU WHAT.
Oscar: They were there. They asked. I panicked.
Daniel: OH MY GOD
Oscar Piastri has added Zhou Guanyu to the chat
Oscar Piastri has added Logan Sergeant to the chat
Zhou: hi. very honoured to be here.
Lando: legend.
Logan: I’ve made popcorn. This is better than any paddock drama I’ve ever seen.
Fernando: I also may have mentioned it to Esteban and Lance.
Checo: So we’ve just abandoned secrecy entirely. Dios mío.
Fernando Alonso has added Esteban Ocon to the chat.
Fernando Alonso has added Lance Stroll to the chat
Esteban: hello chaos
Lance: why are there this many people here
Carlos: because Belle deserves a small country’s worth of defenders
George: we are the UN now
Sebastian: united in silent rage
Lewis: should we… start a betting pool?
Oscar: on when charles remembers??
Carlos: yes. i’m taking “not before summer break”
Nico R: i’m taking “not until their first baby is born”
David: CHARLES IS GOING TO FIND OUT FROM TWITTER
Lando: it’s what he deserves.
Mark: belle’s not saying anything. max isn’t saying anything. and none of us are allowed to say anything.
Zhou: so we just watch.
Daniel: and judge. silently. supportively.
Kevin: this is better than Drive to Survive
Lance: you people are terrifying
Esteban: and yet i feel comforted
George: long live the chaos
Lewis: I am going to tell Valtteri.
***
Text Messages: Lewis Hamilton & Valtteri Bottas
Lewis: Valtteri. You up?
Valtteri: I’m in a ice tub with a beer, so yes.
Lewis: You’re gonna want to sit down for this. …Or float. I guess.
Valtteri: Alright, hit me.
Lewis: Max Verstappen got married.
Valtteri: I know.
Lewis: To Charles Leclerc’s sister.
Valtteri: Isabelle?
Lewis: Yep. Belle.
Valtteri: does Charles know
Lewis: No.
Valtteri: oh my god. oh my GOD
Lewis: He forgot her birthday. The whole family did. She was in the garage. No one said a word.
Valtteri: i need to be in this group chat immediately
Lewis: I got you.
***
Group Chat: HELP ME
(Members: Daniel Ricciardo, Lando Norris, Oscar Piastri, Lewis Hamilton, Carlos Sainz Jr., George Russell, Alex Albon, Nico Hulkenberg, Nico Rosberg, Sebastian Vettel, Mark Webber, David Coulthard, Sergio Pérez, Fernando Alonso, Kimi Räikkönen, Zhou Guanyu, Logan Sergeant, Esteban Ocon and Lance Stroll)
Lewis Hamilton has added Valtteri Bottas to the chat.
Valtteri: hello i have arrived this is the greatest thing that’s ever happened to me
Carlos: Welcome. We suffer here.
George: We scream in lowercase.
Daniel: You missed the “Oscar accidentally told Zhou and Logan” arc.
Oscar: IT WASN’T AN ARC IT WAS A MOMENT OF WEAKNESS
Valtteri: do i get to place a bet
Checo: Please. The pool is open.
Valtteri: i’m taking “charles finds out from a post-race interview when someone asks how he feels about being a brother-in-law to max verstappen”
Lando: OH THAT’S A GOOD ONE
Kevin: I’m taking “Belle shows up to Silverstone with a baby bump and he still doesn’t get it.”
Valtteri: this is the best chat i’ve ever been in
***
Fred Vasseur was many things—an engineer by trade, a strategist by necessity, and a reluctant babysitter of million-dollar egos by circumstance. But above all, he prided himself on reading people.
That was why the current state of the Ferrari garage was driving him mad.
The tension was unmistakable.
Carlos was stalking around with that sharp, clipped energy he usually reserved for backmarkers who didn’t move out of the way. He wasn’t being unprofessional—no, that would’ve been easier to handle. He was being polite. Controlled. Cordial. The worst kind of angry.
And Charles?
Charles seemed... confused. Like he didn’t know what he’d done wrong, but suspected the crime was high treason. He greeted Carlos like nothing had happened, and in return got a nod that could freeze the Tiber.
Fred watched it all from the corner of the garage with the growing sense that he was trapped in the middle of a drama he hadn’t been invited to.
Eventually, he'd had enough.
He cornered Carlos near the espresso machine, away from the engineers and the endless telemetry screens.
“Carlos,” he said, voice low and sharp, “is there something I need to know about?”
Carlos didn’t answer right away. He didn’t even look surprised. He just stared into his tiny paper cup like it had personally betrayed him.
“Because if this is about strategy or some setup disagreement—”
“It’s not,” Carlos interrupted.
Fred blinked. “Then what is it?”
Carlos exhaled through his nose. “It’s Charles.”
Fred folded his arms. “Yes. I noticed.”
“He forgot her birthday,” Carlos said, eyes tight. “Not just him. The whole family. But him especially. She was in the garage. Right there. And he didn’t say a single word.”
Fred blinked. “Whose?”
Carlos looked up, jaw clenched. “His sister’s. Belle.”
Fred stilled. “She was in the Monaco garage. Quiet, like always. Wearing red. Not one of us said a word. And Charles—her own brother—walked past her like she was invisible.”
Fred’s throat tightened. “It’s been two weeks.”
Carlos nodded. “And he still hasn’t said anything. Still hasn’t realized.”
Fred sat slowly in the chair across from him, face unreadable.
He liked Isabelle. Always had. She’d been around for years—gracious, observant, unfailingly kind. She never asked for anything. Never wanted attention. And yet she had always been there.
Fred remembered when she was a teenager, sitting quietly at the back of the motorhome with a sketchbook in one hand and race notes in the other. How she brought pastries to the engineers during triple headers. How she remembered everyone's birthdays.
And no one—not one of them—had remembered hers.
Not even Charles.
“She deserved better,” Fred muttered.
Carlos hesitated. “She has better now.”
Fred looked up. “What do you mean?”
Carlos went still. And then—realizing too late—he winced. “Oh. That wasn’t supposed to—"
Fred’s eyes narrowed. “Carlos.”
“She’s with Max,” Carlos said, resigned. “They’ve been together for over a year. No one knew. It was private. But now? They got married. After Monaco.”
Fred blinked. “Max Verstappen.”
Carlos nodded. “Yeah.”
Fred stared at him.
Carlos winced. “...And Charles has no idea.”
***
Ten minutes after Carlos had dropped the truth on him like a live grenade, Frédéric Vasseur was walking—no, storming—across the paddock with the kind of grim determination usually reserved for breaking up fistfights or walking into meetings with Ferrari’s board.
The anger in him wasn’t loud. It was cold. Controlled. A heavy thing sitting low in his chest.
He didn’t bother knocking. Just swept through the entrance to the Red Bull hospitality like he owned it. No one stopped him.
Of course they didn’t. Everyone knew better when a man looked like that.
Christian Horner glanced up from his table, mid-sip of some expensive-looking sparkling water. The look that bloomed across his face wasn’t surprise. It was familiarity. Expectation. Like he’d been waiting for this confrontation.
“Fred,” Christian said, all false calm and executive charm. “Everything alright?”
Fred didn’t sit. Didn’t smile. Didn’t play the game.
His voice was low and razor-sharp.
“Why has your golden boy married my golden boy’s sister?”
There was the smallest flicker in Christian’s eyes—like a spark caught in glass. Then he leaned back in his chair, lips curling into that infuriating little smirk he always wore when things went exactly as planned.
“Ah,” Christian said lightly. “So it’s out.”
Fred’s jaw tensed. His hands clenched at his sides, itching for something to hold onto—control, maybe. Or the version of this reality where someone, anyone, had thought to tell him what was coming.
“Why didn’t anyone tell me?”
Christian raised an eyebrow.
“Because it wasn’t our secret to share,” he said simply. “Max and Isabelle wanted privacy. You know how Max is—he keeps what’s important close. And Isabelle?” He paused. “She didn’t want the attention. Didn’t want the headlines. Didn’t want to be part of the circus.”
Fred opened his mouth to argue—then closed it. Because he knew that about her. Always had.
Isabelle Leclerc had never courted the spotlight. Not like Charles, with his fanbase and flashes of brilliance. Not like Arthur, clinging to the family legacy. She was the quiet one. The one who stayed in the background. The one who did the work, remembered people’s birthdays, brought homemade pastries into the garage because “the people deserve it.”
And they’d forgotten her.
All of them.
His shoulders sagged.
“I always liked her,” he said finally, the words tasting bitter in his mouth. “She is smart. Steady. She helps with setups in hospitality sometimes. Not even on payroll. She didn’t need credit. She just… cares.”
Christian’s smirk softened, just slightly. “I know.”
Fred looked at him, his expression somewhere between fury and shame.
“She stood in the Monaco garage,” Fred said, his voice quieter now, rougher. “Wearing Ferrari red. On her birthday. And no one said a word. Not Charles. Not the team. Not even me.”
He rubbed a hand down his face. He felt old. Tired.
“Charles has no idea,” he added. “No idea what he missed. What he keeps missing. He’s going to find out the wrong way—through gossip, or a headline, or worse—and he’s going to implode.”
Christian didn’t argue. Just watched him, cool and quiet.
“And when he does,” he said finally, “I hope he understands something.”
Fred looked up. “What?”
Christian’s voice was steady. Not smug now. Just… resolved.
“It’s not Max he should be angry with. It’s everyone else who made her feel like she didn’t matter.” A pause. “Including him.”
The words landed like bricks.
Fred stood there for a long time, letting the weight of it all settle on his shoulders.
The truth was this: Isabelle Leclerc had given them grace, patience, loyalty. She’d loved this team, and this team had forgotten her.
And Max? Max Verstappen, of all people, had seen her. Held her close. Protected what mattered to her. Not for the cameras. Not for the brand. But because he chose her.
Finally, Fred exhaled. It wasn’t anger in his chest anymore. It was grief. It was guilt.
“We failed her,” he murmured.
Christian nodded once. “You did.”
He reached for his glass, took a sip, and said—almost gently:
“Look,” he said, “you and I have dealt with our fair share of driver drama. But this? This isn’t about racing. This is about someone who was ignored by the very people she’s always stood up for. And Max… say what you want about him, but he saw her. Chose her. Cherishes her.”
Fred said nothing. He didn’t have to. The truth was sitting in his gut like a stone.
Christian smiled again—wider now, but not cruel.
“We take care of our own, Fred.”
And somehow, that—that—was the final blow.
***
Interview Transcript – Post Canadian GP
Karun Chandhok: Charles, congratulations again on your Monaco GP win! That must have been an incredible moment for you.
Charles: grinning Yes, thank you! It was a very special race for me. Winning at home, in front of my family and the fans, was an unbelievable feeling.
Karun: And it happened on your sister Isabelle’s birthday too, right? That must have made the celebrations even more special!
Charles: smiling automatically Yes, it was— pauses —wait.
Karun: laughs lightly A birthday and a race win on the same day, that’s pretty memorable!
Charles: eyes darting to the side, like he's mentally calculating ...That was— his expression suddenly shifts, his smile faltering
Karun: noticing Charles?
Charles: blinking rapidly No way.
Karun: chuckles, confused
Charles: quietly, more to himself We forgot.
Karun: hesitates
Charles: more urgently We forgot her birthday.
Karun: awkwardly I mean, I’m sure—
Charles: shaking his head, visibly spiraling No, no, no. We were all celebrating, but not her. Not for her. We didn’t say anything.
Karun: off-camera crew shifting nervously
Charles: running a hand down his face Oh my god.
Karun: Um—
Charles: turning toward someone off-camera Do you have my phone? I need to— shaking his head, exhaling sharply I need to fix this.
***
Pagan Gods || SB5
Summary: In the face of his own sins, he had no choice but to kneel and venerate.
cw: just a smut drabble with sebastian vettel
a/n: That doesn't mean my return yet, just thoughts about Sebastian Vettel that Twitter has been feeding in me (the things I would let Seb do to me)
•• 🇧🇷 ••
He knew it was a way for him to pay for all his sins. Lewis had warned him:
“Brazilian women are different, you are not prepared for them.”
And he wasn't, Y/N passed through his life like a hurricane, shaking his convictions, snatching a space that not even he knew was vacant. When Sebastian realized, he was on his knees for her, worshiping her as if she were a goddess, a pagan deity that needed to be worshipped every day, forever. And nothing would give him more pleasure than being on his knees for her, for her. Only Y/N and his car were capable of making him fall.
He had just won the 2012 championship, the world was once again, under the tires of his car, the team wanted to celebrate with him, his parents outside, wanting to congratulate him on the victory, journalists wanted to interview him, but Sebaatian just wanted those legs to suffocate him again.
“Seb, f-fuck,” she gasped, pulling at the blond curls under her summer dress, trembling with each stroke of his tongue against her clit. Sebastian didn't even give her time to lie down, or sit up; he pushed her against the wall, fell to his knees in front of her and like a starving man, ripped her panties off and ate her. “Holy God, s-slow down Sebastian!”
“So fucking good, puppe” he grunted, licking her taste from his mouth.
He looked at her, trembling, panting and sweaty, shining as only paradise could look. “Moan softly, love… I don't want anyone hearing my wife moaning while I make her cum,” he ordered, grabbing her pussy again. Y/N opened her mouth, only a soft whisper escaping her lips, the orgasm growing in her womb like a huge wave. Sebastian didn't let her think, react or even breathe. It all came down to his mouth sucking her clit as if it were the last thing he could do. She closed her eyes, letting her body melt under his attack, and dear God, she was burning.
Without her being able to think, Sebastian pushed her to the small bed and lifted her dress until Y/N was almost naked before him.
He leaned over her, licking the Brazilian's hard nipples, loving her pleading moans. He opened the jumpsuit in a hurry and got between his girlfriend's hot, wet folds. She sank her nails into his back, grinding with every inch. of his cock that entered. he kissed her, giving her everything he had, his love, his devotion, the world he had just won, Y/N was a goddess and he was her faithful, her acolyte, a profane god ready to put everything at her disposal, including her right there.
Little Enzo - Charles Leclerc
Charles Leclerc x reader
Words: 7.9k
Summary: You would have never thought that walking into a hairdresser with little Enzo would turn your world upside down.
Warnings: Losing a dear friend/ parent, abandonment, Soft and Fluffy Charles
Authors Note: There is a possibility for a second part. Now that I finally have my well-deserved semester break, I want to write much more.
It’s not edited and English isn’t my first language so be nice, please :)
Feedback is always appreciated.
Enjoy! ♥
Little Enzo (2)
Continuar lendo
♡ come home with me - LN 4 ♡
Summary: what will happen when lando is finally in the same room as his crush? Will he play his cards right as a mastermind or will he fumble the deck?
Authors Note: this is my first fic in a month so bear with the shit as I try to relearn lol
WC: 1840
CW: Lando being tipsy, lando slightly panicking, fluff, I think that’s it
Everyone knew who Lando's crush was. The boy couldn’t make it any more obvious. Anywhere he went, all he could do was talk about you. He was always praising you for the work you did and how down to earth you were. Lando would also be caught practically drooling over any picture of you whether it was you on a billboard in the middle of the city or a photo on his feed.
Oscar is pretty sure there’s footage from a Mclaren video shoot where Lando spotted a poster of you on a wall and asked Oscar to take a photo of him next to it. The boy had the cheesiest smile on his face as crinkles appeared near his eyes.
Lando was often teased for being so down bad for you. A lot of the guys in the garage would joke about how he would probably faint if he ever got to meet you, or even be in the same room as you. However, the boy always insisted that he would remain calm and collected if that day ever came, claiming that he would pretend to not know you and play the role of the dark and mysterious guy that would intrigue you to the point where he would be all you thought about.
One day, Zak Brown got the idea to make a bet with Lando. There was an event coming up soon where all the F1 drivers and their teams would be in attendance to raise money for a few charities. Many celebrities were invited to bolster the event, you being one of them.
Zak had bet Lando that if you ended up making an appearance, that Lando would be a fumbling mess and would not be able to get your number. Lando being Lando took on the bet. With a firm handshake and $1,000 on the line, the deal was set.
The day of the event comes up and Lando is absolutely shitting bricks. He’s getting ready in the hotel room and losing his mind about the rumors that you’ll actually be at the event.
“Mate, they’re saying she’s actually coming. Even this fan account said it and whenever they post something, it’s true! Oh my god, Max. I might meet her today!” Lando all but yells as he drops his phone in disbelief.
“Listen, mate. Breathe. You assigned me the role of wingman for tonight so it’ll be okay. Right?” Max states calmly, trying to get his best friend to tone it down for a second.
“Right. How does my hair look? Is it okay? Does it look shit? Fuck, I knew I should’ve had it cut ages ago. What if she thinks I don’t clean up?! What if she thinks I’m a mess?! Fuuuuuck! It’s over. I’ve already fucked it.”
“You haven’t fucked it…yet.”
Lando scoffs and pulls a face at Max’s words.
“I’m kidding you muppet. Your hair is fine-”
“Fine?! Just fine?! This is Y/n we’re talking about. Not just some random person. Y/n deserves the best. I have to be the best.”
“Okay… Your hair is amazing. Literally the best it’s ever looked. She is goin-”
“I don't appreciate your sarcasm…”
“I’m no-” Max tries to argue but quickly gives up. Instead opting to pinch the bridge of his nose and take some breaths himself, “Just put your shoes on. We’re leaving in 5 minutes.” he says as he turns his back to Lando and walks towards the bathroom.
“Wait but-”
“5 minutes!” Max says with his back still towards Lando, raising 5 fingers above his head just to give Lando a visual representation of how long he has.
-=+=-
The boys hadn’t even been at the event for an hour and Lando was already quite tipsy. To calm his nerves, Lando decided to have a drink… or 4… This whole time, Lando stood in a corner with a drink in one hand and his phone in the other, constantly checking his feed to see if you’d arrived yet. As time passed, he began to wonder if you were really gonna show.
Lando was about to give up and leave the event when an echo of screams could be heard from a distance. The boy immediately pulled out his phone and checked social media, refreshing the page over and over again until he saw it. At the top of his feed was a blurry video of you walking through the doors of the building he was currently standing in.
“Max! Max! MAX!” Lando yelled, trying to get his friends' attention.
“What? What? WHAT?!” Max yelled back.
“Y/n just walked into the building!”
“Oh yeah. I know.”
“... You know?”
“Yeah. I was talking to Zak earlier and he said that she was on her way.”
“You knew and you didn’t tell me?!”
Max giggled “Yeah. Wanted to see your reaction when she walked through the doors after you moped around for an hour.”
“I was not moping.” Lando frowned.
“You were and you-” Max’s voice drifted into silence as Lando’s gaze shifted to the main entrance. He watched as you walked through the doors and it was like time stopped. You were enchanting. Lando watched your beauty in real time, breath slowing as he tried to process.
You were wearing a blush pink dress that hugged your figure perfectly, flowing down to your feet with a slit on the side. Your skin glowed in the dim light, sparkles appearing in your eyes as you smiled at everyone around you. It was like you were the only girl in the world, at least that’s how it seemed to Lando. It was like you took all the air in the room and replaced it with a feeling that was so overwhelming yet so gratifying.
Lando was stuck in place as you elegantly wandered through the room, sharing smiles with strangers as Lando wished he was one of them. Just for a moment. He wished that he could be one of those strangers, even if it meant he only got a small moment with you, knowing it may never lead to anything more.
He was only able to escape your enchantment when he watched your silhouette make its way towards him. Lando shook his head and panicked, quickly chugging the rest of his drink and turning to place it on the table behind him.
“Don’t come on too strong.” Max had leaned over and whispered into Lando’s ear as you approached.
In the blink of an eye, you were standing in front of Lando and it was as if he had the air knocked out of him. He couldn’t believe that you were in front of him. That you had walked over to him… on purpose.
You smiled with rosy cheeks as you opened your mouth to speak “Hi, I’m-”
“Come home with me.” Lando had blurted out.
“Sorry?” you asked, confusion spread across your face.
“I’m the man who’s gonna marry you.” Lando gulped, “I’m Lando.”
Your eyes moved to look at Max as you asked “Is he always like this?”
With a tight smile, Max replied “Yes”
“I’m Y/n.”
Lando smiled “Your name is like a melody.”
“Are you a musician or?” you asked. You had known of Lando. People often tagged you in videos or photos of him and your friends loved to send you any video of him where he fawned over you. You weren’t gonna lie, you did think he was cute. To be completely honest, he was the main reason you even came to this event. You always tried to avoid attending events like this to avoid unnecessary headlines of “who was y/n with at this party?!”. But, you made an exception tonight.
“I drive cars… and I like to play video games.”
“Oh a driver and a player. I’ve met a lot of guys like you.” you tease.
“No, wait. I’m not like that.” Lando says, panic lacing his face as he fears he’s already messed up his chance.
Max watches as Lando begins to throw himself in the deep end and decides to butt in for a moment, “He’s not like any man you’ve met.”
“How so?” you question, raising an eyebrow at Lando.
“I’m not perfect by any means. And I can’t promise that, if given the chance, being with me will be easy and happy all the time. I mess up a lot. But I can promise to do everything in my power to make all the time with me worth it. I’ll take any broken pieces and make them whole, well, as whole as they can be. We could be something and make something so beautiful that the world seems in tune.” he smiles before it drops and he panics again, “I’M NOT SAYING ANYTHING LIKE BABIES. I MEAN I WANT THEM ONE DAY BUT NOT SOON. I DON’T WANNA PRESSURE YOU. FUCK! Okay, just- All I’ll say is all the flowers will bloom when you become my wife.”
“Oh! He’s crazy.” you joke and spare a look at Max, “Why would I become his wife?”
“Maybe because he’ll make you feel alive.” Max states matter of factly.
“Alive? That’s worth a lot, ya know. What else ya got?” you excitingly ask Lando.
“Uhm, I won’t make you relate to ‘All Too Well’ by Taylor Swift?”
“That sounds good, Mr. Norris. I’ll be in touch.” you say whilst trying to stifle a laugh, turning your back to the two boys and making your way to mingle with some of your colleagues and friends.
Watching you walk away, Lando lets out a breath that he didn’t know he was holding and basks in the fact that he shot his shot and now he’s one step closer to achieving his dream. Also not to mention that Zak now owes him $1,000. Maybe Zak will tattoo today’s date as well.
After a moment, Lando felt his phone buzz in his pocket. He goes to grab it and stills when he sees the most recent notification.
“HOLY FUCK!!” you heard from a distance, “SHE JUST FOLLOWED ME BACK! HOLY FUCK! OH MY GOD! THIS IS THE BEST DAY OF MY LIFE!.... FUCK WINNING MIAMI! THIS IS MY GREATEST ACCOMPLISHMENT!... wait… how did she-”
“She probably gave the go ahead to her social media manager.” Max mentions.
All of a sudden, Lando felt a hard smack land on the back of his head, turning to look at Max.
“What the hell?!”
“You’re lucky you’re rich and handsome. Who the fuck says “come home with me” to someone they’ve never spoken to?! If you were just a random man, you would’ve ended up with a restraining order and not an instagram follow.”
“Well, I never said I was smart.”
“Yeah. We know.” Max says as he pats Lando on the back and drapes his arm over the boys shoulders, “Let’s get you back to the hotel, mate. Before you’re too drunk to walk and I have to carry you.”
“Drunk off joy.” Lando smiles.
-
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