ℂ𝕆𝕃𝕃𝕀𝔻𝔼 // ℂℍ𝔸ℝ𝕃𝔼𝕊 𝕃𝔼ℂ𝕃𝔼ℝℂ

𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓯𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽

Charles Leclerc

The tension in the garage was suffocating, thicker than it had ever been. With the Abu Dhabi Grand Prix around the corner, I could feel the weight of everything pressing down on me. My driving had been all over the place in practice sessions, and I could tell everyone noticed. I didn't need anyone to tell me I was off—I felt it in every turn, every lap that I couldn't perfect. Max had been dominant, and as much as I hated to admit it, unless something drastic happened, he was going to take the World Drivers' Championship. The thought was eating me alive.

The team was on edge, and I could sense it. The engineers, the mechanics, everyone. They were tiptoeing around me like I was a ticking bomb, ready to explode at the smallest provocation. And maybe I was. Every time I was in the car, it felt like I was on the edge, pushing too hard, too fast. But I couldn't stop. I couldn't back down. Everything was at stake, and I couldn't afford to lose—especially not to Max.

I avoided the media like the plague, ignoring every request for interviews and walking straight past the reporters who tried to catch me in the paddock. I didn't have time for their questions, for their analysis of what was going wrong with my performance. I already knew what was wrong—I just didn't know how to fix it. So I buried myself in the simulator, in the garage, hoping that somewhere, somehow, I'd find an edge. Some tiny detail that would give me the advantage I needed. But nothing seemed to work.

The engineers were whispering behind my back. I caught snippets of their conversations when they thought I wasn't listening.

"If he keeps pushing like this, he's going to crash out," one of them murmured as I walked past, the words hanging in the air like a threat.

My grip on my helmet tightened, the anger surging up inside me. Crash out? Is that what they thought of me? That I was out of control? That I couldn't handle the pressure?

I kept walking, jaw clenched tight, forcing myself not to respond. But it was hard. I was angry—angry at them, at myself, at the situation. They didn't get it. They didn't understand what it felt like to have everything slipping away, to feel like no matter how hard I pushed, it was never enough. I was a champion, for God's sake. I knew what I was doing. I just needed to find the right moment, the right strategy, and everything would fall into place.

But then I heard her voice—Athena.

"Don't talk about him like that."

She wasn't loud, but the firmness in her tone cut through the murmurs, silencing the group. I turned slightly, catching a glimpse of her standing there, arms crossed, her face set in a hard expression. She wasn't backing down. Not even for a second.

The engineers glanced at each other, clearly uncomfortable. One of them, someone from aero, cleared his throat. "We weren't trying to disrespect him, Athena. We're just concerned. He's been... off, lately."

Athena's eyes narrowed, and I could tell she was holding back a lot more than she was saying. "He's a champion," she said, her voice sharp. "You don't know what he's going through. None of you do."

The tension in the garage spiked, and for a second, no one said anything. I stood there, frozen, unsure of what to do. I hadn't expected her to step in like that, not after everything that had happened between us.

One of the engineers shifted uncomfortably. "We're just... worried. Especially after..."

"After what?" Athena cut in, her voice ice-cold. I could see her daring them to bring up our divorce, to cross that line.

The engineer faltered. "After the... personal stuff. It's just... affecting his performance, that's all."

Athena didn't say anything else. She turned on her heel and walked away, leaving the engineers standing there, awkward and unsure. I stood in silence, watching her go, the weight of her words settling in.

That night, I couldn't stop thinking about what Athena had said. The way she had defended me, even though we were barely speaking anymore. After everything—after the miscarriage, the arguments, the looming divorce—I didn't expect her to care. But she did. At least, she pretended to.

I lay awake in the hotel room, staring up at the ceiling, my mind racing. My phone was buzzing constantly—calls from friends, journalists, family—but I ignored them all. I couldn't deal with anyone right now. All I could think about was how I was falling apart, and how everyone could see it.

Athena's words echoed in my mind. "You don't know what he's going through."

What was I going through? I wasn't even sure anymore. It felt like everything had slipped out of my control. The miscarriage had been a turning point. We had both changed after that. And now... we were headed for a divorce that I didn't even know how to stop.