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cressidagrey · 2 months ago

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White Horse - Chapter 24: June 2024 - Part 5

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

Meanwhile on Twitter:

@/F1TeaSpiller: GUYS. BELLE LECLERC JUST CHANGED HER INSTAGRAM USERNAME. SHE'S NOW @/belleverstappen. I REPEAT. @/belleverstappen.

🔗 (screenshot)

@/MonacoRoyalty: WAIT WAIT WAIT WAIT

@/RedBullTroll33: So you’re telling me… Isabelle. LECLERC. is now VERSTAPPEN?????

I need to lie down.

@/FerrariF1Pain: I THOUGHT I WAS HALLUCINATING WHEN I SAW THE NAME CHANGE. SHE REALLY MARRIED MAX. AND THEY DIDN’T TELL A SOUL. ICONIC BEHAVIOR TBH.

@/F1MemeLord: Charles: forgot Belle’s birthday Belle: changed her last name to Verstappen in front of the entire internet Me: poetic cinema.

@/gridgossip:

EVERYONE WAKE UP

BELLE LECLERC IS NOW BELLE VERSTAPPEN

MAX MARRIED CHARLES' SISTER AND DIDN'T TELL ANYONE

IM SHAKING

@/gridgossip:

This is the softest, coldest, most brutal reveal of all time.

No announcement.

No photo dump.

No grand post.

Just a silent name change.

And now the whole grid is screaming.

@/f1memequeen: MAX VERSTAPPEN SECRETLY MARRIED CHARLES LECLERC’S BABY SISTERAND THEY SOFT LAUNCHED WITH A HORSE AND A USERNAME UPDATE

THIS IS CINEMA.

@/F1ChaosClub: how it started: "whose hand gave max tea on stream??"

how it's going: "max verstappen is married to belle leclerc and nobody knew and now the internet is on fire"

@/TifosiTears: charles leclerc is about to log on and have the worst 24 hours of his life i fear 💀

@/MaxIsWinning: max verstappen winning on and off the track as per usual 😌

@/WifeGuyMax: max verstappen, known cat dad and now confirmed wife guy. we love character development 💍🐎🐈

@/GridChaosDaily: the grid when they realize belle verstappen = belle leclerc = max’s wife = charles’s sister = absolute chaos

(photo attached: stock photo of a man having a breakdown)

@/FerrariTears: Charles finding out his sister is now Belle Verstappen because of Instagram is the level of sibling drama we deserve in 2024.

@/TifosiMess: Prediction:

Charles: 🧍‍♂️😭

Arthur: 🧍‍♂️😵‍💫

Lorenzo: 🧍‍♂️😳

Pascale: 🧍‍♀️🫠 Meanwhile Belle and Max: 🏇🏡❤️

@/MonacoRoyalty: So let me get this straight:

Belle disappears for weeks

Drops a horse like it’s a handbag

Soft launches her new life

NOW SHE'S A VERSTAPPEN?? I NEED TO LIE DOWN.

@/LandoSimp44: some of you OWE the soft launch detectives an apology. they said it. they were RIGHT.

@/RedBullUpdates MAX. VERSTAPPEN. MARRIED. BELLE. LECLERC. AND THEY HID IT FROM US FOR HOW LONG???

@/FerrariPain: the way the Leclerc brothers are probably finding this out at the SAME TIME AS US 😭😭😭

***

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: HOLY SH*T

Lando: HOLD ON

Lando: SHUT UP EVERYONE

Lando: sends screenshot of @belleverstappen

Oscar: OH MY GOD

Daniel: I AM SCREAMING INTO A PILLOW

Lewis: I’m sorry. Am I hallucinating?? Because that says Verstappen. Not Leclerc.

George: BELLE. VERSTAPPEN. BELLE. FREAKING. VERSTAPPEN.

Carlos: Belle… changed her name…

Zhou: I THOUGHT I WAS READY BUT I WAS NOT READY

George: DID THAT JUST HAPPEN LIVE???

Carlos: I need a drink.

Alex: I AM SCREAMING.

Sebastian: Honestly? About time. Good for her.

Oscar: SHE CHANGED HER USERNAME TO BELLE VERSTAPPEN. THAT'S IT. THAT'S THE ANNOUNCEMENT.

Fernando: Max said "no press release, no statement, just pure chaos."

Daniel: Can we talk about the absolute audacity???

Zhou: Max dropping "I’m married" casually during a press conference and Belle changing her name quietly the night before Spain is PEAK Verstappen behavior.

Lando: I’m gonna cry. She’s not even dramatic about it. Just boop name change.

George: Meanwhile Charles is somewhere punching a wall.

Carlos: somewhere? Try several walls.

Lewis: No but seriously—Belle just silently won the whole internet.

Logan: It’s not even loud drama. It’s silent nuclear bomb energy.

Nico R.: Charles is probably Googling "how to politely kidnap your sister back."

Checo: Max playing 4D chess while Charles plays Candy Crush.

Fernando: And still losing at Candy Crush.

Kimi: Wake me up when someone crashes a press conference about it.

Oscar: Okay but real talk. I’m SO proud of her.

Lando: Same.

Lewis: She chose her happiness over their comfort. Respect.

Esteban: Someone check on Charles.

Fernando: No, no, let him suffer a bit longer. Character development.

Lance: Wait does this mean Max is Charles’ BROTHER-IN-LAW now???

Oscar: i just had a full body shiver

David: I would pay so much money for footage of Fred Vasseur reading this right now.

Mark: I would pay more to see Christian Horner's face.

George: NO ONE TELL PIERRE. Let’s just see what happens.

Logan: What if Belle walks into the paddock tomorrow wearing Verstappen merch. I would pass away.

Lewis: Max really married the one girl Charles forgot to look at properly. Poetic.

Nico R.: This is better than any soap opera I’ve ever seen.

Sebastian: Not Max breaking Ferrari and Leclerc family morale in one move. That’s championship material.

Oscar: Belle really said "forget my birthday? Watch this."

Carlos: Reminder: Max said he’s bringing her to the paddock tomorrow.

George: THEY’RE GOING PUBLIC IN PERSON TOO???

Oscar: CHAOS. COMPLETE CHAOS.

Alex: I have popcorn ready.

Lando: I'm not ready.

Daniel: None of us are.

***

Charles didn’t mean to open Instagram.

It had become a form of self-torture lately—every scroll a reminder of the silence on the other end of his unanswered texts, of the messages left on read, of the birthday that no one in the family had remembered except Belle herself.

But his thumb moved on autopilot during breakfast, and there it was.

Not a post. Not a story.

A name.

@belleverstappen

Charles blinked. Froze. Then blinked again.

No. That couldn’t be right.

He opened her profile.

Same photos. His sister’s profile.

Charles stared at the screen.

Then he read the handle again.

@belleverstappen.

Verstappen.

A cold sweat started to gather at the back of his neck.

“Non… non non non…” Charles muttered, sitting bolt upright in his chair.

Across the hotel room, Alexandra looked up from her hair straightener. “What now?”

“Arthur,” he said, too sharp, holding his phone up like it was infected. “Look at this.”

Arthur, still halfway through a bowl of cereal, leaned over and squinted. He choked immediately.

“No. No, no, no. She didn’t.”

“She did!” Charles said, nearly tripping over his chair. “She changed her name!”

Arthur shoved his cereal away like it had personally betrayed him. “Wait—what does that mean? Did she get married? Wait, is this real?”

“What does it mean?” Charles asked, genuinely baffled. “Why would she—what—Why Verstappen?”

And then, like a bolt of catastrophic lightning:

“Oh my god. Is Jos Verstappen her sugar daddy??”

A sound of pure horror came from behind him.

“CHARLES!” Alexandra snapped. “What the hell?!”

Arthur looked like he had been personally insulted by the sentence. “Are you out of your mind?”

“I’m just saying—Verstappen! She’s going by Verstappen!”

Charles was already pacing. “She was always weirdly polite to Jos. Maybe he—maybe it’s him.He’s always lurking around the paddock! And she moved out a year ago and never told us. She quit her job. Someone’s clearly supporting her!”

Arthur looked horrified. “Charles. Please. That’s insane.”

Alexandra looked at Charles like he’d grown a second head. “You do realize Jos Verstappen is married, right? Like, currently. Publicly. Has been for years.”

“I saw her smile at Jos in Monaco!” Charles snapped. “And she said he was polite to her at the garage and she’s been so—so secretive and she quit her job and she got a horse—”

“CHARLES,” Alexandra interrupted, hands in the air. “Jos Verstappen is married.”

Charles blinked. “What?”

Arthur groaned and threw a pillow across the room. “Oh my god. This is actually the stupidest conclusion you’ve reached this month, and I was the one that thought Belle was being kept by a sugar daddy with a skincare routine.”

“IT MAKES SENSE AT THE TIME,” Charles insisted.

There was a knock, and Nicholas Todt stepped into the room, holding his tablet with the solemn expression of a man walking into a fire.

“Tell me this is not real,” Nicholas said, holding up a screenshot of Belle’s Instagram page.

“Oh, it’s real,” Arthur said, grimacing.

“Charles, please tell me this is not the first time you’re hearing about this.”

Charles opened and closed his mouth.

Nicholas pinched the bridge of his nose and sat down heavily. “This is a PR disaster. If the media connects her to Max—”

“Wait,” Charles said slowly. “Why would the media connect her to Max?”

Everyone turned.

“You’re joking,” Alexandra said.

“What?” Charles asked, defensive.

“She changed her name to Verstappen,” Nicolas deadpanned. “What do you think it is?”

“She can’t be married to Max!” Charles blurted. “Someone would’ve told me!”

Joris, who had been quiet until now, finally looked up from his coffee with the most satisfied look on his face.

Joris shrugged. “Good for her.”

Charles stared. “Good for—what?”

“She’s been invisible to all of you for years,” Joris said bluntly. “And now she’s making herself seen. About damn time.”

Charles looked between them all, suddenly feeling like he was at the center of a soap opera everyone else had watched already.

“No,” he whispered. “It can’t be Max.”

Arthur looked vaguely nauseous. Joris looked like he had several things to say and none of them were polite.

Charles could feel the room closing in. “This is not happening.”

“I actually thought it might be Zhou,” Alexandra said mildly. “Or Lewis. They’re both polite. Hot. Emotionally intelligent.”

“Okay, please stop talking,” Charles groaned.

Arthur sat down beside him. “Do you think she’ll be at the paddock tomorrow?”

“If she shows up wearing Verstappen gear, I’m gonna throw myself in the gravel,” Charles muttered.

Alexandra raised an eyebrow. “No, you’re going to smile, and wave, and act like a supportive brother who didn’t forget she existed.”

"Max," he repeated dumbly. "Max Verstappen. My biggest rival. The guy who stole my karting trophies when we were twelve."

Arthur shrugged. "Apparently, he didn’t just steal your trophies."

Alexandra smirked behind her hand.

Nicolas rubbed his temples like he had a migraine.

Charles sat down heavily in the nearest chair, completely and utterly defeated.

Belle was married. To Max Verstappen. And the whole world knew.

Everyone except him.

She hadn’t said a word.

She’d just changed her name.

And somehow, that said everything.

****

Text Messages: Arthur Leclerc & Lorenzo Leclerc

Arthur: hey you up?

Lorenzo: I am now. What’s going on?

Arthur: don’t freak out but we need to tell maman something before she finds out from the internet

Lorenzo: Arthur. Tell me now.

Arthur: Isabelle changed her Instagram username. It’s belleverstappen now.

Lorenzo: … what.

Arthur: like not “dating” Verstappen not “soft launch” Verstappen I mean she married him she’s married like legally. emotionally. spiritually. all of it.

Lorenzo: What do you MEAN she’s married to Max Verstappen?! When?! How?! WHY didn’t we KNOW?!

Arthur: because we were all too busy forgetting her birthday and ignoring her for years? just a theory. 🙃

Lorenzo: Jesus Christ. Does Charles know?

Arthur: not until like five minutes ago. he thought she was dating JOS I’m not kidding.

Lorenzo: … of course he did.

Arthur: look can you please talk to maman like right now because the whole paddock is going to know soon and if she sees this online first she’s going to cry and then go full French Catholic guilt spiral and none of us are emotionally prepared for that

Lorenzo: On it.

Arthur: thank you.

Good luck

***

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: MAX. ANSWER YOUR PHONE.

Charles: TELL ME THIS ISN’T TRUE. TELL ME THIS IS SOME STUPID INTERNET RUMOUR. MAX. DID YOU MARRY MY SISTER?

Max: Yes.

Charles: AND YOU LET ME WALK AROUND THE PADDOCK FOR WEEKS LIKE AN IDIOT.

Max: We got married in Monaco. She wanted to keep it private.

Charles: YOU GOT MARRIED AND YOU DIDN’T TELL ME??

Charles: YOU DIDN’T THINK I DESERVED TO KNOW THAT MY BABY SISTER WAS MARRYING MY BIGGEST RIVAL??

Pierre: wait wait wait what do you mean married Isabelle???

Yuki: SOMEONE EXPLAIN WHAT IS HAPPENING

Carlos: Charles—

Charles: HOW LONG HAVE YOU BEEN TOGETHER? HOW LONG HAS THIS BEEN A THING??

Carlos: Over a year.

Charles: I’M GOING TO SCREAM.

Charles: I’m going to absolutely LOSE MY MIND. You’ve all been lying to me. For MONTHS.

Charles: WHO KNEW?? I WANT A FULL LIST. RIGHT NOW. I SWEAR I WILL GO THROUGH PHONE RECORDS.

Lewis: It wasn’t our secret to tell.

George: They weren’t hiding it to hurt you. They were protecting each other.

Lando: Also, you literally forgot her birthday. You don’t exactly have the moral high ground here.

Charles: SHE’S MY SISTER.

Max: She’s my wife. Stop yelling like you own her.

Charles: SHE’S FAMILY.

Max: This isn’t about you, Charles.

Charles: SHE IS MY SISTER. MY FAMILY. AND NONE OF YOU THOUGHT I MIGHT WANT TO KNOW SHE MARRIED SOMEONE WHO’S BEEN TRYING TO BEAT ME SINCE KARTING.

Oscar: She didn’t forget to tell you. She chose not to.

Charles: SHUT UP, OSCAR.

Carlos: Hey.

Charles: NO. YOU TOO. YOU REMEMBERED HER BIRTHDAY. AND YOU SAID NOTHING.

Carlos: Because she asked me to. Because she knew you’d react exactly like this.

Charles: SO MY SISTER MARRIES MAX VERSTAPPEN AND I’M THE VILLAIN??

Max: You remember that now?

Charles: You think this is funny?

Max: No. I think it’s sad. That it took a ring on her finger and a horse on Instagram for you to realize she was gone.

Charles: You went behind my back. You should have told me.

Max: She didn’t want to. And I respect her choices. Which is more than I can say for you.

Charles: I’M HER BROTHER.

Max: Then maybe act like it. Because right now? You’re just noise.

George: Charles, this isn’t about you anymore.

Alex: It’s about Belle. And how she had to build a new life because her old one didn’t see her.

Oscar: And Max did.

Max:If you're done shouting, maybe try asking yourself why she trusted me with her future and not you.

Charles: …

Yuki: can someone please give me a recap. i feel like i skipped six seasons.

Pierre: I JUST FOUND OUT HE MARRIED HER AND NOW HE’S DRAGGING CHARLES INTO THE VOID I NEED TO LIE DOWN

Daniel: someone get Pierre a fan, he’s hyperventilating.

Charles: EVERYONE SHUT UP. EVERYONE JUST STOP.

Charles: I’M FINDING HER. SHE’S AT THE TRACK, RIGHT? I’M FINDING HER RIGHT NOW.

Lewis: Charles.

Charles: WHAT.

Lewis: Do not ambush her. You don’t get to demand explanations from someone you forgot how to see.

Charles: I DIDN’T—

George: You forgot her birthday, Charles.

Oscar: You didn’t notice when she moved. You didn’t notice when she quit her job. You didn’t notice when she stopped showing up to family events.

Carlos: You didn’t notice her.

Charles: I just want to talk to her.

Max: Then wait until she’s ready. You’ve taken a lot of things from her, Charles. You don’t get to take this, too.

Charles: You don’t get to talk to me about what I’ve taken.

Max: No? Then let me talk to you about what you didn’t give her.

Max: Time. Attention. Respect. Support.

Max: All the things she gave you without question. All the things you never gave back.

Yuki: i’m so uncomfortable but also very invested

Pierre: i feel like we should log off

Charles: ...is anyone going to back me up here?

Esteban: You kind of lost the moral high ground at “is she dating Jos.”

Logan: ngl we all knew but we also knew you’d react like this.

Lewis: This isn’t about us. It’s about her. You need to let her decide if and when she wants to let you back in.

Charles: She’s my sister.

Max: She’s my wife.

Max: And if you ever want a place in her life again, maybe start by realizing you don’t get to gatekeep her happiness.

Carlos: Max. Enough.

Max: I’m done.

The rest is up to her.

Not me.

And sure as hell not you.

***

Pascale Leclerc had always prided herself on knowing her children.

She had lived through the chaos of karting and exam seasons, through Arthur’s scraped knees and Charles’ broken hearts, through Lorenzo’s silent strength and Isabelle’s quiet brilliance.

She had watched them grow up like a garden — each one different, wild in their own way, but hers.

And yet now, as she stood in her kitchen — untouched tea cooling in her hands — she felt like she was staring at a house that had quietly caught fire.

And she hadn’t even smelled the smoke.

Lorenzo stood by the doorway, tense but calm in that way only he could be.

He had always been the family’s voice of reason, the one who didn’t panic, who showed up with logistics when the others brought emotions.

But tonight, there was something sharp beneath his composure. A tightness around the mouth. A shadow in his voice.

“Something happened,” Pascale had said, the moment he arrived.

Lorenzo didn’t answer right away.

He looked at her — really looked at her — like he wasn’t sure how to begin. Like he was about to hand her a truth that couldn’t be unspoken.

“Isabelle got married,” he said quietly.

The words didn’t register at first. Not fully.

They sat in the air, strange and unfamiliar, like hearing a sentence in a language she hadn’t spoken in years.

“What?” Pascale asked, blinking.

“Isabelle,” Lorenzo said again, slowly. “She got married. A few weeks ago. In Monaco.”

Her breath caught.

“To who?”

Lorenzo hesitated. “Max Verstappen.”

The name hit harder than the sentence.

Pascale lowered herself into the nearest chair like her legs no longer trusted her.

“She’s… married,” she said, tasting the word. “To Max. And we didn’t even know?”

Lorenzo sat across from her. “We didn’t even know she was in a relationship, Maman. We didn’t know she moved. That she quit her job. We didn’t know anything.”

Pascale stared at the table, at her own hands folded around a now-cold mug.

It was her fault.

Hers.

Because she had believed silence meant peace. She had assumed that just because Isabelle didn’t complain, she was content.

And in doing so, she had let her daughter disappear. Slowly. Quietly. Without fanfare.

“She didn’t want us to know?” Pascale asked, voice small.

“No,” Lorenzo said gently. “Because we’ve given her every reason to believe we only care when it’s convenient. When it’s public. When it’s about Charles.”

Pascale felt her eyes sting. “I thought… I thought she would come to me, if it was serious.”

“She did,” Lorenzo said, not unkindly. “She just stopped waiting for us to see her.”

Pascale pressed a hand over her mouth.

“I didn’t even know she still believed in love,” she whispered. “After everything we asked her to give up. After everything we never gave back.”

“She did,” Lorenzo said. “And he gives it to her.”

Silence stretched between them — thick with guilt and revelation.

“I missed her wedding,” Pascale said softly.

“We all did,” Lorenzo replied. “But we don’t have to miss everything else.”

Pascale’s hand trembled as she set the tea aside. It sloshed slightly over the rim — unnoticed.

“I missed her wedding,” she repeated, more to herself than to Lorenzo.

He didn’t speak. He knew better than to offer hollow comfort.

“I missed her,” Pascale whispered. “I missed everything.”

The silence sat heavy between them, stretching until it felt like a second skin. Pascale reached for her phone on the table — out of habit, out of desperation — and stared at the screen like it might offer her redemption.

A single name burned in her memory.

Isabelle.

Her thumb hovered, hesitating over old messages, until finally, she opened the thread.

It was all still there. Every breadcrumb of her failure.

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.

Even reading it now, Pascale felt the shame wash through her like floodwater.

It was a lie. She had forgotten.

Not just the day. Not just the message.

She had forgotten her daughter — in the way that mattered most.

“I lied to her,” Pascale said aloud, her voice cracking.

Lorenzo closed his eyes like he was bracing for a storm. “Maman…”

“When I messaged her,” Pascale said, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. “After I forgot her birthday. I didn’t want her to think I forgot. I told her I meant to text her — that I accidentally sent it to Charles instead. But that wasn’t true. I did. I forgot. I forgot the day she was born. And then I lied because I couldn’t bear the thought of her knowing that. I didn’t remember until Charles reminded us. I lied to make it seem like I hadn’t failed her. But I did. I have. Over and over again.”

Lorenzo’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t interrupt.

“I told myself she was strong. That she didn’t need as much,” Pascale continued, tears now slipping freely down her cheeks. “She didn’t fight for attention. She didn’t make noise. She just… quietly endured. I thought that meant she was fine.”

“She wasn’t,” Lorenzo said softly.

“I know that now,” Pascale whispered. “But it’s too late to be there for the little girl who cried when we sold her horse. Or the young woman who spent her graduation alone because we were all watching a race.”

Pascale looked up, eyes brimming.

“But maybe it’s not too late for the woman she’s become. The one who found someone who sees her. Who loves her enough to ask for her forever, even when she felt invisible.”

Lorenzo nodded slowly. “You’ll have to show her. Not just say it.”

“I don’t even know if she’ll want to hear from me,” Pascale said.

“You’ll try anyway,” he replied. “Because that’s what she deserved all along. Someone who didn’t need a reminder to show up.”

The air shifted slightly — still heavy, still painful, but no longer suffocating.

Pascale exhaled shakily and picked up her phone again.

“I want to fix it,” Pascale said eventually. “I don’t know how, but I want to try. I don’t want her to think we only care now because she married someone famous.”

“Then don’t start with an apology for missing the wedding,” Lorenzo said, voice low but steady. “Start with an apology for everything before it.”

***

Group Chat: HELP ME

Lando: (sends screenshots)

Lando: okay so we all agree that was… A Lot™?

George: “Then maybe act like it.” Cold. Accurate. Deserved.

Lewis: I was hoping Charles would reflect Not double down on the yelling and gaslighting

Carlos: He kept yelling “SHE’S MY SISTER” like it was a spell It’s not. It’s just a fact. And not one he treated with care.

Zhou: I’m honestly mad at him. Belle deserved better than that meltdown.

Daniel: She’s been waving white flags for YEARS. The fact that she had to marry Max Verstappen for him to finally notice is… tragic.

Logan: He tried to make it all about himself. Again.

Esteban: And he really told Max “you went behind my back” like Belle is property

Sebastian: Disrespectful. Self-centered. Deflecting guilt into rage. I like Charles. But this? This was ugly.

Lance: You could see the second-hand shame through the screen

Valtteri: Honestly, I don’t blame Max for losing patience.

Nico R.: He gave Charles every opportunity to calm down. Charles chose violence.

Oscar: “Which is more than I can say for you.” Yeah. That line still lives in my head.

Fernando: Max protected her. Period. Charles tried to make it about rivalry. One of them is married. The other is playing victim.

Mark: I love when people forget that Max is scary when he loves someone Not just when he races

David: Charles thought the betrayal was the secret The real betrayal is that she stopped counting on him, and he never noticed

George: And now he’s blaming everyone except himself.

Lando: What exactly did he expect? That she’d send a save-the-date and beg for attention?

Lewis: She already did. Every time she showed up and got ignored.

Sebastian: She didn’t disappear. She just stopped asking to be seen.

Alex: And I’m done coddling Charles about that.

Carlos: Same.

Oscar: She chose happiness. He called it betrayal. That says everything.

Zhou: Should we be worried about today?

Daniel: We should be prepared. Max said he’s bringing her to the paddock. And Charles? He’ll implode.

Fernando: Let him. Maybe he’ll finally listen if it’s in public.

Lewis: He doesn’t deserve answers. He deserves the silence he gave her.

George: And if she does say anything to him, it’s her choice.

***

Belle had never liked the paddock.

Not because it wasn’t impressive — it was. Efficient, loud, organized chaos. But because it had never really felt like hers. Not even when Charles had brought her around as a teenager, wide-eyed and silent, watching her brothers shake hands and pose for cameras while she trailed two steps behind.

She knew how invisible you could be in a place like this.

But not today.

Not now.

She stepped through the gates with Max beside her — her fingers laced in his, steady and certain — and the hush that fell over the paddock was immediate.

Belle could feel it.

The weight of eyes. The slow, sharp recognition rippling outward from person to person like a silent explosion. Some turned to look, others tried not to, but they all felt it. The shift. The fact that something had changed.

That she had changed.

Max didn’t break stride. Neither did she.

The sun was warm on her shoulders, but the Red Bull jacket she wore — his, oversized and soft — felt like armor. Familiar. Safe. She’d tugged it from his closet that morning while he was brushing his teeth, said nothing as she slipped it on, and Max had only smiled at her like she was everything in the world worth looking at.

He hadn’t let go of her hand since.

Belle didn’t smile, but she didn’t flinch either.

She looked ahead, chin high, expression calm. If they wanted something loud — a statement, a spectacle — they weren’t going to get it.

They’d get this.

Her wedding band catching the light. Her hand in Max’s. Her name — Belle Verstappen — already echoing through the internet.

Let them talk.

She heard someone near the McLaren garage whisper, “Oh my god, it’s really her.” Heard another murmur, “She’s wearing his jacket.”

Belle didn’t look. She didn’t have to.

She could feel the stares. Could feel the quiet scramble of the media trying to decide whether or not to speak. To ask. To breathe.

She kept walking.

Max leaned in slightly, barely tilting his head toward her, and said under his breath, “Still with me?”

Belle’s lips curved — just slightly. “Always.”

His thumb brushed along the side of her hand in response. The smallest touch. But enough.

They moved through the paddock like a weather system — calm on the surface, but electric underneath. Some drivers straightened up when they passed. Some looked away. One engineer dropped their tablet. Someone near the Ferrari garage gasped.

Belle didn’t look toward it.

She didn’t need to see Charles to know he was watching.

She could feel it — that specific burn of a sibling’s shock, of betrayal, of too-late recognition. And it hurt, somewhere deep in her chest. But it didn’t undo her.

Not this time.

Max gave her fingers a gentle squeeze.

She kept walking.

Every step felt like reclaiming something. Every heartbeat steadier than the last.

Let them stare. Let them wonder.

They hadn’t seen her before. They hadn’t heard her.

Now they would.

Quietly. Unapologetically.

This was her life.

And Belle Verstappen wasn’t hiding anymore.

***

@/GridGossip: 🚨BREAKING: BELLE VERSTAPPEN JUST WALKED INTO THE PADDOCK HOLDING MAX’S HAND She’s wearing his jacket An emerald engagement ring And a gold wedding band I’m shaking. I’m actually shaking. 📸 (zoomed photo)

@/F1TeaSpiller: Forget soft launches. Belle Verstappen just HARD LAUNCHED HER ENTIRE MARRIAGE That’s a wedding ring, babes. A wedding ring.

@/RedBullTroll33: Max Verstappen didn’t post a wedding photo. Didn’t do an announcement. Just walked into the paddock with his wife wearing a rock the size of my student debt. Power move.

@/FerrariF1Pain: The Leclerc family watching Belle walk in like: 👁👄👁 With a RING With MAX In his jacket Wearing the smirk of a woman who’s been underrated for too long

@/f1memequeen: That emerald engagement ring is screaming “I don’t need your approval, I already have his last name” And honestly?? Obsessed.

@/WifeGuyMax: Everyone: when will Max post Belle? Max: I’ll bring Belle. Max: To the paddock. Max: With a gold band on her finger. Max: Say hello to my wife.

@/GridChaosDaily: Belle is wearing a gold wedding band and an engagement ring the size of a walnut and hasn’t blinked once Meanwhile Charles looks like he’s on the verge of spontaneously combusting

@/MonacoRoyalty: THE RING THE JACKET THE HAND-HOLDING THE WALK SHE’S THE MAIN CHARACTER

@/MaxIsWinning: Max Verstappen said:

Emerald ring ✔️

Gold band ✔️

My jacket ✔️

My hand ✔️

My wife ✔️ Legend.

@/f1memequeen: Belle: walks in calmly Internet: 💍😱🔥👗👀💀💍�� The power of SILENCE

@/LandoSimp44: me: I’m over the Verstappen-Leclerc marriage drama also me: zooming in on the ring like it’s the Mona Lisa

@/FerrariTears: Charles is looking at that gold band like it personally betrayed him Arthur’s gone full ghost mode Pascale is probably praying in a dark room Meanwhile Belle’s just casually wearing a 5-figure emerald like it’s nothing

@/F1MemeLord: Belle: marries Max Verstappen in secret Charles: forgets her birthday Belle: walks into the paddock with a ring and a husband The plot arc is insane. The payoff? Cinematic.

@/gridgossip: MAX WALKING IN WITH HIS WIFE AND ZERO APOLOGY IS THE MOST VERSTAPPEN THING TO EVER HAPPEN

@/TifosiTears: Belle really said: you forgot me? let me introduce you to my husband and this giant green rock

***

The moment they stepped inside the Red Bull garage, Belle felt the shift.

It wasn’t like entering a room. It was like crossing a threshold — one she could never go back from.

There were voices, radio chatter, tire warmers humming. Mechanics moved with sharp efficiency. But as Max walked in with her hand still folded in his, everything… slowed.

Heads turned. Not in shock — they all knew by now. But in curiosity.

She was part of it now.

Max dropped his bag with practiced ease, nodded at one of the engineers, and then looked back at her like she was the only thing that mattered in the room.

“You okay?” he asked, voice low, just for her.

Belle nodded, though her heart was fluttering too fast. “Yeah. Just—this is a lot.”

“You don’t have to talk to anyone if you don’t want to.”

“I want to,” she said quietly. “I want to meet the people who know the version of you I don’t get at home.”

Max smiled like that meant more than she realized — like she’d just handed him something no one else ever had.

“Alright,” he murmured. “Time to meet the chaos.”

Belle only had a second to steel herself before she heard the gruff voice.

“About time you brought her here.”

Jos.

He was already standing near the back wall of the garage, arms folded, mouth tugged up in something that resembled a smile. As he looked at her properly, something softened in his expression. Something almost proud.

“See you survived the vultures,” he said drily, and she couldn’t help but laugh.

She blinked — caught off guard — and then smiled. “I’m told it’s a survival skill.”

Jos chuckled — actually chuckled — and nodded. “Good. You’ll need it.”

“Papa,” Max greeted casually, unbothered by the tension humming in the air. “Thanks for being here. You’ll keep an eye on her while I’m in the car.”

Belle blinked, surprised. “You didn’t tell me that.”

Max smiled slightly. “Didn’t want to stress you out.”

Jos’s lips twitched. Just barely.

“Sit where you want,” he said to her. “It’s quieter at the back. And if anyone annoys you, tell them you married a Verstappen. That’ll scare them off.”

Max gave him a look. Jos ignored him entirely.

Before Belle could respond, a familiar voice called out from just inside the garage.

“Well, well. You’re finally in the right garage.”

She turned — and smiled fully for the first time that day.

Gianpiero Lambiase stood near his station, headset already slung around his neck, amusement lighting his usually serious expression.

“Hi, GP,” Belle said warmly.

He approached, offering a half-hug, half-handshake that was somehow the perfect balance of affection and professionalism. “Max said you’d be here, but I figured he was bluffing.”

“I almost backed out,” Belle admitted. “Then he bribed me with his jacket and pancakes.”

“Classic Verstappen tactics,” GP deadpanned. “Food, flattery, and limited emotional vocabulary.”

Max, passing behind them, muttered, “I can still hear you.”

GP grinned, unfazed. “Welcome, Belle. We’ve all been betting on when you'd show up.”

She arched a brow. “And who won?”

“Helmut,” GP said, disgusted. “Which is horrifying.”

Max returned, tugging lightly on her sleeve. “Come on. Christian wants to meet you.”

Belle exhaled, nerves fluttering again, but she followed Max past rows of screens and engineers until they stopped in front of Christian Horner, who turned to greet them with the ease of a man who’d already been briefed but was pretending he hadn’t.

“Well, you’ve caused quite the storm.”

Christian Horner.

He approached with that signature half-smile of his, hands in his pockets, a subtle look of curiosity behind the polite charm.

“So this is the mysterious Mrs. Verstappen,” he said warmly. “Finally. The woman who managed to tame our reigning champion. Or so the rumors say.”

“I don’t think anyone tames Max,” Belle said dryly.

Christian laughed. “You might be right. But clearly, you’re the exception.”

She extended a hand, and he shook it firmly.

“Christian Horner,” he added, even though she obviously knew.

“Belle Verstappen,” she said quietly — testing the name again. Feeling it settle.

Christian’s gaze flicked to her left hand, where the emerald caught the overhead lights. “Well, it’s official now. Welcome to the madness.”

Belle took a slow breath as they stepped deeper into the garage, Max’s hand briefly grazing her lower back before he peeled off toward his car.

She watched him go, then looked around at the controlled chaos of Red Bull’s world — the data streams, the techs, the noise, the anticipation.

And for the first time in a long time, she didn’t feel like she was standing on the outside of someone else’s life.

She was here.

She was his.

And the garage was exactly where she was supposed to be.

***

Arthur wasn’t sure what he expected.

Maybe denial. Maybe chaos. Maybe the internet was wrong — maybe Belle hadn’t really married Max Verstappen. Maybe someone had faked the name change. Maybe it was a fever dream.

But then he saw them.

Isabelle. Walking into the paddock like she belonged there. Wearing Max’s jacket. Wearing a wedding band. Holding his hand.

Arthur froze mid-step outside the Ferrari hospitality unit. His coffee trembled in his grip. For a second, he genuinely forgot how to breathe.

Because it wasn’t just that Isabelle was there.

It was the way Max glanced at her every few steps, the way she leaned in slightly when the crowd pressed too close. The way their fingers didn’t untangle, not once. Not even when flashes went off or someone whispered her name like it was blasphemy.

She looked calm. Not smug. Not afraid. Just… calm.

And that was what undid Arthur most.

Because she’d never looked like that before — not at races, not around the family, not anywhere she’d ever been expected to play the silent sibling to Charles’ glory.

She looked like herself. Like someone who had finally been given permission to take up space.

And beside him, Charles looked like he was about to snap.

“Unbelievable,” Charles muttered, voice too low and too bitter. “He couldn’t even tell me. He had to parade her in front of everyone like this?”

Arthur tore his eyes away from Isabelle — reluctantly — and turned toward his older brother.

“Are you serious right now?” he asked.

Charles flinched. “What?”

“She’s walking in with her husband, Charles. Not doing a press tour. What did you think was going to happen?”

“I thought maybe—” Charles stopped, jaw tight. “Maybe she’d have the decency to talk to me first.”

Arthur stared at him. “Decency? Are you hearing yourself?”

Charles ran a hand through his hair, agitated. “She’s my sister—”

“And you’re acting like she’s your possession.”

Charles turned on him. “I’m not—”

“Yes, you are!” Arthur snapped, stepping closer, voice sharp. “You’re acting like she owed you something when all she ever wanted was to be treated like she mattered!”

“Don’t twist this, Arthur,” Charles said, low and warning.

Arthur laughed — harsh, disbelieving. “You forgot her birthday. We forgot her birthday!”

“That was a mistake—”

“We forgot her birthday, and then when she finally chooses herself, finally chooses someone who sees her, you make it about you?”

“She married Max—”

“She married someone who shows up for her,” Arthur interrupted. “Which is more than we’ve done in years.”

Charles’ face tightened.

Arthur kept going. “You don’t get to be the victim here. Not when she’s spent years watching you get cheered while she was ignored. Not when she begged for scraps of attention and we gave her nothing.”

Charles looked like he wanted to argue. He didn’t.

“She stopped trying to be seen by us,” Arthur said quietly. “Because she found someone who already sees her.”

Charles swallowed hard, eyes flicking toward the Red Bull garage where Belle had disappeared with Max minutes ago. “I just… I didn’t think she’d leave us like that.”

“She didn’t leave,” Arthur said. “We just never noticed when she stopped waiting.”

Silence.

Thick. Tense. Regretful.

Charles looked down, jaw clenched. He didn’t say sorry. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

Arthur sighed and set his coffee down on the table beside him.

“If you want to be part of her life now, Charles,” he said. “You’re going to have to show her that you’re finally willing to see her. Not as your sister. As herself.”

Then he walked away, leaving Charles in the middle of the paddock — alone, surrounded by people, and for the first time, not the main character.

***

Belle had just sat down with a cup of tea in the quiet corner of Red Bull hospitality when she heard it.

A voice. Sharp. French-accented. Not loud, but unmistakably firm.

She looked up instinctively — and wasn’t surprised.

Arthur.

Standing just outside the entrance, shoulders tense, hands stuffed into his hoodie pockets like he was trying to shrink into himself. He’d clearly made it through the first layer of staff with that Leclerc charm that used to get him everywhere.

Unfortunately for him, Jos Verstappen was standing by the doorway.

And Jos did not do charm.

“What exactly do you think you’re doing here?” Jos asked, arms crossed tightly over his chest.

Arthur hesitated. “I just—I wanted to talk to her.”

“This isn’t Ferrari,” Jos said, voice calm but cutting. “You don’t get to stroll in here after throwing a tantrum across half the paddock and acting like your sister’s marriage is some kind of betrayal.”

Arthur flushed. “I didn’t throw a tantrum—”

“You don’t belong here,” Jos said. “Not after this morning. Not after the way your brother behaved.”

Arthur’s face flushed. “I came her to…”

“To what?” Jos stepped closer. “Apologize on behalf of Charles? Defend him? Make excuses for how you treated her?”

“No!” Arthur said quickly, hands up. “No. I’m not here for Charles. I’m here for her.”

Belle stood before she even realized she’d moved.

“Jos,” she said, voice soft but clear. “It’s fine.”

He turned toward her, frowning. “Belle—”

“I want to talk to him,” she said.

And for the first time in a very long time, she saw someone else hesitate when talking to her.

Jos studied her face for a beat. Whatever he saw must have been enough, because he gave a terse nod and stepped back. Not far. But far enough to say I’m still watching.

Arthur looked like he was bracing for impact as she walked toward him.

Belle stopped a few steps away, arms crossed loosely. She didn’t hug him. Didn’t cry.

He stopped a little too far away, hands in his pockets, guilt etched into every line of his face.

“You weren’t really trying to sneak past Jos Verstappen, were you?” she finally asked dryly.

Arthur groaned. “I thought maybe if I moved fast enough, he wouldn’t see me.”

A faint smile tugged at Belle’s mouth. “He used to spot Max sneaking out after curfew with a hoodie pulled over his head. You never had a chance.”

Arthur groaned. “I thought maybe if I moved fast enough, he’d blink.”

“He never blinks,” she said.

He cracked a smile, brief and sheepish. “You look good.”

Her expression softened, barely. “You look like you haven’t slept.”

“I haven’t,” he admitted. “Charles is sulking like it’s a championship sport. Maman’s crying into a croissant. Lorenzo’s trying to schedule a family meeting like it’s a UN crisis summit.”

Belle sighed, gaze drifting past him for a moment. “I figured.”

He hesitated. “I didn’t come to defend anyone. Not Charles. Not Maman. I just… I needed to see you. For myself.”

She studied him in silence. Arthur had always been a little caught in the middle — younger than Charles, louder than Lorenzo, trying to carve space where there was none. He wasn’t blameless. But he hadn’t been cruel. Just… complicit.

But he was trying now.

The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable — just full. Full of all the things left unsaid for too long. All the messages never sent. All the birthday calls missed, the family dinners where she was present but not seen.

“You used to hide in my bed during thunderstorms,” Belle said quietly. “You’d ask me to read the same chapter of Le Petit Prince three times until you fell asleep.”

Arthur blinked, surprised. “You remember that?”

“I remember everything,” Belle said. “I remember the good things. I always tried to.”

His throat worked around the lump there. “Why didn’t you tell me? About Max. About the wedding. About… any of it?”

Belle looked down at the rings on her finger — the green of the emerald glinting faintly under the hospitality lighting, the simple gold band beneath it warm against her skin.

“Because you weren’t really looking,” she said. “None of you were. And I was tired of asking to be seen.”

Arthur didn’t flinch. Didn’t argue.

“I know,” he said instead, voice low and thick. “I think… I’ve known it for a while. I just didn’t know how to face it. But seeing you with Max — the way he looks at you, the way you look at you — I get it now. And I hate that it took this for me to see it.”

“It’s not about hating yourself,” Belle said, gentler this time. “It’s about doing better now. If you want to.”

Arthur looked at her like she was someone new. Someone stronger. Someone who had stopped waiting for the world to recognize her and built a place where she didn’t need permission.

“Are you happy?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

She didn’t hesitate.

“Yes.”

He exhaled sharply, like he’d been holding that breath all morning.

“Good,” he said. “That’s all I wanted to know.”

Belle stepped forward then, arms uncrossed, and opened them. The offer was quiet. Soft.

Arthur didn’t hesitate.

He pulled her into a hug like he was afraid she might vanish again. His arms wound around her, shoulders trembling just slightly. Belle hugged him back — firm and steady.

And it felt like something beginning again.

Not perfectly. Not fixed.

But trying.

When they finally stepped apart, Belle offered a quiet, teasing smile. “Next time, use the front entrance. Jos might not be so forgiving twice.”

Arthur groaned. “I’m still recovering. I think he aged me ten years with one sentence.”

She laughed — really laughed, for the first time that day.

Behind them, Jos gave a small grunt from where he stood — arms crossed, unimpressed — but Belle didn’t miss the way one corner of his mouth almost curved.

***

Max didn’t usually seek people out for conversations. Not personal ones, anyway.

He’d spent most of his life guarding things that mattered — like they were fragile, like they’d break if anyone else got too close. But this was different. She was different. And what they had now — what was growing quietly inside her — felt too big to carry on his own.

So he found GP.

It was a lull in the afternoon, the last briefing before the sim work, engineers rotating through data stations like gears in a perfect machine. But GP was by himself, leaning against the telemetry table, one brow raised as Max approached with the kind of expression that said, you better not be about to request a new steering wheel setting.

Max didn’t say anything right away.

GP waited.

“I need to tell you something,” Max said finally. His voice was lower than usual. Not tense — just held close.

GP straightened a little. “What happened?”

“She’s pregnant,” Max said.

The words came out smoother than he expected. Maybe because they’d been sitting on his tongue all day.

GP stared at him. Blinked once. Then again.

And then — grinned.

“Seriously?” he asked, already smiling. “Belle’s pregnant?”

Max nodded once, his throat tight. “Yeah. She told me a few weeks ago.”

GP exhaled a soft laugh, shaking his head. “Bloody hell. I should’ve seen that coming.”

Max raised a brow. “You didn’t?”

“I figured it was either that or you bought her a horse farm.”

Max laughed — properly, finally, the weight of the day cracking just a little. “I might still do that.”

GP was still smiling, but there was something else in his face now — something softer. Warmer.

“Kids are great,” he said, voice lower, more personal now. “I mean, chaotic and exhausting, but… they’re the best thing I’ve ever done.”

Max blinked. “You’ve never said that.”

GP shrugged. “Didn’t seem relevant when you were nineteen and trying to beat Lewis Hamilton into turn one.”

Max huffed a laugh. “Fair.”

There was a pause. A weight in the air — not heavy, but full.

“She’ll be a brilliant mum,” GP added, quieter now. “She’s got that calm strength to her. The kind you don’t notice until it’s the only thing holding you together.”

Max nodded slowly. “I know.”

“And you,” GP said, tapping a finger to Max’s chest, “are going to be fine. More than fine.”

Max hesitated. “Even with…”

“Even with your past? Your dad?” GP finished for him. “You’re not him. You never were.”

Max looked down for a moment, jaw tight. Then, after a long breath, he met GP’s eyes again. “I just want to give that kid something different. Something better.”

“You already are,” GP said simply. “You chose Belle. That’s your first good decision. Choosing that baby every day — that’s your next.”

“I’m scared,” Max admitted.

“Good,” GP said. “That means you give a damn.”

Max nodded once.

“I’m happy for you, mate,” GP added, reaching out and clasping his shoulder. “Really.”

Max nodded again, grateful in a way he didn’t know how to say.

“And just for the record,” GP added dryly, “I had a bet with my wife that you two would get pregnant before Charles figured out you were married.”

Max burst out laughing. “Did she win?”

“She always wins.”

Max was still grinning when he turned to leave, lighter than he’d been all day.

There was so much left to do — more secrets to tell, more people to face — but for now, it was enough that someone knew.

Someone who didn’t just understand racing.

Someone who understood him.

***

From the hospitality suite above the Red Bull garage, Belle had a near-perfect view of the final laps.

The Spanish heat shimmered off the track, waves of it rising like ghosts in the air, but Belle barely noticed. Her fingers gripped the arm of her seat, headset slightly askew, Max’s voice crackling faintly through the speakers — clipped, calm, focused.

She had never liked watching him race before she knew him.

Now, she knew better.

Now, she could hear it in the way he spoke to GP. The way he adjusted. Reacted. Fought, not like a man trying to prove something — but like someone who knew exactly who he was, and who he had waiting for him at the end.

You’ve got three laps left, mate, GP said calmly in her ear.

Copy. Leave it with me.

Belle swallowed hard. Her hand settled instinctively over the front of her stomach, hidden by the loose navy blouse she wore. She hadn’t told many people yet — just Victoria, Sophie, Jos, and Emilie, and now GP, thanks to Max.

But this felt like a secret the whole world would eventually know.

The final sector flew past in a blur. Tyres screamed. Crowds surged.

And then, the chequered flag.

“YES! That’s P1, Max. Well done.”

Belle exhaled a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. Her hand flew to her mouth, and then, just as quickly, to her chest — right over her heart.

He’d done it.

Again.

The team erupted around her — mechanics cheering, hugging, high-fiving, lifting cans of Red Bull like champagne flutes. Christian was already halfway out the door, and even Jos, who’d been watching beside her with arms crossed, allowed himself a rare smile.

But Belle?

Belle didn’t move.

Not until someone nudged her gently — a team assistant with wide eyes and an even wider grin. “He’s asking for you,” the girl said. “Go. Go!”

Belle blinked. “What?”

“Parc Fermé. He’s already out of the car. Go!”

She didn’t hesitate after that.

The hallways blurred past her — wide corridors filled with team personnel and security and overheated energy. Her flats slapped against the concrete. Her pass flashed in the light. People parted without even realizing it — as if they could feel she belonged to this moment.

She reached the barrier just as Max pulled off his helmet, hair damp with sweat, fire suit unzipped halfway down his chest.

And then he saw her.

His eyes lit up in a way Belle didn’t think he realized he saved for her. He started toward her before the cameras could swarm, before the journalists could shout, before anyone else could get between them.

He crossed to her like he knew she’d be there. Like he’d been driving toward her the whole time.

And Belle didn’t think. Didn’t care about the cameras or the crowd or the fact that Charles was likely still in his car wondering where it all went wrong.

She stepped past the barrier and met him halfway.

And then she kissed him.

There was no hesitation. No coy look at the cameras. No soft-launch subtlety.

Just her hands on his face, his arms wrapping tight around her waist, and the kind of kiss that felt like a homecoming.

The paddock erupted.

Somewhere behind them, a Sky Sports presenter squeaked. David Croft nearly dropped his mic.

Belle pulled back only when Max laughed against her mouth.

“You kissed me in Parc Fermé,” he murmured.

“You won,” she said simply, brushing sweat-mussed hair off his forehead. “You deserve to be kissed.”

Max looked at her for a long moment, then down — briefly, instinctively — at her stomach, where no one else had noticed her hand lingering.

And then he whispered, just for her: “Both of you.”

Belle smiled. “You came home to us safe.”

Max kissed her one more time, softer now, and then turned back toward the swarm of cameras and celebration.

And Belle?

Belle stood at the edge of it all — her lips still tingling, her heart full — knowing the headlines tomorrow would be chaos.

But for now?

She had kissed her husband in front of the entire world.

And she didn’t regret a single second.

***

Meanwhile on Twitter:

@/RedBullTroll33: i thought the name change was chaos BUT THIS??? BELLE JUST WALKED IN AND KISSED HIM LIKE THEY WEREN’T HIDING FOR A YEAR I’M LOSING IT

@/FerrariTears: charles leclerc being forced to watch max verstappen win the race and then watch his baby sister kiss him like it’s a romcom finale is actually greek tragedy level storytelling

@/f1memequeen: Belle: soft-launched a horse and an emerald ring Belle: quietly changed her last name to Verstappen Belle: walks into parc fermé and kisses her world champion husband Me: sobbing okay queen I GET IT

@/WifeGuyMax: MAX VERSTAPPEN KISSED HIS WIFE IN FRONT OF EVERYONE AND LOOKED LIKE HE’D JUST WON SOMETHING MORE IMPORTANT THAN A RACE i’m unwell

@/f1memehub: sky sports: mid-sentence belle: kisses max crofty: glitches karun: gasping social media admin: pressing post like their life depends on it

@/LandoSimp44: the paddock was like “max has a secret wife” max said “here she is. in my arms. deal with it.”

@/MonacoRoyalty: SHE KISSED HIM IN PARC FERMÉ AFTER THE WIN AND HE LOOKED AT HER LIKE SHE PUT THE SUN IN THE SKY i’m crying this is cinema

@/MaxIsWinning: max verstappen doesn’t do drama he does declarations first her name now the kiss next stop: world domination

@/FerrariF1Pain: charles watching belle kiss max in parc fermé after forgetting her birthday is the most older brother consequences i’ve ever seen

@/GridChaosDaily: “Belle kissed Max after the Spanish GP” is now officially my favorite F1 moment no context. just vibes. just love

***

Instagram Post: @/belleverstappen

@/maxverstappen1: Every lifetime, every circuit. Every time. 💍❤️

@/redbullracing: Belle Verstappen supremacy. (also congrats Max 👀)

@/emilie_abadie: this is my new phone background. and lock screen. and wallpaper. and religion. thanks.

@/pierregasly: i need everyone to stop posting this before i start believing in soulmates again

@/landonorris: i was THERE. i SAW IT. i’m never recovering.

@/f1: most liked paddock kiss of all time? confirmed.

@tifositimes: I didn’t expect to cry over a Verstappen kiss post today but here we are.

@/chaoticgridgirl: SHE POSTED IT. THE KISS. THE LEGENDARY KISS. I NEED A MINUTE. ACTUALLY I NEED A WEEK.

@/f1softlaunchdetective: this is what soft-launch girlies do when they hit their final form. she dropped ONE photo and burned the paddock to the ground.

@/maxielflamequeen: the ring. the kiss. the caption.

@paddockwhispers: arthur liked it. charles didn’t.

@softverstappen: i will never emotionally recover from this post. ever. she wins. every time.

@maxsvillainera: look at the way he’s holding her look at the way she’s smiling into the kiss no notes. pure poetry.

***

FIA Press Conference — Post-Race | Spanish Grand Prix 2024

Drivers: P1 - Max Verstappen (Red Bull Racing), P2 - Lewis Hamilton (Mercedes), P3 - Lando Norris (McLaren)

Moderator: Congratulations, Max. A win today. How are you feeling?

Max: Good. Yeah, car felt great, team executed perfectly. Always nice to win in Barcelona.

Moderator: We’ll open the floor for questions.

Journalist #1: Max, first of all, congratulations. But obviously everyone’s talking about the moment in Parc Ferm��. Can you confirm — was that your wife? And are the rumors true that you and Isabelle Leclerc got married in secret?

Max: Yes. That was my wife. And yes — we got married in Monaco a few weeks ago. We’re very happy.

Lando: (muttering into his mic) Understatement of the century.

Lewis: (grinning) Congrats, man.

Journalist #2: Max, there’s been a lot of talk online about Belle’s birthday being forgotten by her family and this being the reason she pulled away from them. Any comment on that?

Max: No.

Journalist #2: Nothing at all?

Max: (calmly) No.

Journalist #3: There’s a narrative online that Belle’s been overlooked for years. Some say this entire paddock entrance and Parc Fermé kiss was a statement. Was that intentional?

Max: (dryly) We walked in holding hands. We kissed. We’re married. If that counts as a statement, I don’t know what to tell you.

Journalist #4: Do you think this will affect your dynamic with Charles Leclerc?

Max: (expression flat) We’ll see. That’s between him and his sister. I’m just here to race cars and go home to my wife.

Lando: (quietly, to Lewis) He’s in his “husband first, world champion second” era.

Lewis: (laughing into his mic) He really is.

Journalist #6: Do you plan on making any public statement about the family fallout?

Max: No. That’s her story to tell, not mine. And frankly, it’s not gossip. It’s real life. So maybe let’s show a little respect.

Journalist #7: What was going through your mind when she kissed you in Parc Fermé?

Max: (finally smiling) That I’m the luckiest guy in the world.

Journalist #8: Will your wife be traveling with you to more races now?

Max (still polite, still done): We‘ll decide what works best for us as a family. That’s between us.

Reporter #9: Was Belle’s presence in the paddock today a signal? Especially given what happened with Charles—

Max: (cuts in, voice calm but firmer) Belle doesn’t need to signal anything. She’s not a statement. She’s a person. And she came today to support her husband. That’s all.

Moderator: Alright, I think we’ll wrap it there before anyone pushes their luck. Congratulations to all three drivers. Max, Lando, Lewis — thank you.

Lando (leaning into mic): Congrats again, mate. On the win and the wife.

***

Fred Vasseur closed the door harder than necessary.

The sound echoed through the otherwise silent room like a gunshot.

Charles looked up from where he was sitting on the small couch, still in his fireproofs, helmet discarded beside him. He was sweaty, tired, irritated — and entirely unprepared.

“Qu’est-ce que tu fais, Charles?” Fred said sharply. What are you doing?

Charles blinked. “What—?”

“You want to explain to me,” Fred continued, voice calm in the most dangerous way possible, “how your sister kissing Max Verstappen became the story of our weekend?”

Charles sat up straighter. “That’s not fair—”

“No?” Fred crossed the room, standing over him now. “Because I think it’s very fair. You let your personal drama become a paddock sideshow, and now everyone’s talking about the Leclerc family meltdown while we limp home with a P5 and a ruined PR day.”

“I didn’t ask for that to happen!”

“But you made sure it did,” Fred snapped. “You didn’t know Belle got married. Fine. You didn’t approve of who she married. Fine. You could’ve said nothing. But instead, you threw a tantrum. In the paddock. In group chats. Loud enough that half the drivers are mocking you and the other half are wondering if you even see your sister as a person.”

Charles flushed. “That’s not—”

“You forgot her birthday, Charles.”

The silence that followed was absolute.

Fred didn’t yell. He didn’t need to.

“You forgot her birthday. You forgot her job. You forgot she moved. And when she stopped chasing your attention, you acted like she betrayed you.” His voice didn’t rise, but it sharpened with every word. “And now you’re shocked that the only person she trusted to hold her hand through it all was the man who sees her every single day?”

Charles looked away, jaw tight. “It wasn’t supposed to be public.”

Fred laughed — once, bitter and short. “And yet you’re the one who made it public. Max didn’t. Belle didn’t. You did. And now you’ve made us look like amateurs — not because of strategy, but because you couldn’t handle the fact that your sister’s life isn’t orbiting around you anymore.”

Charles opened his mouth. Closed it. No words came.

Fred sighed — not in exasperation, but in disappointment. And that hurt more.

“I expected more from you,” he said quietly. “As a driver, yes. But more than that — as a man. As a brother.”

Charles flinched like he’d been hit.

“You want to fix this?” Fred said, stepping back. “Then stop sulking. Start listening. And for the love of God, don’t let Max Verstappen be the better man in every single room you enter.”

He turned and walked to the door.

“Because right now?” he added, hand on the handle. “He’s not just beating you on track. He’s beating you in every other way that matters.”

And then he left.

Charles stayed seated, eyes burning, the silence pressing heavier than any helmet ever had.

***

Dinner had started out exactly the way Belle expected.

Loud. Warm. Slightly unhinged.

They were tucked into a quiet corner of a restaurant just off the Barcelona marina — the kind of place Max loved because no one there cared about racing unless it blocked traffic. The table was round, the lighting dim and golden, and the laughter had already started before the appetizers arrived.

Lando had barely let Max sit down before declaring, “You’re disgusting. You win a race and then get kissed like it’s a Netflix finale. Get out.”

“Jealousy doesn’t suit you,” Max had said, completely unbothered.

Oscar, seated beside Lily, just smirked. “It was kind of romantic.”

Lily looked between the two of them with a soft smile. “Kind of? It broke the Internet.”

Daniel had toasted “to hard launches, soft kisses, and Verstappen chaos,” and Belle had nearly snorted water through her nose.

But now dinner had mellowed. Plates cleared. Dessert on the way. The kind of soft lull that usually came right before someone said something life-changing.

Max glanced at Belle. That look — gentle, checking, asking without words.

She nodded once.

He cleared his throat lightly. “We actually… wanted to tell you guys something.”

Four pairs of eyes snapped to attention.

“Tell me you’re moving to the countryside and buying a farm,” Lando said immediately. “Please. I need this arc.”

“Better,” Max said, eyes flicking toward Belle.

Belle rested her hands on the edge of the table. Her heart was fluttering, not with nerves exactly — more like awe. Like the moment was finally catching up to her.

“I’m pregnant,” she said.

There was a pause.

A moment of stunned silence.

And then—

“NO YOU’RE NOT,” Daniel half-shouted, nearly knocking over his wine glass.

Lily gasped, hands flying to her mouth. “Are you serious?!”

Oscar just stared, mouth slightly open like his brain had hit the brakes.

Lando blinked twice, then pointed between them. “Like… with a baby baby?”

Belle burst into laughter — the tension cracking wide open. Max was already grinning like he’d been waiting for this chaos all night.

“Yes, Lando,” Belle said, wiping at her eyes. “A baby baby.”

Oscar finally found his voice. “How long have you known?”

“A few weeks,” Max said. “We’re keeping it quiet for now. But we wanted you to know first.”

Lily leaned across the table, eyes wide and shining. “You’re going to be parents. Oh my god. That baby is going to have cheekbones and a death stare.”

“And probably a kart by age two,” Daniel added, now fully beaming. “Holy shit. Max Verstappen’s going to be a dad. I need to sit down.”

“You are sitting down,” Oscar said, still blinking like he hadn’t caught up.

“I need to sit down harder,” Daniel muttered.

Lando reached for Belle’s hand across the table, squeezing it. “You’re going to be amazing.”

Belle swallowed the sudden lump in her throat. “I’m scared,” she admitted. “But… I’m also happy. Really happy.”

Max’s hand found her thigh under the table, grounding and steady. She didn’t have to look to know he was watching her with that same soft, almost reverent expression he’d had ever since she told him.

Oscar was smiling now too, the initial shock melting into something warm. “Congratulations,” he said. “Both of you. Really.”

“And selfishly,” Lily added, “I’m just glad we get to love this baby too.”

Daniel raised his glass. “To the official grid baby.”

“We’re not calling them that,” Belle said immediately.

“To Max spiraling when the baby kicks for the first time,” Oscar added, grinning.

“To all of it,” Lando finished. “To them.”

They clinked glasses — softly, gently.

And as Belle looked around at the people who had chosen her — not because she was someone’s sister, not because she was attached to a name — but because they loved her, her heart felt impossibly full.

The world could stay outside tonight.

This was theirs.

***

1K notes · View notes

cressidagrey · 2 months ago

Text

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.

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

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

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.”

***

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