Leo woke up at 4 a.m., feeling more rested than usual. Yesterday's interview had energized him, a rare thing in his fast-paced life. He hoped the rush wouldn't wear off before the qualifying tomorrow.
Reaching for his phone, he checked his messages. No new texts from Ava. He chuckled to himself. 'I really hit a nerve, huh?' That thought alone made him grin. He rolled out of bed, threw on his running gear, and headed out for a jog—eight kilometers of steady rhythm, his bodyguards keeping pace behind him.
The early morning air was crisp, Monaco still asleep except for a few dedicated photographers lurking at a distance. By the time he got back to the hotel, the sun was rising. He showered, dressed, and headed toward the elevator.
The moment the doors slid open, a crowd swarmed him. Fans pressed forward, phones flashing, voices calling his name, eager for autographs. His bodyguards worked to hold them back, but the buzz was louder than usual. Not surprising. GP Racing had uploaded clips from yesterday 's interview. He was trending. Again.
At the circuit, Leo went through the mandatory screening test. Other drivers were already there, stealing glances his way. Some familiar faces. Some are indifferent. But most of them… watching. 'They finally noticed me.'
A tinge of pride settled in his chest. After passing the test, he checked his phone. Still nothing from Ava. But his notifications were blowing up— sponsors, brands, media. He ignored them. Instead, he got an idea.
A quick call to his connections, and he had her office address in Milan. That wasn't surprising. But when he looked into her home address, he found something else. Nice address. Not Milan. 'Huh? That's weird.'
That caught him off guard, but he shrugged it off. Instead, he searched for a flower shop that did personal deliveries. A few calls later, and his order was placed:
Ten white tulips.
Ten blue peonies.
Nine yellow daffodils.
The colors matched his race suit.
The quantity matched his car—29. The meaning behind the flowers? That was just an extra touch.
He penned a note, keeping it short. Just his initials. No need for more. 'She'd know.'
With his screening test cleared early morning of
Saturday, Leo proceeded to his qualifications.
Leo's qualification race for the Monaco Grand Prix was intense, with every second on the track determining his starting position.
In Q1, he faced heavy traffic but managed to secure a decent lap, placing him safely in the top 10.
Moving into Q2, the competition tightened, and with the narrow streets of Monaco allowing little room for error, he pushed his car to its limits, securing P7 and advancing to the final round.
In Q3, the battle for pole was fierce. Leo put in a strong lap, but a slight brush against the wall cost him precious time. Despite this, he managed to qualify in P5, ensuring a solid starting position for the race. His aggressive approach caught media attention, with some praising his raw talent while others questioned his consistency under pressure.
After an eventful preliminary day, Leo headed to James's hotel right after. He needed to go over the circuit one last time, get a feel for every curve, every possible gap. James greeted him with a proud smirk."Great job on getting the place in the race. I've already got calls from a few legacy racers wanting to train under me. Thanks, kid. I owe you big."
Leo widely grinned. "Glad I could help. You made me who I am today, Coach."
James froze for a second, emotion flickering across his face. "It's been a long time since you called me that, kid." That night, they went through every circuit detail, triple-checking strategies. By the time Leo left, he was ready.
Now, Leo walked through the hotel, hood up, cap low, four bodyguards surrounding him. Security was tighter than usual. One of the drivers had been attacked by an obsessive fan—a direct hit to his left eye. He was disqualified.
He glanced at his watch. It's almost 9 p.m. He needed sleep. Tomorrow was everything. But just as he lay down, his phone chimed. Special ringtone. His lips curled.
Message from Ava. A slow grin stretched across his face.' I knew it.'
Ava: Don't win.
Leo laughed, shaking his head. He hit the dial. The call rang twice before she picked up.
Ava: You need to sleep.
Leo: Aww, you do care. I thought you didn't want me to win?
Ava: You're right. My mistake. Actually, don't sleep. Stay up all night and talk to me. Ruin your race. Lose terribly.
Leo: HAHAHA.. For you, my love? Anything.
Ava: Ugghh.
She paused. "By the way… thanks for the flowers. You didn't have to."
Leo smirked. "But I wanted to."
Leo: So…. Have you planned something special for our date?
Ava: If you win.
Leo: I will.
Ava: Uuuu. Someone overconfident.
Leo: All because of you.
Ava: That pick-up line won't work with me..
Leo: You will like me eventually Miss Sinclair.
Ava: Is that a challenge?
Leo: Not fell head to toe for me? Hell yeah, it's a challenge.
Ava: You 're on.
"You 'll fall for me." Leo whispered.
A beat of silence.
Ava: This is way too fast, Leo.
Leo: I'm an F1 driver, Ava. It's an occupational hazard. And… I'm a huge hopeless lover.
Ava: I'm not easy to impress.
Leo: I'm competitive.
Ava: We'll see.
Leo: Let's see.
She exhaled. "Now go to sleep. I don't want you blaming me if you lose."
Leo chuckled. "Fine. I'll win—and still blame you."
She scoffed. "Enjoy your last night of peace, Leo. I'm gonna enjoy watching you lose tomorrow."
Leo: Night, my love.
The call ended. He slept instantly.
—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Race Day
His 8 a.m. alarm jolted him awake. He stretched, grabbed his headphones, and hit the gym. An hour of focused training, then a quiet breakfast on the hotel balcony. He checked his phone. Thousands of DMs from fans, sponsors, the media.
But no new text from Ava. He smiled remembering the phone call last night. At exactly 10:30 a.m., he called her again.
This time, she picked up after the second ring.
Ava: I thought you had a race today.
Leo: It starts at 4 p.m.
Ava: Too much free time, huh? And you choose to spend it by annoying me?
Leo: HAHAHA. Yeah. I am.
Ava: Ugghh.
Leo: Don't forget to watch my race.
Ava: Sorry. Can't. Meeting with a client. And… I refuse to witness your downfall.
Leo: Liar. You definitely wish for my victory.
Ava: So delusional. Are you even up to race today?
Leo: Mm-hmm. Just don't cry when you see how good I look winning first place.
Ava: This is so annoying.
Leo: Please don't be grumpy. After all, I dedicated today's win to you.
Ava: You're definitely annoying.
Leo: HAHAHA. Any last wish for me?
Ava: Bye, Leo.
Leo: HAHAHA. Bye, Ava.
—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Monaco Grand Prix 2024
The circuit was alive. Paparazzi, fans, the deafening sound of engines. At 4 p.m. sharp, the engines roared, echoing through Monte Carlo's narrow streets.
The five red lights blinked —one, two, three, four—lights out. The roar of engines vibrated through the narrow streets of Monte Carlo as he, gripping the wheel of his deep navy blue and gold-liveried car, launched forward from the front row.
The Circuit de Monaco, infamous for its tight corners and unforgiving barriers, loomed ahead. Leo's heart pounded in sync with the rhythmic thrum of his power unit. His launch was near perfect, the car surging off the line, but a rival from behind—perhaps a Red Bull or Ferrari—lunged aggressively on the inside at Sainte Dévote. Leo held firm, brushing perilously close to the barrier while maintaining his position.
As he climbed the hill toward Casino Square, the tires protested against the asphalt, but he kept his car stable, focusing on the challenge ahead. Through Mirabeau, he feathered the throttle, hugging the inside curb. The slowest corner in F1, the Fairmont Hairpin, approached, forcing Leo to wrestle the wheel with precise control. Another car loomed large in his mirrors—a McLaren hunting for a mistake.
The Tunnel section came next, the light contrast playing tricks on his vision. Here, he pushed the limits, keeping full throttle as he approached the Nouvelle Chicane. A flash of movement—another driver attempted a daring dive on the inside. Leo, sensing it early, anticipated the move, leaving just enough space to avoid contact while keeping his position intact.
Lap 27. Monaco wasn't just about speed; it was about strategy. His team called him in for a tire change ,switching from mediums to hard to last the rest of the race. The pit stop was lightning-fast—2.4 seconds—an efficiency that could mean victory. As he rejoined, a Mercedes swept past, putting him one place down. But Leo was unfazed. He had one goal: reclaim the lead.
With fresher tires, he hunted his rival through La Rascasse, waiting for the perfect moment. On lap 41, his chance arrived. The car ahead struggled with traction coming out of the Swimming Pool complex, twitching slightly. Leo capitalized, switching to the inside line at Antony Noghes and diving past with millimeters to spare. The crowd erupted.
Now in P2, he chased the leader. With only five laps remaining, he knew a traditional overtake wouldn't work —Monaco simply didn't allow it. He needed to outsmart, not outrun. Lap 74. As they approached the chicane after the Tunnel, Leo faked a move to the outside, forcing the leader to defend early. In a split second, he switched direction, cutting sharply to the inside.
The reaction time was almost inhuman.
The rival, caught off-guard, braked too late, locking up. Leo squeezed past, brushing the barrier without damage. The grandstands exploded in cheers. A move so daring, so audacious, it would be replayed for years.
With only four laps to go, the car behind fought desperately to reclaim the lead. But Leo's driving was flawless. Every apex kissed, every braking point precise.
As he rounded the final corner on the last lap, the checkered flag waved. Leo Vargas-Clairmont had won the Monaco Grand Prix.
The radio crackled with his engineer's ecstatic voice: "Leo, you absolute legend! P1, Monaco winner!"
He exhaled, letting the adrenaline flood his veins. A win at Monaco wasn't just a victory—it was history. The champagne sprayed. The national anthem played. But all he could think about was the real prize—
A date with Ava Sinclair.