Chapter Text
Charles took a steadying breath as he entered the Formula 1 paddock, the Ferrari red of his team jacket bright under the midday sun. It was his first weekend with Ferrari, a new beginning he'd dreamed of. He had prepared himself for every detail… except for the part that tugged at him with quiet insistence. Max Verstappen was here, too.
Charles had told himself he could handle this. They hadn’t spoken in three years, and he had a life he was proud of. But a part of him, buried deep, felt the unresolved weight of everything they’d once been to each other. He scanned the crowd instinctively, wondering if their paths might cross, and his pulse picked up at the thought.
A small tug on his sleeve brought him back to the present. Glancing down, he found Isabella watching him with wide, curious eyes that looked strikingly familiar. The resemblance to Max was undeniable, from her dark blonde locks to the the soft freckle near her upper lip to her intense, clear blue gaze.
"Papa, est-ce que tu vas bien?" Isabella asked, her voice soft and bright. (Dad, are you okay?)
Charles’s face softened instantly, and he knelt down to her eye level, brushing a stray curl from her face. “Oui, mon ange,” he murmured, his voice a soothing reassurance. “Papa va bien. Are you ready to go with Oncle Arthur?”
She nodded, clutching her small stuffed cat, Marco, tightly in her arms. Charles smiled at the sight—it was a comfort that calmed her, and it made his own nerves settle, too.
“Je viendrai te retrouver après, d’accord?” he promised, switching to English as he kissed her forehead. “Be good, ma princesse.” (I'll come find you later, okay?)
“Okay, Papa.” She hugged him tightly before allowing Arthur to lead her away.
Charles watched her go, his heart tightening with the weight of his choices. Isabella was his joy, his everything. He’d done everything he could to protect her from the public eye—and from Max, who had no idea she existed. The decision had been necessary, but now, with Max just steps away, the burden of that secret felt heavier than ever.
--
Max leaned against the wall of the Red Bull garage, his gaze absent as he scanned the bustling paddock. He had a race weekend to focus on, another chance to cement his place in Formula 1. And yet, all his focus seemed to evaporate when he saw the familiar figure in Ferrari red across the way.
Charles. It had been years since they’d last spoken, but seeing him again sent a wave of memories rushing back—late-night talks, shared laughter, and moments so personal they still made his heart ache. He shook himself, forcing his mind to stay present. They had both moved on. But the unexpected sight of Charles stirred something Max hadn’t felt in a long time.
He’d read that Charles had a child now, something he’d mentioned in passing to the media. Max couldn’t help wondering what kind of life Charles led now, how quickly did he move on from him, what his child looked like, whether they shared that same warm, dimpled smile. He brushed the curiosity aside, willing himself to focus. Yet, he felt something pulling him back to thoughts of Charles—and the unspoken things they’d left between them.
--
The press conference room was packed, camera flashes capturing every smile and blink as drivers took their seats. Charles ended up beside Max, a quiet tension filling the space between them as they exchanged polite nods. Charles gave him a small, reserved smile, and Max tried to ignore the unsettling familiarity it stirred in him.
Reporters fired off the usual questions about Charles’s transition from Formula 2 to Ferrari, asking about his ambitions for the season. Charles answered with poised confidence, a maturity Max couldn’t help but admire.
Then, a question shifted to Charles’s personal life. “Charles, in a recent interview, you mentioned having a daughter. How does balancing fatherhood with a demanding career work for you?”
Charles’s smile softened ever so slightly, and Max noticed a subtle change in his posture. “Isabella is always my priority,” he said, his voice filled with a warmth that Max hadn’t heard before. “But Ferrari and I have worked out a good balance so that I can focus on racing and still be there for her. I’ve kept her life private, and I plan to keep it that way.”
Max watched as Charles’s face softened. There was a gentleness in his voice when he spoke of Isabella, a pride that tugged at something deep within him. He tried to look away, but the curiosity nagged at him. Who was Isabella’s other parent? Why did he seem so secretive about her? He understood wanting to protect her privacy, but this felt different. The thought lingered even as the press moved on.
--
Later, as Max walked down one of the quieter hallways near the paddock, he saw Charles walking toward him. They both stopped, caught off guard.
“Max,” Charles greeted, his voice quiet but steady. He offered a small smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “It’s been a while.”
Max nodded, fighting the urge to reach out, to say something more. “Yeah, it has. I told you that you'd make it one day. Ferrari… suits you.”
Charles chuckled softly, that familiar sound triggering memories Max thought he’d buried. “Thanks. You look well too. I’ve heard about everything you’ve achieved here.”
"Thanks, I'm hoping to finally get the championship this year." Max smiled softly, he always felt at ease talking to Charles, despite their past nagging at him.
Their conversation felt like a careful dance, a mix of politeness and nostalgia. “And you?” Max asked, his gaze flicking over Charles’s face, looking for any hint of the person he used to know. “How have things been?”
Charles paused, glancing away briefly. “Good. A lot has changed, as you can imagine,” he said, his tone guarded. “I finally had top surgery though.. I… heard you’re with someone now?”
Max hesitated, caught off guard. “Well, that's amazing to hear about your surgery! I'm very happy for you.. and yes.. my girlfriend is called Kelly. Things are good with us,” he said, though the words felt strangely hollow. He glanced at Charles, noting a brief flicker of emotion in his eyes before he covered it up with a polite nod.
“Glad to hear it,” Charles said, though his voice held an edge Max couldn’t quite interpret. They exchanged a few more words, careful and cautious, before Charles turned to leave.
But the encounter left Max feeling unsettled, his curiosity about Charles’s daughter gnawing at him. He reminded himself that their lives had diverged, yet he couldn’t shake the feeling that Charles was holding something back.
--
Returning to his hotel room that evening, Charles found Isabella lying on the bed, her stuffed cat Marco tucked close to her as she listened to Arthur as he read her a bedtime story in French. Seeing her so at peace, Charles felt the tension in his chest ease.
“Papa!” she exclaimed when she saw him, her small face lighting up with joy.
Charles moved over to her, sitting beside her on the bed as she wrapped her arms around him. “Tu t’es bien amusée, ma princesse?” he asked, switching naturally to French as he brushed a curl away from her forehead. (Did you have fun, my princess?)
“Oui, Papa. J’ai vu les voitures!” she whispered excitedly, her eyes wide with wonder. (Yes, Dad. I saw the cars!)
Charles chuckled softly, holding her close. “I’m glad. You’ll see them again tomorrow, if you’re lucky,” he promised, pressing a gentle kiss to her temple as she snuggled into him, sleep already pulling at her.
Once she was asleep, Charles stood by the window, watching the city lights below. His mind drifted back to Max and the flood of memories seeing him had triggered. Their breakup had been painful but necessary—the pain was even worse after he found out he was pregnant just weeks after Max had left for F1. He’d made the choice to keep Isabella out of the media, out of Max’s life. He’d told himself he was doing it to protect them all.
But now, seeing Max again stirred questions he’d thought he’d buried. He looked at Isabella, her face peaceful in sleep, a quiet reminder of the decision he’d made years ago. The resemblance to Max was stronger with every passing day, a truth he couldn’t ignore. But he pushed the thought aside. For now, Isabella was safe, and that was all that mattered.
--
That night, Max lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, his mind replaying every detail of the day. His brief conversation with Charles, the way he’d spoken about Isabella—it all left him with more questions than answers. Charles had always been protective, but there was something about the way he’d answered the press, something almost fragile, like he was guarding something deeply important.
“Are you okay?” Kelly’s voice broke into his thoughts, her hand resting on his shoulder.
Max glanced at her, forcing a small smile. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he replied, though the words felt forced.
He’d moved on, or so he thought. But seeing Charles again, hearing about his daughter—he couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something he was missing, something Charles wasn’t telling him. And even though he tried to brush it off, he couldn’t deny the strange sense of longing and curiosity that lingered in his heart.