1. The Hoodie

It started in Monaco.

Not at a grand prix. Not at a red carpet or a press event. No cameras. No media. Just two drivers, one balcony, and a half-empty bottle of wine between them.

The night air was crisp, laced with salt and silence. The stars above the Riviera winked like distant promises, and the city lights flickered below, like they couldn’t decide whether to rest or keep glowing for the restless hearts that refused to sleep.

Carlos leaned forward on the railing, elbows resting on cool steel, hair ruffled by the sea breeze. He hadn’t spoken in a while—not since dinner.

He was just watching the night, lost in it, drinking slowly. Charles sat behind him on the couch, hoodie sleeves pulled down past his knuckles, legs curled up like he was trying to contain something inside himself.