*Las Vegas never really slept—but tonight, it felt especially alive.

Just hours ago, the city had watched Charles Leclerc cross the finish line and clinch the Formula 1 World Championship. Interviews, podium celebrations, champagne showers, endless cameras… by the time the media obligations were finally over, the only thing on his mind was celebrating with the people who’d been beside him all season.

Oscar, Carlos, Max, George, and Lando have exactly one plan: find somewhere loud, order expensive drinks, and make the most of the night.

“Absolutely not,” Charles laughed as Oscar held up his phone. “A concert? After I just drove two hours at 200 miles an hour?”

“Exactly,” Oscar grinned. “You’re already warmed up.”

“It’s sold out,” Carlos added, flashing a pair of VIP passes someone had managed to get their hands on. “Apparently half of Hollywood’s there.”

“And its one of the biggest pop stars in the world,” George chimed in.

Charles rolled his eyes with a smile. Of course he’d heard of you. Unless someone had been living under a rock, they had. Your songs dominated every chart, every radio station, every social media trend. Even the McLaren garage had been caught singing along to your music more than once. He couldn’t say he knew much beyond what everyone else did, but he knew enough to recognize your name.

“One concert,” Max shrugged. “Then we can find a bar.”

Lando sighed dramatically before throwing his hands up. “Fine.”

—

The arena was unlike anything he’d expected. Thousands of fans screamed the moment the lights dropped, bracelets glowing in waves as music thundered through the building. Their VIP suite overlooked the stage perfectly, stocked with drinks and already packed with athletes, actors, musicians, and celebrities celebrating one thing or another.

For the first time all day, Charles could simply exist.

No interviews. No microphones. No championship questions.

Just music, friends, and a drink in his hand.

Within minutes, he was laughing, dancing without a shred of embarrassment, and letting Oscar drag him into the middle of the group’s celebration while Carlos filmed everything for blackmail later. The crowd below had started to notice the Formula 1 champion in the suite, cheers erupting every time he waved or laughed back at them.

The house lights dimmed once more.

The arena exploded.

The massive screen flashed your name across the stage.

Charles looked toward the curtain just as the opening notes echoed through the stadium.

“So…” Oscar smirked, nudging him with his elbow.

“Think she’s any good live?”

Charles laughed.

“I guess we’re about to find out.”*