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Charles simply couldn’t help it. Ever since he was a teenager, he knew his image mattered if he wanted to race in Formula 1 - especially for a team like Ferrari. So he slowly built an online persona. It worked. His popularity shot up in no time. While in F2 he was almost as recognizable as some of the F1 drivers. Being a young, attractive, and confident alpha made people like him even more. His ego grew with the attention.
He loved his fans, he really did. He often went out of his way to talk to them, signing autographs while he was supposed to be at a strategy meeting. Even when his PR team told him not to use his socials too much, he knew how to bend the rules. A few smart likes were enough for fans to guess what he was thinking. He didn’t even need to say anything.
Did it ever backfire? Maybe. Like when he got drunk and started liking tweets. Some bashing other teams. Some criticizing Ferrari’s strategies. Others, too often, praising Max Verstappen. His rival. His archenemy. His first crush. Even if they were fighting on track every weekend, Charles simply couldn’t ignore Max’s talent.
One time, he almost liked a tweet explaining how Max’s ass weighed down the Red Bull car in 2024. He had to admit, the photo attached showed a racing suit pulled tight in all the right places. The curve. The volume. It was insane. If Max wasn’t an alpha, Charles might’ve tried courting him already. He wouldn't be able to live with himself if he didn't.
That was when he realized he might be a little too online. He always knew the latest jokes from his fans. He saw things he probably shouldn’t. And the thought of people finding that out started eating away at him.
So, he had a genius idea: a burner account. That way, his likes couldn’t be traced back to him, even if, with the new update, they didn’t show up publicly anymore.
Now he could really dive into the hell on earth that was F1 Twitter. And fuck. It was a lot.
Every move he made was picked apart by fans. Every mistake, on or off the track, was either defended blindly or bashed into oblivion.
So what if his hand stayed on Max’s waist a second too long? He was tired. His movements were slow after the race. That’s all. And yeah, maybe he sat a little too close during press conferences. But it wasn’t his fault Max had changed his cologne. It was softer now, maybe even sweet if you got close enough. Charles couldn’t get enough of it.
He did think it was strange that an alpha as arrogant as Max would enjoy such a smell on himself. But who was he to complain? It only made him wonder more about what could’ve been - if Max wasn’t an alpha.
Lost in that daydream, he came across a tweet arguing whether Lando was an omega or an alpha. What kind of question was that? It was invasive and reduced the driver to something he had no control over.
Of course Lando was an omega. How could anyone think otherwise? Was Charles the only one that had noticed the way he leaned into his teammate, whispering sweet nothings when he thought no one was looking? The way he got a little territorial when Logan, also an omega, hung around Oscar too long? If anyone thought that was an alpha, then maybe the world had gone upside down.
That tweet sent Charles down a rabbit hole of fans analyzing every driver’s second gender. Some even used photo evidence.
Strangely, many thought he was an omega too. Sure, he does abuse the power of his puppy eyes quite a lot while giving interviews. But that didn’t make him an omega. Following everything Seb said didn’t mean he was submissive - it just showed that he admired his childhood hero. And his big butt? God forbid a man likes RDL's. These people didn’t know what they were talking about.
Another weird thing he noticed—people were convinced Max was an omega. That made no sense. Max was dominant. Ruthless. He took crap from no one. How could someone like that be anything but an alpha? And didn’t all his exes fall into the omega or beta category?
But then... he started to question it. Max did take care of rookies like they were his own kids. He was soft with young fans. Clips showed him looking at other drivers with big, kind eyes - cold blue, but somehow so very warm. It made Charles ever so tiny bit confused.
Then he found videos starring himself. That’s when it hit him. Has Max always been this touchy? His hands lingered a bit too much. On his waist, his back, his shoulder. Always touching. Practically glued to him. (Not that Charles was complaining)
And the way Max looked at him on the podium? Maybe it wasn’t all in his head. Maybe it wasn’t just adrenaline and hormones. Maybe Max was looking at him like he meant something to him.
While he was deep in those thoughts, he found a massive poll. It had every driver on the grid and asked one thing: Alpha, Beta, or Omega? Thousands of people had voted.
Doublechecking that he was in fact using his burner account, Charles began voting. He mostly agreed with the results - until he got to himself.
“Only 30%??!?” he nearly screamed, rethinking every decision that has led up to this moment. Had he failed as an alpha? Was his ass just too fat? That he will never know.
There was only one driver left to vote on. Max. This poll had over 30,000 votes. He braced himself and pressed the right answer.
“It’s... even?” he mumbled. 46% Alpha. 8% Beta. 46% Omega. He hadn’t expected it to be this divided.
He opened the quote tweets. He got instantly bombarded with so many varied responses, some inducing pictures where Max looked like he was about to bite someone's head off and others where he looked soft, almost angelic, like he was meant to be a roman artist's muse.
Had Max always looked like that? Maybe Charles hadn’t been imagining things after all. That tiny bit of hope lit something inside him. Maybe, just maybe, there was a chance.
But public opinion only went so far. If he wanted to know the truth - and not embarrass himself - he needed help from someone on the inside.
He pulled out his phone.
“Pierre, can you meet me at the café as soon as possible? I need your help.”