Dominik found the bright yellow Abarth 695 in the long-term parking garage at Budapest Ferenc Liszt International Airport.
The car had been sitting there for nearly two months. It was coated in a thick layer of grey dust. Dominik popped the trunk, grabbed a microfiber cloth, and gave it a quick, rude wipe-down.
He pulled his cap low. The lighting in the garage was dim, which was a blessing. A few travelers walked by, glancing at the guy cleaning the flashy car, but they didn't stop. They probably thought he was just a rich kid with a loud toy.
If they had known it was the driver who had just gone wheel-to-wheel with Fernando Alonso in Jeddah, they would have regretted walking past.
Dominik winced when he inserted the ticket at the exit gate.
Because he had been away for two months, his monthly pass had expired halfway through. The surcharge was astronomical.
"Since when is airport parking more expensive than a new front wing?" he grumbled, tapping his card. The machine swallowed a painful amount of Forints.
The gate lifted. The Abarth barked to life, the exhaust echoing off the concrete walls. Dominik merged onto the highway, the yellow hatchback gleaming (mostly) in the Hungarian sun.
The Corvinus Estate. Buda Hills.
He drove up the winding roads to the wealthy district of Rózsadomb. The gates of his family home felt both familiar and strangely foreign.
The iron gates swung open. Uncle Tibor, the family's longtime butler, was standing in the courtyard, his grey hair ruffled by the spring breeze.
"Young Master is back," Tibor said, bowing slightly.
"Uncle Tibor. Long time no see," Dominik parked the car. "Are Mom and Dad home?"
"The Master and Mistress are inside."
Dominik walked to the front door and reached for the handle. Locked.
He tried his key. It didn't turn.
He looked closer. Fingerprint scanner?
"Since when do we have this?" Dominik muttered. "Did they lock their own son out?"
Uncle Tibor hurried over, suppressing a smile. He opened the door with his own thumb, then grabbed Dominik's hand to register his print.
"Security upgrade, sir. Your mother insisted."
As soon as he stepped into the foyer, a voice boomed from the living room.
"Oh, look who it is! Our chauffeur has returned!"
Katalin Corvinus swept into the hallway, her arms open wide. "Come here. Let Mom have a look. Have you forgotten where home is? Have you gotten so famous you don't know your own address?"
Gábor Corvinus stood behind her, chuckling.
"Welcome back, son," Gábor said. "I see you can race Alonso now. Not bad for a rookie."
"Of course," Dominik grinned, hugging his mother. "I have to race hard. How else will I pay you back for the parking fees?"
"And what about my gift?" Gábor asked, raising an eyebrow. "You promised your mother a souvenir from Saudi Arabia."
Dominik's smile froze. He slumped onto the sofa, feigning exhaustion.
"Dad, Mom... stop teasing me. I just got back. I'm jet-lagged. I defended against a double world champion for 20 laps. I just want to sleep."
Katalin leaned over, poking his cheek. "No excuses. You are a celebrity now. You have to maintain your image. But... it's okay if you forgot the gift. You're a busy man."
The guilt trip was subtle but effective. Dominik spent the next twenty minutes making grand promises to make it up to her.
The Bedroom.
After a heavy Hungarian dinner, Dominik escaped to his room.
He collapsed onto his bed. Two back-to-back race weekends, the media circus, the travel... his bones ached.
He pulled out his phone and opened Instagram.
His notifications were blowing up. He clicked on a tag.
It was a photo posted by Charles Leclerc.
The Photo:Dominik asleep in the drivers' briefing room in Jeddah, mouth slightly open, looking completely unglamorous.
Caption:The "Street Emperor" recharging his batteries. 😴 @dominikcorvinus
Dominik sat up. "That traitor!"
He immediately commented: Charles, I thought we were friends. This is war.
The comments section was a disaster. George Russell, the Williams official account, and even Lando Norris had replied with laughing emojis.
Leclerc had liked his comment but didn't reply. Left on read.
"Just wait for Australia," Dominik muttered, tossing his phone aside. "I'll put a spider in his helmet."
He fell asleep instantly.
The Next Morning.
He was deep in a dream about standing on the podium when a sharp voice pierced the darkness.
"Dominik! Get up! The sun is already high!"
He groaned, squinting at his phone. 06:30 AM.
"Mom," he mumbled, pulling the duvet over his head. "I'm on vacation. Let me sleep."
Katalin ripped the curtains open. Sunlight flooded the room.
"Sleep? You can sleep when you retire! Hanna heard you are back. She is coming over. Get up and make yourself presentable."
Dominik shot up. "Hanna? Now?"
"She'll be here in an hour. Don't look like a slob."
Dominik sighed. There was no arguing with Katalin Corvinus.
An hour later, Hanna arrived. She breezed into the living room, looking effortlessly chic.
"Well, well," she teased. " The international superstar finally graces us with his presence. Are you too famous for your old friends now?"
Dominik rolled his eyes, grabbing his car keys. "Let's go before my dad starts lecturing me about tire management."
Budapest. Late March.
It was a crisp spring day. Dominik wore a hoodie, a cap pulled low, and large sunglasses. He looked like a celebrity trying (and failing) to hide.
They took the Abarth.
"Is this how F1 drivers drive?" Hanna asked, clutching the door handle as Dominik wove through traffic on the Hungária körút.
Dominik dropped two gears. The Akrapovic exhaust roared. He slotted the small car into a gap that didn't look big enough.
"It's called efficiency," he said.
Hanna went silent.
They spent the morning at a high-end mall. Dominik followed her like a pack mule, carrying bags while she tried on dresses.
"Dominik, does this look good?"
"Looks good. Very good," Dominik replied robotically, his eyes glued to his phone. He was scrolling through Twitter, looking for dirt on Leclerc to use as revenge.
Hanna snatched the phone out of his hand. "Eyes up, driver."
The Theme Park.
In the afternoon, Hanna dragged him to the amusement park.
"I hate rides," Dominik complained. "I pull 5G in the car. This is boring."
"You're going on the roller coaster," Hanna commanded.
They bought Fast Passes. As they queued for the biggest coaster in the park, the attendant asked Dominik to remove his hat and sunglasses for safety.
Hanna was already strapped in. Dominik sighed and took off his disguise.
He stood there, his distinctive thick neck and sharp jawline exposed.
A group of teenagers in the queue froze. One of them, wearing a Red Bull cap, squinted at him.
"Wait..." the kid whispered. "Is that...?"
"It's him," his friend gasped. "The Williams guy. Corvinus."
Dominik smiled awkwardly and gave a little wave.
"Hi guys."
The queue erupted. Phones came out. They weren't filming the ride; they were filming the F1 driver about to scream on a roller coaster.
Dominik strapped himself in, realizing his mistake.
This is going to be a meme by tomorrow morning, he thought as the safety bar locked down.