Alaric

"Come on," I muttered under my breath, nudging Harold with my elbow. "Let me introduce you to Dami and the rest of the crew. They’ve heard me talk about you so much they’re probably sick of it by now, but they still want to meet the guy in the flesh."

Harold grinned wide, that familiar mischievous spark lighting up his eyes as he fell into step beside me. "Finally! I’ve been waiting forever to meet the famous Dami you always go on about. Feels like I already know him from all your stories."

We made our way toward the main simulator building, the afternoon sun beating down on the paddock and turning the asphalt into a shimmering haze.

Dami was already waving enthusiastically from the entrance, his bright orange team polo standing out like a beacon. I glanced sideways at Harold, expecting one of his usual sarcastic one-liners or that dramatic eye-roll he loved to pull. But when I turned my head... he was gone.

Just like that.

One second he was right there in that ridiculous bright red tuxedo jacket he insisted on wearing "for the vibes," and the next, the space beside me was empty. "Harold?" I called out, my voice cutting through the low hum of engines and chatter around us.

I caught a flash of red fabric disappearing around the far corner of the arena, heading toward who knows where.

I rolled my eyes, a mix of irritation and confusion settling in my chest.

Where the hell is he off to again? It was starting to become this weird, unsettling pattern I couldn’t make sense of. Every single time Nico was anywhere near, Harold would vanish like smoke.

Was he afraid of him? Did they have some history I didn’t know about? Or was there something else going on? The questions gnawed at me, but I shoved them down for now.

I stopped mid-step for a second, blinking hard against the sudden hollow ache blooming in my chest. That familiar emptiness. I forced it away, clenching my jaw. I couldn’t afford to look unstable or distracted in front of the team—not today, not when everything was riding on this comeback. Harold was definitely getting an earful the next time I caught up with him.

Dami jogged over and clapped me hard on the back. "Alaric! You actually made it. Ready to push some serious laps today, or are you still easing into it?"

I forced a smile, trying to shake off the weirdness. "Yeah, I’m good. Hey, Dami—I wanted to introduce you to my friend Harold. He came with me today." I gestured awkwardly to the empty spot beside me. "He... must have gone off to take a call or hit the bathroom or something. He’ll catch up later, I’m sure."

Dami raised an eyebrow, clearly picking up that something was off, but he didn’t push it. "No worries at all. Tell him I said hi when he reappears. Let’s get you suited up and into the sim first."

The simulator session blurred by in a haze of data and feedback, but it was the real track time afterward that I’d been craving. Riding shotgun with Dami out to the private test track felt electric—the low growl of the engine vibrating through my bones, the sharp scent of hot rubber and fuel filling the air.

When I finally slid behind the wheel myself, the world narrowed down beautifully. Just me, the tires biting into the asphalt, the precise dance through every corner. The thrill I’d missed so badly during my time away came rushing back. For those precious minutes, everything else—Harold, the hollow feeling, the complications—melted away.

But peace like that never lasted long.

As we pulled back into the pit lane and I climbed out, sweat dripping down my temples, I wiped my forehead with the back of my glove and felt it immediately: eyes on me. Heavy, intense brown eyes that seemed to see right through every layer I’d put up.

I turned, and there he was. Nico Park.

He stood a little ways off, arms crossed over his chest in that fitted black training top that clung to his shoulders and showed off the swirl of tattoos running down his forearms. His dark hair was messy and damp from his own session, a few strands sticking to his forehead. Sophia Laurent was right beside him, looking effortlessly put-together as always. She spotted me first and waved with that warm, genuine smile.

I waved back, but my attention was already locked on Nico as he started walking straight toward me, Sophia following a step behind.

When he reached me, that infuriating half-smirk played on his lips like he already knew he’d won whatever game we were playing. "De Villier."

"Park," I greeted, keeping my voice flat and even.

"Didn’t expect to see you out here today," he said, stopping just close enough that his musky cologne wrapped around me, mixing with the smell of track fuel and sweat. "What a small world, huh?"

"Monaco isn’t that big," I shot back quickly. "And some people still park like they own the whole damn place."

Nico let out a low chuckle that sent an unwelcome shiver down my spine. "Oh, you saw my baby on the way in? Jealous of how I parked her... or jealous because she’s faster than that Ferrari of yours?"

"Dream on. My car doesn’t need to be parked like an amateur just to look fast."

Before he could fire back, Sophia stepped in smoothly, waving again with a polite smile. "Alaric, it’s really good to see you again. I heard the season kicks off in Bahrain soon—are you feeling ready?"

I nodded, keeping things civil even as a sharp twist of jealousy curled in my gut. It wasn’t her presence that stung. It was the fact that she was here with him. That easy familiarity between them.

"Yeah, the whole world’s watching this comeback. Thanks for the kind words, Sophia. You always know what to say."

Her smile softened. "You looked sharp out there today. The whole world is anticipating your return, and honestly, you earned it."

Those words hit deeper than I wanted. They were the exact same ones she used to whisper to me years ago, right before every big race. Back when things between us felt simpler. Now they just echoed hollow in my chest, stirring up memories I’d tried to bury.

"Well," Nico cut in, tilting his head as he studied me like I was some puzzle he wanted to take apart. He sighed softly, but his eyes were anything but casual. "You were really pushing it out there. Still taking that aggressive line through Turn 7. Some things never change with you, De Villier."

"Unlike others who disappear the second things get real," I muttered before I could stop myself.

His smirk sharpened, dangerous and knowing. "Speaking from experience?"

The banter caught fire instantly, crackling between us. I knew exactly how far Nico was willing to push this—he wouldn’t hesitate to drop hints about the Maldives right here, in front of Dami and whoever else was listening.

Dami had already wandered off a bit to chat with Elijah, our trainer, and Sophia had drifted toward a group of women watching from the sidelines. It was just us now.

"You still drive like you’re trying to prove something to the whole world," Nico continued, stepping closer, his voice dropping. "That late braking into the hairpin? Bold. Maybe a little reckless for a veteran like you."

"Better than playing it safe and settling for fourth," I fired back, refusing to back down. "Some of us actually like winning, Park."

Nico laughed, clapping his hands once in that cocky way of his. "Winning does look good on me, doesn’t it? Or have you forgotten I’ve been king of this track for two years straight now?"

"That title’s starting to sound a little boring," I said, meeting his gaze head-on. "It’s going to be mine this season. If I were you, I’d start preparing myself."

The shift in Nico’s face was immediate. His easy smile faded into something harder, pure competitive fire flashing in those dark eyes. I’d definitely hit a nerve.

He closed the distance between us even more and pointed straight at me. "Admit it, De Villier. There’s no way you can ever beat me. Not really."

"Easy for you to say when we’ve never actually gone wheel-to-wheel," I countered, jabbing a finger back toward him. "You’re all bark, no bite. I’ve been racing since I was a kid. You got famous because I stepped away for a while. You should be thanking your lucky stars I wasn’t on the grid—because I would’ve floored you like I do every other rival who thinks they can take my spot."

Sophia cleared her throat, turning back toward us with a concerned look. "Boys, maybe save the track warfare for Bahrain? This isn’t the place."

But neither of us broke eye contact.

We just stood there, glaring, the air thick between us. Nico’s intense stare dragged every memory from the Maldives right back to the surface—the heat, the push and pull, the way his hands had felt. I hated how my body still reacted, heat pooling low despite everything. And damn it, I hated that Harold had disappeared again the second Nico showed up, leaving me to handle this storm alone.

Nico’s gaze flicked down briefly to my ankle, then slowly back up my body. "How’s the leg holding up after Maldives anyway?" he asked, a wicked little wink following. "You sure you’re up for another real lap?"

"No thanks to certain people who don’t know when to stop pushing boundaries."

He leaned in even closer, his breath warm against my ear as he whispered, "You didn’t seem to mind the pushing that night. Not one bit."

My fists clenched hard at my sides. "We’re not doing this here, Nico."

Sophia watched the whole exchange with mild curiosity, her head tilting slightly. "Nico mentioned the Apex campaign earlier. The photos turned out incredible, by the way. You two have such natural chemistry on camera."

"Professional," I said quickly, maybe too quickly. "It was just work."

Nico’s eyes sparkled with dark, knowing amusement. "Sure. Just work." He paused, then raised his voice again. "Speaking of which... let’s settle this properly right now. One real session. Full laps. Winner takes all the bragging rights—and the loser has to do whatever the winner wants. If I win, I get to name my prize with you. Same if you somehow pull it off. So what do you say, Alaric De Villier? You want to race me or not?"