Vanessa shifted gears, anticipation buzzing in her veins as she approached the first curve.
She barely slowed down.
Her Ferrari hugged the asphalt like it was an extension of her body, slipping effortlessly into the curve, tires kissing the pavement without a hint of struggle.
Ethan, however — he wasn’t as smooth.
He braked too late, forcing the Porsche into a harsh angle. His back tires skidded, sending a sharp jolt through the car as he fought to regain control.
’Shit.’
For a split second, his heart pounded in his ears.
He felt the car slipping.
But instead of panicking, he adjusted.
He gritted his teeth, turned the wheel just enough, and pulled the car back in line.
Vanessa had already gained a lead.
But Ethan? He wasn’t going down without a fight.
He took a deep breath.
He could hear the tires, feel the asphalt beneath him, the vibration of the engine in his chest.
It was just like a bike.
No hesitation. No fear.
He changed gears.
Pressed hard on the pedal.
And attacked the second curve.
The Porsche swung into the turn with precision.
His tires screamed, but this time, he was in control.
His speed didn’t falter — he came out of the second curve faster than before, barely losing momentum.
The third curve was even tighter.
Ethan braced himself, watching Vanessa glide through it like it was nothing.
She was good. Damn good.
But Ethan had always been a fast learner.
The second he reached the curve, he didn’t fight it — he flowed with it.
The Porsche responded beautifully.
His speed barely dropped, and when he came out of the turn, he was closer than before.
Vanessa’s eyes flicked to her mirrors again.
He was catching up.
Her smirk disappeared.
Maybe she had underestimated him.
But the race wasn’t over yet.
And the final stretch was approaching.
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Two choices.
One path shorter but dangerous. Unstable pavement. Potholes. Any mistake could send a car spinning out.
The other smooth but longer. Safer. But also guaranteed to cost precious seconds.
Vanessa didn’t hesitate.
She went for speed.
The risky path.
Ethan, however — he made a split-second decision.
And chose the safer route.
Zack, watching from the sidelines, cursed. "Come on, Ethan! That’s too slow!"
Vanessa’s Ferrari bounced over the uneven road, her tires struggling to grip the surface as she fought to keep control.
But Ethan?
He had a clean line.
And as she slowed just slightly to adjust to the rough terrain —
He made up the gap.
Both cars were now side by side.
Vanessa’s eyes widened in surprise.
Ethan’s grip on the wheel tightened.
The finish line was seconds away.
And now, it was all about who had more left to give.
Ethan’s breath was steady, his hands firm on the wheel, but his heart pounded like a war drum in his chest.
The moment he overtook Vanessa, it was as if time had slowed, and the world around him blurred into nothing but the road ahead.
The streetlights streaked past, painting golden lines in his peripheral vision. The industrial district was eerily quiet apart from the deep rumble of the two engines tearing through it at breakneck speed.
The docks were just ahead — a long, open stretch of road leading directly to the finish line.
For a split second, Ethan let himself revel in the feeling.
’This… this is what it feels like.’
To be fully in control. To push the limits, to challenge not just the road but himself.
And yet, he wasn’t alone.
Through the side mirror, Vanessa’s Ferrari remained a presence — one that demanded to be respected.
She wasn’t just some racer. She was a professional, someone who lived for this moment just as much as he did.
And Ethan could tell — she wasn’t going to let him win that easily.
A voice cut through the chaos, loud and sharp.
"Not bad!" Vanessa shouted over the roaring engines, her voice carrying through the wind. "But I’m still winning this!"
Then, without hesitation, she slammed her foot on the accelerator.
The Ferrari growled, surged forward with raw power, and closed the gap instantly.
Ethan barely had time to react before she was right beside him, their cars nearly touching as they sped down the final stretch.
His grip on the wheel tightened.
This was it.
This was where the real test began.
For a moment, Ethan felt that old, familiar instinct kicking in — the one from all the years he’d spent riding bikes, weaving through traffic like it was second nature.
He let himself lean into that instinct.
He wasn’t in a car anymore.
He was riding.
He could feel the invisible wind brushing against his skin, as if his helmet was off, as if his bike was beneath him, carrying him forward.
His hair would’ve been whipping against the breeze if he were truly on a motorcycle.
He could see it — the perfect moment to strike.
Vanessa had the raw power. The Ferrari had better acceleration.
But Ethan?
Ethan had timing.
He switched gears.
And in that instant — the Porsche shot forward.
The engine roared with renewed ferocity, tires gripping the road with precision, launching him ahead of Vanessa in a single, clean motion.
She barely had time to process what had happened.
One second, they were side by side.
The next?
Ethan was ahead.
Vanessa’s eyes widened in sheer disbelief.
No way.
No freaking way.
No way was this guy actually overtaking her now, of all times.
She pushed harder, but the difference had already been made.
The finish line was seconds away.
And Ethan?
He was already crossing it.
A blur of silver streaked through the docks.
The sound of tires screeching, the final echo of engines roaring — and then, silence.
The Porsche slowed naturally as Ethan finally eased off the accelerator.
His hands relaxed on the wheel, his heart still racing from the sheer adrenaline coursing through him.
He let out a deep, slow breath.
He had won.
And for a few moments, he just sat there, letting it sink in.
Then, he heard it.
The cheers.
The whoops.