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.

    Two choices.

    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.