Alaric

"Stop laughing!" I yelled at Harold as I drove through the secure gates of the private training center in Monaco.

My sleek black Ferrari purred smoothly along the winding driveway lined with perfectly manicured palm trees and high-security fencing.

The facility was exclusive — a state-of-the-art complex built specifically for Formula 1 drivers to train, simulate races, and prepare physically and mentally away from prying eyes.

I had agreed to meet with Dami and our trainer for a short but intense practice session this morning.

It had been over a week — maybe more, because I had stopped counting the exact days — since I last saw Nico. Since we had shot that campaign video together for Apex Sportswear in the Maldives. Since that stormy night when we had almost made love.

No matter how hard I tried to push the memory out of my head, it kept forcing its way back in at the worst possible moments.

The heat of his mouth. The way his tongue had driven me crazy. The overwhelming pleasure that had made me see stars. And then the cold, sudden emptiness when he had walked away.

The new season was officially starting next week, with the opening race in Bahrain. This was supposed to be my big comeback to the grid after my time away.

I should have been focused on that — on getting back into peak condition, on proving I still belonged at the front of the pack. Instead, what I was really dreading was the moment I would have to see Nicholas Park again.

"Both of you in that campaign video are so cute," Harold said from the passenger seat, replaying the video on his phone for what felt like the hundredth time. "You look like the best couple out there. The chemistry is insane. That’s why it’s sold out in every store right now."

I gripped the steering wheel tighter, my jaw clenching. That campaign video had been the whole reason we ended up in the Maldives in the first place.

Who would have expected that a professional photoshoot would turn into the most intense night of lust I had experienced in years?

I regretted that night.

As much as Nico’s mouth had made me feel things I had never felt before, as much as it had made my blood spike and my body burn, it still annoyed me to my core that he had left me alone on that bed.

He had gotten me off so thoroughly I had seen heaven, but he had not let me touch him in return. He had walked away like it was nothing. Like I was nothing.

The actual shooting days after that night had been handled in a strictly professional way. We had barely spoken beyond what was necessary for the camera.

Once the campaign wraps were done, we had gone back to acting like strangers.

But as soon as we returned to Monaco, the news headlines about Nico and Sophia Laurent had started trending just two days later. Pictures of them on a date, holding hands like a real couple, smiling for the cameras.

Nico had told me the night at the gala that showing up as Sophia’s date was just to spite me. But now I could not help wondering if that was the real reason... or if he had rejected me because he was actually dating her.

The thought left a bitter taste in my mouth.

Was I a third wheel in their relationship?

I made sure not to tell Harold anything about what had really happened that night in the Maldives. I knew my best friend too well. He would make fun of me for the rest of my life if he found out I had let Nico Park — of all people — get me off and then leave me hanging.

"The details are insane," Harold chuckled, replaying the video again and zooming in on a particular shot. "The way you two are looking at each other... it’s electric."

I rolled my eyes angrily and snatched my phone back from him, tossing it into the center console. I finally took a proper look at his outfit, which I had only glanced at when he first got into the car. "I told you to dress comfortably for training. Yet here you are wearing a red tuxedo again."

Harold checked his perfectly tailored red tuxedo jacket and shrugged, completely unbothered. "What’s wrong with my outfit? I look fantastic."

"Not very appropriate for the occasion," I muttered. "I wanted to introduce you to some of my friends and the team here, but they’ll probably think you’re a businessman who wandered into the wrong place with how you’re dressed. You are always in a red tuxedo every time you show up to meet me.)

Harold turned to me with a wide, knowing grin that mirrored the exact judging expression I usually gave him. "Are you deflecting from the actual topic of you and Nico right now?"

I did not answer Harold immediately. Instead, I focused on parking my sleek black Ferrari smoothly in my reserved spot near the main training building.

The engine gave one last satisfied growl before falling silent. The private F1 training center in Monaco was always immaculate — perfectly paved lots, clear markings, and enough space for drivers to park their expensive toys without issue.

And that was when I noticed it.

Another car was parked in the spot a few spaces away, but it was done in the most ridiculous, careless manner possible.

The sleek, aggressive-looking deep blue Aston Martin Valkyrie was angled awkwardly, one wheel slightly over the white line, as if the driver had pulled in at high speed and simply abandoned it without a second thought.

The car looked fast even when standing still — low, wide, and dripping with performance modifications that screamed money and ego.

"Now who the hell parked in this crazy manner?" I scoffed under my breath, shaking my head in disbelief.

Only someone with zero respect for the rules or an oversized ego would park like that in a professional facility like this.

Then my eyes landed on the custom license plate, and everything inside me froze.

Nico Park. 4.