Alaric

Before I could answer, officials ushered us toward the weighing area and post-race checks.

Formula One was annoyingly strict about procedures after races. Drivers had to weigh in immediately after finishing to ensure nobody dropped below the minimum weight regulations from dehydration during the race.

Nico stepped onto the scale first while cameras flashed endlessly around us.

Even exhausted, he carried himself like someone born for attention. Like someone who knew the entire world was watching him and enjoyed every second of it.

I hated how magnetic he was.

I hated how impossible he was to ignore.

Then I stepped beside him, and almost immediately the interviews began.

A former world champion conducting the podium interviews shoved a microphone toward Nico first while the crowd screamed around us.

"Nico, another victory in Bahrain. But tonight looked difficult. Just how intense was that battle with Alaric De Villier?"

Nico laughed breathlessly, his face still flushed from the race.

"Intense? It was definitely intense because De Villier nearly gave me a heart attack out there. I genuinely thought I was going to lose."

The crowd laughed loudly.

The interviewer turned toward me next.

"Alaric, first race back and you finish second after an incredible drive through the field. How are you feeling right now?"

I looked out toward the sea of lights and screaming fans for a moment before answering honestly.

"Hungry."

The crowd erupted instantly.

Nico barked out a laugh beside me.

And for the first time in two years, standing beneath the floodlights with sweat still drying against my skin and adrenaline still burning through my bloodstream, I finally felt like myself again.

The crowd reacted immediately to my answer.

"Hungry."

The single word echoed through the circuit speakers before the noise exploded again, thousands of Ferrari fans screaming somewhere beyond the floodlights.

Beside me, Nico laughed quietly beneath his breath like he already knew exactly what I meant.

The former champion conducting the interviews grinned knowingly before turning back toward Nico.

"You heard him. Alaric says he is hungry. Are we looking at the return of a title fight this season?"

Nico wiped sweat from his jaw with the back of his hand before answering, completely unbothered by the cameras shoved into his face.

"I mean, hopefully. It got boring winning without him."

The crowd made an audible sound at that.

A mixture of laughter, screaming, and shocked reactions rippled through the grandstands while Kelvin looked mildly offended beside us.

The interviewer burst out laughing.

"That is brutal."

"It is true," Nico replied carelessly. "Kelvin cries too much on team radio."

Kelvin snapped his head toward him instantly.

"You are unbelievable."

"Oh, do not look at me like that," Nico said innocently. "You literally called your engineer a terrorist in Monaco last year."

"I said strategic terrorist."

The interviewer was trying not to laugh while the audience completely lost their minds.

I looked away briefly, hiding my smile before anyone noticed.

God.

I had forgotten how chaotic Nico was after races.

The truth was, even while recovering, I still watched Formula One every weekend, and somehow Nico always managed to become the center of chaos no matter where he went.

The interviewer eventually regained enough composure to continue.

"Alaric, everyone doubted whether you could return to this level after two years away. What do you think tonight proved?"

For a moment, I did not answer immediately.

The cameras zoomed closer.

The noise from the crowd softened slightly in anticipation.

I looked down briefly at my gloves still streaked with rubber and tyre dust before speaking.

"That I was never gone."

The reaction was immediate.

The Ferrari section erupted so loudly it almost drowned out the rest of the circuit.

Nico turned his head toward me then, and for the briefest second, his expression changed.

He looked proud of me.

And in response, my heart started pounding wildly inside my chest.

Before I could think too much about it, the interview continued.

"Nico, final question before the podium ceremony. You and Alaric were wheel-to-wheel multiple times tonight. At one point it looked like neither of you intended to survive Turn 1."

Nico grinned immediately, his eyes still fixed on me.

"That is because he is insane."

"You are the one who nearly forced both of us into the barriers," I shot back.

His grin widened further.

"But did we crash?"

"You almost did."

"Almost is not crashing, De Villier."

I stared at him flatly before rolling my eyes.

The interviewer laughed helplessly.

"I think we can safely say the rivalry is alive and well."

Rivalry.

That word again.

It was our first official race ever, and somehow we had already fallen right back into it like we had been rivals all our lives.

The interview finally ended after that, and officials quickly ushered us toward the podium preparation area beneath the circuit. The noise from above grew louder the closer we got to the staircase leading toward the ceremony platform.

Formula One podium ceremonies had always felt surreal to me.

Even before my accident.

There was something strangely detached about the whole thing. The flashing lights. The deafening music. The sponsors. The champagne waiting on ice beside the trophies.

It felt like stepping into another version of reality for fifteen minutes.

An official handed each of us our Pirelli caps before directing us toward the stairs.

Nico stood beside me adjusting the sleeves of his race suit while Kelvin muttered something under his breath about needing water before he collapsed.

"You are getting old," Nico informed him.

Kelvin looked offended.

"I am literally twenty-six."

"Exactly," Nico replied.

I rolled my eyes.

There was definitely something deeply wrong with both of them, and honestly, I did not want to know what it was.

The official finally gave us the signal to walk out, and the moment we stepped onto the podium, the roar from the crowd became deafening.

Fireworks exploded overhead once again while massive screens around the circuit displayed our names and finishing positions across the night sky.

P1 — Nico Park.

P2 — Alaric De Villier.

P3 — Kelvin McRae.

Nico stepped onto the center platform while I took my place beside him.

For one brief second, standing beneath the floodlights with cameras flashing endlessly around us, I simply let myself absorb everything.

The fans.

The noise.

The adrenaline was still burning through my veins.

I had dreamed about this moment during nights where I could barely walk properly after physical therapy. I dreamed about it during surgeries, during recovery, during every humiliating headline claiming my career was over.

And now I was here again.

An official approached Nico first with the winner’s trophy, a heavy gold and crimson piece glittering beneath the lights.

The crowd roared as he lifted it high above his head.

Then came my turn.

The official handed me the second-place trophy and applause thundered across the circuit once more.

I wrapped my fingers around it slowly, feeling the cold metal against my gloves.

For the first time in two years, I was holding a Formula One trophy again, and something sharp tightened painfully inside my chest.

Nico noticed immediately.

Of course he did.

He leaned slightly toward me while the national anthem played.

"You look emotional, princess."

"I will throw this trophy at your head."

"That sounds affectionate."

I scoffed quietly while he laughed beside me.

Then came the champagne.

Kelvin opened his bottle first, immediately spraying both of us without warning.

Nico cursed loudly while shielding his face.

"You little shit!"

"Oh, now you are upset?" Kelvin shouted over the noise. "Cry about it!"

Nico grabbed his own bottle and retaliated instantly, spraying champagne directly into Kelvin’s face while the crowd screamed in approval.

I barely managed to avoid the first wave before Nico suddenly turned toward me, and the grin spreading across his face looked genuinely dangerous.

Absolutely dangerous.

And I already knew exactly what he was about to do.

"No," I warned immediately.

"Yes."

"Do not—"

But he did.

Cold champagne exploded across my chest before I could finish speaking.

I gasped sharply at the freezing liquid soaking through my race suit while Nico laughed like a complete psychopath beside me.

"You asshole!"

"That is for almost overtaking me in Turn 1!"

"You sprayed me first!"

"And I would do it again!"

I grabbed my own bottle immediately and shoved him hard enough to nearly throw him off balance before spraying champagne directly across his face.

Nico shouted in shock while the crowd roared even louder.

For several chaotic minutes, the podium dissolved into complete disaster.

Champagne sprayed everywhere while drivers shoved each other and laughed beneath the floodlights.

Then I suddenly heard Nico’s voice beside me.

"You know," he murmured smoothly, leaning just close enough that only I could hear him, "you look really pretty holding that trophy. Almost as pretty as you’ll look on Tuesday trying to handle everything I’m going to feed you. Don’t worry, princess. I’ll go slow at first."

"You... you’re coming to cook instead?" I blurted out before I could stop myself, surprise obvious in my voice.

He nodded casually.

"Why?" I demanded immediately.

"Because I heard from Sophia that you are a terrible cook."

A sharp sting twisted painfully inside my chest.

Sophia?

He actually went to Sophia and asked about me?

The thought bothered me far more than it should have.

Why her?