(Adrian’s POV)
The night after the race, New York hums like an open engine — a constant vibration beneath the skin of the city. And somehow, it feels synced to her heartbeat.
Or maybe it’s mine. I can’t tell anymore.
The screens across my penthouse still replay her drift — that reckless, impossible slide that beat me by less than a second. It should’ve angered me. It should’ve been a threat to erase. But instead, I find myself watching it again and again, volume low, eyes unfocused.
Her voice from the comm replay haunts the silence.
> “Maybe you shouldn’t have lost.”
I lean back in the leather chair, staring at the paused frame of her Mustang mid-drift — tires catching fire against rain. There’s something raw about her style. No precision. No fear. Just need. The kind of drive tha
