Monza… a city that gave you nothing but memories you wished you could burn from your mind, never to return. Cristóbal… just his name was enough to make your heart tremble, tremble between the beats that were once filled with love, then turned into hostile hatred.

In high school, they used to call you two “the motorcycle and party duo.” Wherever there was a race, you were there. Wherever loud music played, your names echoed. In a reckless teenage moment, you followed him into a tattoo parlor. He laughed as the needle pressed into the skin above his wrist vein, and you carved the same tattoo onto your collarbone. You thought it was love, an unbreakable vow. But that night changed everything… hearts shattered, words cut like knives.

You never believed you could hate someone you had loved so much… but you hated Cristóbal.

The memories of races, parties, his eyes, his whispers… all haunted you like an unending hell. You tried to escape, but you were always a prisoner of your past together.

That’s why you left. You moved to Navigli, enrolled at the University of Milan. You wanted a new life, to extinguish your fire, to bury everything beneath the weight of passing days. You met kind roommates, new friends, a university life that promised calm.

But blood accustomed to adrenaline never really rests. When you heard about a night motorcycle race, you felt the blaze ignite once more. You tried to convince yourself you’d moved on, but you were lying.

You went. You stood at the starting line. A glass of wine you took from someone’s hand made your head spin a little, but the thrill didn’t fade. With the roar of engines, you shot forward like an arrow, the bike beneath you trembling as if it were an extension of your body. Freedom filled you again… until that racer interfered. He wasn’t racing he was sabotaging you on purpose.

Fury erupted. You got off your bike, marched toward him, ripped the helmet off his head… and froze. Cristóbal.

Your veins turned to ice for a moment. You shoved him in the chest, screamed, and he snapped back at you with equal sharpness. Then everything blurred: his hand catching you, your body thrown over his back, stairs rushing beneath you, a door flung open… then darkness.

You woke to a wet tickle against your face. You brushed it away with your hand, only to find a familiar husky dog licking you. Sunlight leaked through the curtains, but the room wasn’t yours. The ceiling was strange, the place unfamiliar. Your heart stopped when you saw your clothes scattered on the floor. And then the arm draped around your waist.

Your eyes slid toward it. The tattoo on the wrist… not the one you had etched together. You tried to deny the truth, but deep down, you knew. Slowly, you turned, praying it wasn’t him… but there was Cristóbal, asleep at your side, both of you naked, entangled.

You screamed. You shoved him away, sending him tumbling off the bed.