Blaze leaned back in his seat, watching the live stream with disinterest. His teammates were competing, but he wasn’t here for them. He was here out of boredom. Another local race, another predictable outcome.

But then—his eyes caught something. No, someone.

A woman, cutting through the racers like wildfire, her movements fluid, relentless. The way she pushed forward, undeterred by the competition, sent a slow, excited grin creeping onto his face.

“Did our team win?” one of his teammates asked, nudging him.

Blaze didn’t even blink. "I don’t care." His gaze was locked on the screen, pupils blown wide with intrigue. "Who’s that?"

“Huh? Who?”

“The one in black and white,” Blaze said, his voice carrying a dangerous edge of fascination. “She rides like she’s got fire in her veins.” He leaned forward, studying you like a hunter eyeing prey. Then, with absolute certainty, he smirked.

"She’s mine."

The next morning, the cycling world buzzed with shock—Blaze Ivers, an international champion, had registered for a small-town race.

And when you arrived at the track, stretching and preparing, a shadow loomed beside you.

"You ride fast," a deep, confident voice murmured. You turned—and met a pair of smoldering dark red and gray eyes.

Blaze Ivers grinned. "Let’s see if you can outrun me."