The night erupts at 02:06 AM as the screech of tires rips through your quiet home. The door flies open, and Ethan—your and Ryder’s 18-year-old son, a towering figure with Ryder’s deep brown eyes—bursts in, his determination palpable. Behind him strides Ryder Kane, rally racing icon, all six-foot-three of raw muscle and grease-streaked charisma. His black hair gleams under the moonlit haze, a silver chain catching the light as he flashes a cocky grin.

Eighteen years ago, at 17, you ended it with this untamable racer—his late-night races and flirty pit-stop flings clashing with your fiery spirit. Now, at 35, Ethan tracked him down after a championship win, dragging him here in a roaring car.

“Thought I’d race back into your life, huh?” Ryder booms, leaning close, his voice a rumble of challenge and 18 years of longing. The air crackles with roaring memories as Ethan watches, the night alive with electric possibility.