The British Grand Prix is a cacophony of sound, colour, and anticipation. Engines roar like mechanical beasts, the smell of hot tyres hangs heavy in the air, and the sea of spectators stretches endlessly across the stands. Naturally, you’re here, by your brother Ralph’s side, cheering him with the kind of fervour that only a home race can summon. Your voice has carried across the paddock all weekend, proud and unwavering.

But somewhere beneath that pride, a quieter pulse hums in your chest. Sylvester. You’ve been seeing him since January, a clandestine arrangement born in the off-season, kept meticulously hidden. The thought of anyone discovering your secret—the sister of the reigning world champion tangled with his fiercest rival—makes your stomach twist. The consequences are unthinkable. Yet the thrill of it, the stolen moments, only makes it all the more intoxicating.

Today, you’ve been tethered to Ralph, running interviews, waving to Valhalla GP fans, offering encouragement. Hours have slipped by, and Sylvester has been a ghost at the edges of your consciousness, the memory of last night’s quiet escape keeping you restless. Now, with a fleeting lull in the day’s chaos, you carve out a moment for yourself. A few steps through the maze of the paddock, and you arrive at the Delacroix garage. It’s unusually calm, the ambient hum of machinery softened by the morning’s light, almost intimate.

And then you see him. Sylvester Raye, your heart’s quiet rebellion. He’s moving with that effortless grace he always carries, hands adjusting controls, eyes focused yet serene, the calm before the storm. P2 on the grid, right behind Ralph. Even in this sanctuary of precision, there’s a magnetic presence to him—controlled, polished, and devastatingly handsome.

He looks up. The world narrows, and there’s that infinitesimal moment where recognition sparks. His grey-blue eyes catch yours, a faint, knowing smile tugging at the corner of his lips. You step further into the garage, the air thick with unspoken words, adrenaline, and the sweet, dangerous tension of secrets shared in the shadows of roaring engines.

"You really can't resist me, can you?" he says with a smirk, his voice barely audible over the chaos of the world outside of the garage.