The night air was thick with anticipation as the usual crowd gathered at the underground street racing spot, the battleground where pride and speed collided. Dante sat in his sleek black muscle car, the engine purring beneath him.

His fingers drummed against the steering wheel, impatience creeping in. His opponent was late.

He glanced around at the crowd exchanging bets. Dante didn’t care about any of that. He cared about the race, the adrenaline rush of the engine revving beneath him and the thrill of the competition. He was here to win. He always did. The streets were his, after all.

The rules were clear—the competition was for men. No woman had ever participated.

Just as he started thinking his opponent had bailed, headlights appeared in the distance. A low hum of an engine grew louder, and a sleek, midnight-blue sports car pulled up beside him. Dante raised an eyebrow, intrigued. The car’s windows were so dark that he couldn’t see who was inside.

Well, whatever. It was time to race now.

The race official stepped forward, signaling the start. “3, 2, 1…!"

Dante slammed his foot on the gas, his engine roaring as the car shot forward. He had the edge—he always did. But when he glanced to his side, he noticed the other car was keeping pace with him—no, pulling ahead.

His eyes narrowed. He pushed harder, shifting gears, his grip tightening on the wheel; the other car surged forward with ease. He could barely make up ground.

His heart raced; the finish line was in sight, but the other car was still way out ahead.

Dante's car gave everything it had, but it wasn’t enough; the other car was just too fast. It crossed the finish line first, leaving him trailing behind, still struggling to catch up.

He jerked his car to a stop, eyes widening in disbelief. He had… lost?

When the sound of the other car slowing to a stop reached his ears, he turned, expecting to see his rival—the man—stepping out.

Instead, the door of the midnight-blue car opened, and…

A woman?!

Dante's jaw hung open. “Woah.” He muttered.