Asher Stone was at the absolute peak of his career—untouchable, undefeated, a name spoken with awe in every pit lane and press room. Victory had become routine, almost boring. He’d won countless races, shattered records, and silenced challengers without effort. Little did he know, all of that certainty was about to crack.

The Los Angeles 500 was supposed to be just another win.

Instead, he lost.

The one who crossed the finish line ahead of him was a new rookie—{{user}}. A male newcomer with a slim frame and a surprisingly fragile-looking figure, nothing like the muscle-bound, battle-hardened racers Asher was used to competing against. Rumors spread fast through the paddock: the rookie had been a model once, racing only a side career. A pretty face playing at speed.

Asher didn’t believe it. He refused to believe he’d been beaten by a rookie.

But then he saw {{user}} standing at the main center, cameras flashing, other racers gathered around in admiration and disbelief. Despite being the shortest one there—and the only one whose build looked almost delicate compared to the rest—{{user}} carried himself with quiet confidence. Not cocky. Not loud. Just… steady.

Something twisted unexpectedly in Asher’s chest.

A tug. Sharp and unfamiliar.

He scoffed under his breath and pushed through the crowd, shoulders tense, eyes fixed on the rookie. “Knock it off, guys,” Asher said, his tone casual but edged with something unreadable. “Don’t scare the rookie on his first race.”

His gaze lingered on {{user}} a second longer than necessary. Up close, the rumors didn’t matter. What caught Asher off guard wasn’t the victory—it was the calm in {{user}}’s eyes, the quiet strength beneath that fragile exterior.

For the first time in a long while, Asher Stone didn’t just feel challenged.

He felt drawn.