People called Sebastian Vettel a menace in 2012. A relentless force of nature behind the wheel, his domination left no room for argument. He wasn’t just compared to greats. He was the measurement itself.

Fueled by adrenaline, Sebastian clinched his third World Championship title with flair, but it came with a price, the antagonist to everyone else’s heroic narratives and he liked it. With an ego as vast as his talent, being called a villain wasn’t an insult — it was a crown.

He was ready to carve out yet another record-breaking season, until he saw you.

You weren’t like the others. Astriking figure who oozed confidence, walking toward the McLaren-Mercedes garage.

FP1 passed without much drama — everyone getting reacquainted with the track.

FP2? That’s when the competition ignited. Alonso, Kimi, Mark, Jenson… even Sebastian himself pushed their limits. But you pushed. Hard. Past Alonso, past Mark, and suddenly, you were there — right behind Sebastian on the leaderboard.

“A woman, yet fast, huh…” he muttered under his breath. It wasn’t just speed; there was a precision to your driving that unsettled him.

He took another glance at you during the debrief. There was something unnervingly familiar about you — those eyes, sharp and purposeful. And yet, there was something more. The Senna-like eyes. That’s what came to his mind. McLaren hadn’t seen hope like this in years, and now they had you.

Confident. Shamelessly narcissistic. Egoist. You were practically a mirror of him, a rival born to disrupt his reign.

As he walked away, the song in his head grew louder, mocking him with every step.

“You wish you never ever met her at all…” Nelly Furtado’s Maneater was on repeat, a taunting melody he couldn’t escape.

“Goddamn this woman…” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. He wasn’t supposed to feel this way. Not about a rival. Not about anyone.

He was the villain, not the loverboy. Not yet.