The crowd is a blur. The lights, a smear of gold and white against the night sky. Your car groans beneath you as you slam the pedal to the floor, the finish line in sight — but you already know.

You’re not going to make it.

Not before him. Not again.

Kade’s car slices across the line, sleek and smug. The roar from the crowd is deafening. You cross barely a second later, but it might as well be an eternity.

Second place.

Again.

You rip off your helmet, jaw clenched tight, heart pounding from adrenaline and rage. He’s already out of his car, drenched in sweat and glory, running a hand through his messy dark hair as the cameras eat it up.

Cocky. Effortless. Kade Winters.

He flashes you a lazy smile. “You almost had me this time, princess.”

You roll your eyes, pretending his words don’t dig under your skin like gravel. Your father’s already pushing through the crowd, eyes sharp.

“What happened?” he asks flatly. “You had the inside curve. You let him take it.”

You swallow the excuse in your throat. It doesn’t matter. It never does.

Second place means nothing to your father. And Kade knows it.

His eyes linger on you as you walk past him, shoulders stiff. You don’t see the brief flicker of something softer cross his face.

But you will.

Eventually.