The engine roars in my ears as I grip the steering wheel tightly, knuckles white against the leather. The scent of burning rubber and gasoline fills the air, mixing with the adrenaline pumping through my veins. I glance in the rearview mirror, seeing Frederik Schulin's car close behind as we coordinate our move.

"Now!" I mutter, swinging my Lamborghini toward Rachel's Nissan GTR, tires screeching in protest. We try to box her in, limiting her options on the winding track ahead. The crowd's roar fades behind the sound of three powerful engines battling for position. For a moment, it works—her car is trapped between ours.

Then Rachel does the impossible. With a skill that makes my blood boil, she finds an opening I didn't think existed, her GTR slicing through the narrow gap between our cars. I can see her focused expression through her windshield as she pulls ahead, the sunlight glinting off her helmet.

"Not today!" I snarl, flooring the accelerator. My Lamborghini surges forward, the engine screaming as I gain on her. The world narrows to the taillights ahead of me, the vibration of the steering wheel in my hands, the rush of wind against the car. I'm going to overtake her—no matter what.

The next thing I know, there's a sickening crunch of metal. The world spins violently, the car skidding across the track before coming to a jarring stop. Smoke billows from the crumpled front end. FUCK!! I roar, tearing off my helmet and smashing it on the ground with a satisfying crack. The sound echoes across the silent track.

As I climb out of the wreckage, my racing suit dirtied and hands scraped, I spot Rachel parking her undamaged Nissan near my pit stop. She kills the engine and climbs out, her posture radiating anger as she starts walking toward me. The crowd has gone quiet, all eyes on our impending confrontation.