Free Web NovelChapter 80: The Race I Planned to Lose
Nico
Today was race day, but I barely caught a wink of sleep because I was busy putting my Plan B into action.
I had spent the entire night pacing around my room, thinking about exactly what to do to twist the knife a little deeper for my grandfather.
When I finally got the answer to that, everything else just clicked. By the time I walked into the paddock the next morning, the exhaustion did not even matter.
I walked toward the garage with a genuine smile on my face, completely unbothered by the suffocating tension in the air.
The Jeddah Corniche Circuit was absolutely buzzing. The lights were blazing down on the tarmac, casting sharp dramatic shadows beneath the chassis of the cars lined up on the grid.
The roar of the crowd in the grandstands was so loud that I could feel it vibrating right inside my chest.
I heaved a deep sigh as I settled into the cockpit of my Red Bull, the carbon fiber framing wrapping snugly around my shoulders. I pulled my helmet down, clicking the visor into place, and suddenly the chaos outside muted into a low rhythmic hum.
"Radio check, Nico. How do you read me?" Liam’s voice sounded through my earpiece.
"Clear, Liam," I murmured, resting my gloved hands on the steering wheel. "The car feels good."
"Copy that. We are looking at a clean start. Watch the inside line into Turn 1. De Villiers is right behind you, and he seems aggressive, so keep your elbows out."
"Always do," I said, a slight smirk hidden beneath my helmet.
I glanced in my side mirror, and right there, painted in fierce black and unmistakable scarlet, was Alaric’s Ferrari.
Even through the distorted glass, I could practically feel the intense burning glare he was directing toward the back of my rear wing.
He wanted this.
And I was going to give him a show.
After all, he deserved it.
The five red lights above the grid illuminated one by one, casting a harsh glow over the track.
Ten seconds.
Five seconds
The lights went out.
Game on, I thought.
The roar of twenty engines exploded simultaneously.
My reaction time was flawless, as always. The tires bit into the asphalt, launching the Red Bull forward with a violent surge of G-force that slammed my back against the seat.
In my peripheral vision, I saw the red nose of Alaric’s Ferrari attempt to dart toward the inside line, exactly like Marcus had warned me he would.
Watch it, mon chéri.
I could practically hear him saying it.
I did not give him an inch.
I positioned my car perfectly, shutting the door firmly before he could even think about poking his nose through. I squeezed him toward the edge of the curb, forcing him to lift off the throttle for just a fraction of a second as we roared into the tight left-hander of Turn 1.
"Not today, princess," I muttered to myself as a rush of pure adrenaline surged through my veins while I cleared the apex and pinned the accelerator.
By the time we hit the opening straight, I was leading.
The race quickly evolved into a beautiful game of high-speed chess.
Round and round the street circuit we went, skimming centimeters away from the concrete walls at over three hundred kilometers per hour. The car was handling like a dream, balanced perfectly on the edge of control, and right behind me, sticking to my gearbox like a shadow that refused to disappear, was Alaric.
Every single lap, he was there.
If I braked a fraction too early into Turn 13, he was right on my bumper. If I took a wider line to save my tires through Sector Two, he would dive toward the inside, forcing me to defend with everything I had.
It was as if the Alaric De Villiers I had always known on track years ago was finally back.
And God, I loved how exhilarating it was racing him like this.
A massive grin formed on my face behind the visor as I threw the car into another high-speed corner, trying to see what he had planned next.
I made sure I stayed ahead so that no matter how desperately Alaric searched for a gap, he could not find one.
I loved the fight.
I loved the feeling of holding the leash, controlling the pace of the entire grid while the world watched us fly across the tarmac.
I must always have control.
That was my code.
But tonight, I had planned something different.
"Gap to De Villiers is zero point seven seconds," Liam’s voice broke through the static, sounding slightly tense. "He has picked up DRS. He is going to have a look down the main straight, Nico."
"I see him," I replied lazily, checking my mirrors as the Ferrari loomed massively behind me, its rear wing open to gain top speed.
Alaric pulled out of my slipstream, drawing alongside me as we screamed toward the braking zone.
I could see the yellow numbers on his helmet clearly as we went wheel-to-wheel, navigating the terrifyingly narrow track with only inches between our tires.
It was crazy.
The sheer level of trust we had to place in each other to race like this at these speeds was insane.
But my smile only widened.
I was not going to let Alaric get past me yet.
I braked later, forcing my car to hold the line on the edge of locking up. My front tire smoked slightly, but I made the corner, squeezing him out just enough to retain the lead as we accelerated away again.
"Beautiful defense, Nico," Liam praised, a small sigh of relief filtering through the comms. "Management is happy, so keep it up. You have five laps to go, and the win is yours."
"Yeah," I murmured back, my eyes flicking briefly toward the massive grandstand screens as I sped past them.
The cameras were focusing heavily on our battle. I could already imagine the commentators losing their minds on international television.
"An absolute masterclass of rivalry! Park and De Villiers are giving us an unforgettable show in Saudi Arabia!"
And then my mind drifted back to the calls I had ignored from my mother and the absolute fury my grandfather must be feeling seeing my name attached to romantic hashtags, global edits, and dramatic paddock gossip.
The old man lived for prestige, the untouchable reputation of our family, and he hated drama.
But that was exactly what I was going to use against him. freewebnσvel.cøm
Drama.
Leading the race was incredible. Winning would give Red Bull twenty points and cement my status at the top of the standings.
But my winning was predictable because my grandfather always expected me to win.
But I was not going to.
That was my Plan B.
