Chapter 149: Are you going to be mad at me forever?
Alaric
It was finally Miami race day and as soon as the lights went out, the race was on.
Nico took the lead right off the starting line, his car launching forward with incredible speed while I fell right into his shadow.
Side by side, our engines roared in a deafening symphony as we fought for dominance through the opening corners of the Miami track.
In the past, whenever we drove wheel-to-wheel like this, we would steal quick, intense glances at each other through our visors—a silent, thrilling game played at over two hundred miles per hour. But today was different. Nico didn’t even bother looking at me. His head remained locked, his focus strictly on the track ahead, completely shutting me out.
I knew why. He was still furious about that night in his apartment, about the way I had stormed out on him, and about the ten days of complete radio silence that followed. I had ignored every single one of his calls and messages. We were barely at the very beginning of our official relationship, yet everything was already crumbling into pieces.
Everything was moving far too quickly.
The overwhelming fear that we might lose the love we had taken so long to build tightened like a vice around my chest. I didn’t want to lose us. I couldn’t bear the thought of losing the love we shared, but every time I pulled up beside his Red Bull, desperately searching his helmet for a sign of recognition, his eyes remained cold and fixed on the asphalt ahead.
"You’re right on his tail, Alaric. You’re close—take the lead on turn eleven!" my race engineer’s voice crackled through my helmet comms.
My team kept pushing me over the radio, constantly giving me telemetry updates and urging me to make a move. But Nico was driving on an entirely different level today. He was relentless, defensive, and perfect. He didn’t leave a single inch of space for me to overtake as if he was reminding me that he was still the king of the grid.
Lap after lap, the heat of the track radiated into my cockpit as I pushed my engine to its absolute limits, trying to find a way past him.
By the final lap, it was a pure head-to-head battle down the main straight.
I lunged forward, trying to out-brake him into the final hairpin, but Nico held his line with absolute authority. Crossing the finish line, he took the checkered flag, winning the Miami Grand Prix while I settled for P2.
As I drove my car down the pit lane toward the parc fermé, my heart started pounding wildly against my ribs. Winning second place didn’t matter.
All I could think about was what he had said that night—that he was going to retire after this season.
The sudden, terrifying realization that these could be our very last races driving together hit me like a physical blow.
"Still overthinking this moment? Why don’t you just talk to him instead of acting like a total idiot?"
Harold’s voice suddenly sounded right behind me, smooth and intrusive.
I winced, closing my eyes tightly inside my helmet. I inhaled deeply, repeating in my head like a mantra that he wasn’t real.
Harold was just a figment of my subconscious mind—a ghost I hadn’t seen since Nico and I officially started dating. But now, he was sitting right there beside me in my mind, making my pulse race.
"You called for me, Alaric," Harold whispered, suddenly appearing right in front of my car as I parked, casually leaning against the nose of my vehicle. "You were thinking about me, deep down knowing I’d give you the raw truth. So if you want to fix your life, listen up."
I rolled my eyes under my visor, blinking hard to make the illusion disappear, but Harold instantly reappeared right beside my cockpit, a bright, knowing smile on his face as he pointed a finger directly at my chest.
"You are in love with Nico. Real, terrifying love," Harold said softly. "And you completely messed up. You let your pride get the better of you, got angry, and ran away when you should have just listened to what he was actually trying to say. That’s why you’re suffering now. The only way out of this hell is to talk to him, Alaric. Put your ego aside and talk."
I blinked again, shaking my head as the hallucination finally faded into the noisy reality of the track.
The race was officially over.
I unbuckled my harness, climbed out of the cockpit, and stretched my stiff limbs before heading straight toward the media pen for post-race interviews.
Nico was already standing in front of the reporters, flanked by the Ferrari driver who had taken P3.
"Nico Park takes P1 in Miami yet again, with Alaric de Villiers securing P2!" the interviewer cheered into the microphone, her energy bouncing off the crowd. "The internet is completely losing its mind over your rivalry right now! The fan edits and shippers are going wild!"
The interviewer held the mic out to Nico. "Nico, another dominant win! Are you feeling confident about the championship?"
"I’m here to win," Nico replied smoothly into the mic. "I take every race seriously, and I intend to keep taking the points."
I paused beside him, my chest aching. There was zero playfulness in his voice—none of the quiet, secret double meanings he usually hid in his answers for me to catch. He was cold, professional, and entirely detached.
The interviewer turned to me next. "And Alaric! P2 today after a tough battle. What are your thoughts on Nico’s performance?"
I swallowed hard, forcing myself to look confident. "It was a good race. I... I can still win the championship too, you know. I’m not making it easy for him," I said, trying to crack a light joke to break the ice between us.
I glanced at Nico, waiting for a smirk or a small roll of his eyes, but he didn’t laugh. He didn’t even smile.
The total lack of reaction hit me like a sudden punch to the gut, making me hate the heavy, desperate feeling settling in my stomach.
"Well, you two certainly keep us on the edge of our seats!" the interviewer laughed, clearly trying to gloss over the tense air. "Although, fans noticed you haven’t been using your famous nicknames lately! No ’princess’ from Nico, no ’mon amour’ from Alaric! Are the rumors true that the rivalry is getting too personal? or is this beecasue of your recent dating scandal?’’
Nico kept a completely straight, stoic face, not offering a single comment to the interviewer’s teasing. He simply nodded politely and stepped away from the cameras, leaving the media pen without another word.
Next came the podium ceremony. We stood up on the elevated stage in front of thousands of screaming fans, accepting our trophies and popping the heavy bottles of champagne. But the moment the organized chaos finished, Nico didn’t stick around to celebrate or spray champagne with the rest of us. He put his bottle down and immediately walked off the podium, heading straight for the quiet back corridors of the venue.
Unable to watch him walk away from me again, my body moved before my mind could stop me. I abandoned my trophy and ran after him.
He was rounding a quiet corner in the private hallway leading toward the driver rooms when I caught up. I reached out, my fingers wrapping tightly around his wrist.
Nico stopped, turning around with a sharp breath. "Alaric, don’t—"
Before he could finish his sentence or pull away, I pulled him into a dark, secluded alcove around the corner where no media cameras or team staff could see us. I backed him against the wall, holding onto his arm while looking up into his guarded, exhausted eyes.
"Are you going to be mad at me forever?" I asked softly, my voice cracking under the weight of ten days’ worth of regret.