Drive me Wild, Rival(BL)

Nico

The smile lingered on my lips long after Alaric overtook Kelvin.

The entire Ferrari section of the grandstands exploded into chaos, a sea of scarlet flags waving wildly beneath the blinding floodlights like blood against the black desert sky.

I exhaled slowly inside my helmet as I swept through Turn 11, feeling the Red Bull sink low against the asphalt before launching out of the corner with a violent burst of speed.

Sparks scattered briefly beneath the car, bright orange streaks disappearing behind me into the night, and right behind those sparks came the Ferrari.

It was closer now, close enough for me to recognize the subtle aggression in Alaric’s lines and the way he carried just a fraction more speed through the apex than anyone else dared.

The circuit had transformed completely since sunset. Bahrain no longer looked like a desert drowning beneath heat and sunlight.

Beneath the floodlights, it felt sharp and dangerous, every kerb and ripple in the track thrown into harsh relief while the air shimmered from heat rising off the asphalt.

And somewhere behind me, Alaric de Villier was stalking closer with every passing sector, relentless and patient like a predator finally catching the scent it had been searching for.

"Gap behind is one point two seconds," one of the engineers informed me through the radio, his voice calm but edged with urgency.

Only one point two.

I tightened my grip around the steering wheel until my knuckles ached beneath the gloves and accelerated hard onto the main straight.

The engine screamed at full power, vibrating through my entire body while the grandstands blurred into streaks of colour and flashing lights.

Then the Ferrari appeared in my mirrors again, sleek and menacing beneath the floodlights.

The rear wing snapped open instantly.

DRS.

I defended the inside line into Turn 1 immediately, braking so late that my entire body strained against the belts while my vision narrowed to nothing except asphalt and apex.

The Red Bull twitched beneath me on corner entry before stabilizing sharply, but Alaric remained there, close and persistent, refusing to surrender even an inch of space.

The Ferrari looked beautiful in my mirrors in the worst possible way. Smooth through the corners, stable on exit, every movement measured with terrifying precision. Alaric de Villier was truly back.

He looked nothing like the rusty driver the media expected after two years away from the grid.

This was the real Alaric de Villier, the driver I had known long before Formula One ever claimed us, the same driver who had always forced me to push harder than anyone else ever could.

A faint smile pulled at my mouth beneath the helmet because finally, after two long years of waiting, the race had become alive again in a way nothing else ever could.

By lap thirty-four, less than a second separated us. Kelvin had already fallen several seconds behind Alaric in third place, unable to match the pace we were setting. Ethan remained steady in fourth for Ferrari while Dami held fifth for Red Bull, but none of that mattered anymore because nobody was watching them.

The entire world was watching me and Alaric, two cars locked in a private war beneath the floodlights.

The Ferrari edged dangerously close through Turn 4 before falling back slightly through the middle sector, and I knew exactly what Alaric was doing. He was studying me, mapping my exits, searching for the smallest crack in my lines.

Unfortunately for him, I knew Alaric better than anyone else on this grid. I knew which corners tempted him into aggression.

I knew how patient he became right before he attacked. Most dangerously of all, I knew how utterly relentless he was once he decided he wanted the car ahead.

So I decided to play his game right back.

The next few laps turned vicious, and I became determined to beat him no matter what it cost me.

Sweat soaked through every layer of my fireproof suit, tracing hot paths down my spine while my hands ached from wrestling the car over Bahrain’s unforgiving kerbs.

The heat inside the cockpit felt suffocating despite the cool desert air outside, but I refused to make even the smallest mistake because one mistake against Alaric was enough to lose everything.

On lap thirty-seven, he attacked properly for the first time.

I saw the Ferrari pull to the outside approaching Turn 1 before diving impossibly late on the brakes, a bold strike that sent the crowd into absolute chaos.

I turned aggressively into the apex while leaving just enough room between us to avoid contact, the two cars running side by side through the corner while sparks sprayed beneath them like fireworks.

The sound from the grandstands became deafening. Even through the helmet and the roar of the engines, I could hear thousands of people screaming as Alaric stayed beside me through Turn 2 before finally tucking back behind, disciplined but clearly nowhere near finished.

A quiet laugh escaped me inside the helmet.

"Nice try, princess."

Another lap passed, then another, and every sector became war.

The Ferrari attacked constantly now, appearing beside me during braking zones before slipping back into my mirrors again. Alaric applied pressure like a man trying to pry someone apart piece by piece, patient and merciless all at once.

I defended harder with every passing lap because there was no way I was allowing him to destroy my streak tonight.

The Red Bull slid slightly through Turn 10 before I corrected it instantly, the tyres screaming beneath me in protest.

They were fading now and I could feel the grip disappearing corner after corner, but I ignored every warning sign and pushed harder anyway because winning the race mattered, but beating Alaric mattered even more.

"Ten laps remaining."

Ten laps.

That was all that remained between us and victory.

The floodlights reflected sharply against the Ferrari each time it appeared beside me on the straights, the black and scarlet livery slicing through the Bahrain night like something dangerous enough to ruin lives.

I hated how beautiful that car looked behind me, and I hated how alive Alaric made me feel, like every part of me had finally woken up after years of waiting.

On lap forty-seven, he attacked again.

This time he carried incredible speed through the final corner and launched onto the main straight beside me almost instantly. I defended the inside entering Turn 1, braking as late as physically possible while the Ferrari remained inches from my sidepod.

Neither of us lifted.

For one reckless second, I turned my head slightly and looked directly at Alaric through the visor.

Fucking psycho.

But I was crazier than he was.

A violent thrill rushed through my chest as we fought side by side, and I finally edged ahead approaching Turn 4 by the smallest margin imaginable. Honestly, who would have thought Alaric would return this strong after two years away from the sport? The Ferrari dropped back slightly after the corner, but not enough to disappear from my mirrors.

I inhaled deeply, trying to steady my breathing while adrenaline burned through my veins like fire. I had wanted this for years. It was not just about racing him or fighting him.

It was the unbearable intensity that only existed whenever Alaric was near me, a feeling I had craved during every lap I drove without him on the grid.

The closing laps arrived beneath absolute chaos from the grandstands. Ferrari fans screamed every time Alaric attacked while Red Bull supporters erupted whenever I defended successfully, and with every passing corner the atmosphere became more feverish.

On lap fifty-four, Alaric made his final attempt.

The Ferrari got an unbelievable exit through Turn 13 and closed the gap immediately down the straight. DRS opened once again and the black Ferrari surged forward with frightening speed while the entire crowd rose to their feet. He somehow held beside me through the corner before I finally forced ahead on the better line into Turn 2 by the narrowest margin possible.

My heartbeat pounded violently against my ribs while the Ferrari continued haunting my mirrors even on the final lap.

"I am not going to let you win, princess," I muttered beneath my breath as the final lap board appeared overhead.

I pushed harder than I had all race, attacking the kerbs aggressively through the middle sector and forcing every last ounce of pace out of the Red Bull while the Ferrari continued chasing me like a shadow that refused to die. The final corners arrived far too quickly.

I exited Turn 13 cleanly and buried the throttle down the straight while fireworks already exploded somewhere above the circuit in celebration.

The Ferrari stayed dangerously close behind me all the way to the finish line, but in the end it still was not enough to take the victory from my hands.

I crossed the line first.

The chequered flag waved wildly beneath the floodlights, signalling victory, and adrenaline crashed through me so violently that I shouted into the helmet before I could stop myself.

"Yes!"

Fireworks exploded above Bahrain while the Red Bull team screamed through my radio in pure joy.

"That is P1, Nico! P1 in Bahrain!"

I laughed quietly beneath my breath as I slowed the car during the cooldown lap, my chest still heaving beneath the fireproof suit. Then I looked into my mirrors one final time.

The black Ferrari followed closely behind me beneath the floodlights.

Second place.

Alaric de Villier had returned to Formula One and climbed straight onto the podium beside me.

And honestly, I barely cared about that right now because the only thing on my mind was the bet and exactly how I was going to make him pay for losing it.