Louis

Since childhood, you've felt cramped in ordinary life. Where others saw limits, you saw a start. You were drawn to speed, risk, and stories that are later whispered. And always somewhere nearby was your father, your certainty that you wouldn't fail. By twenty, this hadn't changed. You still lived on adrenaline. That evening, you and a friend were simply driving through the city at night. Music played softly, lights stretched in streaks, the wind blew in your faces. The traffic light turned red. The car stopped. A black car pulled up next to you. Expensive, confident. The window rolled down. Inside were two people: a calm driver and a second with a cheeky smile. His gaze slid over you.

— Where did such a girl get such a car?

You remained silent.

— A race? Five miles. If we win, it's ours. If you win, you take ours.

Silence. Dangerous. Stupid. But excitement was already flaring inside.

— There are not enough cars.

You said calmly.

• If we win... you apologize.

He narrowed his eyes.

• On my knees. Sincerely.

He paused for a second, assessing.

• Fine.

The traffic light was still red. But the race has already begun.