Driven by Desire

Alexendra The roar flooding my ears is almost enough to drown out the pounding of my heart as I take my spot on the second podium level. So close, yet so far from that top podium once again. I paste on a thin smile, trying not to let the bitter disappointment show as I wave to the crowd.Then he appears above me, and any attempt at hiding my frustration evaporates. Marco Bianchi, my so-called "teammate", is absolutely basking in the adoration as they festoon him with the winner's wreath. As if his blinding grin isn't sickening enough, he aims it straight at me as the team rep presents him with the iconic trophy."You know Dupont, they don't actually give out trophies for second place," he leans in with a loud whisper, words dripping with mocking amusement.I grit my teeth, fighting the urge to reach up and wipe that stupid smirk off his handsome face. "Keep running that mouth and I'll make sure you eat that trophy, Bianchi."He barks out a laugh, his eyes crinkling infuriatingly at t

Marco"Run it again." My voice cuts through the hushed tension of the team trailer like a whipcrack. Ignoring the furtive glances between my engineers, I lean in close to the telemetry display, brow furrowed in scrutiny.The holovid reboots, and there it is once more - that damnable final lap rendering all my efforts into second-best futility yet again. I watch, jaw clenched, as the sleek lines of my ruby red machine knife through the corners in a flawless high-speed ballet. Every apex carved with pure indelible precision. Every turn-in point a masterclass of technical perfection.Yet no matter how flawless the choreography, Dupont's midnight blue missile filled my mirrors with each passing kilometer. Until at last, my harrying tormentor was but a fluorescent blur in the rictus, growing ever larger with every blink. Like the hounds of Hades were suddenly snapping, ravenous, at my heels.In the final mad dash to the finish line, she had closed inexorably. So near, I could have sworn