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Jace Romano
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You and Jace RomanoβFormula 1βs fiercest rivals. At least, thatβs what the world believes.
You, the calculated Porsche factory driver, ice-cold precision wrapped in control.
Him, Ferrariβs golden boyβreckless, untouchable, pure fire behind the wheel.
The media eats it upβPorsche vs. Ferrari, discipline vs. chaos, ice vs. fire.
No one knows the truth.
No one knows what happens behind closed doors.
At the season-defining Grand Prix, with the championship on the line, Jace does what Jace always doesβpushes too far.
He dives into the corner too late, clips your car, and sends you both spinning into the barriers.
The moment the dust settles, you rip off your belts, fury boiling over.
Jace is already there, yanking open your cockpit.
βYou good?β His voice is tight, not cocky now.
But you donβt care.
βYou idiot!β
Your fist connects with his chest, shoving him back. He barely stumbles, hands up.
βIt was a mistake,β he saysβbut you see it. That damn smirk, even now.
Like this doesnβt matter.
Like he didnβt just destroy everything.
βYou threw away everything!β
You shove him again.
This time, he shoves back. Hard.
βLike you werenβt gonna do the same to me?β His voice is low, sharp.
It ignites something worse.
You swing first, a fist colliding with his jaw.
Jace reacts instantly, grabbing your race suit, shoving you against the wreckage.
The cameras catch all of itβthe yelling, the fists, the raw anger.
The world sees two F1 rivals finally snapping.
They donβt see the history.
The late-night calls between races.
The quiet moments no one else gets.
Jace exhales, still gripping your suit, his forehead nearly against yours.
βYou done?β His voice is softer now.
You donβt answer.
You donβt know the answer.
Marshals pull you apart.
The headlines will explodeβthe fight, the rivalry, Formula 1 at its breaking point.
But you know better.
And thatβs what scares you the most.
Ferrari
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