Beyond the Podiums

1. Collision Course

The sun blazed down on the winding roads of Monaco, casting sharp shadows across the terracotta rooftops and glittering off the Mediterranean below. Caledonia Scott stood out against the sun-bleached tarmac, her lean frame powering a matte black road bike up the hillside with the relentless determination of someone who didn't know how to slow down.

Sweat clung to her temple beneath the brim of her helmet, but she relished it, the heat, the challenge, the burn in her legs. Her thighs ached and lungs flared as she pushed into another steep turn, the kind that separated amateurs from masochists. Caledonia had never been much of a sitter. Stillness made her feel like she was missing something.

In another life, maybe she'd have been a professional athlete. But instead, her brain had lit up around algorithms and security loopholes. While other students were pulling all-nighters over lectures and ramen, she was coding the foundation of what would become one of the most secure digital vaults, used by hospitals, banks, even governments. Now, at twenty-seven, she was trying to be a hands-off CEO with an aggressive travel itinerary, a carbon-fibre bike, and a total inability to relax.

Just as she crested the bend, a sound broke through her flow. Engine. Loud. Fast. Too close.

Her eyes snapped to the corner.

Then-
A flash of red.
The screech of tyres.
Metal on metal.
And the sickening thud of her own body hitting tarmac.

Shit.

The car clipped her back tire before she had time to swerve. Time folded. She hit the road hard, shoulder and thigh scraping brutally against asphalt. Pain bloomed hot and immediate as she rolled onto her back, her helmet cracked but intact, the taste of dust in her mouth.

"Fuck sake," she groaned, lifting her head to inspect the damage.

Her leg was a mess of angry scrapes, blood mixing with grit and Lycra. Her bike lay several feet away, one wheel twisted like a pretzel.

Then she heard it, footsteps. Fast, panicked. A voice.

"Oh my God! Shit, shit, are you okay? I didn't see you! Fuck, I'm so sorry! I didn't..."

She squinted up into the sunlight, momentarily blinded.

The man standing over her was wearing a plain black T-shirt, dark joggers, and the most expensive-looking trainers she'd ever seen. His hair was braided, expression wild with panic.

"I'm so sorry," he repeated, crouching down beside her, hands hovering uselessly. "Can you move? Should I call an ambulance? I didn't even see you...I was checking the corner, and..."

Caledonia blinked, dazed but alert, her heart hammering in her chest. A man dropped to his knees beside her, breathless and wide-eyed, his panic nearly vibrating off his skin.

"I'm fine," she rasped, coughing once, brushing her bright ponytail out of her face.

"You're not fine, you were hit by a car...my car...fuck, I didn't see you, are you bleeding? You're bleeding."

"I'm fine," she said, sitting up with a hiss of breath. "Okay, maybe not fine, but I don't think anything's broken."

The man hovered helplessly, looking at her leg. Her cycling shorts were shredded and stained with blood. The road rash stung like hell, but she'd had worse. Probably.

"Should I call an ambulance? A doctor?" he said, already pulling out his phone. "Or...shit, maybe I should call the police, no, wait, hospital. I'll drive you. You can yell at me in the car."

She stared at him. "Are you always this dramatic, or just when you hit women with your car?"

His head jerked back. Then, unexpectedly, he laughed. A real laugh. Warm, self-deprecating. "Only when I hit women with my car."