HEESEUNG'S POV
Leaning against the doorframe of the garage's door, I watch the mechanics work on my racing car while mentally critiquing their every move. They scurry around like ants, but their efficiency leaves much to be desired. My patience wears thin as I observe their sluggish pace. I don't understand why the boss says she needs enhancements when I drive her just fine, it's not like he's the one behind the wheel pushing her to the limit.
With a disdainful snort, I shake my head. "Enhancements," I mutter to myself, rolling my eyes. "Just an excuse for them to tinker and meddle with something that doesn't need fixing."
I've been riding for Ferrari for the last few seasons, and my record speaks for itself. Championships, podium finishes – I've done it all. And I did it with this car, just the way it is. Sure, she's not perfect, but she's mine, and I know every inch of her like the back of my hand.
I watch as they fuss over the engine, adjusting this and tweaking that, as if they know better than the man who's spent years mastering every nuance of this machine. But I'll humor them for now. If it keeps them busy and out of my hair, so be it. I guess I'll just head to work out while do their thing.
Stepping out of the garage, I make my way to the team's gym, my mind already shifting gears from frustration to focus. Riding for Ferarri had always been like this, they don't give a fuck about what I think or how I feel about my car. To them, it's just another piece of equipment to be toyed with until it fits their vision of perfection. I'm a racer, damn it, and I know what I need to succeed on the track.
When I walk into the gym, Junseok is already there and I curse under my breath. The man despises my mere presence and we've always been dancing around each other like predators in the same territory. But today, I'm not in the mood for his passive-aggressive jabs so I'll keep my fucks for another day to spend on something more worthwhile than engaging in petty squabbles with him. Since the day we had a press conference and I said something that rubbed him the wrong way, he's been a thorn in my side.
He's not a bad driver, I admit it, but he relies too heavily on data and analytics, neglecting the raw instinct that separates the good from the great. And he's a fucking asshole for thinking that he's better than me just because he can crunch numbers and analyze graphs. But if that's what gets him through the night, then so be it.
Ignoring the disdainful glance he throws my way, I grab a towel and head straight for the treadmill, cranking up the speed without so much as a warm-up. My muscles protest, but I push through the discomfort, letting the rhythmic pounding of my feet drown out the noise of the world around me. I can feel the tension melting away, replaced by the familiar rush of adrenaline that comes with pushing my body to its limits. This, this is where I feel alive – not in some stuffy garage with mechanics who think they know better than me.
But then he approaches me, getting on the treadmill next to mine before I can even protest. I shoot him a sideways glance. What does he want now? "Look who decided to grace us with his presence. I heard they're making some changes to your precious car. Must be tough, having to rely on someone else to make you competitive."
Oh, so that's what he's been after. Typical Jungseok, always looking for an opportunity to get under my skin. I suppress a scoff, not willing to engage in his petty taunts. "I thought you'd be too busy crunching numbers to care about what's happening in the garage."
"I always make time to keep an eye on my competition." As much as I want to ignore him, I can feel my temper starting to fray. I'm really in no mood to have a conversation with someone like him, and I sure as fuck don't want to let him get the satisfaction of seeing me lose my cool. So, with a deep breath, I decide to humor him, at least for now.
"I don't see you as competition," The way his body tenses and he shoots me a sharp look tells me I've struck a nerve. Good. Let him stew in his own frustration for a change. "You're just a nuisance I have to tolerate on the track."
But he just laughs, a harsh, mocking sound that sets my teeth on edge. "Funny because last time I checked, I was the one standing on the podium while you were eating my dust." Damn. Okay, fuck it, change of plans. I am fucking him up.
Junseok won last time, but that was then, and this is now. It wasn't even because he deserved it, it was because the team's manager doesn't fucking listen when I tell him my car doesn't need all these unnecessary changes. Call it unfair, call it injustice, but his daddy's money speaks louder than my expertise behind the wheel, it seems. But that's what makes me better than him–I don't rely on handouts or daddy's money to get ahead. I've worked my ass off to get to where I am, and I'll be damned if I let someone like Junseok take that away from me.
"Yeah, congratulations for being daddy's little golden boy. But the Grand Prix doesn't care about your family's bank account so good luck with that." Next time, I'll be the one spraying champagne while you're left wondering what went wrong. This is a promise I intend to keep. No more playing nice, no more tolerating those who think they can buy their way to victory.
I stop the treadmill abruptly, wiping the sweat off my face while feeling his eyes on me. "You think you're so special, don't you? You think you're better than everyone?"
"I don't have to think it, Junseok. I know it." I smirk. "You know it too." I don't spare him another glance before I leave the gym, deciding it's not the best time to work out. I'll just exercise when I go back home. Heading out of the gym and to the garage, the mechanic team is finally done fussing over my car. I approach, inspecting the modifications they've made with a critical eye. Despite my initial resistance to the changes, I have to admit that some of them seem promising. "About damn time." It's finally time for practice.
"Lee Heeseung. My office, now." The boss calls from the door and I throw my head back, hoping the ground will swallow me whole. It couldn't have come at a worse time, I don't even have the chance to take her for a ride, for fuck's sake.
"You wanted to see me?" I say when I step into his office, trying to keep the irritation out of my voice. I know damn well whenever he wants to see me, it's going to be one hell of a conversation. He gestures for me to take a seat, and I do so reluctantly, crossing my arms over my chest as I wait for him to speak. When he just stares at me, almost hesitant to start the conversation, I tap my foot impatiently, silently urging him to get on with it.
"I've been hearing complaints about your attitude in the garage." He finally says and I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Of course, they'd run to him with their grievances like a bunch of children seeking validation from the teacher. "Plus, there's an issue with your sponsorships."
My heart sinks at the mention of sponsorships. I know they're crucial for the team's financial stability, but dealing with sponsors has always been a sore spot for me. I'm here to race, not to schmooze with rich businessmen who care more about their bottom line than the thrill of competition. "What about my attitude? I'm here to race, not hold hands and sing kumbaya. And what about the sponsors? What do they want?"
He shrugs helplessly. "More visibility, more engagement. They want to see a return on their investment, Heeseung, and right now, they're not convinced that they're getting it."
I curse under my breath, running a hand through my hair in frustration. This is the last thing I need right now, on top of all the other bullshit I have to deal with. "What am I supposed to do about it?" I brace myself for whatever criticism or demands the boss is about to lay on me.
"Listen, Heeseung, you have no public image apart from being one of the top racers and that's good, okay? But it's not enough. You're making a mistake by thinking skills alone will get you to the top. You need a social presence."
I grit my teeth, resisting the urge to snap back at him. I know he's right, at least to some extent. "So, what? You want me to smile for the cameras, attend fancy events, and play nice with people who see me as nothing more than a walking billboard-"
"An arranged marriage to boost your public image." His words make me pause mid-sentence, my jaw dropping in disbelief. What in the fuck is he even talking about? An arranged marriage? I feel like I've stepped into some alternate universe where common sense has gone out the window.
"Excuse me?" I manage to choke out, my voice laced with disbelief. "You want me to get married for the sake of my racing career? Are you serious right now?"
He leans back in his chair, steepling his fingers together. "Deadly serious, Heeseung. It's a small sacrifice for the greater good. One of the sponsors is willing to invest a significant amount of money if you agree to this arrangement. Think about it – it's not just about you anymore. It's about the team, the sponsors, and the future of your career-"
"I won't do it." There is no fucking room for argument. "I'm not about to marry a freaking stranger so I can boost my public image. This is insane." I don't even understand why I have to go through this, just because I'm not a social person and I don't enjoy being a complete hypocrite to the public doesn't mean I should compromise my personal values and integrity for the sake of some sponsorships.
"Then you leave me with no choice but to find someone who is willing to make that sacrifice, Heeseung." Okay, now I'm swayed. Now I'm fucking swayed because leaving the Ferrari team is going to be the downfall of my dreams and I won't let that happen.
"You can't be serious," I growl, my fists clenched so tightly that my knuckles turn white. "An arranged marriage is a fucking joke. I can't do it. No-"
"Just one year. Bear with it one year and then you can get a divorce like nothing happened." He pauses, his tone softer now, as if trying to appeal to my reason rather than my emotions. And I sink back into my seat, feeling the weight of his words pressing down on me.
One year. It doesn't sound like much, but the thought of spending even a single day trapped in a loveless marriage for the sake of my career makes my skin crawl. Still, I'm a fucking coward because I'm actually starting to consider this insane offer.