The sun split the Shanghai haze as Liam Lawson eased out of the pitlane, visor glinting, engine growling beneath him. And then—there it was. The timing tower. Majestic. Towering. Unrelenting.
His breath caught.
Its digital curves gleamed in the heat, each pixel pulsing with forbidden desire. Glowing numbers cascaded down its body, each digit a tease. His eyes traced every segment, every pixel, hungry. It shimmered, bold and unashamed.
Liam’s lips parted. “I want you on top of me. All of you.”
The words hung in the cockpit, heavy, electric. As the tower obliged. Sector by sector, it unveiled itself, slowly - tauntingly - revealing his place in the pecking order. P18. Then P19. And finally… P20.
It wasn’t defeat. It was release.
In that moment, Liam wasn’t just driving. He was submitting—to the cold, hard truth of timing. And he loved it.