High Stakes

The atmosphere was electric.

Vi had dominated qualifying, putting in a lap so aggressive, so relentless, that even Red Bull’s engineers had looked impressed.

It was her first pole position in F1.

It was supposed to be her race.

But of course—

Caitlyn Kiramman was right beside her.

The reigning four-time world champion, the driver Vi had spent her entire off-season preparing to beat.

This wasn’t just about winning.

It was about proving something.

And Vi had every intention of doing that.

The lights flashed.

Five red.

Hold.

Hold.

Lights out—go.

Vi’s launch was strong.

Not perfect, but good enough to keep her just ahead as they charged toward Turn 1.

Then—

Caitlyn appeared.

Not behind her.

Beside her.

Vi’s eyes flickered to her mirrors, heart pounding.

The Mercedes was right there, perfectly positioned, creeping up on the inside with terrifying precision.

Vi braked late, trying to hold the racing line—

But Caitlyn?

Caitlyn braked even later.

Smooth. Calculated. Perfect.

And just like that—

Vi lost the lead before the first corner.

Vi gritted her teeth.

"That was clean," her engineer said over the radio.

Vi clenched her fists. Too clean.

And she hated it.

Lap 10 

Vi pushed hard.

Every turn, every exit, trying to force Caitlyn into a mistake.

But Caitlyn?

She was a machine.

Not a single missed apex.

Not a single late reaction.

Vi was faster in the straights, her Red Bull gaining ground—

But every time she got close, Caitlyn would place her car in exactly the right spot to block her.

Every. Damn. Time.

"She’s making me look like a rookie," Vi growled.

"She’s got experience," her engineer said.

Vi scowled. Experience wasn’t supposed to matter this much.

She had the faster car.

She had aggression, talent, instincts.

And yet—

Caitlyn was making her look slow.

Vi hated that.

And she hated Caitlyn for it.

Lap 30 

The worst-case scenario happened.

Ekko’s Ferrari had been hunting Vi down for the past ten laps, his tires still fresh, his car in perfect balance.

Vi had been so focused on Caitlyn that she hadn’t defended properly.

And when Ekko made a move—

Vi lost second place, too.

She slammed a fist against the wheel.

This wasn’t how today was supposed to go.

She was supposed to win.

She wasn’t supposed to be fighting just to stay on the podium.

She barely held on.

Ekko was too far ahead now, and the cars behind her were closing in.

Vi had to fight like hell to keep her podium spot—

And when she crossed the finish line?

She wasn’t happy.

She was furious.

P1 – Caitlyn Kiramman (Mercedes)

P2 – Ekko (Ferrari)

P3 – Vi (Red Bull)

The second she pulled into parc fermé, she ripped off her gloves and helmet, her entire body tense with frustration.

She didn’t care about being on the podium.

She didn’t care about the cameras.

All she cared about was the fact that Caitlyn had beaten her.

Vi was still fuming when she turned around—

And Caitlyn was already there.

Standing calmly, her race suit still unzipped slightly, hair messy from the helmet—

But her expression unreadable.

"Nice race," Caitlyn said, extending a hand.

Vi stared at it.

Then—she laughed.

Sharp. Bitter. Mocking.

She ignored Caitlyn’s hand completely.

"Save it, Kiramman," Vi said coldly. "You don’t have to act like you respect me."

Caitlyn’s brow furrowed slightly. "Vi, I do respect you."

Vi scoffed. "Yeah?"

Caitlyn tilted her head slightly, something unreadable in her gaze.

"You were fast today," Caitlyn said simply. "I had to work for that win."

Vi’s blood boiled.

She stepped closer, her voice lower now.

"You didn’t ‘work’ for anything," Vi snapped. "You just had everything handed to you from the start."

Caitlyn’s expression hardened.

Vi knew she had hit a nerve.

And she wanted to.

Because it wasn’t fair.

Vi had spent her whole life fighting to get here—

And Caitlyn?

Caitlyn had always had everything.

The best teams.

The best cars.

The best opportunities.

"You’ve never had to struggle a day in your life," Vi muttered.

Caitlyn’s jaw tightened.

"And you think I don’t deserve to be here?" she asked, voice quiet but sharp.

Vi hesitated.

Because the answer wasn’t that simple.

She knew Caitlyn was good.

She knew Caitlyn was one of the best drivers F1 had ever seen.

But admitting that?

Admitting that Caitlyn had won because she was better?

Vi wasn’t ready to say that.

So instead, she scoffed.

"You had the best car," Vi muttered, stepping back. "Don’t act like it was anything more than that."

Caitlyn exhaled slowly, studying her.

Then—a small, knowing smile.

"You hate losing," Caitlyn said.

Vi’s hands clenched into fists.

"I hate you."

It came out too fast.

Too sharp.

Too real.

Caitlyn’s expression didn’t change. But something in her eyes did.

For a second, Vi thought she might say something—might actually react. But instead, Caitlyn just nodded once.

"Then I’ll see you at the next race," she said, her voice steady.

Then, she turned and walked away.

Like Vi’s words hadn’t just cut deeper than any crash ever could.

And Vi? Vi stood there, fists tight, chest heavy—

Because for some reason, she wasn’t sure she had meant it.

The podium stood under the glow of the Bahrain floodlights, illuminating the top three finishers of the season opener.

Caitlyn stood in the center, the highest step, her first-place trophy gleaming in her grip.

To her right, Ekko in Ferrari red, holding his second-place trophy, a wide grin plastered across his face.

To her left, Vi on the third step, her third-place trophy held loosely, jaw tight, mind still replaying every lost moment of the race.

The national anthem began, and the world paused.

Caitlyn took a deep breath, eyes closing.

Letting the moment sink in.

She had done it. Again.

She could still hear the roar of the Mercedes fans, the energy buzzing through the crowd, but in this moment—

She didn’t move.

Didn’t react.

Didn’t need to.

This was where she belonged.

This was hers.

And Vi?

Vi couldn’t stop watching her.

Her gaze flickered over the calmness on Caitlyn’s face, the way she stood completely composed, as if victory was simply another day at the office.

Like she had been born for this.

Vi hated it.

Hated how untouchable Caitlyn felt.

Hated how it made her feel like a challenger rather than an equal.

Then—

Ekko caught her staring. And the bastard winked.

Vi barely had time to register the smirk on Ekko’s face before—

Pop.

Ekko’s champagne bottle exploded open, and within seconds, a cold wave of bubbles slammed into Caitlyn’s face.

The crowd erupted in laughter.

Vi’s eyes snapped to Caitlyn immediately.

Waiting.

This was it.

This was the moment Caitlyn’s composure would finally crack.

The moment she’d drop the act. Be pissed, frustrated, humiliated.

Because no way would someone like Caitlyn Kiramman, the perfect, polished four-time world champion, just laugh this off.

Right?

But then—

Caitlyn… smiled.

Not a forced, professional smile.

A real, amused, slightly breathless smile.

Vi blinked.

What?

Caitlyn ran a hand through her soaked hair, shaking champagne droplets from her face, then slowly turned to Ekko—grinning.

"You just made a mistake," Caitlyn said smoothly.

Ekko raised his hands in mock surrender. "You looked too serious up here, Kiramman. Figured I’d fix that."

Caitlyn arched an eyebrow, picking up her own champagne bottle.

Ekko’s grin faltered.

"Oh, shi—"

She drenched him.

Ekko yelled dramatically, stumbling back as Caitlyn tilted the bottle up, sending champagne straight into his face.

The crowd loved it.

Vi?

Vi was still staring.

Because she had expected anger. Not Caitlyn playing along.

Not Caitlyn laughing, lighthearted, completely at ease. And that—that threw Vi off.

She had spent so much time hating her, building her up as the cold, untouchable queen of the grid.

But right now?

Caitlyn just looked like…

A person.

And Vi hated that even more.

Ekko wasn’t backing down.

He wiped champagne from his face, grinning mischievously, then turned to Vi.

"Oi, Rookie. You just gonna stand there?"

Vi scoffed, twisting her bottle open.

She wasn’t about to let Ekko have all the fun.

She popped her bottle, tilting it up just as Caitlyn turned—

And hit her straight in the chest with a wave of cold champagne.

Caitlyn gasped, half-laughing, half-coughing.

"You too?" she protested, blinking bubbles from her lashes.

Vi smirked. "You had that one coming, princess."

Caitlyn tilted her head, studying her.

Then—her smirk grew.

"So do you."

Vi barely had a second to react before Caitlyn tilted her bottle back and absolutely drenched her.

Vi let out a sharp curse, stepping back, shaking her head as champagne dripped from her hair.

"Oh, it’s war now."

Ekko cackled, stepping in between them, bottle raised. "Three-way battle. Let’s go!"

And suddenly—

It was chaos.

Vi and Ekko chased Caitlyn across the podium, champagne flying everywhere.

Caitlyn dodged, expertly weaving around them, her reactions too damn fast for someone who had just finished a 57-lap race.

Vi finally caught her, spraying directly at her face.

Caitlyn let out a mock gasp, laughing even as she tried to shield herself.

The cameras flashed wildly, capturing everything.

Three drivers, soaked, laughing, completely unguarded.

And Vi?

Vi wasn’t thinking about the race anymore.

Wasn’t thinking about how much she had hated losing to Caitlyn.

She was just—

Here.

In the moment.

And, annoyingly—

She didn’t hate it as much as she thought she would.

Eventually, the celebration settled.

Ekko was still grinning, shaking champagne out of his hair.

Vi leaned against the podium railing, exhaling.

And then—

Her eyes found Caitlyn again.

She was standing at the front of the podium, waving toward the Mercedes fans, her hair still damp, champagne glistening on her skin under the lights.

Vi clenched her jaw.

Because she was staring again.

And this time—

She didn’t even know why.

Maybe it was the way Caitlyn carried herself, the quiet confidence, the way she fit into this world so effortlessly.

Maybe it was how frustrating it was to see her so at ease, when Vi still felt like she was fighting to prove she belonged.

Or maybe—

Maybe it was just Caitlyn.

Vi exhaled sharply, looking away.

The celebrations had ended, but Vi’s frustration hadn’t.

She had been forced to stand on the third step, watching Caitlyn soak in yet another win, acting like it was just another day in her perfect life.

And now?

Now, Vi had to stand beside her again, this time in front of the media, forced to listen to her polished, diplomatic words.

Vi clenched her jaw, waiting for her turn, because today?

She wasn’t going to be polite.

She wasn’t going to act like this was just another race.

She was going to say what no one else had the guts to say.

"Caitlyn, congratulations! First win of the season—how does it feel?"

Caitlyn gave a small, effortless smile.

"It feels great," she said smoothly. "The team worked incredibly hard, and it was a tough race. Vi and Ekko were pushing hard, and I had to stay focused the entire time."

Vi resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

"You lost the lead to Vi at the start but reclaimed it before Turn 1. What was going through your mind?"

Caitlyn tilted her head slightly, thinking.

"I knew Vi would have a strong start," she admitted. "But I also knew where I needed to place the car to regain position. It was all about trusting my instincts and making the right move at the right time."

Vi gritted her teeth.

Trusting her instincts. Right. Like Caitlyn Kiramman ever had to fight for anything in her life.

And that?

That was the exact thought Vi wasn’t going to hold back.

"Vi, your first podium of the season! P3 today, but you looked frustrated out there. What are your thoughts on the race?"

Vi let out a sharp breath, crossing her arms.

"I mean, yeah, I’m frustrated," she said, her voice edged with irritation. "It’s always frustrating when some of us have to claw our way into this sport, while others just get handed everything."

The room went still.

"Can you elaborate?" a journalist asked, sensing the tension.

Vi didn’t hesitate.

"Look, I come from Zaun," she said, voice sharp. "Where we don’t get opportunities like this. We don’t get the best cars, the best sponsors, the best backing. People from Piltover? They get to just walk into this sport because of their last name, because they were born into the right family."

The journalists were eating this up now.

"Are you referring to Caitlyn Kiramman?"

Vi exhaled a humorless laugh.

"I mean, come on," she muttered. "She’s literally the perfect example. Born rich, born connected. She didn’t have to fight for this. Didn’t have to prove herself. Just had to show up, get in the right car, and suddenly she’s a four-time champion."

Caitlyn didn’t react.

Didn’t flinch. She just stood there, listening. And that pissed Vi off even more. Because she wanted a reaction.

She wanted Caitlyn to snap, to break, to prove her right.

But instead—

"Caitlyn, do you have a response to Vi’s comments?"

Caitlyn took a measured breath.

Then—

"I understand why Vi feels that way," she said, voice steady. "Zaun has always been treated unfairly. That’s not a secret. There’s a history of injustice there, and I do believe that needs to change."

Vi’s eyes narrowed.

Oh, she did not just say that.

Because Caitlyn Kiramman, the perfect Piltover golden girl, the heiress, the untouchable champion—

She didn’t get to pretend she cared about Zaun.

"So you agree Zaunites are treated unfairly?" another journalist pressed.

Caitlyn nodded. "I do. The system isn’t fair. I’ve benefited from it, and I won’t deny that. But I also believe there’s a way to make things better."

Vi nearly laughed.

Because that was such a typical Piltover response.

Act like you care, say the right words, but never actually do anything.

And Vi?

Vi was going to make sure Caitlyn knew that.

The moment they were away from the press, Vi grabbed Caitlyn’s wrist, pulling her aside.

Caitlyn stiffened, turning to face her.

"What are you doing?" Caitlyn asked, brow raised.

Vi’s eyes burned with frustration.

"Stop pretending," she said coldly.

Caitlyn frowned. "Pretending?"

Vi stepped closer, voice low and sharp.

"You don’t care about Zaun," Vi spat. "You don’t give a damn about what happens to us. So don’t stand there, in front of cameras, acting like you do."

Caitlyn’s expression didn’t change.

"I said what I meant," Caitlyn replied calmly. "I do believe there’s injustice in how Zaunites are treated."

Vi let out a sharp, bitter laugh.

"Right," she muttered. "And what are you actually doing about it? Sitting in your luxury apartment in Piltover, giving empty speeches? Don’t act like you understand our struggle. You never had to live it."

Caitlyn’s jaw tightened.

And finally—Vi saw something flicker in those blue eyes.

Not anger.

Not guilt.

Something else.

Something Vi couldn’t read.

"You think I don’t know struggle?" Caitlyn asked, voice softer now, but firm.

Vi scoffed. "No, I don’t. Because you don’t. You grew up safe, protected, knowing you’d always have a place in this world. People like me? We had to fight for every damn thing."

Caitlyn held her gaze for a long moment.

Then, finally, she spoke.

"You’re right," she admitted. "I don’t know what it’s like to grow up in Zaun. I never will."

Vi blinked.

That wasn’t the answer she was expecting.

Caitlyn continued.

"But I know what it’s like to have expectations forced on you. To have people assume they already know who you are, what you’ve been through—without ever really knowing you."

Vi stared at her.

Because for the first time, Caitlyn looked real.

Not the champion.

Not the Kiramman heir.

Just—Caitlyn.

Vi hated it.

Hated that she could see something real in her.

Because that made everything more complicated.

Vi clenched her jaw, stepping back.

"Whatever," she muttered. "Just stay out of things you don’t understand."

Then she turned—walked away.

Leaving Caitlyn standing there, watching her go.

And for the first time, Caitlyn wasn’t sure if Vi really hated her.

Or if Vi just hated what she thought Caitlyn represented.