Finish Line, Dead End
Eighteen years ago, Sarah Lincoln saved Harrison Flores from a fire. He never forgot her—but he mistook Eileen Black for her. He helped Eileen hurt Sarah again and again. By the time Harrison uncovered the truth, she was already blazing bright beyond his reach. Will they ever find their way back to each other?
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Yellow Jersey, Heavy Heart
That yellow-and-black jersey screams ambition, but her breath is ragged, her grip tight—not from fatigue, but from memory. Every turn echoes a choice made long ago. The city blurs behind her, but the finish line? It’s never just asphalt. Finish Line, Dead End hits different when victory feels like surrender. 🌫️🏁
Backseat Tension, Mic On
He’s dressed for a boardroom, but his earpiece buzzes with race updates—like he’s narrating his own tragedy. The car glides; his jaw clenches. Is he coaching? Regretting? Or just watching the girl who outran his plans? Finish Line, Dead End thrives in these quiet detonations. 💼🎧
Crowd vs. Cyclist: Who’s Really Racing?
Spectators scream, wave phones, freeze time—but the riders? They’re already gone. One glance at Jin’s face says it all: the real race isn’t on the road. It’s between hope and history. Finish Line, Dead End masterfully makes us wonder—who crosses first, and who survives after? 📸⚡
Two Bikes, One Breath
Side by side, they pedal like synchronized ghosts—same rhythm, different wounds. The blue-jersey rider leans in; the yellow one pulls ahead. Not rivalry. Recognition. In Finish Line, Dead End, the most intimate moments happen at 30 km/h, wind stealing words before they form. 🌬️🤝
The Crutch That Watches the Race
Jin’s crutch isn’t just support—it’s a silent witness to every pedal stroke. While others cheer, he stands still, eyes locked on the road where past and present collide. Finish Line, Dead End isn’t about speed; it’s about who’s left standing when the crowd fades. 🚴♀️💔