The storm brewing in Samantha's chest had nothing to do with the actual clouds gathering in the night sky. Her father's words still echoed in her head—final, unwavering. "You are done with street racing. For good." He had stripped her of everything she had built, everything she had fought to keep.
But Samantha Reyes had never been the type to back down.
She paced her room, fists clenched as she stared at the locked windows. Her father had gone to extreme lengths to ensure she wouldn't be able to sneak out again. The security was tighter than ever—guards at every entrance, her car nowhere to be found. The garage had been emptied, her tires slashed, her keys confiscated.
She was trapped.
A gilded cage.
Again.
She let out a bitter laugh and threw herself onto the bed, her mind racing as fast as the cars she used to command.
Then came the knock.
"Go away," she snapped, expecting one of the maids sent to check on her.
Instead, the door creaked open, and a familiar figure stepped inside.
Maxwell Sterling.
His expensive cologne drifted through the air before his deep voice cut through the silence. "You look like a caged animal."
Samantha shot up, her glare sharp as knives. "And you look like a man who's enjoying my misery."
Maxwell chuckled, leaning against the doorframe, hands in his pockets. He was infuriatingly composed, dressed in a tailored suit that screamed power and privilege. "Your father is determined to keep you in line."
She scoffed. "And you're here to gloat?"
He tilted his head, amusement flickering in his cold eyes. "I'm here to remind you that I always get what I want. And since your father has locked you out of street racing, you have very few options left."
Samantha crossed her arms. "If you think this means I'll just roll over and accept marrying you, you really don't know me."
Maxwell smirked. "You're predictable, Samantha. Reckless. You're already planning how to get back out there, aren't you?"
Her silence was answer enough.
Maxwell took slow, deliberate steps toward her, closing the distance between them. "What if I told you I could help?"
Samantha's eyebrows shot up. "Help?"
"I have resources your father won't question. I could get you out of here, get you another car—"
She narrowed her eyes. "What's the catch?"
His smirk widened. "Race for me. One last time."
Samantha frowned, suspicion creeping in. "What are you talking about?"
"There's a race happening tonight. One that even your father doesn't know about. High stakes. High rewards. Win, and I'll make sure you have your freedom again."
Samantha studied him, heart pounding. This was a trap. It had to be. Maxwell Sterling didn't do favors without expecting something in return.
"And if I lose?" she asked.
Maxwell's eyes darkened. "Then you marry me without any more of your little games."
She laughed dryly. "You're insane."
"Am I?" Maxwell took another step closer, lowering his voice. "Or are you just afraid you can't win?"
Samantha's jaw clenched. The challenge was there, hanging between them like the electric charge before a lightning strike.
She should say no. Walk away. Find another way out of this mess.
But racing was in her blood. It was who she was.
And she never backed down from a challenge.
"Fine," she said, lifting her chin. "I'll race. And I'll win."
Maxwell's smirk returned, full of confidence and something dangerously close to admiration. "I wouldn't expect anything less."
Two hours later, Samantha stood at the edge of an abandoned airstrip on the outskirts of the city. The place was alive with the familiar chaos of underground racing—revving engines, neon lights reflecting off sleek cars, the murmur of eager bets being placed.
But something was off.
The usual energy, the reckless thrill—it all felt different.
Then she saw him.
Razor.
Her heart dropped. Of all the racers in the city, he was the one she didn't want to see. A dangerous rival with no rules, no morals. He had tried to run her off the road before, and he would do it again without hesitation.
And he was here.
Maxwell followed her gaze. "Problem?"
Samantha exhaled sharply. "You didn't tell me Razor would be racing."
Maxwell's expression didn't change. "Would it have stopped you?"
She clenched her jaw. No. It wouldn't have.
But now she knew this wasn't just about winning.
It was about survival.
The race was set. Three laps around the airstrip. Five racers. One winner.
Samantha climbed into the car Maxwell had provided—a sleek, black machine with an engine that purred like a beast waiting to be unleashed. Her fingers tightened around the wheel as she glanced to her right, where Razor sat in his signature blood-red car, grinning at her like a predator.
The flag dropped.
The cars roared to life, tires screeching as they launched forward. Samantha's pulse pounded in her ears as she maneuvered through the pack, her instincts sharp, her focus unbreakable.
One lap down. She was in second place, Razor just ahead of her.
The second lap turned deadly.
Razor veered sharply, trying to cut her off. Samantha reacted instantly, swerving to avoid a collision. Her tires skidded, but she regained control just in time.
He was playing dirty. As always.
Final lap.
Samantha pushed the car to its limits, the engine screaming as she closed the gap. The finish line was in sight. Victory was within reach—
Then it happened.
A sharp jolt.
Her car lurched sideways.
Razor had clipped her rear bumper.
She spun out of control.
The world blurred as she fought to correct the spin, but it was too late. Her car slammed into the side barriers, metal crumpling, glass shattering.
Darkness swallowed her vision.
The last thing she heard was Maxwell's voice shouting her name.