At Redwood University, where shadows of the past and secrets of the present collide, life is anything but ordinary.
Riya Kapoor came to the U.S. to escape the suffocating life she left behind in Mumbai-a life of broken promises and painful betrayals...
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The growl of motorcycle engines shattered the calm morning air like a blade slicing through silence. Zane Holloway tightened his grip on the handlebars of his Ducati Panigale V4, feeling the machine's power thrumming beneath him. This-right here-was where he felt most alive. The world around him faded into a blur, his focus zeroing in on one thing: the race.
The stakes? Twenty miles of treacherous road, winding down the mountains, spilling into the busy streets below Redwood University. But for Zane, it wasn't about the ten thousand dollars Logan Cruz had wagered. The money meant nothing. It never had. This was about pride, about proving something-to himself more than anyone else.
Logan Cruz, his so-called rival, stood nearby, grinning like he'd already won. Zane's eyes flicked over to him, taking in the smug look on his face as he leaned against his Yamaha YZF-R1, flipping a coin like he didn't have a care in the world. Logan was Redwood's untouchable bad boy, the self-crowned king of the underground scene, with a gang of lowlifes who worshipped him.
"You sure you want to do this, Holloway?" Logan's voice was casual, his tone mocking. He spoke like he already knew the outcome, like Zane wasn't even worth the effort. Behind him, his crew snickered, already convinced of their win.
Zane didn't reply, keeping his expression blank behind his helmet. He wasn't here to exchange words, especially not with someone like Logan. This wasn't about ego, though he had plenty of that. It was about the rush-the split-second decisions, the danger that came with pushing the limits.
He felt the hum of the engine beneath him, the deep rumble vibrating through his body. The Ducati was more than just a bike-it was an extension of himself. It responded to his touch, to the slightest shift in weight. This was where he was in control, where everything else in his life faded into the background.
"All right, boys," Logan snapped his fingers with that trademark smirk. "Let's do this. Don't cry when I smoke you, Holloway."
The engines roared to life, filling the air with the heavy scent of gasoline and burning rubber. Zane's muscles tensed, his grip tightening on the handlebars. His heartbeat matched the rhythm of the engine, fast but steady. The fire in his chest burned, not from fear but from the need to win, to silence Logan's smug face for good.
The signal came, and they launched forward.
---
The mountain road twisted and turned like a living beast, each sharp curve daring them to lose control. Zane leaned into every turn, his body moving as one with the bike. The wind whipped against his face, and the Ducati roared beneath him, devouring the road like it was built for this very moment.
Every second was a test-of skill, of nerve, of instinct. One wrong move, and the consequences would be brutal. But Zane wasn't thinking about crashing. He wasn't thinking about anything except the road ahead and the sound of Logan's Yamaha right behind him. Logan was fast, dangerously fast, but Zane had the edge-he was more precise, more focused.
