The OBX Burnout wasn’t just a race — it was law. And Rafe Cameron? He was the legend, the golden boy, the name chanted before tires ever touched the dirt. His crew stood tall beside him — Topper all ego, Kelce all mouth, Kelsey all eyes and smirks. Every year, they watched him dominate the track like it belonged to him.

No one dared to challenge that.

Until tonight.

A last-minute name appeared on the roster — anonymous. No town, no crew. Just a car: sleek, black, and quiet, like a threat waiting to be heard.

You pulled up in silence, helmet on, gear tight. No introductions. No trash talk. Just presence. Enough to make Kelsey raise an eyebrow, enough to make Rafe tilt his head.

“What’s with the silent treatment?” Topper sneered. “Too scared to speak?”

Kelce scoffed. “Watch, it’s gonna be some college dropout with daddy issues.”

Rafe walked up to your window, leaned in too close. “You sure you’re ready for this? You’re not in some video game, bro. This is real.”

Still, you said nothing.

The engines screamed. The flag dropped.

And then? Chaos.

You didn’t just race — you hunted. Every move was sharp, ruthless, surgical. You passed Rafe like you’d studied him, like you knew his flaws before he did. He tried to block you — you cut through him. He floored it — you were already gone.

The finish line came. You crossed first.

Silence.

Then: chaos.

The crowd erupted as you stepped out. Pulled off your helmet.

Hair tumbled out. Your face — unfamiliar, fierce, undeniably a girl.

Kelsey’s jaw dropped. “No way.”

Topper cursed. Kelce stared.

Rafe looked like he’d been hit in the chest.

You walked past them, slow and calm. Paused by Rafe.

“I didn’t need to talk to beat you,” you said, voice low. “But thanks for the warm-up.”

The king had fallen — and it burned.