Episode 4: Vows Broken, Lines Crossed
The name Zoom X wasn't just whispered anymore. It was shouted. Across the dorms, over the tracks, in the smoky basements where illegal mods traded hands. His silver-veined Evo had become a symbol of defiance. In just two nights, he had gone from coma nobody to the most dangerous rising driver in New York's racing school.
And with his rise came something darker—temptation.
Everywhere he walked, eyes followed. Young girls flushed when he passed. Older women bit their lips without shame. Even women already locked in relationships—girlfriends, fiancées, wives—found themselves staring longer than they should. The aura wasn't normal. It was power, raw and animal, and once you fell into it, there was no escape.
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After the Race
The night's official race had ended in carnage. It was a smaller contest, a 25-player sprint through Queens. Zoom had carved his Evo into first place with terrifying precision, drifting hairpins so clean they looked choreographed. The win had pushed him into Level 4. His car's silver body gleamed sharper under the moon, black veins stretching thicker across its panels like war paint.
As he stepped out, sweat clinging to his shirt, the crowd roared. Bets exchanged hands. Girls screamed his name.
That was when she found him.
She wasn't some drunk dorm girl or thrill-chasing fan. She was older—mid-thirties maybe—with fire-red lipstick and long, dark curls that framed sharp cheekbones. Her dress was elegant but tight, the kind of thing worn to parties instead of street races.
And on her finger, glinting under the streetlights, was a wedding band.
She moved through the crowd like a knife, eyes locked on him. Her husband, a mid-level racer with a modded Challenger, was still arguing with mechanics over his 14th-place finish. He didn't see her approach.
But Zoom did.
"You're different," she said, voice low, sultry. "On the track. Off the track. Everywhere. I watched you drift tonight, and I…" Her breath caught. "…I couldn't breathe."
Zoom's smirk was faint, but it was enough. "Your husband's here."
Her lips parted. A flicker of guilt crossed her face, then vanished. "He's not you."
Lines Crossed
They slipped away from the roaring crowd, deeper into the parking structure beneath the track. Shadows swallowed them. Engines echoed above like distant thunder.
She pressed against him first. Her hand clutched his shirt, her voice a whisper dripping with hunger.
"I shouldn't," she breathed, even as she kissed him. "But I can't stop."
Zoom didn't resist. His hands gripped her waist, spinning her against the cold hood of a parked car. The air filled with the sound of her moans, muffled but desperate, rising above the hum of steel and concrete. Every touch, every gasp, sealed it permanent. By the time it was over, she wasn't his husband's anymore. She was his. Forever.
When she finally pulled away, hair messy, lipstick smeared, she looked different. Hollowed out of guilt, filled with possession. Her eyes locked on him like a vow. "I belong to you now."
And Zoom knew she meant it.
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The Fallout Begins
When they emerged, the party was still raging, but whispers already spread like wildfire. People saw her with him. Saw the way her dress clung. Saw her flushed face.
By the time her husband returned from the garage, arguments had already broken out. Rival crews muttered, rivals' girlfriends giggled, rivals themselves stared daggers.
"Did you see her leave with Zoom?"
"Bro, that's his wife!"
"She came back different. Look at her. He lost her."
Her husband's face went pale as realization hit. He shouted her name, grabbing her wrist, demanding an explanation. But she didn't even glance at him. Her hand slipped free, almost unconsciously, and her eyes drifted back to Zoom across the lot.
The silence that followed was more brutal than any race crash.
The husband lunged, fists swinging. "You stole her! You stole my wife!"
Zoom didn't flinch. He stepped aside, letting the man's rage burn uselessly into the crowd before others pulled him back. The man screamed, tears of fury in his eyes, but it was already too late. His wife stood still, unblinking, staring only at Zoom.
The bond was permanent.
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The Dorm Fire
Back at the dorms, the chaos boiled. Girls whispered in bathrooms. Older women, professors, even staff, glanced longer than they should when Zoom passed.
He had crossed a line no racer had before—not just stealing girlfriends, not just taking flings, but breaking vows. And worse, making it permanent.
Drugs and bottles flowed as rumors twisted the night. Some admired him. Some hated him. Others wanted to be him.
But Jason Hiro sat in his corner, jaw clenched, rage like poison in his veins. He watched Zoom return with another conquest at his side, watched the way the crowd parted for him, watched the women cling.
Jason smashed his glass against the wall. "He won't stop until everything's his. And I won't stop until he's dead."
Foreshadow
The silver Evo sat under the moonlight, veins of black stretching across its body like claws. Zoom leaned against it, cigarette glowing faint in his hand, while the married woman curled against his chest like she had always been there.
Every win brought him more power. Every level brought him closer to godhood behind the wheel. And every woman who gave herself sealed his legend further.
But every victory also brought enemies. Husbands, boyfriends, rivals. And one name echoed louder than the rest—Jason Hiro.
Because this wasn't just racing anymore. This was war.