“I thought you were kind and mature. But, I was wrong.” He spat, “You are a jealous scheming woman who bullies others.”
‘I didn't do it!’ I wanted to scream.
I never meant to fight her for you or Leo? She wants to have Leo, she can have him.
She wants you? She can have you as well. I’m done with you, Jake.
But, he lunged before I could scream, his hand was around my throat, pinning me against the driver’s side door. He reached into the open window, clicked the locks, and shoved me into the driver’s seat.
"Jake, what are you doing?" I gasped, clawing at his hands.
"You like cars, Stacy? You like using them as weapons?" He leaned in, his face inches from mine. "Let’s see how you handle one without a safety net."
He didn't hit me. Instead, he reached under the steering column with a pair of heavy-duty shears he’d grabbed from the garage. With two swift, practiced snips, he severed the brake lines. I heard the hiss of fluid leaking onto the driveway like a dying breath.
Blood drained throughout my body. I had never rode a car in the past two years while I was away, and still didn't know how to drive properly.
Driving a car without break was like asking me to do suicide.
But, Jake’s dark and distant gaze were crystal clear that he was not joking.
"The estate road is a three-mile decline, Stacy," Jake said, his voice devoid of any humanity. He reached over me, shoved the car into gear, and jammed a heavy wooden block—a leftover from Leo’s toy set—onto the accelerator.
"Jake, no! Stop!"
“You should have thought twice before even thinking of hurting Linda!” He spat, his voice cold.
The engine roared, the tires screaming as they struggled for purchase on the gravel before the car lurched forward.
I looked in the rearview mirror one last time. Jake had his arm around Linda, and Leo was waving goodbye.
***
When I opened my eyes, the harsh fluorescent lights of the hospital room blinded me. I groaned, my throat feeling like I’d swallowed crushed glass.
"Stacy? You're awake."
A familiar voice sounded. It wasn't the voice of the man who had severed my brake lines and watched me careen toward a potential grave. It was soft, almost melodic.
I turned my head slowly. Jake was sitting in a chair pulled close to the bed. His usual sharp suit was wrinkled, and there were dark circles under his eyes.
When he saw me looking at him, he reached out, his fingers brushing a stray hair from my forehead with a gentleness that made my heart stutter in confusion.
"The doctors said you had a severe concussion and a few cracked ribs," he whispered, his hand lingering on my cheek. "You're lucky the car hit the embankment and didn't go over the cliff side."
I stared at him, my mind reeling. Where was the monster from the driveway? This man looked... devastated. He squeezed my hand, his palm warm against my cold skin.
For a fleeting second, I wondered if the crash had been a fever dream. Maybe he hadn't done it. Maybe he had saved me.
Then he said, “You have learnt your lesson. From now on, do not try to hurt Linda.”
My nails dug deeper in the sheets.
‘I didn't do it!’
The words remained stuck to my throat, never coming out. I knew he wouldn't believe me.
The next two days, he stayed by my side. And when I was discharged, he personally helped me into the car, placing a pillow behind my back. He didn't speak of the accident, only of my recovery.
"We’re going to the family dinner tonight," he said as we pulled up to the manor. "Everyone is waiting. I told them you had a minor 'mishap' with the car. It’s best we move past it."
I felt a chill. Mishap. Is that what we were calling an attempted execution? Yet, as he walked me into the dining room, his arm remained firmly and protectively around my waist.
I leaned into him, a small, treacherous part of me hoping that the near-death experience had finally opened his eyes to my innocence.
The long mahogany table was set for a feast. Leo was there, playing with a silver spoon, and Linda sat to his right, looking radiant in a cream-colored silk dress—the picture of a victim who had narrowly escaped a villain.
The dinner was quiet, the clinking of silverware the only sound. As the dessert plates were finally cleared, Jake cleared his throat. The room went silent. He turned to me, his hand covering mine on the table.
"Stacy," he said, his voice dropping to that same soft, gentle register he’d used in the hospital. "I'm glad you're back. I’m glad you’re safe."
I felt a tear prick my eye. "Jake, I—"
"But for us to truly move forward as a family," he continued, his thumb tracing circles on the back of my hand, "there needs to be closure. We can't have this darkness between us."
He looked toward Linda, who cast her eyes down with a practiced, trembling lip.
"Stacy," Jake whispered, leaning in close so only I could hear the terrifyingly calm edge beneath his words. "Apologize to Linda. Tell her you’re sorry for trying to kill her. Do it now, and we can go back to how things were."
