Annette screamed as Declan yanked open the heavy door of the Bentley.
He practically threw her into the passenger seat. The impact knocked the wind out of her lungs. The buttery-soft leather did nothing to cushion the blow to her spine.
Before she could scramble out, the heavy door slammed shut in her face.
Declan stalked around the hood of the car, his suit completely soaked with rain, his face a mask of pure, unadulterated fury. He ripped open the driver's door and threw himself into the seat.
Click.
The electronic central locking system engaged. The sound was as final as a prison cell slamming shut.
Annette grabbed the chrome door handle and pulled frantically. It didn't budge. A small red light blinked on the door panel. The child locks were engaged.
"Let me out!" Annette yelled, her voice bordering on hysteria. "Are you insane? Unlock the door!"
Declan didn't look at her. He slammed his foot down on the gas pedal.
The massive V12 engine let out a guttural roar. The Bentley shot out of the alley and onto the wet Brooklyn streets like a bullet.
The violent acceleration threw Annette back against the headrest. She gasped, her hands instinctively flying up to grab the seatbelt and click it into place.
The interior of the car was pitch black. The only light came from the streetlamps flashing rapidly across Declan's face.
His jaw was locked so tight the muscles twitched. His hands gripped the leather steering wheel with enough force to bend the metal underneath. He was driving dangerously fast, weaving through the slick traffic with terrifying precision.
The air inside the cabin was suffocating. The heavy scent of his cedarwood cologne mixed with the smell of rain and raw anger.
Annette's body began to break down under the extreme stress.
A sharp, stabbing pain ripped through her stomach. The gut-wrenching physical agony she had been fighting all day finally overpowered her.
She curled inward, wrapping both arms tightly around her abdomen. She pressed her forehead against her knees, squeezing her eyes shut. Cold sweat broke out across her forehead. She bit her lip to keep from crying out in pain.
The Bentley slammed on its brakes at a red light. The tires screeched against the wet asphalt.
Declan turned his head. He looked at her curled up in the seat, shaking.
"Give me your address," Declan ordered. His voice was cold, flat, and completely devoid of emotion.
Annette couldn't breathe through the pain. "Just... drop me at the subway."
"Address. Now."
Annette swallowed hard. Her pride was already shattered. There was nothing left to protect.
She weakly whispered the name of a street deep in the worst, most crime-ridden slum of Queens.
Declan's hands froze on the steering wheel.
His pupils dilated. A flash of pure, unfiltered shock broke through his mask of anger.
He thought she had left him for a billionaire. He thought she was living in a penthouse on the Upper East Side, dripping in diamonds.
The address she just gave him was a place where people got stabbed for twenty dollars.
The light turned green.
Declan didn't say a word. He hit the gas and violently jerked the steering wheel, changing direction toward Queens.
For forty agonizing minutes, the car was dead silent.
Annette rested her hot cheek against the cold glass of the window. She watched the city change. The towering glass skyscrapers of Manhattan faded into the crumbling brick buildings, graffiti-covered walls, and overflowing dumpsters of her neighborhood.
The Bentley slowed down, rolling over deep potholes.
Declan pulled up to the curb in front of a decaying, five-story apartment building. The front door was missing. The streetlights were all smashed.
A group of men in oversized hoodies were smoking weed on the stoop. They stopped and stared hungrily at the half-million-dollar car.
Declan stared out the windshield at the rotting building. The veins in his neck bulged.
He slowly turned his head to look at Annette. His eyes slowly dragged over her cheap coat, her exhausted face, and the slum outside the window.
Annette unbuckled her seatbelt. She couldn't look at him. The shame was a physical weight crushing her chest.
"We're here," she whispered, reaching for the door handle. It was still locked.
She turned to him, her eyes begging. "Please. Just open the door."
Declan leaned across the center console. He invaded her space, trapping her against the door.
He raised his hand. His thumb roughly brushed against the scratch on her cheek.
"Is this it?" Declan whispered, his voice dripping with absolute disgust. "Is this the glamorous life you destroyed me for, Annette?"
The question was the final nail in her coffin.
