Chapter 46
“Tryin' to move on, talking to my old friends. See me, say what's up and I'm acting like I don't know them causing so much trouble, why are you doing that?" Mac Miller
Peter didn’t answer. I called him ten times, each unanswered ring fueling a cold, steady fire in my chest. I drove straight to the hotel chain he favored, predictable as ever.
I parked out front and leaned on the line until he finally picked up.
When he agreed to meet, he named the very hotel I was idling in front of.
While I waited, I ignored the onslaught of notifications. Thirty messages. Missed calls from Sarki, Elisa, Vanessa, and Kelsey. I tuned them all out.
When he finally emerged, he looked nauseatingly serene, casually smoking a cigarette as he sauntered toward the car. He slid into the passenger seat with a smirk that made my skin crawl.
"Did you finally give up on Donald and come back to the man who actually knows how to fuck you?" he asked, his voice dripping with unearned confidence.
I rolled my eyes so hard it was a wonder I didn’t lose my vision.
"We’re going to talk," I said, my voice a flat, dangerous monotone. I threw the car into gear and sped away, hitting the highway as the snow began to blind the windshield.
"Hey, Megan..." he murmured, reaching out to rest a hand on my thigh. I caught his wrist mid-air and shoved it back toward his own side with a force that made him blink.
"Are you actually insane enough to steal the phone of the country's top campaign manager?" I hissed.
I caught him moving to touch me again out of the corner of my eye. The road was a slick, black ribbon, and the car skidded as I accelerated, the tires fighting for grip against the slush.
"How do you even know about that?" His calm tone was a direct insult.
I watched the highway markers blur past as we crossed a series of bridges, the white-out conditions making the world outside feel like a void.
"I do what I want, Megan. By the time I’m done, Kelsey will be wrapped around my little finger. "
"No fucking way."
"You’re sleeping with her, aren’t you? Is that it?" He laughed, a dry, hollow sound. "Why are you defending someone who could buy three Eastern European countries without even batting an eye?"
My pulse spiked. I didn't answer. Instead, I pressed my foot harder against the gas, the engine roaring as we hurtled deeper into the storm.
"I don't understand you," I spat, the words jagged and sharp. "You have enough money to disappear to that godforsaken place with your wife, to raise your son, to actually work... but instead, you want to fuck with my mind."
I felt the car fishtail on the icy curves, the tires losing their grip for a terrifying second, but the rage in my veins made me feel untouchable.
My hands were tingling, vibrating with the urge to strike. He didn't look bothered; instead, he held up the phone, waving it like a trophy.
"I just want what I’m owed," he scoffed, gesturing dismissively. "I spent years suffocating at those parties, trapped in tight suits, listening to people praise you. I deserve a little reward for my service."
"You don't deserve a damn thing. You’re a fucking worm." I shot a glance between his smug face and the white-out road. "Give me that fucking phone back."
I lunged for it, my hand reaching across the console, but he yanked it toward the window, out of my reach.
"Maybe I should just start sending these nudes out now," he threatened, his thumb hovering over the screen. "A few choice contacts. Some newspapers. Let’s see how 'Jackie Kennedy' handles a scandal like this."
The thought of that exposure of our private sanctuary being torn apart for public consumption, made my head throb with a blinding pain.
Without a second thought, I lunged at Peter, and the world dissolved into a blur of violent motion. He threw a desperate punch that caught me square in the face, and a split second later, the car slammed into a concrete barrier with a bone-jarring thud.
I saw his head whip forward, cracking against the dashboard just as the airbags exploded in a cloud of white dust. Then came the terrifying sensation of weightlessness. The car wasn't just spinning; it was falling.
We hit the water with a deafening roar.
I must have blacked out, because when I opened my eyes, the world was dark and freezing. I was suspended, hanging from my seatbelt, while the icy water surged through the shattered windshield, already reaching my chin.
Panic, sharp and suffocating, clawed at my chest. I fumbled for the release on the seatbelt, but the mechanism was jammed, locked tight by the force of the crash.
My body shook uncontrollably, a mixture of shock and the biting cold. Through the rising tide, I saw Peter slumped over, unconscious, his blood dark against the grey interior.
"PETER! WAKE UP!" I screamed, the sound echoing hollowly in the sinking metal tomb.
I thrashed against the constraints, striking Peter’s arm and shaking him in a desperate bid for help, but he remained a dead weight. The water surged, forcing me to crane my neck just to catch a sliver of air.
With a final, surge of strength, I yanked the seatbelt with both hands; the mechanism gave way, and my body finally broke free.
Before I clawed my way toward the surface, I reached for the phone still clutched in Peter’s stiffening fingers.
I pried it loose and turned to the door, trying to replicate the escapes I’d seen in movies, but the crushing pressure of the water made it impossible to budge.
I shifted, bracing my back against the seat and kicking the shattered windshield with everything I had. On the third try, the glass gave way.
I drifted out of the wreckage, my vision wavering as I fought toward the moonlight. When I finally breached the surface, I gasped in a lungful of freezing air that felt like needles.
I swam blindly for the shore, dragging my body onto the fine sand of the bank whatever this dark, forgotten place was.
The silence of the night was quickly replaced by the violent tremors of hypothermia. My head throbbed into a deep, agonizing pulse and every movement felt like wading through lead.
I forced myself to stand, my gaze fixed on the dark ripples where the car had vanished. The thought of jumping back in, of trying to haul Peter’s body from the depths, clawed at my conscience.
I stumbled back into the water until it reached my waist, the current tugging at me like a ghost. I stood there, shivering and broken, knowing that if I went under again, I wouldn't come back up.
I could die. I really could die right here.
A sharp, stabbing pain blossomed in my chest, and I finally broke.
The tears came in a violent rush as I scrambled out of the water and began the agonizing trek along the dark road.
Every inch of my body screamed in protest. The cold was no longer a sensation; it was a blade, cutting through me.
My arm throbbed with a rhythmic, sickening heat, as if it were about to detach from my shoulder.
After what felt like an eternity of wading through the frost, the flickering lights of a gas station appeared like a mirage. I stumbled into the convenience store, my appearance a wreckage of silk and lake water.
I approached the attendant, my voice a mere rasp as I asked for a coin for the payphone. He looked me up and down, his expression shifting from shock to a profound, silent pity. Without a word, he pressed the coin into my trembling hand.
What phone number do I even know by heart?
I fought the fog in my brain, the excruciating pressure in my skull feeling like it was frying my nerves. I dialed, my fingers clumsy. When Sarki answered, the dam broke again. I couldn't find the words, only sobs.
"I don't know... I don't know where I am..." I gasped when she pressed for a location. I managed to squint at a mileage sign visible through the window and read it to her.
"Stay as warm as you can. We’re coming for you," she promised, her voice a lifeline.
I hung up and stood there, my arms wrapped tightly around my shivering frame.
"Do you need anything else?" the attendant asked softly.
"Someone is coming for me. It’s fine... I just crashed my car, that’s all." I lied, the words feeling heavy on my tongue. He nodded tentatively and handed me a thin, scratchy blanket. I thanked him and sank to the floor, my strength entirely spent.
I watched him through heavy eyelids, wondering if he was debating whether to call the police.
I probably looked like a crime scene. But as the shivers continued to rack my body and my head pulsed with a blinding ache, I felt myself slipping away.
I fell asleep right there, curled up on the cold tiles of a gas station in a ruined winter gown.
I woke to the sound of someone calling my name—or rather, shouting "Kitty" with a desperation that cut through the fog in my brain. I forced my eyes open to find Kelsey’s face inches from mine, her pupils dilated with terror.
She was saying things I couldn't quite grasp, her voice a blur of commands and sobs. She threw her heavy coat over my shoulders and gathered me into her arms as if I weighed nothing. I blinked, catching a fleeting glimpse of Vanessa handling the gas station attendant, before the car heater’s warmth finally embraced me like a shroud.
When I woke again, the sensation was visceral; I felt as though I had been hit by a freight train. I opened my eyes slowly, and for a second, I was certain I was in a hospital.
The medical equipment was there, but the ornate, historical decor of the room told a different story. My head throbbed, my body was a map of bruises, and my shoulder felt like it was being pierced by a hot iron.
"Hey, hey... don't move, baby," Sarki murmured, her hand gentle as she stroked my hair. Someone was squeezing my hand, and I tried to turn my head too quickly to see who it was. My vision blurred instantly, the room spinning.
"Calm down, Kitty. You’re safe. Stop trying to get up."
"You’re back at the mansion," another voice explained. "Kelsey had a private medical suite set up for you here. You’re not going to a public hospital."
"Peter..." My voice was a jagged rasp, sounding as if I’d swallowed stones. As my vision began to steady, Lisa appeared at Sarki’s side, her expression uncharacteristically somber.
"He’s gone, Megs. He didn't make it," she said softly, her eyes searching mine. "It wasn’t your fault. The ice, the river... it was an accident."
A single, involuntary tear traced a path down my cheek, followed by a silent, racking sob. Kelsey immediately moved to the bed, lying down beside me and carefully pulling my head to rest against her chest.
"Be careful with your shoulder, my love," she whispered into my hair, her heart beating a steady rhythm against my ear. "Everything has been taken care of. The phone, the police, the story... it's all handled. Just rest. I’ve got you."
"How long have I been out?" I asked, my voice still feeling like it belonged to a stranger. Sarki caught my gaze, her expression softening. "Two days, Megs."
"And the body? The car? My God... what about everything else?" The panic began to claw at my throat again.
"Vanessa handled it," Sarki explained, her tone clinical and steady. "Well, not her personally, but a specialized firm. The scene has been... sanitized. There is no evidence you were ever in that car, no record of your call, and no witness who saw you leave together."
A wave of nausea-inducing relief washed over me, immediately followed by a crushing weight of guilt. Before I could process the magnitude of what they’d done, Ali, the doctor from our night together, entered the room with a reassuring smile.
She moved with practiced efficiency, examining my vitals and asking me to perform small, agonizing movements. She noted everything on her clipboard before a man I didn't recognize stepped into the room.
After a brief, whispered consultation with Ali, he turned toward the bed.
"Mrs. Woods, I'm glad to see you’re finally with us.
I'm Max, Kelsey’s personal doctor." I offered a small, pained nod, feeling Kelsey’s fingers tracing soothing patterns through my hair.
"You took a severe blow to the face, fractured your collarbone, and suffered significant hypothermia.
Now that you're stable, we’re removing the monitors.
Your medication will be strictly oral from here on out. "
"But you aren’t leaving this house until her course of treatment is finished, Max," Kelsey’s voice was an iron command.
"Of course, Kelsey. The entire team is at her disposal for the week," he replied, bowing slightly to her authority.
The moment the medical staff cleared the room, the atmosphere shifted. Lisa and Sarki exchanged a look, one of those heavy, indecipherable glances that usually preceded a storm.
"What is it?" I asked, sensing the shift.
"We were terrified, Megan," Sarki snapped, her composure finally breaking. "Do you have any idea how reckless you were? Charging after that son of a bitch on your own? We had a dozen other ways to get that phone back."
"Sarki is right, baby girl" Lisa added, her voice lower but no less intense. "You’d been drinking the night before, the car wasn't even yours, and you were seen at the hotel... You almost threw your entire life away."
"But none of that happened. She’s alive, and she’s safe," Kelsey intervened, her voice dropping an octave as she leaned down to press a tender kiss to my temple. "Not that you don't deserve the lecture, believe me, you do. But we’ve already handled the fallout."
"The funeral..." I started, the word feeling heavy and metallic in my mouth. "Has it already happened?"
"Next week," Sarki answered, her eyes fixed on me with a clinical intensity. "Vanessa and I have discussed it, and we agree: it’s best if you attend. You need to show up and support the family. Play the part of the grieving ex-wife one last time."
I offered a slow, weary nod of agreement. The irony wasn't lost on me; I would be standing over the casket of the man I had essentially watched sink into the abyss, shedding fake tears for the sake of a clean record.
"It’s the final seal on the story," Vanessa added, appearing in the doorway. "If you’re there, crying in the front row, no one looks for a motive. No one asks why he was on that road. You’re just the tragic ex-wife of a tragic accident."