83. Chapter 83
Cate
Present
The airport perimeter road stretched ahead in a long, empty corridor of concrete and security fencing.
Floodlights washed the hangars in pale white.
And beyond them, I saw it.
Trevor’s jet.
Hangar doors open. Cabin lights glowing.
A faint whine carried through the night air.
Police lights multiplied in the mirrors, red and blue strobes slicing across Trevor’s face.
He looked almost peaceful in it.
His gun rested against my ribs.
Not shaking.
Not frantic.
Steady.
“You ruined this,” he said quietly.
The words weren’t shouted; they were wounded.
“I ruined it?” My voice felt thin, stretched too tight.
“You let them inside,” he replied. “You let doubt inside. I protected you from that.”
I almost laughed. “You killed him.”
He didn’t flinch. “He was going to leave you.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do.” His jaw flexed. “He was weak.”
The engine’s distant whine deepened.
He was close.
Too close.
Police units surged from side streets ahead, forming a staggered blockade near the main hangar access gate.
“Airport perimeter locked,” someone shouted through the police radio behind us.
Trevor’s eyes flicked forward.
He saw it.
The narrowing corridor.
The barrier trucks.
The lights.
“They won’t shoot,” he murmured. “Not with you here.”
That part was true.
He pressed the accelerator harder.
The speed climbed - eighty… ninety…
“You could have let it go,” he continued. “You had a good life. I built it.”
“You built a cage.”
The gun pressed harder. “Careful,” he murmured.
The car began to vibrate against uneven pavement near a construction zone lining the perimeter fencing.
Concrete barriers replaced guardrails.
No shoulder.
No forgiveness.
“You still love me,” he said suddenly.
It wasn’t a question, and that was the worst part.
My throat tightened.
I thought of the version of him who held me when I couldn’t breathe.
The version who chose my meals and tucked blankets around my shoulders.
The version who murdered John.
“Yes,” I whispered.
His eyes flicked toward me.
Hope.
Just a crack.
The gun lowered a fraction.
“I can’t lose you too,” he said, and this time his voice trembled - just slightly.
A tear slipped down his cheek.
Not dramatic.
Not theatrical.
Just there.
“We don’t have to end like this,” I said carefully.
The perimeter fence rushed toward us.
The hangar lights glowed brighter.
The jet engine’s low hum vibrated in my chest.
He was mere feet away from escape.
“They’re not taking me,” he said.
Calm.
Absolute.
“If they corner us…”
He didn’t finish.
He didn’t have to.
My hand moved before I could think.
I grabbed the steering wheel.
Hard.
Trevor shouted - not in rage, but in shock.
The car jerked violently sideways.
He fought for control, but I held on.
The tires lost grip.
Metal screamed.
We slammed into the concrete barrier at full speed.
Airbags detonated.
The world shattered.
The car spun.
Clipped the perimeter fencing.
Rolled once…
And stopped.
For a moment there was only silence.
Then the whine of the jet engine, still spooling in the distance.
Still waiting.
Smoke curled upward.
My body slammed against something hard and cold air hit my skin.
I was outside the car.
Thrown clear.
I tasted blood.
My lungs refused to fill.
Pain radiated through everything.
The Audi lay twisted against the crushed fencing, hood folded inward, headlights flickering.
A groan met my ears.
Trevor.
He crawled from the wreckage.
One arm hung wrong.
Blood streaked down his temple.
But his movements were deliberate.
Measured.
He saw me.
And something in his face shifted.
Not rage.
Not madness.
Loss.
“You,” he breathed.
He dragged himself toward me.
Each movement fueled by something deeper than pain.
I tried to crawl backward.
My legs wouldn’t answer.
He reached me.
Collapsed beside me.
Then rolled over me.
His good hand wrapped around my throat.
Tight.
Controlled.
“You were safe,” he whispered.
His tears mixed with blood as they fell onto my cheek.
“I built everything for you.”
The pressure increased.
Stars exploded behind my eyes.
I clawed at his wrist.
Weak.
He leaned closer.
“They don’t understand you,” he murmured. “I did.”
Sirens roared closer.
Floodlights washed over us.
He didn’t look away.
Not even as boots pounded toward us.
“You chose them,” he said softly.
And then, just before everything went black…
The weight lifted.
Hands tore him off me.
I sucked in air like I’d never done it before.
It burned.
It hurt.
It meant I was alive.
Through blurred vision I saw Trevor on the ground.
Pinned.
Bleeding.
Metal clanked.
Cuffs snapped tight around his wrists.
He didn’t fight wildly.
He resisted just enough to show he could.
But his eyes never left mine.
Even as officers dragged him upright.
Even as paramedics knelt beside me.
Even as the jet engine in the hangar was cut, its rising whine dying into silence.
He looked at me like I had broken a promise.
Not like he had destroyed a life.
And in that moment, as the airport lights pulsed and the night filled with controlled chaos, I understood something clearly.
Trevor never loved me.
He loved owning me.
And tonight…
Ownership stopped at the fence.