ISAAC'S POV
The rage in my chest burned hotter with every turn of the wheel. My knuckles were white against the steering wheel, my grip so tight it felt like the damn thing might snap in two. The car roared down the streets, tires screeching at every twist and turn, but I didn't care. My mind was a hellish storm, and the only way to release it was to keep driving—faster, harder, dangerously close to the edge.
By the time I reached my house, the sight that greeted me should have given me pause. A sea of reporters crowded the driveway, cameras flashing like lightning in a thunderstorm, their voices rising in chaotic unison.
I could've turned around, found another route to sneak in unnoticed. But the anger bubbling inside me needed an outlet, and here they were, ready to pounce. Fine. Let them.
