Aidan
She's sitting far from me, staring out the window with an expression that makes my chest tighten. She's angry with me. Maybe I should've controlled myself back at the mall, instead of dismissing her like that. God, I'm such an idiot.
She's looking at everything except me, almost like I don't exist. My frustration builds as I wonder how to fix this. What can I even do to make it up to her? The thought gnaws at me, and it's unbearable that I can't just say what I'm thinking.
I pull out my phone, fingers fumbling slightly as I type her a message: "What's up? Are you okay?" I hit send, and almost immediately, her phone screen lights up with the notification.
She glances at her phone, then at me. Her lips curl into a faint, forced smile. "I'm good, just tired."
She's lying—I can see it. That smile doesn't reach her eyes, and I hate that I can't call her out on it. She's not fine, but I don't know how to get through to her.
The golden glow of sunset fades into darkness, and soon the natural light is replaced by streetlights flashing past the car. The city's colors blur as night falls, but all I can see is her face.
She's breathtaking, her profile catching the light just enough to highlight her delicate features. She's the only beautiful thing my stepmother ever gave me.
I extend my hand toward hers, hesitating before my pinky brushes against her fingers. She doesn't pull away. Slowly, I let my hand cover hers, holding it gently and brushing my thumb over her soft skin.
She glances at me briefly, her cheeks flushing a light pink before she looks away, back out the window. It's a fleeting reaction, but it's enough to warm my chest. She still feels something.
Suddenly, the intercom crackles to life, and my chauffeur's tense voice fills the backseat. "Boss, I think we're being followed. A truck overtook the convoy behind us during the traffic jam, but it hasn't left since."
"What about the convoy in front of you?" comes the sharp, anxious reply from my head of security.
"There's a car between us, sir."
"How could you let that happen?" The head of security's voice rises. "That's a critical breach! Damn it—"
"It was the traffic jam! I'm sorry, sir," the chauffeur stammers, his panic evident.
Before I can process what's happening, Kazia scoots closer to me, her head resting against my chest. Her breathing is uneven, and her trembling hand grips my shirt. "What's going on?" she whispers, her voice shaky with fear.
My arms wrap around her instinctively, holding her close as I try to calm her. Her vulnerability pierces me. She's terrified, and so am I.
A deafening burst of gunfire shatters the tense silence. The sound is too close. My grip on Kazia tightens as adrenaline floods my system. The intercom goes dead, leaving us in eerie silence except for the sounds of bullets ricocheting off the car.
Thank God the vehicle is bulletproof. But I know better than to trust that alone. I peel Kazia off my chest and try to set her down on the seat, but she clings to me, her tears soaking into my shirt.
Baby, I need you to let me secure you. I want to say that out loud but I don't. It takes all my strength to gently pry her off me.
I secure her with the reinforced seatbelt system. I'm glad I thought to include this incredible feature when I was designing this car, I knew a day like this would come. The belts lock tightly around her, making her sit still and restricting any movement
She looks at me with wide, tear-filled eyes. "Aidan…" Her voice cracks.
I can see the fear in them, she's scared. I'm scared for us too baby. I wipe her tears with trembling hands, damn! I don't want to lose her.
Without thinking, I press my lips to hers, kissing her like my life depends on it, if I die like this I will be happy.
My heart aches at the thought of us departing this way. I haven't even loved her properly, I've not shown her how much I care about her. I haven't called her by her name and I haven't given her the children she wanted from me.
I haven't avenged her father's death too, there's still so much that I haven't done for her and it saddens my heart.
When I pull away, my heart aches. I don't want to let her go but I have to put on my seat belt.
"I love you Kazia, I love you so much," I whisper into her ear, f*ck the pretense I want her to know that I love her and if life gives me a second chance I will love her properly.
I force myself to move, securing my own seatbelt before hitting a button near my seat. A protective shield deploys around us, encasing us in a cocoon meant to absorb impact in case of a crash.
The gunfire grows louder, and then—suddenly—the car spins violently. My stomach flips as we're thrown into the air. Time seems to slow as the vehicle somersaults, and then it crashes back to the ground.
Everything is upside down. My head swims, and for a moment, I struggle to stay conscious. I have to move. I have to get us out.
Kazia is unconscious beside me, her head slumped against the seatbelt. I unclasp my harness and fight to free her from the restraints. It's a struggle in the overturned car, but I manage.
I press a hidden button on the car's floor, triggering an emergency escape hatch. The underside of the vehicle opens, and I drag us out into the cool night air.
The ground is quiet, eerily so, and I realize we have fallen from a bridge. The distant hum of cars above confirms it. There's no time to waste. They'll come to check if we survived.
Kazia is still unconscious, her body limp in my arms. I hoist her onto my back, ignoring the sharp pain in my legs and the blood seeping from cuts on my feet.
I run.
Branches tear at my skin as I push through the dense undergrowth, but I don't stop. The only thing that matters is putting as much distance as possible between us and that bridge.
Each step feels heavier, my breaths coming in ragged gasps, but I refuse to slow down. Kazia's life depends on me. My heart pounds not just from exertion but from the overwhelming need to protect her.
I don't look back. I don't care about the pain, the blood, or the fear coursing through me. The only thought in my mind is keep her safe. Keep running.
Eventually, the sound of the gunfire fades, replaced by the eerie stillness of the forest. My knees buckle, and I drop to the ground, carefully lowering Kazia onto the grass.
Her face is pale, her breathing shallow but steady. Relief washes over me, though it's short-lived. We're not out of danger yet.
As I cradle her in my arms, I make a silent promise: I'll protect you, Kazia, no matter what it takes.