The Uber driver’s nod shifted to mild confusion as I slammed the door shut behind me. “Just take me out of here,” I demanded, my voice clipped and full of frustration. I shot one last glare at the Hale mansion through the rearview mirror, its imposing structure almost mocking me.
But the car didn’t move.
I snapped my head toward the driver, my glare now directed squarely at him. “I said, take me out of here!”
The driver, a man probably in his late forties with a salt-and-pepper beard and a no-nonsense attitude, raised an eyebrow. “Where to, madam?” he questioned, his tone laced with a mix of sarcasm and impatience. “Because I don’t read minds. I drive. So, what the hell is your destination?”
Right. My destination.
Shit.
I hadn’t thought that far ahead. In my rush to escape the
