SCARLETT
I blinked hard, trying to convince myself I was still dreaming. But I wasn’t. He was standing right in front of me.
Vincent.
His presence felt wrong. His posture too casual. His voice… too calm. It sent a chill straight through my spine.
“Are you alright?” he asked gently, his face composed, his tone soft—so soft it would’ve fooled anyone else. His expression was lined with concern, like I hadn’t just heard him order the death of my child minutes ago. Like he wasn’t the monster behind my crash.
I stared at him, heart pounding, legs frozen. “I’m… fine,” I whispered, every word laced with terror.
His lips curled into a faint smile. “Then why are you out here? Shouldn’t you be resting? What are you looking for?”
“I—I needed to pee,” I stammered, forcing the lie out. My voice
