CHAPTER 6: THE UNFORSEEN COLLISION
1129 Words
Ariel sat alone in the spacious back seat of the hired sedan, a car Henry's security team had arranged under the pretext of granting her need for "solitude." The interior smelled of expensive leather and air conditioning, but Ariel felt only the stale breath of her fear.
She clutched the plain backpack containing her grandmother's jewelry and the precious childhood album of Noel. Her stomach churned constantly, a painful reminder of the twin lives she was risking. Every mile that separated her from the manor felt like a step toward freedom, yet every minute was agony. She was actively deceiving the man she loved, knowing the depth of the heartbreak the letter would inflict.
The anonymous driver was polite, quiet, and kept his gaze fixed straight ahead. He was a small detail of the Anderson security network, and he knew not to ask questions of the boss's fragile wife.
Ariel checked the time. Betty should already be waiting near the abandoned motel, a safe halfway point where they could switch vehicles and personalities, dissolving Ariel Anderson into Ellen Smith.
They were driving down a lonely stretch of secondary highway—a necessary detour to avoid Henry’s most monitored routes. The road was lined by dense, dark trees, and the evening light was fading fast.
Ariel closed her eyes, trying to focus on the future: a seaside town, the salty air, and the simple, profound joy of raising her daughters in peace. She held her abdomen protectively, whispering a silent promise to the twins.
Suddenly, the vehicle lurched violently. It wasn't the natural sway of the road; it was a harsh, erratic jerk. The driver muttered a curse. Ariel opened her eyes just in time to see a massive, dark utility truck swerve deliberately from the opposite lane, crossing the divide straight toward them.
There was no time for a scream.
The world dissolved into the deafening crunch of metal and the explosion of glass. The driver slammed on the brakes, but the impact was already tearing into the passenger side of the sedan. Ariel was thrown forward, the seatbelt biting cruelly into her chest and abdomen, followed by the sickening recoil that slammed her back against the seat.
Ariel’s mind registered the violence not as an accident, but as a deliberate execution. Henry knew. She hadn't run fast enough. This wasn't bad luck; this was the "management" of a liability.
The car spun, finally skidding to a halt against the guardrail, a twisted mass of crumpled steel. Silence rushed in, broken only by the hiss of steam and the ringing in Ariel's ears.
Ariel’s immediate, frantic thought was not for herself, but for the twins. A terrifying, burning pain radiated from her core. She tasted blood, but she didn't care. She checked her hands, her legs—she was conscious, but immobilized by pain and the crushed metal of the door.
The driver, surprisingly, was conscious and already fumbling for his phone. He was calling Henry, not emergency services.
“Sir, we’ve been hit. Deliberate… on the 43 bypass. Mrs. Anderson is injured. Yes, I’ve got the location…”
Ariel realized the driver hadn't been an escort; he was a silent monitor. Henry had arranged the car, and likely the collision, to ensure she was silenced and discredited far from the manor.
Sirens finally began to wail in the distance. Ariel focused on one thing: survival. She had to protect the twins.
When the paramedics finally arrived, extracting her from the wreckage, Ariel fought through the blinding pain to give them only the bare minimum of information, refusing to give a full name or provide contact information beyond a local hospital preference.
Henry Anderson arrived at the hospital less than an hour after Ariel was admitted. He didn't come in a state of frantic worry; he came in a three-piece suit, accompanied by two lawyers and the Anderson family's top crisis management expert.
Ariel lay in the sterile, glaring white light of the emergency room, the fear of losing the twins overwhelming every other sensation. A young, frantic doctor was trying to stabilize her.
"The twins, Doctor! Are they alright?" Ariel gasped, her voice raw.
"We are doing everything we can, Mrs. Anderson," the doctor replied, confused by her sudden, intense focus on a pregnancy he wasn't yet aware of. "We need to stabilize the abdominal trauma first."
It was then Henry walked in, followed by a phalanx of security personnel who instantly created a perimeter around her bed. The doctor instantly recognized the titan of industry. Henry smiled, a chillingly calm expression that didn't reach his eyes.
"Mrs. Anderson, what a terrible, shocking event," Henry said, his tone perfectly calibrated for concerned empathy. He dismissed the attending doctor with a subtle nod, and Dr. Chen—the family physician Ariel had tried to avoid—immediately stepped forward, seizing control of her care.
"Get the full scans, Chen. Prioritize the neurological assessment. We need to document the extreme stress and any psychological trauma immediately," Henry commanded, speaking loudly enough for the nursing staff to hear.
Henry leaned over Ariel, his voice dropping to a harsh, cold whisper, his eyes locked on hers.
“You left me a note, Ariel. A childish attempt to run away from your obligations. And now this, a deliberate act of recklessness. You are unstable. And the driver has already confirmed you were distracted and demanding to be driven erratically. A devastating accident caused by a desperate woman.”
Ariel closed her eyes, tears of pain and utter defeat slipping down her temples. He had already established the narrative. She hadn't been hit; she had been reckless. Her attempt to escape had confirmed his diagnosis of her "instability."
Henry continued, his whisper like ice: "If you utter one word about a file, about finance, or about a conspiracy, the trauma of this night will be used to declare you medically unfit. And I will legally seize those children the moment they draw breath. You are mine now, Ariel. You are staying in this hospital, and you will say nothing, or you lose everything."
Ariel had nothing left to fight with. She could only manage a silent, internal prayer for the survival of her twins.
Henry had staged the accident, not to kill her, but to terrorize her, to make her vulnerable, and to establish the undeniable public truth of her psychological breakdown. He owned the narrative, and he owned her silence.
All Ariel could do was focus on surviving the night, and protecting the precious secret of the two lives growing within her.
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