Bound by The Devil on Christmas

- Seraphine “Aiden, slow down. You’re making me dizzy,” I murmured, leaning my forehead against the window. In the backseat of the SUV, my younger brother Jamie let out a nervous little laugh, clutching a paper cup of hot cocoa that was already sloshing over his jeans. Dad sat beside my mother in the middle row, his gaze fixed on the storm, unease clouding his usually calm face. Aiden Griffiths, my husband, didn't laugh. He didn't even look at me, who was sitting beside him in the passenger seat. His hands were locked on the steering wheel, his jaw so tight I could see a muscle jumping in his cheek. “I’m not speeding,” he protested lightly, tapping the brakes as a red light glowed ahead. “Blame the snow, not me. It’s called festive driving. You should try it sometime.” Winter had crashed the party early this year, turning the streets into a quiet beauty a few weeks before Christmas. The final days before the holiday had drained every last bit of my energy, and I was looking forward to two weeks of doing absolutely nothing. “Sera, you’ve been awfully quiet over there,” my mother said softly from the back. “Something wrong?” “Just tired, Mom,” she admitted. “Can’t wait to be home.” That’s what we called it. It was actually our lodge. A vacation place tucked away in the mountains, one we’d had since I was little. It should have comforted me. Instead, my stomach tightened. I’d felt it for days. That strange sense that something was off. I blamed stress. Yeah, it must be stress. Aiden’s hands tightened on the wheel. His jaw clenched, though his voice stayed casual. “We should’ve stayed home,” he muttered, his eyes flicking between the road and me. “Visibility’s getting worse.” My father leaned forward. “Just a few more miles to the lodge,” he said calmly. “Take it slow.” I reached over and rested my hand on Aiden’s. “Hey. Relax, honey. It’s not the end of the world.” He gave me a half-smile. “Just making sure it doesn’t become one.” I chuckled, but my smile quickly faded when the ground began to tremble. The loud, screeching sound came first. Then a flash of blinding headlights from a train cut through the snowfall; blinding, unstoppable, and roaring straight at us. And in that frozen second, I realized our car hadn’t moved off the tracks. “The tracks,” I gasped, my voice cracking. “Aiden, we’re on the—!” I stared wide-eyed at the train speeding towards our motionless car, awaiting our doom as it slammed into it with extreme impact. Then came the sound of squeaking tires, twisting metal, and Jamie’s voice shouting, “Dad—!” The horn of a train blared, a bone-deep roar that blotted out all the other sounds. Glass shattered, spraying sharp shards that sliced through the air. I heard agonising screams, but they were muffled, frantic, and terribly distant. The last thing I saw before the world went dark was the crumpled hood of the car. I felt the cold air rush in, smelling of pine and blood, before the darkness finally claimed the screams. All sound died, replaced by a cold, endless, and terrifying silence. *** The tragic accident came back in sharp, blinding flashes. It felt too real this time as my eyes snapped open with a sudden jolt. It forcefully pulled me out of the long, dark haze I’d been trapped in. The first thing I heard was a steady, rhythmic beeping that nagged at my skull. My head was a drum being beaten from the inside, and my eyes felt like they had been glued shut with some crust. All I could feel were the thick bandages covering almost my entire face. I remembered the screech, the broken glass, and the awful lurch into darkness. My family and Aiden, my husband. Were they…? I tried to move, but my body wouldn’t obey. A sharp, searing pain radiated from my midsection, pinning me down. My left arm was heavy, encased in a cast that propped it up on a pillow. “Hel…lo?” My voice came out as a rough whisper. Outside the curtain, two shadows moved. Then, two familiar voices cut sharply through the fog in my mind: a woman's low murmur and a man's softer, but clearly impatient, reply. It was Aiden, my husband, and Marielle, my best friend, the woman who’d been there for everything. I should have felt relief to know that my dear husband was still alive. I wanted to call out his name and tell him that I was back, that the darkness had finally let me go. But the words died in my throat as the hospital curtain shivered. My blood ran cold when I heard them. "Ah, yes… you’re f*****g great, Aiden!" Margaret Thatcher. My bridesmaid. The woman who had held my hair back while I threw up from wedding nerves. "Hss… don't be loud," a low, familiar growl followed. Aiden hissed. I could hear the rustle of sheets, the heavy, frantic thud of a body against body on the guest chair. "We’re in a hospital, and Seraphine is sleeping right behind the curtain." "Don't worry. That's the point of having a rich husband who can afford a Super VIP room. Even the doctor has to enter with my permission." My husband. The man who had promised 'til death do us part' was currently busy f*****g my best friend, three feet away from my comatose body. I lay there, paralysed by the sudden, freezing realisation that the person I’d been fighting to wake up for was the one who had already betrayed me. Seconds passed like slow-motion blades. I didn't need to see them to feel the rhythm of his weight against her, the sound of my husband’s climax and the frantic, wet heat of him reaching his peak while my best friend let out a soft, breathless moan and gasped out her satisfaction. It was a quickie s*x, and they moved with a practised, hurried urgency. "You’re so naughty, Aiden," Marielle whispered and giggled, adjusting her clothes. "Right here? Really? You really don't care that we’re in a hospital." "It’s your fault," Aiden replied and gave a low chuckle. "You’ve always known how to turn me on." Then I heard the wet, sickening smack of a kiss, a final seal on their shared secret. “Poor Sera. It’s been a week. I really thought—” Marielle said, glancing at Aiden. “Maybe she’ll wake up soon.” “The doctor said there’s brain swelling. She might not even remember anything.” Marielle leaned closer to Aiden, whispering, “You should be careful. If she wakes up and remembers, we’re done.” “She won’t. Not after that crash. She’s lucky even to be breathing.” In panic, my eyes fluttered closed, forcing my breath to be slow, heavy, and uneven, the way it had been when I first woke. I stayed still, pretending to be knocked out, exactly what they needed me to be. Aiden moved closer, right beside my bed. “If I’d known the blizzard would be this bad…” he muttered, then laughed quietly. “I wouldn’t have wasted so much time planning the rest. Well… maybe I did. Looked like the weather finally cooperated. Perfect night for... an ending. Luckily, I managed to jump out of the car before the crash.” “The car was a total loss,” Aiden continued. “The police are calling it a tragic accident. Engine failure on the tracks. My testimony was heartbreaking, Mari. I even cried for the cameras. I should win an Oscar.” “You’re a monster, Aiden,” she murmured, though her voice sounded far too sweet for the words she was saying. “But a very rich one. Eventually.” “Now they're all gone. Her father and mother, the boy... instant. Only Seraphine survived. Stubborn, isn't she? Even a train couldn't finish her.” My fingers twitched. The urge to open my eyes was overwhelming. “Aiden, shhh. She might hear you,” Marielle murmured. “Hear what?” Aiden snapped impatiently. “She’s not waking up. Doctors say she’s practically brain-dead.” Marielle let out a soft, cruel laughter. “You’re terrible. But I get your point. Just hang in there. The wreck did most of the work; it’s a shame she’s still breathing. We need to finish what the accident started.” “Don’t you think I know that?” Aiden’s voice dropped to a furious whisper. "Her father’s will was very specific. Everything goes to her if she’s alive. I need her alive just long enough to transfer the Wynther holdings. If she dies too soon, the secondary trust triggers, and it all goes to charity." After a brief pause, he continued, "We need her officially declared incompetent, or better yet, dead, before that changes. A silent, breathing checkbook. I’ve got in contact with the probate court. He can speed things up. But we need her to stay… unresponsive. Can’t have her suddenly waking up and remembering things she shouldn't." Remember what? What could I possibly know that scared him enough to say that? "Then what do you want me to do, Aiden?" she replied. "We can't exactly smother her with a pillow. There are nurses everywhere." "I know," Aiden snapped and laughed quietly. My chest tightened in disbelief. This couldn’t be real. Was it a side effect of the drugs or a coma? It had to be a nightmare, just a mess of dark thoughts and fear tangled up in my unconscious mind. I had loved and trusted Aiden. And Marielle, she had been my shadow, my sister in everything but blood. But hearing how both of my beloveds were planning to kill me, my heart twisted painfully, so suddenly it felt like I’d been punched from the inside. A sickening thought started to strike. What if the accident wasn't some random stroke of bad luck? What if it was a setup? The accident hadn't just taken my family. It had opened the door to something much worse. And as the drugs began to pull me back down into a heavy, dreamless sleep, one thought remained, cold and terrifying: What did my family do that was worth erasing an entire bloodline for?