Chapter 2: He Hasn’t Done Yet
1323 Words
- Declan
The TV was on mute, but I didn’t need the sound to know the story.
The anchorwoman’s mouth moved slowly in that rehearsed look of sympathy, like she’d practiced it a million times in front of a mirror.
Behind her, the same images played over and over: flashing lights, crushed metal, tracks smeared with snow, rescue crews swarming the wreck like ants around something already dead.
I picked up the remote and turned the volume up.
“—A devastating train collision late last night has claimed the lives of Damian and Eleanor Wynther, along with their youngest son, Jamie Wynther,” the anchorwoman said. “Authorities confirm that only three passengers survived the crash.”
The camera cut to a still image.
Seraphine Wynther. Aiden Griffiths. Marielle Thatcher.
My teeth clenched. Marielle hadn’t even been in the car. So how the hell did they bend the story into this?
“Two survivors sustained mild injuries and were released earlier today,” the anchor continued. “The other remains hospitalized in critical condition and has yet to regain full consciousness.”
I slumped back in my chair and pressed my fingertips together, my gaze locked onto the screen. I didn't even blink, tracking every movement and detail.
I looked toward the window, watching the city lights shimmer in the glass behind me.
The streets below were glowing with Christmas lights. It’s funny how the world keeps on spinning and celebrating, even when someone’s whole universe has ended.
“Lucky,” the anchorwoman added softly. “A miracle, some might say.”
I snorted.
Miracles didn't exist. All I believed were unpaid debts and things left undone.
The door behind me opened without announcement.
“Sir.”
I didn’t look up.
My assistant, Nolan Hale, walked over with his tablet tucked under his arm. His suit was perfect without a single wrinkle, like he’d planned for every possible disaster.
He shot a glance at the screen, then looked back at me, totally composed and already thinking two moves ahead.
“The Wynther accident,” he said. “Confirmed. Total loss.”
“Not total,” I replied.
He hesitated. “Three survivors.”
“Exactly.”
Nolan shifted his weight. “The heiress lived along with her husband. If you ask me, that’s still poetic justice. Losing her entire family in one night? That’s the kind of pain money can’t soften.”
I finally looked at him.
He cleared his throat. “No offense, sir.”
I stood, then slowly walked to the bar by the window and poured myself a drink.
The amber liquid sat perfectly still in the glass. It was calm and steady—everything I wasn't.
“Justice,” I repeated. “You think that was justice?”
Nolan shrugged. “They deserved consequences.”
“They deserved ruin,” I corrected. "Totally. For good.”
I took a sip, hoping it would settle me down. It burned, sure, but it didn't actually help.
“This was sloppy,” I continued. “It was rushed and messy, but honestly, the fact that it’s still unfinished is what really pisses me off.”
Nolan frowned. “Sir, the Wynthers are gone. That family line is effectively—”
“Not all gone,” I cut in.
He followed my gaze back to the screen, where Seraphine’s photo lingered a second too long.
“The heiress,” he said quietly.
“She survives,” I replied. “Which means the story isn’t over.”
Nolan hesitated, then chose his next words carefully. “With respect, Sir… you already ruined her once. Before the accident even happened.”
The glass in my hand stilled.
The word dragged memories with it. I still remember the dim lights and the lingering effects of whiskey, the sound of rain hitting the hotel window, how anger and sadness had mixed into something reckless and evil.
That night, I dragged Seraphina to bed drunk. I left her on the hotel bed while she was still fast asleep, unaware that I had taken her virginity.
I was meant to ruin her, but unfortunately, another guy stepped in and married her a few days later.
I should be satisfied and relieved, but my plans hadn't come to fruition yet.
“She was collateral,” I said flatly.
Nolan raised an eyebrow. “Collateral tends to remember.”
I turned to him fully then. “She doesn’t.”
“You’re sure?”
“She believed it was him,” I said. “She married him days later.”
Nolan exhaled. “Damn.”
“Exactly.”
The silence stretched.
Outside, snow began to fall—soft, lazy flakes drifting past the windows as if nothing bad had ever happened in this city.
Nolan broke the quiet. “So what now, Sir?”
I swirled the drink. “Now, I finish what I started.”
He studied me. “Carefully.”
“Of course.”
“The husband’s already circling,” Nolan added. “Griffiths is pressuring the hospital. He wants her moved.”
I let out a cold, humorless smile.
“And the friend,” he continued. “Marielle Thatcher. She’s been attached to him at the hip. Playing caretaker.”
“If you’re hunting something, you stay close,” I said. “Predators don't like to be far away.”
Nolan hesitated again. “If the heiress wakes up—”
“She won’t,” I said.
He looked unconvinced. “Comas don’t follow plans.”
“No,” I agreed. “But people do.”
I headed back to my desk and reached for the file.
Seraphine Wynther was right there on the cover, her bright eyes and soft smile showing a person who had never known a bad day.
Nolan crossed his arms. “You’re going to the hospital?”
I didn’t answer.
“You shouldn’t,” he insisted. “Give it time, Sir. You don’t need to be seen, and she definitely doesn’t need to see you.”
I snapped the file open. It was all there—the medical records, the chronological logs, a list of names, and the connections that tied them all together.
“She’s the key,” I said.
Nolan’s voice dropped. “And if she remembers?”
I closed the file slowly. “Then I adapt.”
“And if she hates you?”
I met his gaze. “She already should.”
The television droned in the background, talking about memorial services, candlelit prayers, and holiday tragedies. Christmas music could be heard faintly over the broadcast, absurd and disturbing.
“Sir,” Nolan said carefully, “this path… It’s dangerous.”
I laughed under my breath. “Everything worth doing is.”
He hesitated, then nodded. “What do you need?”
I checked my watch.
“I don't need much,” I said. “We need to move quickly and quietly. And only when they leave a door open.”
Nolan’s phone buzzed. He glanced at it, then looked up sharply. “Hospital update.”
I took the phone from him.
Seraphine still wasn't waking up. They’d seen some emotional reactions from her, though, so the doctor was keeping a close eye on her progress.
I handed the phone back.
“Prepare the car,” I said.
Nolan stiffened. “Now?”
“Yes.”
“To the hospital?”
“No,” I replied, grabbing my coat. “To make sure when she wakes up… the world she opens her eyes to is already different.”
I needed her broken enough to fall. A way that left a void only I could fill.
With firm determination, I stepped outside. The night was cold enough to turn my breath to mist, and the falling snow began to settle on my head.
I wasn’t done yet.
In fact, there was still a hell of a lot more to do.
- Writer
