IN MY FATHER-IN-LAW'S BED: HIS TWISTED GAME

THE IMPACT

SEBASTIAN’S POV

The roar of the Continental’s engine was the only thing grounding me as I tore through the sleeping streets.

I drove like a maniac, the speedometer climbing into territory that should have been impossible on these winding estate roads.

The sirens of a patrol car blared behind me at one point—a sharp, piercing intrusion—but I ignored them. I didn't care about the law. I didn't care about the police. I didn't care if I took out half the city’s infrastructure.

My eyes were glued to the glowing red dot on the dashboard display, a pulsing beacon that told me the only thing in this world worth saving was currently stationary and broken.

I made the sharp turns with a violence that made the tires scream, the scent of burning rubber filling the cabin. Every second felt like a literal drop of my own blood hitting the floor.

The tracker was pinpointed at the northern perimeter, a stretch of road flanked by old-growth timber and jagged slopes.

As I rounded the final bend, my headlights cut through the gloom, illuminating a scene that made my soul wither.

I pulled the car to a screeching halt, the back end fishtailing before it slammed into park. I was out of the door before the engine had even fully cut.

"Summer!" I roared, my voice lost in the damp night air.

The silver Audi was a mangled skeleton of metal. It had hit the trees with such force that the front end was folded in on itself like accordioned paper. Smoke hissed from the radiator, and the smell of gasoline and oil was sickeningly potent.

A small crowd of onlookers had already gathered—mostly local workers and a few night-shift commuters who had pulled over.

Anger, cold and razor-sharp, sliced through my panic. Not even one of them was trying to help. Some stood with their hands in their pockets, whispering, but most had their phones out, the blue glow of their screens lighting up their vapid faces as they filmed the wreckage. They were vultures, filming a tragedy for a handful of digital scraps.

"Get back!" I bellowed, the Alpha in my voice surging with enough power to make the nearest men stumble backward. "Move! Now!"

I didn't wait for them to scatter. I rushed to the driver’s side, my heart stopping as I saw the state of the cabin. The windshield was a spiderweb of shattered glass, and the driver’s side door was jammed deep into the frame. Through the window, I saw her.

Her head was slumped against the steering wheel, her pale skin stark against the black leather. A thin, dark trail of blood was dripping from her hairline, staining her forehead and matting into her hair.

"Summer... f**k!" I whispered, my voice breaking.

I didn't have time for tools. I grabbed the door handle and braced my boots against the body of the car, every muscle in my back straining until the metal groaned and shrieked. With a final, violent kick against the hinge, the door flew open, whining as it twisted on its mountings.

I reached inside, my hands trembling as I checked for a pulse. It was there—thready, weak, but there. I slowly, painstakingly unbuckled her, shielding her face from the falling glass. I pulled her out into the cool air, her body limp and terrifyingly light in my arms. Her head rolled against my shoulder, and for a moment, I felt the warmth of her blood seeping into my shirt.

I carried her like she was made of fine porcelain, rushing back to my car. I couldn't care less about the crowd or the sirens that were finally drawing closer. They didn't exist. Nothing existed but the girl in my arms.

I pushed open the passenger seat of the Continental with my hip and placed her inside, reclining the seat so she wouldn't slump.

I rushed back to her wrecked car, forcing the booth open. Just like I thought, her suitcase was in it.

I grabbed it and quickly rolled it into my booth, slamming it shut. I was back in the driver’s seat in a heartbeat, the door slamming shut with a finality that signaled the start of a second race.

I pulled out my phone, my thumb nearly slipping on the screen as I dialed the direct line to my private hospital. The Benedict's private doctor, a man named Miller who had been on my payroll for years, picked up on the first ring.

"Miller, get the best paramedics and the trauma team to the bay now!" I yelled, the volume of my voice vibrating the car’s interior. "I'll be there in five minutes. You better have everything ready, and you better save her, or I will burn that building to the ground with you inside it!"

I ended the call and floored it.

The drive was a blur of red lights and near-misses. I was driving on instinct and adrenaline, my hand reaching over every few seconds to touch her cold skin, to make sure she was still breathing.

Each ragged gasp she took felt like a knife in my chest. I had caused this. If I hadn't pushed her in that hallway, if I hadn't let her leave the estate in a state of blind rage and heartbreak, she would be safe. She would be home.

I pulled the car to a shuddering stop at the emergency entrance. Instantly, the doors to the facility burst open. A stretcher was rolled out by a team of nurses and paramedics who moved with the frantic energy of people who knew their lives depended on the outcome of the next hour.

I carried her out, my arms aching from the tension, and placed her on the white sheets. The nurses immediately started wheeling her in, a flurry of activity as they checked her vitals and hooked her to a portable monitor. I ran beside them, my hand gripping hers.

"Summer, wake up. It's me. Summer, please," I urged, but her hand was cold—so horribly cold.

My heart jumped in my throat as we hit the double doors of the ER. One of the nurses stepped back, blocking my path with a firm, professional hand. "Sir, you can't go beyond this point. We have to stabilize her."

I wanted to roar. I wanted to shove her aside and stay by Summer’s side until her eyes opened. But the look on Miller’s face told me that every second I spent arguing was a second Summer didn't have. I managed a sharp, jerky nod and stepped back, watching as the doors hissed shut, cutting me off from her.

I stood there for a moment, the silence of the hallway deafening after the chaos. I bit down on my lip so hard I tasted blood. I ran my hand through my damp hair and, without warning, slammed my fist hard against the sterile white wall. The vibration traveled up my arm, a dull thud that did nothing to alleviate the screaming guilt in my head.

I shouldn't have let her go. I should have done something—anything—to stop her. I was the one who revealed the truth. I was the one who played with her emotions while her world was already crumbling. I caused this.

I paced the hallway like a caged animal, the "Emergency" sign glowing a hellish red above the doors. I sat on the hard plastic bench, then stood up again, then sat back down. My gaze was fixed squarely on that red light, waiting for it to turn off, waiting for a sign that the universe wasn't going to take her from me just as I had decided she was mine.

Hours passed. Or maybe it was minutes. Time had lost all meaning in the vacuum of the hospital. I was about to lose my mind and march into the ER myself when the doors finally pushed open.

Miller stepped out, pulling off his surgical mask. He looked exhausted, his brow slick with sweat. I rushed to him, my shadow looming over him.

"How is she?" I demanded, my voice a low, dangerous rumble.

Miller stared at me, his eyes flickering with a fear he couldn't hide. His voice quivered as he spoke. "I... I... Mr. Benedict, the impact was severe. We did our very best, but..."

The air left my lungs. My vision tunneled.

Before he could finish the sentence, I had him by the collar, hoisting him upward until his toes barely touched the floor.

"You don't f*****g make use of that line for me!" I yelled in his face, the sound echoing through the surgical wing. "You don't tell me you 'tried your best' like she’s some patient you can just write off!"

Now we are going to do this again, Miller. I'm going to ask you a question, and you're going to reply with a positive response and damn real quick! You know how evil I can be when I'm upset, don't you?"

Miller’s face went gray, his head bobbing in a frantic, terrified nod. I let go, smoothing down the lapels of his white coat with a menacing, slow deliberation. I straightened my own shirt, my breathing heavy.

"I'll ask again, Miller," I said, my voice dropping to a whisper that was far more terrifying than the shouting. "How is she?"

Miller quickly stutters, "She’s... she’s out of danger, sir. Her vitals are stable. But... but the impact caused some significant trauma to the frontal lobe. There’s some swelling in the brain and..."

He stopped, his lips shaking, his eyes darting to my hands.

"And what?" I prompted, my gaze turning ice-cold.

"No, she didn't fall into a coma!" he added quickly, staring at my cold gaze. "She’s breathing on her own. It’s just... we can't predict the exact time she’ll wake. And the injury to the brain might account for other problems arising once she’s conscious... like amnesia. But there’s also a chance she wouldn't have any complications at all!" he added in a rush.

"I told you to try your freaking best!" I yelled, the frustration boiling over. I turned away from him, running my hands through my hair, trying to process the word. Amnesia. A clean slate. Or a broken one.

I turned back to Miller and said, "Move her into my private ward and get the hell out of here."

Miller didn't need to be told twice. He turned and ran off.

I turned and headed out of the hospital and for my car. I pulled out her luggage and zipped it open and started scattering it. Until I felt my hand stop on some paper. I grabbed the document and swiped the pages. Divorce papers.

I let out a low, guttural growl that started in my chest and vibrated through the entire car.

She hadn't just been angry. She had been shattered. She must have been so heartbroken, so utterly destroyed by that pathetic excuse for a man, that she’d driven herself right into a tree.

Darius was a bastard. A weak, sniveling coward who didn't deserve to breathe the same air she did.

"I should have killed him at birth" I soft growl escaped my lips as I slammed my hand against the luggage, the sound of the impact echoing in the empty car park.

"I was going to kill Darius."