Heavy rain poured over New York City that night. The sky was dark, while the streets were flooded with car lights reflecting off the wet asphalt, creating a chaotic and suffocating scene.
Inside a black car with tinted windows, the atmosphere felt quieter than usual. Isabelle Montgomery sat in the back seat, completely silent. The only sounds were the rhythmic thumping of the wipers and the rain tapping against the window like a thunderous whisper of fear.
Her hands clenched tightly on her beige slacks. Her fingers were tense, her face pale despite her best effort to keep a neutral expression. But nothing could hide the uneven rhythm of her breathing. Her eyes stared blankly out the window, but her mind, was elsewhere.
The accident. The flash of lights. The car swerving. The sound of metal crashing, blood, fire. The fear was still real. Too real.
Suddenly, her body began to tremble. Her breath caught in her throat. Her chest felt tight, as if her lungs refused to take in air. The world around her faded, replaced by terrifying memories that struck again without mercy.
In the seat beside Isabelle, Emma, her personal assistant, turned quickly after hearing her labored breathing. Her expression shifted into panic as she saw the condition of her mistress.
"Miss, Miss Isabelle, what's wrong?" she asked quickly, her voice filled with worry.
The driver, hearing Emma's anxious voice, glanced into the rearview mirror. "Miss, are you all right?" he asked, his tone equally concerned.
Isabelle didn't respond. Her eyes widened, her body began to sway slightly, and her breathing sounded like someone drowning underwater.
"Get to the hospital! Right now!" Emma shouted. "Hurry!"
The driver stepped on the gas, cutting through the heavy rain that drenched the city. The traffic lights flickered dimly in the distance, but their vehicle sped on, ignoring signals and time. In the back seat, Emma gripped Isabelle's hand tightly, her skin was cold as ice, her fingers stiff and trembling.
"Miss, breathe, come on, breathe slowly," Emma whispered in panic, though her voice tried to remain gentle. Her grip tightened, as if that grasp could pull Isabelle out of the dark void that was swallowing her whole.
Isabelle opened her mouth, trying to take in air, but the pressure refused to lift. Her chest felt crushed, as if the whole world was pressing down on her. Tears streamed down her cheeks without her noticing, not from weakness, but from fear, raw and piercing, dragging her back into a nightmare she thought had ended. But now, it was happening all over again.
"This is just a panic attack," Emma muttered softly, more to herself. She knew the young miss didn't have a history of respiratory illness. But the vacant stare, the gasping breath, the unsteady body, everything pointed to one clear diagnosis.
"Please, miss, stay with me. You're not alone. You're safe now. There's nothing to fear," Emma said, trying to channel calm through her voice.
Isabelle squeezed her eyes shut. Her breathing gradually began to steady, though her body still shook violently. Her hand continued to grip Emma's, as if that single touch was the only thing keeping her from falling apart completely.
The car kept moving, cutting through the night and the rain. Lightning occasionally lit up the city, and in the midst of it all sat a woman reclaiming her destiny. A woman carrying wounds that had never truly healed, wounds still bleeding quietly beneath flawless skin.
But the pain ran too deep, too real, and her body finally gave in. Isabelle lost consciousness.
The day had changed. Isabelle slowly woke up in the hospital bed, her breathing still heavy but steady. Sunlight seeped through the white curtains, illuminating the quiet VIP recovery room. Only the sound of IV drops kept her company. Her body felt weak, but her mind was starting to clear.
Emma, who had been loyally sitting in the chair beside the bed, immediately stood when she saw her mistress open her eyes. Her worried expression turned into one of relief.
"Miss, thank God, you're awake," she whispered, holding back tears.
Isabelle remained silent. She tried to sit up, and Emma gently helped her. Once she was comfortably propped up, she looked at Emma intently.
"Is there something?" Her voice was soft, but certain. Seeing the look on Emma's face, like she was holding something back, Isabelle had to ask.
Emma hesitated for a moment. "There was... an accident. Last night."
Isabelle froze instantly. Her hand clutched the hospital blanket, her nails nearly piercing the fabric. Her entire body tensed, and her mind began to race.
"Who?" she whispered, barely audible. Her voice was laced with fear, as if bracing for a death sentence. Her eyes stared blankly at the wall, and in a flash, a memory surged back, one she should have remembered from the beginning.
The accident. Her father. The flames licking metal. Her father's body, left helpless because he had been abandoned, alone.
She had been too consumed by her mission for revenge. Too focused on making sure Nathan never touched her life again, that she had forgotten, the first tragedy that opened the door for that man, was her father's accident.
"Your father…" Emma said softly, confirming the unspoken fear.
The world collapsed in an instant. Isabelle nearly leapt out of the bed. Her face went pale, her breathing once again erratic.
"Where's Daddy?!" she cried, panicking. Her voice rose, her body trembling.
"Calm down, Miss! Your father is alive!" Emma replied quickly, trying to soothe her. "He's being treated in the VIP room on the second floor. His condition is stable. He's just not conscious yet. The doctor said it's only a matter of time."
Isabelle's shoulders finally slumped. Her breath returned, but her body went limp and powerless. Tears streamed down her face, this time, from overwhelming relief, though the fear still lingered, heavy in her chest.
Her thoughts raced, returning to fragments of memory that were suffocating. She remembered clearly how the news of her father's accident struck like lightning on a clear day, shattering the world she once knew.
That day, her father had left with a new driver. A substitute. Their regular family driver had gotten into a minor accident earlier that morning and couldn't come to work. So the position had to be temporarily filled. And whether it was coincidence or twisted fate, the new driver had just started that very day without any proper background check.
Then came the news of the accident. The driver fled the scene. The secretary who usually accompanied her father hadn't come along that day because of a sudden meeting. And her father, was left alone.
Severely injured, his body was trapped behind the steering wheel, gasoline beginning to leak from the shattered tank. No one came to help. No one knew he was still alive.
At that moment, time meant everything. And that time was spent in solitude, in suffering until, eventually, it was too late. Her father didn't die from the crash, but from the fact that no one came to save him when his life could have still been spared.
That death was the beginning of everything. The beginning of the destruction, the collapse of the foundation of Isabelle's and her mother's life.
And in the midst of the chaos that consumed everything, Nathan appeared, with a kind smile and words full of empathy. He offered help, comfort, even a shoulder to lean on. Isabelle, fragile at the time, didn't realize that the man hadn't come as a savior, but as a predator.
Now Isabelle knew, her father's death wasn't just an accident. It was a calculated negligence. A trap, carefully set to bring them down. And the driver, was the key to it all.
Isabelle clenched her fists. Her chest tightened again, but this time not from panic, but from the fire of anger beginning to rise.
"I won't let history repeat itself," she vowed sharply. "I will uncover everything. From the very beginning."
She turned to Emma, her eyes now burning with fury. "Tell me. Who drove Daddy that night?"
Emma hesitated but answered, "The new driver, Miss. Not the usual one."
Isabelle's expression hardened. "Did he run away after the accident?"
Emma lowered her head deeply. "Yes, Miss. Witnesses saw him fleeing the scene, even…"
"Even what?" Isabelle hissed, her jaw clenched. "Say it clearly."
Emma swallowed hard. "Even… the driver lit a match. He tried to ignite the gasoline leaking from the car. But thankfully, a witness managed to pull your father out just in time before the explosion happened."
Isabelle fell silent. Her body trembled, not from fear, but from the rage building inside her.
"Find him," she said softly, but with a razor's edge. "Bring him to me. Alive."
Emma's face tensed. She didn't even dare look Isabelle in the eyes.Something had changed. The gentle, cheerful woman she once knew had now become someone with a sharp gaze, cold and full of determination.
Isabelle continued in an icy tone, "Tighten security. Don't let anyone into Daddy's room. No drivers. No house staff. No company people. No one, except the doctors and family."
Emma nodded firmly. "Understood, Miss. I'll arrange everything."
Isabelle closed her eyes for a moment, trying to steady her breath, then opened them again. Her gaze was no longer that of a woman who had lost everything. Now, it was the look of someone who knew how to protect what remained.
Her father was still alive. The company was still hers. And Nathan didn't know yet. He didn't know that this time, Isabelle was no longer the spoiled woman he could manipulate. She was not a victim. She was not someone to lean on. She was the storm rising from the ruins.
Their fate had changed, and this game, was just beginning.