Scars Of Betrayal: The Heiress's Revenge

The Maybach took the curve too fast.

The high-performance engine purred with a low, aggressive growl that vibrated through the chassis.

Her stomach, lurched violently.

Sweat pricked at her hairline. She wasn't used to this motion.

For three years, her world had been static. Concrete floors, steel bars, a yard that measured fifty paces by fifty paces. The sensation of speed, the shifting g-forces, it was too much.

She squeezed her eyes shut, her hand instinctively gripping the beige leather seat beneath her to anchor herself.

"Don't," Benito's voice snapped like a whip.

Her eyes flew open. He was staring at her hand.

"Don't dig your nails into the leather," he said, his nose wrinkling slightly. "That's custom calfskin. It stains."

She snatched her hand back as if the seat were burning. She looked at her fingers. They were clean, scrubbed raw before she left, but to him, they were filthy.

"It's just a car, Benny," she murmured, swallowing back the bile rising in her throat. "I feel sick."

He didn't ask if she was okay. He didn't offer to slow down. He reached for the door panel and engaged the window locks.

"Do not throw up in here," he warned. "I just had this detailed."

He opened the console again, took out a packet of wet wipes, and tossed it into her lap. "Wipe your hands. God knows what you've been touching in that place."

She stared at the packet. Antibacterial. Kills 99.9% of germs.

She was the germ.

Shame, hot and suffocating, washed over her.

She tore open the packet with trembling fingers. The chemical smell of the wipe made her nausea worse, but she wiped her hands. She wiped them until the skin turned red, just to appease him.

"Estelle would never let herself get like this," Benito said suddenly. He wasn't looking at her, just staring straight ahead. "She's always... pristine. She smells like vanilla."

She stopped wiping. She looked at his profile, the sharp jawline she used to kiss.

"Estelle didn't go to prison," she said quietly. "Because I went for her."

Benito whipped his head around, his eyes flashing with genuine anger. "Stop it. Stop trying to blame Estelle. We all know the truth, Alice. You got greedy. You wanted to make a quick buck on those trades."

Her mouth fell open. The air left her lungs. "What?"

"Uncle Richard told me everything," he continued, his voice dripping with disdain. "You went rogue. Estelle cried for days when you were sentenced. She begged me not to leave you, even though you disgraced us."

Her father. Her father had told him she did it for greed? And Benito... he believed it?

A wave of dizziness hit her. It wasn't just the motion sickness anymore. It was the vertigo of reality shifting beneath her feet. They had rewritten history. They had turned her into the villain to save themselves, and they hadn't even waited until her body was cold.

Her stomach convulsed.

She clamped a hand over her mouth, a guttural sound escaping her throat.

Benito recoiled, pressing himself against the far door, his face twisting in horror.

"Pull over!" he shouted at the driver. "Pull over now! She's going to be sick!"

The car swerved to the shoulder, tires crunching on gravel. The moment they stopped, the locks clicked open.

She scrambled out, falling onto the grass verge. The cold air hit her face, but it didn't help. She retched, her body heaving violently, but nothing came up except bitter acid. Her stomach was empty.

She knelt there, gasping for breath, shivering in the wind.

Behind her, she heard Benito's voice. It had changed pitch completely. It was soft, low, intimate.

"Hey, baby... No, I'm almost there... Just a little delay... Yeah, I picked her up." A pause. "Don't worry, I won't let her ruin your night. I love you too."

She froze. She wiped the spittle from her chin with the back of her hand and slowly stood up.

Through the open window, she saw him. He was smiling at the phone. A smile she hadn't seen in three years.

He wasn't just supporting Estelle.

He was with her.

The realization didn't hurt. It was too massive for pain. It was a numbing blow that severed the last nerve ending connecting her to him.

She looked at the car. She didn't want to get back in. She wanted to walk away, into the woods, anywhere but there.

But she had no money. No phone. No ID. She was a felon on parole with nowhere to go.

Benito lowered the phone and looked at her. The warmth vanished instantly.

"Are you done?" he asked, checking his watch. "Get in. Estelle is waiting."

She walked back to the car. She didn't look at him. She sat on the edge of the seat, pressing herself into the corner, as far away from him as the small space would allow.

The door closed. The lock clicked. They were moving again.