Secrets Of The Broken Genius Bride

Three minutes earlier. The armored Maybach rolled silently down the street bordering the Parsons campus. Curtis sat in the cavernous back seat, the battered tablet resting on his paralyzed thighs. He had come here driven by an intense, unfamiliar curiosity. The design sketch had shocked him. He wanted to hand the tablet back to her himself, to look into her eyes and figure out who the hell he had actually married. Through the heavily tinted, bulletproof glass, Curtis's eyes locked onto the plaza steps. He spotted Allie immediately. And he spotted the man walking toward her. Jerald Burke. Because of the distance and the thick glass, Curtis couldn't hear a single word being spoken. He was entirely dependent on visual input. He watched Jerald rush up to her. He saw Allie stepping back, but to his paranoid mind, she wasn't running away. She wasn't screaming for help. Then, the fatal moment occurred. Jerald lunged forward and yanked Allie hard against his chest. From Curtis's physical vantage point across the street, Allie's back completely blocked her hands pushing against Jerald's chest. All Curtis saw was his wife melting into the arms of a healthy, able-bodied man. It looked like a desperate, passionate embrace. The thin thread of rationality in Curtis's brain snapped. He could not reconcile the brilliant, explosive talent he had just witnessed on the tablet with the cheap, cheating woman throwing herself at another man right in front of his eyes. That massive, sickening contradiction twisted his fury into something far darker. Every ounce of trauma, every sneer he had endured since the accident, every deep-seated insecurity about his useless legs erupted into a volcanic, blinding rage. He looked at Jerald's strong, standing legs. The humiliation burned through his veins like acid. Curtis's hand clamped down on the edge of the tablet. He squeezed. A sickening crack echoed in the silent cabin. The glass screen of the tablet splintered into a massive spiderweb under the crushing pressure of his thumb. In the front seat, Vance heard the noise. He glanced in the rearview mirror and saw Curtis's face. It was the face of a demon. Vance instantly held his breath, terrified to make a sound. Curtis stared out the window. He watched Allie push Jerald away and fall to the ground. To him, it looked like the tragic parting of two lovers tearing themselves away from each other. "Bring that suicidal bitch back to the car," Curtis commanded. His voice wasn't loud. It was a dead, hollow whisper that sounded like it came straight from hell. "Now." The Maybach jerked to a halt across the street. The doors flew open. Two massive private security guards, built like brick walls, marched across the asphalt. Allie was still sitting on the ground, staring in absolute horror at the Maybach. She tried to push herself up, her bleeding palms leaving red smears on the stone. The guards reached her. They didn't speak. They simply grabbed her by the upper arms, one on each side, and hauled her up like a ragdoll. Allie gasped in pain as their iron grips crushed her already bruised wrists. She didn't dare fight back. The remaining students watched in shock as the Deleon security team dragged a woman through the street in broad daylight. Allie's heels dragged across the asphalt. Her dignity was completely shredded, left behind on the pavement. The rear door of the Maybach was yanked open. The guards shoved her inside with brutal force. Allie tumbled into the dark cabin, slamming hard against the leather seats. The door slammed shut, sealing her in a tomb. Allie scrambled to sit up, her chest heaving. She turned her head and met Curtis's eyes. They were bloodshot, completely devoid of humanity, radiating a pure, murderous intent. Her heart skipped a beat. "Curtis, please, you have to listen to me," she cried, her voice trembling violently. "It was a setup! Brittanie-" Curtis didn't let her finish. He picked up the shattered tablet and hurled it violently at her feet. It bounced off her shin with a heavy thud. Before she could react, his massive hand shot out and clamped around her throat. He pinned her back against the bulletproof window. "Do you think I'm a joke?" he roared, the sound vibrating in the small space. "Do you think because I sit in this chair, you can play me for a fool right in front of my face?!" Allie's face turned a deep shade of red as her oxygen supply was cut off. She clawed weakly at his thick forearm, her lungs burning. Hot tears spilled over her cheeks, landing on his knuckles. Curtis stared at her tears. They disgusted him. He saw nothing but the fake crying of a cheating whore. He released her throat with a violent shove. He pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his fingers, as if touching her skin had contaminated him. "Cancel all her privileges," Curtis ordered Vance through the intercom, his voice dripping with ice. "Confiscate her phone. We are going back to the penthouse." The Maybach's engine roared like a beast. The car shot forward, tearing away from the Parsons campus. Allie slumped into the corner of the seat, clutching her bruised throat and coughing violently. She stared at the floor. The tiny sliver of freedom she had just tasted was gone, replaced by a nightmare far worse than anything she had imagined.