The Jilted Ex-Wife's Lethal Comeback

The storm battered the Hamptons estate. Rain lashed against the bulletproof glass of the third-floor bedroom window. Audrey stood by the glass, her skin pale and translucent. Below, in the flooded courtyard, guards in black raincoats patrolled the perimeter, holding the leashes of snarling Dobermans. She had been locked in this room for exactly one week. Her phone was gone. The landline was dead. She had refused to eat, surviving only on tap water. Her body was weak, but her mind was razor-sharp with desperation. Heavy footsteps pounded down the hallway. The heavy oak door unlocked with a loud clack and swung open. Celestine walked in. She was wearing a designer trench coat over her pregnant belly. Behind her stood two men carrying black medical bags. Audrey immediately backed away from the window. Her hand shot out and grabbed the only weapon in the room-a heavy, solid silver letter opener from the writing desk. She held it up, her knuckles white. "What are you doing here?" Audrey demanded, her voice hoarse from disuse. Celestine smiled. She unbuttoned her coat and handed it to a guard in the hall. "Kingston signed the medical proxy," Celestine said, her voice light and conversational. "He doesn't want your little bastard complicating the divorce. The doctors are here to clean out the trash." Audrey's heart slammed against her ribs. The air left her lungs. He was going to kill her baby. He wasn't even going to wait for a DNA test. The two doctors put on latex gloves. One of them pulled a syringe filled with clear liquid from his bag. They stepped toward her, their faces blank. A primal, maternal rage exploded inside Audrey. As the first doctor reached for her arm, Audrey lunged. She slashed the silver letter opener across his forearm. The doctor shouted in pain, stumbling back and clutching his bleeding arm. Taking advantage of the shock, Audrey spun around. She grabbed the heavy brass base of the desk lamp and swung it with all her remaining strength into the massive floor-to-ceiling mirror. Glass shattered, exploding outward in a shower of jagged daggers. Audrey dropped the lamp. She snatched a six-inch shard of mirror from the floor. Without hesitating, she pressed the razor-sharp edge directly against her own carotid artery. A thin line of blood immediately welled up against the glass. "Take one more step," Audrey hissed, her eyes wide and completely feral. "I will slice my own throat open right here. Let's see how Kingston handles the PR nightmare of his wife bleeding to death in his house." Celestine froze. The smugness vanished, replaced by genuine fear. She looked at the blood dripping down Audrey's neck. The guards in the hallway hesitated, unsure how to handle a suicide threat. Audrey didn't wait for them to process it. She bolted. She shoved past the bleeding doctor, sprinting through the doorway. Before Celestine or the guards could react, Audrey slammed the heavy oak door shut from the hallway and threw the deadbolt, locking them inside. Alarms instantly shrieked through the mansion. Red strobe lights pulsed on the walls. Audrey ran. She was barefoot, her feet slapping against the hardwood floors. She bypassed the main staircase and threw open the door to the narrow, steep servants' stairs. She practically fell down the steps, her breath burning in her chest. She burst through the bottom door and sprinted into the underground garage. The garage was a showroom of luxury cars. Her eyes locked onto the far corner. Kingston's prized vintage Aston Martin. The keys were kept in a glass lockbox on the wall. Audrey didn't slow down. She wrapped her hand in the sleeve of her sweater and punched the glass. It shattered, cutting her knuckles. She grabbed the keys, ripped open the heavy door of the Aston Martin, and threw herself into the driver's seat. She jammed the key into the ignition. The V12 engine roared to life, a deafening mechanical beast waking up. Audrey slammed her foot on the gas. The tires shrieked against the polished concrete. The car launched forward, smashing straight through the wooden security arm of the garage exit and launching into the torrential rain. The coastal highway was a black ribbon of slick asphalt. The rain was coming down in sheets, making visibility near zero. Audrey checked the rearview mirror. Three black security SUVs were already on her tail, their high beams blinding her. The lead SUV surged forward. It slammed its heavy grill into the rear bumper of the Aston Martin. Audrey's head whipped back against the headrest. The sports car fishtailed wildly on the wet road. She gripped the steering wheel, fighting the slide, her arms shaking from the exertion. If they caught her, her baby was dead. Up ahead, the massive steel structure of the suspension bridge loomed over the churning, black waters of the Atlantic Ocean. The SUV behind her accelerated, pulling up parallel to her driver's side door. The passenger window rolled down. A guard leaned out, aiming a black taser gun directly at her window. Audrey looked forward. Her blood ran cold. A fourth black SUV was parked horizontally across the center of the bridge, completely blocking both lanes. She slammed on the brakes. The Aston Martin skidded, the tires screaming over the wet pavement. The car jerked to a halt less than thirty feet from the blockade. The guards poured out of the SUVs. They drew their weapons, fanning out in a semi-circle, advancing on her car. Through the cracked window, Audrey heard the crackle of a guard's radio. Kingston's voice came through the static, cold and absolute. "Take her alive." Audrey looked at the men advancing on her. Then she turned her head and looked out the passenger window. Beyond the steel guardrail, the ocean raged. Black, violent waves crashed against the concrete pillars of the bridge. She looked down at her stomach. She placed a bloody hand over it. She shifted the gear into reverse. She slammed the gas pedal. The Aston Martin shot backward, putting a hundred feet between her and the guards. Then, she shifted into drive. The guards stopped walking. Their eyes widened in horror as they realized what she was doing. Audrey didn't go for the blockade. She turned the steering wheel hard to the right. She floored the accelerator. The engine screamed. She didn't close her eyes. She stared at the approaching steel barrier. Kingston, she vowed in the silence of her own mind. If I survive this, I will burn your empire to the ground. The Aston Martin hit the guardrail at ninety miles an hour. The sound of tearing metal ripped through the storm. The heavy steel barrier snapped. The car launched into the empty air. For one second, there was weightlessness. Then, the car slammed nose-first into the freezing, black waters of the Atlantic, vanishing instantly beneath the violent waves.