The engine of the Porsche Taycan whined as Jennifer floored the accelerator, weaving through the evening traffic with a reckless precision that matched her mood.
Her knuckles were white against the leather steering wheel. Every mile that blurred past was another rehearsed line in the speech she was preparing.
'You abandoned us.'
'You ran while the house was burning.'
'I am here to save you from yourself.'
She checked the rearview mirror, catching a glimpse of her own eyes. They were hard. Cold. They looked like Cassandra's eyes.
"I am the only adult left in this family," she muttered to the empty car, the words fueling her righteous anger.
She wasn't just a daughter anymore. She was a cleaner. A fixer. She was driving into the dark to drag her mother back to the light, kicking and screaming if necessary. Vivienne had preached about duty for years; tonight, Jennifer was going to make her choke on it.
