The rain hammered against the windshield, each drop a frantic drumbeat against the silence inside the car. Marco, an ex-Marine who had been Damien's trusted bodyguard and confidant for years, gripped the steering wheel with the focused intensity of a man who trusted his reflexes over the treacherous road. Beside him, Damien was lost in thought, the glow of the city lights reflecting off the rain-streaked window. He was on his way to a meeting, a last-minute change of plans that had them taking this less-travelled route—a shortcut Marco knew by heart.
"The weather's a nightmare tonight," Marco muttered, his gaze fixed on the road ahead. He didn't need to look at Damien to know his boss was preoccupied.
"Tell me about it," Damien replied, the words barely a whisper. His mind was elsewhere, going over the last-minute details of the Wellington deal. He ran a hand through his hair, the weight of his family's legacy and the public's eyes resting heavily on his shoulders. He couldn't afford a single mistake.
"Not a lot of traffic tonight," Damien observed.
Marco let out a short, rough chuckle. "I was just thinking about it. I suppose nobody's crazy enough to go outside in this weather. But they said the sky should clear in half an hour; my niece told me she's going to watch the meteor shower around midnight."
"A meteor shower?" Damien asked.
"She watches it every year with my sister. I never have time to join them."
"You should have taken the night off."
"Should've, but who would take care of you, boss?" Both he and Damien started laughing.
The road ahead was a blur, the headlights cutting through the downpour like twin daggers. Then, all of a sudden, it happened. A pair of headlights, blindingly bright, appeared out of nowhere, hurtling toward them.
Marco's sharp exhale was the only warning. "Brace yourself, sir!" he yelled, his hands tightening on the wheel. He swerved, a desperate attempt to avoid the oncoming car, but it was too late.
The world exploded in a cacophony of screeching metal, shattering glass, and the sickening crunch of colliding cars. Damien's head snapped back, the impact throwing him against the side of the car. Everything went black.
When Damien regained consciousness, the world was a twisted mess of metal and rain. The scent of gasoline hung heavy in the air, mingling with the metallic tang of blood. He tried to move, but a searing pain shot through his arm, causing him to cry out, his voice lost in the howling wind.
"Marco!" he yelled, his voice hoarse. He struggled to free himself and managed to pull Marco from the wreckage, dragging his friend to relative safety on the side of the road.
Ignoring the throbbing pain, he hurried toward the other car, its front end crushed against a tree. He saw a young woman slumped in the passenger seat. Her big brown eyes were wide with confusion, but she was conscious. The driver was slumped over the wheel, his head lolling at an unnatural angle. Damien's breath hitched.
He reached the woman's side and gently touched her arm. "Are you all right?" he asked, his voice strained.
She blinked, focusing on his face. The world was a distorted mess of metal and rain, but when her big brown eyes fixed on his, the chaos dissolved. It was a silence only they shared. A phantom scent, like rain on dry earth, brushed his memory, and he felt a sickening lurch—not from the crash, but from the unnerving certainty that this wasn't the first time he'd held her. The thought vanished before he could grasp it, leaving behind a cold, sharp dread.
She looked past him at the driver. "What happened?" she whispered, her voice barely audible. "Is he…?"
Damien's heart ached. He gently took her head in his hands, his voice softer than he'd ever heard it. "I'm going to help you get out of the car. Trust me."