Chapter 2
"Summer Evans, are you out of your fucking mind?" Lucas yelled.
His voice cracked, vibrating with pure terror and absolute fury.
He slammed both feet onto the brake pedal, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the wheel. Cold sweat poured down his forehead, his face looking entirely pale.
Meanwhile, I was strangely calm.
"Exit sequence T-minus 5 minutes. Warning: Your vitals are critically unstable. The selected exit method is excessively extreme. Risk of destabilizing world anchor points detected."
I ignored the flashing red warnings.
I didn't want a quiet, peaceful exit. I wanted to leave the deepest, most permanent psychological scar possible on everyone in this miserable family.
With deliberate movements, I reached down and pressed the red button on my seatbelt.
Click.
The sound was tiny, but in the breathless silence of the teetering car, it sounded like a gunshot. The heavy strap retracted, leaving me entirely unrestrained.
Lucas' eyes went completely bloodshot.
"Don't move. Do not fucking move," he screamed, his voice shredding. "Are you trying to kill yourself?"
He let go of the wheel, lunging across the console, completely ignoring the precarious balance of the vehicle, desperate to grab me.
He thrust his arm through the shattered glass of the passenger window, trying to yank me back by my collar.
I didn't fight him. I just sat there, staring at him with dead, empty eyes.
His sudden movement shifted the weight of the car. The chassis let out a horrific, metallic groan, and the car slid another inch over the precipice.
"Get back. I said get back here," Lucas roared, his eyes wide and wild with desperation.
And then, I heard the sickening sound of jagged safety glass slicing deep into human flesh.
Bright crimson blood immediately surged from a massive gash on his forearm, instantly soaking the pristine white sleeve of his expensive designer shirt.
He let out a muffled grunt of agony, but his fingers remained locked in my jacket. He refused to let go.
I stared at his arm. This was the hand he used for his meticulous academic research. The hand he used to gently turn the pages of centuries-old manuscripts. The hand that drafted his brilliant philosophical papers.
The gash was so deep I could see the bone gleaming white under the blood. I looked at it, but I felt absolutely nothing.
"Heartbreak Value +100
"Heartbreak Value +200"
Seriously? Even now, while he was bleeding out, the points were still climbing.
I reached out, grabbed the door handle, and shoved the heavy passenger door open. The howling coastal wind instantly whipped my hair into a violent frenzy. I leaned half my body out over the sheer drop.
Lucas unleashed a terrifying scream that cut right through the roar of the ocean.
A single, hot drop of liquid splashed onto the back of my hand.
It was his blood.
I didn't go over the edge. I was dragged back finally.
Lucas failed to yank me back. The massive hands of the private security team belonged to my eldest brother, Charles Evans. They had been tailing us the entire time.
By the time I was hauled through the grand double doors of Evans Manor, the sprawling living room was packed.
Charles was standing by the fireplace. Leo Evans, my second brother, was pacing near the bar. Aiden Lopez, the man who was supposedly my husband, had somehow beaten us back.
Lydia Blake wasn't there.
Aiden likely thought the chaotic, violent atmosphere of my "intervention" would be too stressful for her delicate constitution.
Our private physician was frantically working on Lucas in an armchair. He wrapped layer after layer of thick white gauze around Lucas' arm, but the blood continued to seep through in dark, angry patches.
Lucas, usually the picture of refined, academic stoicism, looked wrecked. His face was a mask of lingering terror and explosive rage.
"She lost her mind," Lucas yelled, pointing a shaking finger at me. "She tried to kill us both."
Charles' expression was dark. He closed the distance between us until he stopped inches from my face, his eyes cutting into me like surgical scalpels.
"Summer, when is this going to end?" he demanded. "When are you going to stop making a goddamn scene?"
Leo, the superstar, stormed over and shoved me hard by the shoulder. I stumbled back two steps.
"Are you incapable of understanding how vital Lucas' hand is to his career?" Leo snarled. "You're willing to permanently maim your own brother over a guy who doesn't even want you? Can you please act your age for five fucking minutes?"
Aiden stood in the periphery, frowning. He looked at me with an expression of cold disappointment.
"I never imagined you would turn into this kind of person, Summer," Aiden said quietly.
I scanned their expressions: fury, disdain, and coldness. It was a grotesque gallery of emotions. I couldn't help but feel a dark sense of humor rising within me.
Not a single one of them had asked me why I did it. Not one of them asked if I was okay or what had driven me to the edge of a cliff.
To them, I was just a hysterical, spoiled brat throwing a tantrum for attention.
In the far corner of the massive living room, a high-end charity antique auction was actively taking place. It had been scheduled weeks in advance.
Charles was so obsessed with maintaining the family's flawless public image that, despite the fact that I had nearly died twenty minutes ago, he hadn't canceled it.
The auctioneer on the small stage was currently presenting an exquisite stained-glass lamp from the turn of the century.
Motioning toward the lamp on stage, Leo cast a withering look at me and said coldly, "Lydia loves that. Why don't you bid on that and have it hand-delivered to her? Consider it your formal apology to Lucas."
That was their way. To them, "maturity" meant silencing problems with exorbitant amounts of cash and expensive gifts.