The storm had come down without mercy.
Rain sheeted across the highway in silver torrents, hammering the windshield of the black Mercedes as though the heavens themselves wanted to break through. The wipers fought a losing battle, swinging back and forth in a desperate rhythm. Beyond their arc, the world was nothing but blurred light and shadow. The tires hissed against the soaked asphalt, sending up sprays of water that vanished instantly into the darkness.
Inside the cabin, the car was warm. Golden light spilled from the dashboard, illuminating two brothers who carried the weight of a dynasty in their veins.
Alexander Draemont sat behind the wheel, posture loose, shoulders relaxed despite the chaos outside. At twenty-eight, he bore the composure of a man who had been trained since birth to rule. Every movement carried calm assurance, every word—when he spoke—carried the gravity of a leader who never doubted his own authority.
Beside him, Cassian Draemont leaned forward in the passenger seat, restless energy crackling in his every gesture. At twenty-two, he was all sharp edges and quicksilver moods. His brother's calm unnerved him, even as he admired it. He had grown up chasing Alexander's shadow, trying to match his stride, trying to live up to the impossible.
In the back seat, Evelyn Draemont slept with her head tipped against the window. Her dark hair framed her pale face, soft in repose, a striking contrast to the storm outside. Their little boy, Daniel, had curled into her lap, thumb still tucked against his mouth, lost in dreams. Their breathing rose and fell in gentle unison, the very picture of peace.
The car cut through the storm like a black bullet.
Alexander chuckled, voice deep and even. "You're wound tight, Cass. Relax. You're glaring at the road like it insulted you."
Cassian tore his eyes from the windshield and glanced sideways. "Maybe because this doesn't feel like just rain. It feels like the world's trying to drown us. And you're sitting there like it's a Sunday drive."
"That's the difference between us." Alexander's smile tugged slow at the corners of his mouth. "You fight the storm. I ride through it."
Cassian shook his head, a smirk flickering. "You always talk like some kind of philosopher. You ever think about being normal for once?"
"Normal?" Alexander's laugh was soft, genuine. "Cass, we were never meant to be normal. Not you, not me, not any Draemont. It's in our blood."
The words carried weight, even as they were spoken lightly. The Draemont name meant power. Wealth. Legacy. A billion-dollar empire that spanned industries, cities, generations. And with it came expectations—ones Cassian often felt choking him, even when his brother carried them as though they were nothing more than a crown he'd been born to wear.
Lightning split the sky, illuminating the road in a strobe of silver. For an instant, the world was bright as day, and Cassian caught sight of Alexander's profile: strong jaw, calm eyes, every line of his face carved by certainty. He looked unshakable. Eternal.
"You make it sound easy," Cassian muttered.
"It's never easy," Alexander said quietly. His eyes flicked to the rearview mirror, lingering on Evelyn and Daniel. "But when they're with me—when you're with me—I remember why I fight. Why it all matters."
Cassian followed his gaze. Evelyn shifted in her sleep, her hand protectively cradling Daniel even unconsciously. The boy stirred, murmured something incoherent, then settled again. The sight carved something warm into Cassian's chest.
For a moment, he let himself believe Alexander's words. That storms could always be weathered. That Draemonts were untouchable.
The rain thickened. The world narrowed to two beams of light on black road. Somewhere in the distance, a horn wailed.
Then the night shattered.
A truck exploded from the side road—massive, a hulking shadow with headlights like the eyes of a charging beast. The sound of its horn ripped through the storm.
"Alex—!" Cassian's cry was raw, strangled.
The impact struck like thunder.
Metal screamed. Glass burst into shards, glittering knives exploding into the air. The Mercedes jerked sideways, momentum twisting it into a spin. Evelyn's scream pierced the night, high and sharp. Daniel's small cry was cut off by the grinding of steel.
The world turned upside down.
The car rolled once. Twice. The roof crumpled, the side slammed against asphalt, sparks hissing in the rain. Cassian's head smashed against the window, pain detonating white-hot behind his eyes. His body was tossed like a rag doll, safety straps straining, bruising. Time fractured. Sounds blurred into one long roar.
When the car finally skidded to a halt, silence fell—deafening after the chaos.
Then came the hiss. The pop. The low growl of fire.
Cassian lay sprawled on the wet asphalt, thrown clear, his body screaming in pain. Rain hammered his face, washing blood into his eyes. He coughed, tasted iron, tried to move. His leg was a slab of agony, his ribs sharp knives. He collapsed, vision spinning.
The Mercedes was a mangled carcass of steel not twenty yards away. One side caved in, windshield shattered, the frame bent grotesquely. Smoke curled upward, then flame, orange tongues licking higher, devouring the wreck.
"Alex!" Cassian's voice cracked, shredded by pain. He dragged himself an inch forward, nails scraping the road. "Alexander!"
Through broken glass, he saw them.
Evelyn's face pale as porcelain, streaked with blood, slumped against her seat. Her chest was still, unmoving. Daniel's small body lay twisted in her lap, his eyes half-closed, lashes wet with rain—or tears. Too still. Too quiet.
"No," Cassian whispered. The word splintered into a scream. "No! Evelyn! Daniel!"
Movement—barely.
Alexander.
His brother's hand reached across the twisted wreckage, trembling, fingers brushing against his son's cheek. His lips moved, forming words Cassian couldn't hear. His eyes—those calm, unshakable eyes—met Cassian's through the firelight. They weren't calm anymore. They were breaking.
"Help them," Alexander rasped, voice raw, jagged. "Cass… help…"
Cassian clawed at the ground. He pulled himself forward, dragging his useless leg, ignoring the searing pain that tore through every nerve. Inch by inch, desperation fueled him. His fingernails split, blood mixing with rain. He made it a foot closer. Another. His vision swam.
But the fire grew faster.
Flames curled around the car's edges, devouring upholstery, swallowing oxygen. Heat pressed against Cassian's skin even from yards away, blistering. Smoke choked the air.
Alexander coughed violently, his body convulsing. He shook Evelyn, his voice hoarse, pleading her name. No response. His hand brushed Daniel's hair one last time, fingers trembling, lingering.
"Alex!" Cassian's scream ripped through the storm. His chest heaved, every breath tearing him apart. "Don't stop—don't—"
The windshield burst outward in a shower of glass as the fire roared free. Flames surged high, licking at the night sky, hissing against the rain.
Alexander's eyes widened, then shut against the smoke. His hand fell, his body slumping forward. The last of his strength gone.
"NO!" Cassian's roar was primal, animal. He beat his fists against the ground, agony exploding through his broken body. His throat tore raw from the scream, but the storm swallowed the sound.
He couldn't reach them. He couldn't move.
The fire consumed everything. Evelyn's hair caught first, a crown of flame. Daniel's small form was lost in smoke. Alexander's silhouette became a dark shadow against the inferno, then nothing.
Cassian lay in the rain, chest heaving, body shattered. His tears mixed with the downpour, hot on his bloodied face. He screamed until his voice gave out, until only hoarse gasps remained.
The storm raged. The fire roared. And Cassian Draemont—once a prince of an empire—lay helpless on the road, calling into the night for help that did not come.
The Draemonts had always believed themselves untouchable.
But in one night of fire and twisted metal, everything broke.
"Alex…" The name cracked on his lips, broken and small. His chest burned when he tried to shout it louder, but no sound came, only the taste of copper and smoke. His throat was shredded, his body wrecked.
He tried to move again. His hands clawed against the slick asphalt, fingers trembling. His body wouldn't obey him. His leg was useless, his ribs felt like splintered glass. The storm pressed him into the ground as if the sky itself wanted to bury him there.
The flames hissed and popped. The smell of burning fuel curled through the rain. Cassian's vision blurred, the edges darkening, closing in.
I'm dying.
The thought was distant, oddly calm. He had nothing left to fight with. His brother was gone. Evelyn was gone. Daniel was gone. He was alone on the road, broken and useless, the last Draemont heartbeat left in the wreckage.
Somewhere far away, a sound cut through the rain.
Not thunder. Not fire.
A voice.
"—oh my God—"
Light feet splashed through puddles. A figure knelt beside him, her movements quick, frantic. Cassian blinked, his lashes heavy, the world a fog. The face above him blurred—dark hair plastered by rain, wide eyes shining with fear.
Warm hands slid beneath his head, lifting gently. His skull rested against her lap. For the first time since the crash, something wasn't cold. Her legs were firm, steady, holding him.
Cassian tried to focus, but everything swam. The storm sounded like a chorus underwater, far away. He blinked again, and the girl's face leaned closer, shadow and light shifting across her features.
"Stay with me," she begged. Her voice trembled, breaking. "Please—don't close your eyes. You're not allowed to close your eyes."
Angel. That was the first word that formed in his mind. She looked like an angel. Or maybe he was already gone, and this was what waited for him beyond the storm.
He coughed, blood wetting his lips. His voice was raw, barely a whisper. "Save… them."
Her brow furrowed. She followed his gaze toward the burning wreck, and her face crumpled with anguish.
"I'm so sorry," she whispered, her hands trembling against his blood-soaked skin. "I—I can't. They're gone. I'm so sorry."
Cassian's body convulsed with a sob, though no sound came. His hand twitched upward, useless, falling back against the road. "Daniel… Evelyn…" The names left him like ghosts.
The girl's arms tightened around him, as if she could shield him from grief itself. Her lips pressed against his damp forehead in a gesture so sudden, so desperate, that for a moment he forgot the fire. Her tears mingled with the rain, warm drops falling against his face.
"You're not going with them," she said fiercely. "Do you hear me? You're not leaving too. You have to live."
Her voice cut through the fog. He clung to it.
A burst of static. She fumbled with something in her hand—her phone. Her voice rose, urgent, frantic.
"There's been an accident! Please—send someone, anyone—Highway 41, mile marker—hurry, the car's on fire, people are trapped, there's one survivor, he's bleeding—"
Her words blurred, drowned by the ringing in his ears. But her tone—sharp with terror, raw with desperation—anchored him.
Cassian drifted, his head heavy against her lap. He tried to lift his eyes again, tried to memorize her face, but the storm kept stealing it from him. The edges blurred, the features melted into shadow and light. Only her voice remained. Only her touch.
She left him for a heartbeat, sprinting toward the wreck, shouting into the fire. Her silhouette burned against the orange glow, slender and frantic, arms raised as though she could will the flames back.
Then she returned, collapsing beside him, her knees splashing in water. She cupped his face, forcing his eyes open.
"Stay with me. Don't you dare leave me here alone."
Her face swam above him again. Close now. He saw droplets clinging to her lashes, her lips trembling with words she couldn't seem to form. He saw the rain slick against her cheekbones, the streak of ash across her skin.
And he saw something else.
Her arm—bare where her sleeve had torn in the scramble—marked with a scar. A thin, pale line running from elbow to wrist, cutting through her skin like a memory carved in flesh.
The world tilted. The fire behind her roared higher. Sirens? He thought he heard them, faint in the distance.
His hand twitched, reaching weakly toward that scar. It was the only detail that stayed sharp, the only thing that cut through the fog. "You…" His voice rasped, barely there. "Who…?"
Her breath hitched, her eyes widening. She caught his hand, pressed it against her arm as though to silence the question. "Don't talk. Please. Save your strength."
But Cassian couldn't let go. That scar. That mark. It seared itself into his mind even as darkness crept closer.
Her voice grew faint, fading into the storm. "Hold on. Just hold on. Help is coming."
The last thing Cassian saw before the world went black was her face bent over him, framed by firelight and rain. He couldn't remember her name—didn't even know if she had spoken it—but he thought of her as an angel. An angel with a scar.
And then the dark took him.