Amara's POV
For a moment after the crash, the world became eerily quiet.
The violent sound of metal colliding, the screeching tires, and my own terrified scream faded into a strange ringing in my ears. Everything felt distant, as if I had been pulled underwater where sound could barely reach me.
My car had stopped moving. But my heart had not.
It pounded wildly inside my chest, so loud I could hear it echoing in my head.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
I blinked slowly, trying to understand what had just happened.
The smell of burned rubber and something sharp and metallic filled the air. A thin cloud of smoke drifted past the cracked windshield. The front of my car was crushed against something I could not clearly see, and the steering wheel pressed painfully against my ribs.
For several seconds I simply sat there, unable to move.
The world around me felt strangely quiet, almost unreal. The ringing in my ears made everything sound distant, as if I had been pulled into some strange space between reality and a dream.
A chilling thought suddenly crept into my mind.
What if I was already dead?
I had seen scenes like this in movies before. The character would stand up after a terrible accident, confused but unharmed, only to realize later that they had not survived at all. They were only a spirit, wandering around while their lifeless body remained trapped in the wreckage.
My breath caught in my throat. Was that what this was? Slowly, almost fearfully, I looked down at my hands. They were trembling. I moved my fingers, watching them carefully as if expecting them to pass through the steering wheel like smoke.
But they didn't. They were solid and real. My chest rose and fell rapidly as air filled my lungs again.
Then I felt it clearly. The sharp ache in my shoulder. The burning sting on my arm. The dull throb in my knee. It was real pain. My chest rose and fell rapidly as I forced myself to breathe.
I was alive.
My fingers trembled as I slowly lifted one hand from the steering wheel, staring at it as if I expected it to disappear. My palm was shaking, but it was still there. Still mine.
Carefully, I moved my other hand, testing my body one small movement at a time. My shoulder ached. My knee stung sharply where it had hit the dashboard. There was a faint burning sensation on my arm, probably from the airbag that had exploded in front of me.
But I could still move and nothing seemed broken.
"I... I'm alive," I whispered weakly to myself.
My voice sounded strange in the silence.
Slowly, I turned my head. The road that had looked so peaceful only minutes ago was now a chaotic mess. Wooden crates had burst open from the truck, scattering vegetables across the asphalt like colorful debris. Carrots rolled across the road. Green cabbages lay crushed beneath twisted metal.
The truck had stopped a short distance away, tilted awkwardly toward the shoulder of the road.
My heart jumped again. The truck driver.
Was he alright?
I tried to open the car door, but it refused to budge.
I pushed harder. It was stuck.
A thin wave of panic rose in my chest.
"Calm down," I whispered to myself.
Leaning back slightly, I tried again with more force. The door groaned before finally giving way.
Fresh air rushed inside the car. The smell of soil and crushed vegetables drifted through the opening.
Slowly, I stepped out of the vehicle, my legs trembling beneath my weight. The moment my feet touched the ground, I felt dizzy, the world tilting slightly around me.
I placed one hand on the roof of the car to steady myself. The silence of the countryside slowly returned, broken only by the ticking sound of my damaged engine cooling down.
I looked at the wreckage of my car and felt a chill run down my spine.
The front of the vehicle was badly damaged.
If the impact had been just a little stronger, if the truck had hit me directly instead of glancing across the side
I might not have survived.
The thought made my stomach twist. A sudden noise pulled my attention away. The truck driver was climbing out of his vehicle, looking shaken but unharmed.
"Miss! Are you okay?" he shouted as he hurried toward me.
I nodded weakly.
"I think so," I replied, though my voice came out quieter than I expected.
My knees still felt unstable, but I forced myself to stand straight.
The driver stopped a few steps away, relief clearly visible on his face when he saw that I was standing.
"I'm so sorry!" he said breathlessly. "The brakes suddenly failed. I tried to control the truck, but it wouldn't slow down."
I glanced back at the road. The long skid marks confirmed his words. He had tried to stop. My heartbeat slowly began to settle, though the shock of the accident still lingered inside my chest.
"It's alright," I said softly. "We're both alive. That's what matters." But as I spoke those words, another thought suddenly crossed my mind.
What if I had died just now? What would have been the last thing I did?
The last person I thought about?
My chest tightened painfully as a single name surfaced in my mind.
Trey.
Even after everything, even after the press conference and the humiliation still lingering in my heart, he was the person my thoughts returned to in that terrifying moment.
I looked down at my trembling hands. Maybe fate had spared me for a reason. Maybe this accident was meant to remind me that life could end in an instant.
That there were things I still had not faced. And right now, the one thing I had been avoiding the most was Trey Alvarez.
My phone suddenly buzzed inside my pocket.
The sound startled me. For a moment I just stood there, staring at the road, my heart still beating unevenly from the shock of the accident.
The buzzing continued. Slowly, I pulled the phone out and looked at the screen.
Tessa's name flashed across it. I stared at it for several seconds. She was probably calling to ask why I still had not returned to the mansion. Or maybe Trey had asked her to find me again.
The thought made my chest tighten. My thumb hovered over the screen, but I did not answer. Right now, I could not talk to anyone.
Not to Tessa. And especially not about Trey.
The phone kept ringing in my hand, the sound loud in the quiet countryside. Finally, the call stopped, leaving behind a heavy silence that felt almost suffocating.
I lowered the phone slowly. Then I slipped it back into my pocket without calling her back.
Because if I had died a few minutes ago on this empty road, Trey Alvarez would have never known the truth about my feelings.
The quiet countryside did not stay silent for long.
In the distance, I suddenly heard the faint wail of sirens. At first it blended with the wind sweeping across the open fields, but within seconds the sound became clearer, rising steadily in the distance.
Rescue units. I frowned slightly, wondering who had called them. Then I glanced at the truck driver standing a few steps away from me, his phone still pressed against his ear while speaking anxiously to someone.
Realization slowly settled in. He must have called them. A strange mixture of relief and embarrassment washed over me. Relief because someone had acted quickly after the accident. Embarrassment because I had not even thought about calling for help myself.
Within minutes, two vehicles appeared at the far end of the road. One was an ambulance with flashing emergency lights. Behind it followed a traffic police patrol car.
The rescue team and the traffic police had arrived together. Both vehicles quickly pulled over near the wreckage.
Two rescue workers stepped out of the ambulance while two traffic police officers began inspecting the accident scene and speaking with the truck driver.
"Miss, are you injured?" one of the rescue workers asked as he hurried toward me.
"I'm okay," I replied quickly. He looked me up and down carefully, clearly not convinced.
"You were inside that vehicle?" he asked, glancing toward my badly damaged car.
I nodded. Another medic approached with a medical kit in his hands.
"We need to bring you to the hospital for evaluation," he said. "You might have internal injuries."
"No," I said immediately.
The word came out faster than I expected. Both men looked at me in surprise.
"I'm fine," I insisted, trying to sound more confident than I actually felt. My body still ached from the impact, but I could stand and move.
"I appreciate your concern," I added, "but I don't need to go to the hospital."
The first medic frowned slightly.
"Ma'am, accidents like this can cause injuries that don't show immediately. It's safer if we bring you in for observation."
I shook my head.
"I can't be delayed," I said firmly.
They exchanged a glance.
"I need to go to the farmhouse nearby," I continued. "I came here to inspect the vegetables. I have to check them myself."
The medic looked at the wrecked car again and then back at me.
"With all due respect, ma'am, vegetables can wait. Your health cannot."
Normally I might have agreed. But right now, the thought of going to the hospital meant questions, paperwork, and possibly even Trey finding out before I was ready to face him.
I could not deal with that today.
"I understand," I said calmly, "but I will sign a waiver if necessary. I am telling you I am okay."
The medic hesitated.
"You're sure about this?" he asked again.
"Yes," I replied firmly.
"I just need to go to the farmhouse."
After a moment, he finally nodded.
"Alright," he said reluctantly. "But we still need to check your vital signs first."
Another medic guided me toward the ambulance and quickly checked my pulse and blood pressure.
While they were doing that, one of the traffic police officers approached us.
"Ma'am," he said politely, "we will also need your statement regarding the accident."
My heart sank slightly.
"I understand," I replied.
"But I really need to go to the farmhouse first," I added. "I have work that cannot be delayed."
The officer nodded thoughtfully.
"That's alright," he said. "We just need your signature on some paperwork and a short statement."
He gestured toward the road behind us.
"We'll finish documenting the accident scene here first. After that, we'll follow you to the farmhouse so you can sign the necessary
I nodded in agreement.
"That's fine," I said.
"Everything looks stable," the medic said after checking my vitals, though his expression still carried concern.
"Please sign here," the first medic added, handing me a form. "This confirms that you refused medical transport against our advice."
I took the pen and signed my name without hesitation.
When I finished, I handed the paper back to him.
"Thank you," I said softly.
The rescue team then spoke briefly with the police officers and the truck driver. Since my car was no longer safe to drive, they insisted on escorting me to the farmhouse themselves.
"You shouldn't walk there alone," one of them explained. "We'll take you."
A few minutes later, I sat inside the back of their emergency vehicle as they slowly drove along the quiet countryside road.
Behind us, the traffic police remained at the scene to finish documenting the accident. They would follow later to the farmhouse for my statement and signature.
As we moved farther down the road, I glanced through the rear window and saw the wreckage of my car growing smaller in the distance.
The sight made my chest tighten. Today could have ended very differently. And yet somehow, I was still here breathing and carrying feelings for a man I should have forgotten long ago.