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. This collaboration was meant to be the cornerstone of his career, a testament to his worth. He trusted Marco completely, but this particular stretch of road felt unnervingly empty.
"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 turned to see Marco slumped against the steering wheel, unconscious, a gash on his forehead. Adrenaline coursed through Damien's veins, silencing the pain in his arm. He had to get Marco out. He struggled to free himself from the mangled car, his mind racing. When he finally succeeded, he managed to pull his friend from the wreckage, dragging him to relative safety on the side of the road.
Then, his gaze fell on the other car, its front end crushed against a tree. The driver's side was caved in. Ignoring the throbbing pain in his arm, he hurried toward the vehicle. He took out his phone and dialled the ambulance, then ran toward the car.
He saw a young woman slumped in the passenger seat, her face pale, a trickle of blood running from a scratch on her forehead. Her big brown eyes were wide with confusion, but she was conscious. The driver, a young man probably in his mid-to-late twenties, was slumped over the wheel, his head lolling at an unnatural angle. Damien's breath hitched. He felt a wave of nausea. He hadn't caused the accident, he knew that. The other driver had been in their lane. But the feeling of being involved, of being a part of this terrible tragedy, settled in his stomach like a leaden weight.
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…?" She couldn't finish the sentence as tears welled up in her eyes.
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." He said, noticing the fear in her eyes. She nodded, then looked up at him and, noticing the blood on his arm, cried out, "You're bleeding!"
"It's all right, I'm fine," he said, the lie feeling hollow even to his own ears. He reached into the car and, with a gentleness that surprised even himself, lifted her into his arms, stepping away from the twisted metal. He went to put her down, but she cried out, and he realized she was favouring one leg. He saw a piece of metal peeking from the fabric of her jeans, blood staining the denim. The sight made him feel sick.
"It's all right, it doesn't hurt," she said softly, her eyes fixed on the blood on his arm. In that moment, surrounded by the wreckage, their gazes locked again.
Then, out of the blue, her eyes rolled back, and she fainted, collapsing fully into his arms. The strange, unsettling echo of a memory he couldn't quite place intensified, like they'd been through this before.
Just then, the wail of sirens grew closer. Paramedics swarmed the scene, their faces grim. One approached Damien. "Sir, we need to check you for injuries," he said.
"Take a look at her; she just fainted, and her leg is injured. I'm fine," Damien insisted, waving the paramedic off. His gaze was fixed on the young woman as they carefully placed her on a stretcher. As they lifted her into the ambulance, a ring slipped from her finger and fell to the rain-soaked asphalt. The ambulance doors closed, and the vehicle drove off into the night.
Drawn by an inexplicable impulse, Damien ducked down and picked up the ring. It was a delicate band with a single diamond catching the dim light. He didn't know why, but he felt compelled to keep it. He slipped it into his pocket just as Marco, groaning, came to his senses.
"Mr. Sterling?" Marco's voice was loud, cutting through Damien's thoughts and the sound of the rain.
"I'm here, Marco," Damien replied.
"Are you injured, Sir?" Marco asked.
"I'm fine," Damien lied again.
Looking back at the scene, Damien watched the paramedics cover the other driver's body with a white cloak. He didn't know the young couple's names. They were strangers. But he knew their lives, and his, were now intertwined in this terrible tragedy. And the weight of that connection settled on his shoulders like a leaden cloak.
The screeching sirens faded into the distance, leaving behind an eerie silence broken only by the steady drumming of the rain. Marco, still dazed from the crash, fumbled for his phone, his hands trembling as he pulled it from his pocket. He ignored the pain in his head and the throbbing in his chest, his mind focused on one thing: getting them out of here. He dialled a number, his thumb slipping on the wet screen.
"Johnny," he said, his voice a strained whisper. "Come pick us up. I've shared the location. And bring a blanket." He didn't wait for a response, ending the call and stuffing the phone back into his pocket. His gaze darted to Damien, who was standing motionless by the side of the road, staring into the night. Marco's heart ached for his boss and friend. He knew how hard this situation was for Damien because of his past. He looked at the wreckage of their car, a mangled mess of metal and glass, then at the other car, a ghostly silhouette against the trees. He knew they were lucky to be alive.
Damien stood there, a ghost in the rain. The ambulance's red and blue lights were just a memory, and the woman's face was a fleeting image in his mind. He reached into his pocket, his fingers finding the cool, smooth surface of the ring. He ran his thumb over the small diamond, the sharp edges of the stone grounding him in the chaos. The world was a blur, the sounds of the night muffled, and all he could see was the woman's pale face and the fear in her eyes. He felt a strange, inexplicable connection to her, a pull that went beyond the shared tragedy of the crash.
A deep voice cut through his thoughts, bringing him back to the present. "Mr. Sterling, is that right?"
Damien looked up. A police officer in uniform, his face obscured by the rain, stood before him. He held out a hand, and Damien shook it, his grip weak.
"I'm Police Officer Harris," the man said. "I'm with the local police. I've spoken with your driver. Sir, the preliminary assessment suggests the slick road conditions were a major factor. The investigation is ongoing, but for now, we're treating this as an accident, not a criminal matter. We'll need a full statement from your driver at the station tomorrow."
Marco stepped forward immediately. "I'll take care of that, Officer. We can head to the station right now."
Damien's head swam with a mix of relief and a gnawing unease. He knew it wasn't his fault, but the image of the young man in the driver's seat, his head at an unnatural angle, haunted him. The officer's words did little to soothe the guilt that had settled in his stomach.
Just then, a sleek black car pulled up, and a man with a worried expression on his face stepped out. "Johnny," Marco said, relief flooding his voice. "You made it."
Johnny walked over to Damien and put a hand on his shoulder. "Let's get you home, sir," he said, his voice low and calm. Damien nodded, his feet heavy as he walked to the car. He glanced back at Marco, who was talking to the police officer, and then at the scene of the accident one last time. He slipped into the back seat of the car, the silence a heavy blanket over him.
"Sir, take the blanket, you'll get pneumonia if you don't," Johnny urged.
"Give it to Marco, I don't need it." Johnny did as instructed.
As Johnny pulled away from the scene, Damien reached for the ring in his pocket, holding it tight. The young woman's face flashed in his mind, and he knew, with a certainty that chilled him to the bone, that this was not the end of their story.