After My Husband Saved His Mistress Over His Dying Sister

The speedometer climbed past eighty, the needle trembling as the engine whined in protest against the slick asphalt. Rain slashed across the windshield, blurring the world into streaks of grey and red. My hands were locked at ten and two, my peripheral vision narrowed to a tunnel. Every second that ticked by was a catastrophic loss of myocardial tissue. Time wasn’t just money; it was muscle. It was life.

From the backseat, the rustle of movement broke my concentration.

"Richard, I feel like I'm going to be sick," Adrianna moaned, her voice pitching up into a theatrical whine.

"Hold on, baby," Richard soothed. I saw him lean back, unbuckling his seatbelt to reach for a thermos in the cup holder between the front seats. "Here. Sip some water."

But it wasn't water. It was his travel mug of scalding black coffee.

"Careful," he murmured, passing it back.

Adrianna’s hand shot out, not to take the cup, but to bat at it. The lid flew off. Dark, boiling liquid erupted over the center console, splashing onto the gear shift and searing into the exposed skin of my right forearm.

"Ah!" The pain was immediate and sharp, like a branding iron. I jerked the wheel instinctively to the left, the SUV hydroplaning for a terrifying heartbeat before the tires caught traction again.

"She's trying to kill us!" Adrianna shrieked, throwing herself against the door. "Richard, she's trying to crash the car!"

"What the hell are you doing?" Richard roared. He lunged forward, his body filling the space between the front seats, blocking my view of the passenger-side mirror and the blind spot. His face was purple with rage, spit flying as he screamed. "You burned her! You did that on purpose!"

"Sit down!" I yelled, fighting the steering wheel as we approached the merge onto the exit ramp. "I can't see! Richard, move!"

He didn't move. He grabbed my shoulder, shaking me. "Pull over! Now!"

I tried to merge right to take the exit for the estate. I checked the mirror, but all I saw was the expensive fabric of Richard’s suit jacket. I committed to the turn, praying the lane was clear.

*SCREEECH-CRUNCH.*

The sickening sound of metal shearing against metal vibrated through the chassis. The SUV shuddered violently as we clipped the side of a delivery truck. I slammed on the brakes, the anti-lock system pulsing under my foot, bringing us to a shuddering halt on the shoulder of the off-ramp.

Silence hung heavy for a split second before Richard exploded.

"You lunatic!" He snatched the keys from the ignition before I could put the car back in gear. "You hit a truck! You could have killed Adrianna!"

"Give me the keys!" I screamed, my voice raw, unrecognizable. "Richard, give me the goddamn keys! The patient—"

"Screw your patient!" He threw the door open and stormed out into the rain. "I need to check the damage. If there's a scratch on this car, Vanessa, I swear to God..."

He marched to the rear of the vehicle. Through the rain-streaked rear window, I watched him run his hands over the bumper, inspecting the paint with the meticulous care of a man who loved things more than people. He wiped a spot with his sleeve, squinting, then moved to the other side.

One minute. Two minutes. Three.

"Richard!" I hammered my fist against the window. "Please! She doesn't have time!"

He ignored me, leaning down to check the wheel well. Inside the car, Adrianna was checking her makeup in her compact mirror, humming softly. She caught my eye in the reflection and offered a small, pitying pout that didn't reach her cold, dead eyes.

Five minutes. Five eternities.

When Richard finally got back in, he was soaked and furious. "Minor damage. But you're not driving. I don't trust you."

He forced me into the passenger seat. The drive to the estate was a nightmare of slow turns and cautious braking. Richard drove like he was transporting nitro-glycerin, slowing to a crawl over every speed bump while Adrianna whispered praises of his carefulness.

When the iron gates of the Stone estate finally loomed ahead, my stomach dropped. The house was dark, save for the strobe lights of my SUV reflecting off the wet windows as we pulled up. There was no movement. No frantic waving from the doorway.

Just stillness.

I didn't wait for the car to stop completely. I grabbed my trauma bag and bailed out, sprinting across the wet gravel. Behind me, I heard Richard’s voice, slow and languid. "Easy, Adrianna. Watch the puddle. Lean on me."

I burst through the front doors. "Mrs. Gable! Where is she?"

"Upstairs!" The housekeeper’s voice was a broken wail from the second floor. "Oh God, Vanessa, hurry!"

I took the stairs two at a time, my lungs burning, the heavy bag banging against my hip. I skid into Liberty’s bedroom.

Mrs. Gable was on the floor, her hands pressed over her mouth, rocking back and forth. Liberty lay on the Persian rug. Her skin was the color of ash. Her eyes were fixed on the ceiling, wide and unseeing.

"Move!" I dropped to my knees, my fingers flying to her carotid artery.

Nothing. No pulse. Cold skin.

"Come on, Libby. Come on." I intertwined my fingers and began compressions, counting out loud, pushing hard enough to crack ribs. *One, two, three, four.* "Get the pads!"

I reached for the external pacemaker with one hand, flipping the switch.

The screen flickered to life. A loading bar appeared.

*SYSTEM REBOOTING... PLEASE WAIT.*

*0%...*

"No," I gasped, pumping her chest. "No, no, no."

If Richard hadn't turned it off. If it had been in standby mode. It would be ready. It would be pacing her heart right now.

*CALIBRATING... 15%...*

"Breathe, dammit!" I grabbed the Ambu-bag, sealing it over her mouth and nose, squeezing air into her lungs. The chest rose, but it was mechanical. Dead weight.

I went back to compressions. Sweat dripped into my eyes. My arms screamed.

"Vanessa?" Richard’s voice drifted from the hallway, annoyed and out of breath. "What is all the drama? We're here. Adrianna needs a glass of water."

I didn't look up. I watched the progress bar crawl to 30%. I watched the grey stillness of Liberty’s face. I felt the absence of life under my hands, a void where a heartbeat should be.

It was too late. The Golden Hour had passed while Richard inspected a bumper.