Episode 2 — The Accident

The door slams behind Marcus, and the sound echoes through my father's study like a gunshot.

For a moment, nobody moves. Nobody speaks. The only sound is my mother's quiet sobbing and the distant wail of police sirens somewhere in the hills.

Gerald Hunt breaks the silence first.

"He'll come around."

Victoria Hunt nods, her expression cold and certain. "He's upset. He needs time to process. But he'll do what's required of him. He always does."

I stand in the corner, invisible as always, and I watch them talk about Marcus like he's a child throwing a tantrum. Like his feelings don't matter. Like his refusal to marry me is just a temporary obstacle to be overcome.

Nobody asks what I want.

Nobody ever does.

---

My father's phone rings. Then my mother's. Then the house line. One by one, the calls come in, reporters, business partners, concerned friends who've heard rumors.

My father steps into the hallway, his voice low and tense. I follow, because I'm invisible, because nobody notices when I'm there.

"She's gone. Yes, gone. Run off with some... trainer. We don't know where. We're handling it."

A pause.

"No, the wedding is still happening. We're finalizing the details. No comment on the bride. Yes, the alliance stands."

He hangs up and dials another number.

My mother appears beside him. "Richard, the stock—"

"I know about the stock," he snaps. "I'm handling it."

"Hunt Industries is already down three percent. If this spreads—"

"It won't spread. I have people working on damage control."

I stand in the hallway, forgotten, and I think about Marcus—out there somewhere, alone, angry, driving too fast on roads that wind through the canyons.

---

We're still at the estate when the call comes.

Gerald Hunt is in the study with my father, arguing about damage control, when his phone rings. He glances at the screen, frowning.

"It's Marcus's driver."

He answers. His face changes.

"What do you mean he's been in an accident?"

The room goes silent. Victoria freezes mid-sentence. My mother's hand flies to her mouth.

Gerald listens, his jaw tightening with every word. "Which hospital?... We're on our way."

He hangs up and turns to us, his expression grim.

"Marcus crashed on the highway. He was driving too fast, arguing with me on the phone. He's been taken to Cedars-Sinai."

Victoria makes a sound—something between a gasp and a moan. "Is he—"

"I don't know. We need to go. Now."

---

The hospital waiting room is white and cold and smells like antiseptic and fear.

Victoria Hunt is weeping in the corner, her diamonds catching the fluorescent light. Gerald paces, his phone pressed to his ear, barking orders. My parents sit together, holding hands, their faces pale.

I sit alone, in the corner, and I wait.

Hours pass. Or maybe minutes. Time has no meaning here.

And then the doctor appears.

He's young, exhausted-looking, wearing blue scrubs stained with something I don't want to think about.

"Family of Marcus Hunt?"

We all rise at once.

Victoria grabs the doctor's arm. "How is he? Is he alive? Please—"

"He's alive," the doctor says carefully. "The surgery went well. He's stable."

A collective exhale. Tears of relief. Gerald closes his eyes and murmurs something that might be a prayer.

But the doctor isn't finished.

"There were severe injuries to his right leg. The bone was shattered, and there was significant damage to the surrounding tissue and nerves. We've done what we can, but..."

"But what?" Gerald's voice is sharp.

The doctor hesitates. "He's going to need extensive rehabilitation. The damage was significant. We can't guarantee he'll walk normally again. He may require assistance, crutches, a cane, possibly a wheelchair, for an extended period. It's too early to know how much function he'll regain."

The words hang in the air.

Victoria Hunt makes a sound—something between a gasp and a moan.

And Gerald Hunt, the man who built an empire on certainty, looks suddenly, terrifyingly lost.