The Road to Nowhere

Amara’s POV

“Your husband will never know what happened to either of you.”

The driver’s words settled over me like a death sentence.

For several seconds, I couldn’t move.

My eyes remained fixed on his reflection in the rearview mirror, searching for some sign that I had misunderstood him.

But he wasn’t joking.

He knew about my baby.

He knew about Asterion Capital.

And he had just threatened to make us disappear.

I pressed my trembling hand against my stomach.

“Who sent you?”

He didn’t answer.

“Was it Lucien?”

The question tasted bitter on my tongue.

Less than an hour ago, my husband had accused me of stealing millions. He had ended our marriage without giving me a chance to defend myself.

But murder?

No.

Whatever Lucien had become, I couldn’t believe he would order someone to kill me.

At least, I desperately wanted to believe that.

“Please,” I whispered. “If this is about the money, I don’t know anything.”

The driver gave a humourless laugh.

“That’s what makes this unfortunate.”

My stomach dropped.

“What does that mean?”

“It means you should have stopped asking questions.”

I stared at the back of his head.

Questions.

The foundation documents Celeste had brought to my office.

The missing invoices I’d noticed weeks earlier.

The strange transfers that had appeared in the charity’s preliminary financial statements.

I had asked Celeste about them.

She had told me the finance team was correcting a reporting error.

And I had believed her.

“Oh, God,” I whispered.

The driver glanced at me.

“Starting to understand?”

I swallowed.

“Celeste sent you.”

His expression didn’t change.

But his fingers tightened around the steering wheel.

It was enough.

“She did, didn’t she?”

“Mrs Voss, I suggest you stop talking.”

I looked through the window.

Dark trees crowded the narrow road. There were no houses, no streetlights, no other cars.

I had no idea where we were.

My phone still displayed the anonymous messages.

I tried opening the emergency dialler.

The screen showed no mobile signal.

I pressed the emergency-call button anyway.

Call failed.

I tried again.

Nothing.

The driver noticed my movements.

“That won’t help you.”

I lowered the phone.

“What do you want from me?”

He reached into the passenger seat and lifted a brown envelope.

“Your cooperation.”

He placed it on the centre console.

“Inside are documents confirming that you acted alone in transferring the missing funds. You’ll sign them when we arrive.”

I stared at the envelope.

“And then?”

“Then we discuss what happens next.”

He hadn’t answered my question.

I understood why.

“You expect me to confess to something I didn’t do?”

“I expect you to make a sensible decision.”

“Lucien will know the confession is false.”

The driver laughed.

“Your husband already thinks you’re guilty.”

The words struck exactly where he intended.

I looked away before he could see my tears.

Lucien had believed them.

He had stood before hundreds of people and called me a thief.

And now whoever had framed me was using his betrayal to finish the job.

I thought of the little scan inside my handbag.

My baby hadn’t even been born.

Already, someone wanted to destroy its future.

I couldn’t let that happen.

I forced myself to breathe slowly.

Panic wouldn’t save us.

I needed to think.

The driver took a sharp turn, and my handbag slid across the leather seat.

I caught it before it fell.

My fingers brushed the cream envelope.

For a moment, I wanted to curl around it and cry.

Instead, I looked at the car doors.

The locks were engaged.

The windows were controlled from the front.

A dark privacy partition separated the rear cabin from the driver’s seat, but it had been left open.

There had to be a way out.

I slipped my phone beneath the handbag and opened the voice recorder.

The red recording symbol appeared.

At least that function worked without a network connection.

I lowered the screen brightness.

“How much is she paying you?” I asked.

The driver sighed.

“You’re making this difficult.”

“Celeste. How much did she offer?”

“I didn’t say her name.”

“You didn’t have to.”

He said nothing.

I leaned forward slightly.

“Does Lucien know?”

“Know what?”

“That his sister arranged this.”

The driver’s eyes flicked towards the mirror.

“Your husband knows what he needs to know.”

A cold shiver travelled down my spine.

“That isn’t an answer.”

“Then stop asking questions.”

I glanced at the recording timer.

Twenty-three seconds.

Twenty-four.

I needed him to say something useful.

“Did Celeste tell you I was pregnant?”

His jaw moved.

“That information came from elsewhere.”

My heart pounded.

“Where?”

“Does it matter?”

“Someone accessed my medical records.”

He didn’t deny it.

I gripped the handbag tighter.

“Whoever hired you is committing crimes far worse than financial fraud.”

He smiled faintly.

“Then perhaps you should tell the police.”

I looked out at the empty road.

He knew I couldn’t.

Not from here.

But if I survived, I would.

I would tell everyone.

Twenty minutes passed.

Or perhaps ten.

Fear had distorted my sense of time.

The road grew narrower, its surface uneven beneath the tyres.

Branches scraped against the side of the car.

I noticed the driver checking his phone.

Once.

Twice.

On the third occasion, he answered a call through the vehicle’s hands-free system.

“Yes?”

A pause.

“We’re nearly there.”

Another pause.

His expression changed.

“What do you mean?”

I leaned forward, straining to hear.

The voice on the other end was too faint to understand.

“No,” the driver said sharply. “That wasn’t the arrangement.”

My breath caught.

Arrangement?

The caller spoke again.

The driver glanced at me in the mirror.

Then he lowered his voice.

“She’s pregnant.”

Silence.

His face hardened.

“I understand.”

The call ended.

For several seconds, neither of us spoke.

Then he reached up and switched off the interior light.

My stomach twisted.

“What did they say?”

“Nothing that concerns you.”

“Who was that?”

“Sit back.”

“What did they tell you to do?”

His eyes met mine in the mirror.

“Mrs Voss, if you want any chance of getting through tonight, you’ll do exactly what I say.”

A terrible thought entered my mind.

He wasn’t the person making the decisions.

Someone else was watching.

Someone else was giving orders.

And whatever that person had just said frightened even him.

The car slowed near a rusted metal gate.

Beyond it stood an abandoned industrial building surrounded by overgrown grass.

A broken sign hung from one post.

I couldn’t read all of it, but I made out the word Quarry.

The driver stopped.

“Stay here.”

He switched off the engine and climbed out.

For the first time since leaving the hotel, I was alone.

I immediately grabbed the door handle.

Locked.

I pressed the window controls.

Nothing.

I looked towards the front.

The driver stood several metres away, speaking into his phone.

His back was turned.

I climbed across the rear seat and reached through the opening in the partition.

My fingers brushed the central locking switch.

I pressed it.

A soft click.

My heart leapt.

I pulled my hand back and tried the door.

It opened.

For one glorious second, I couldn’t believe it.

Then I moved.

I grabbed my handbag and slipped out into the cold night.

Gravel crunched beneath my heels.

I froze.

The driver was still talking.

He hadn’t heard me.

I took one step.

Then another.

My heels sank into the muddy ground.

I kicked them off.

The stones bit into my bare feet as I ran towards the trees.

I didn’t look back.

I couldn’t.

Branches scratched my arms. Wet leaves slapped against my face.

My evening gown caught on a thorny bush, tearing along the hem.

I pulled free.

Keep running.

Just keep running.

Behind me, a voice shouted.

“Mrs Voss!”

I ran faster.

“Stop!”

I could hear footsteps now.

Heavy.

Closing in.

My lungs burned.

I wasn’t dressed for this. My feet were bleeding, and nausea rolled through my stomach.

But I kept going.

For my baby.

For the life I hadn’t yet had a chance to live.

For the woman I had been before Lucien destroyed everything.

A hand caught my arm.

I screamed.

The driver spun me around.

“Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

“Let go of me!”

I struck his chest with my free hand.

He caught my wrist.

“Listen to me!”

“No!”

I twisted, trying to pull away.

“Please! I’m pregnant!”

Something flashed across his face.

Regret.

Or perhaps fear.

“I know,” he said quietly.

Then he looked over his shoulder.

Towards the road.

His grip tightened.

“We have to go.”

I stopped struggling.

“What?”

“Now.”

He dragged me towards the car.

I stumbled over the uneven ground.

“Where are you taking me?”

“Somewhere else.”

“Why?”

He didn’t answer.

Then I heard it.

An engine.

Not the Mercedes.

Another vehicle.

Approaching fast.

The driver cursed.

“Move!”

He shoved me into the back seat and slammed the door.

This time, he didn’t bother with the envelope.

He started the engine and accelerated so violently that I was thrown against the seat.

“What is happening?”

He ignored me.

The Mercedes bounced over the uneven road and burst through the open gate.

Behind us, headlights appeared.

Bright.

Relentless.

I turned to look through the rear window.

A large dark vehicle was following us.

It accelerated.

The driver swore.

“Hold on.”

“Who are they?”

No answer.

The vehicle behind us drew closer.

Then closer still.

I gripped the seat belt.

“Are they with you?”

“No.”

The single word frightened me more than anything else he’d said.

“Then who are they?”

He glanced at the mirror.

“People who don’t want witnesses.”

My blood ran cold.

Witnesses.

Not just me.

Him too.

The Mercedes swerved around a sharp bend.

The tyres screeched.

I grabbed the door handle.

“Slow down!”

The driver pressed harder on the accelerator.

“They’ve changed the plan,” he muttered.

“What plan?”

He didn’t answer.

My phone slid from the seat and landed on the floor.

The recording was still running.

I reached for it.

The Mercedes lurched.

My shoulder struck the door.

I cried out.

Behind us, the other vehicle accelerated.

Its headlights filled the rear window.

Then came a violent impact.

BANG!

The Mercedes shot forward.

I screamed.

The driver fought the steering wheel.

“Stay down!”

Another impact.

Metal shrieked.

The car spun sideways.

For a moment, the headlights illuminated a steep embankment beyond the road.

There was no barrier.

No fence.

Nothing between us and the darkness below.

“Oh, God!”

The driver slammed on the brakes.

The tyres skidded across wet gravel.

We were still moving.

Straight towards the edge.

I pressed both hands against my stomach.

“Please!”

The driver looked at me in the mirror.

And for the first time, I saw genuine terror in his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

The front wheels left the road.

The car tipped forward.

My scream tore through the darkness.

Then the world turned upside down.

Glass shattered.

Metal twisted.

Something struck my head.

And just before everything went black, I heard the driver say four words that would haunt me for the rest of my life.

“Thorne ordered the change.”