Chapter 5: Fractured Paths
I swept away the last two pieces from the board. Though Gomoku was meant to be a single round, Rita slammed another piece onto her chain of four-in-a-row.
“I won too!” she declared petulantly, her voice cracking like spoiled jade.
The room fell into an unsettling silence.
“Then…” My gaze lingered on her, cold and piercing, “…shall I continue?” My fifth piece clicked into place with deliberate finality.
Sixty seconds later, the board was overtaken by green stones. Rita’s trembling fingers hovered over empty intersections, unable to make her move.
“AGAIN!” she shouted, her face flushed crimson.
We continued, round after round. With each move, I alternated between slow, deliberate strategies and rapid strikes. Each victory chipped away at Rita’s composure, her frustration mounting. When tears finally spilled from her eyes, Julian’s hand shot out like lightning, grabbing the chess box and yanking it away.
The sound of the box clattering to the floor was drowned by Rita’s sobs as she flung herself into his arms. Seraphine’s scolding cut through the chaos—“Must you be so aggressive?”—but I no longer heard her words. The world around me blurred into static, like the fading hum of dying fireflies.
Julian’s face, once bright as midday sun, now faded into a dull, ash-gray blur. The boy I once knew had rotted into something unrecognizable.
Fine. Only twenty days remained. Let him wither.
I scattered the remaining pieces across the board like funeral coins. Rising with a weary, imperial grace, I let my sleeve trail through the air, painting crimson arcs as the courtyard wind kissed my fingertips. Only then did I realize that the crimson pearls blooming in my palm were not from the pieces, but from the blood that had seeped from my hand.
“Olivia!” Julian’s voice cracked, sharp with panic. But when he made a move to chase me, Rita tightened her hold around his waist, crying harder.
I left the Shaw residence, Julian’s calls flooding my phone. I blocked him immediately. Then, I sent a message to my mother-in-law: “Give me 150 million! One penny less, and I’ll make you pay a painful price!”
Seraphine nearly had a heart attack when she read it.
As I drove down the road, the sky darkened, and rain began to fall. My mind drifted in the quiet hum of the car. Suddenly, a yellow motorcycle zipped past me, startling me into slamming on the brakes.
There was a loud bang as my car was rear-ended, my head crashing into the steering wheel. A sharp pain radiated from my forehead. I looked up to see the rain-soaked world tinted red. I wiped the blood from my eyes, realizing that the motorcycle had disappeared into the storm.
A knock on my window broke my daze.
I rolled down the window to see a man in his fifties, wearing glasses and holding a black umbrella.
“Miss, I deeply apologize for the rear-end collision,” he said. “We accept full responsibility. If you don’t mind, my employer is on a tight schedule. Could we exchange contact information and take care of the repair invoice later?”
I considered the offer, still rattled. “Let the traffic police handle this,” I replied, my nerves frayed.
After stepping out of the car, I inspected the damage to the rear. The driver retreated to his car as I did.
“Sir, the lady insists on involving the police…” the driver murmured.
The rain had grown heavier, the wipers unable to keep up with the downpour. Through the glass, I saw a man sitting back in his car, watching me as I spoke on the phone.
I was soaking wet, rainwater dripping down my face, from my lashes to my lips.
“Mr. Jones?” the driver called.
The man in the car put down his phone and checked his watch. “Zach is on his way. I’ll leave. You stay and handle this,” he said coldly, before getting back into his car. Moments later, the silver Maybach started and disappeared into the rain.
The traffic police arrived, followed by the Maybach. Both vehicles came to a stop almost simultaneously. I got out of the car and saw, in addition to the driver, a tall and handsome man step out. His pale skin and piercing eyes caught my attention. When our gazes met, I felt a sharp, familiar sense of danger.
He handed his driver the suit jacket draped over his wrist, then turned to enter the Maybach.
The driver walked toward me, holding the jacket. “Miss, your clothes are soaked. Please put this on,” he said kindly.
I hesitated for a moment before accepting the jacket. “Thank you,” I murmured, my awkwardness apparent as I slipped it on.
The driver went back to speak with the traffic police, and the Maybach sped off into the rain, vanishing into the mist.
I could still feel the warmth of the jacket against my skin, a faint scent of sandalwood lingering in the fabric, dispelling the coldness of the rain.
The traffic police finished their report, and we both agreed on the terms. The driver offered to take me to the hospital, but I refused. “I’m sorry for my earlier behavior. I’ve been in a bad mood,” I said. “Once the suit is dry-cleaned, I’ll send it to you.”
The driver didn’t argue, nodding before returning to his car.
I drove alone to the hospital. As I arrived, Julian received the news of my accident.
