Arin pushed the car faster, her fingers commanding the steering wheel with sharp, agile movements as she overtook one vehicle after another.
The speedometer needle kept climbing, slipping past the safe limit without a second thought. She did not have time to waste waiting in long lines of traffic.
She had to reach the police station as quickly as possible, before her father opened his mouth and said something senseless that could destroy everything.
The screen on the dashboard displayed an active call, her aunt's name glowing against the dark.
"All right, I'm on my way," Arin said shortly, her tone rushed but firm. "So don't say anything to the police yet."
Before her aunt could interrupt, Arin pressed the button to end the call, cutting off the chatter on the other end without hesitation. She left no room for explanations, let alone listening to someone else's panic.
As she neared an intersection, her car slowed. The traffic light turned red, forcing her to step on the brake right behind the painted line.
The night had grown late, and the streets were nearly empty. Arin's car stood alone, accompanied only by the soft hum of the engine and the silent red light glowing overhead.
City lights reflected faintly on the windshield, forming blurred streaks of light.
Without realizing it, Arin tapped her fingertip against the steering wheel, a short, repetitive rhythm. Her gaze drifted toward the window.
At the corner stood a café preparing to close. A young woman with her hair in a ponytail stepped out, carrying two large trash bags that clearly weighed down her arms. Her steps dragged slightly, yet her face remained bright, as if exhaustion had no power to crush her spirit.
Arin went still, her gaze lingering longer than it should have. The sight felt too familiar.
An old memory slipped in without permission. Once, she had stood in that same position, working with few choices, counting her days in quiet exhaustion.
Back then, life had been simple and cruel in an honest way. Money was the only problem, and she knew exactly what she was fighting against.
Arin drew in a deep breath. Now everything was different. She had gone too far to turn back. Too much had been sacrificed, too much endured alone.
Her jaw tightened. She would not allow anything, or anyone, to drag her down again.
The traffic light turned green.
Arin pressed the clutch and accelerated. The engine roared softly, tires gliding smoothly over the dark asphalt.
She had just passed the middle of the intersection when something came out of nowhere, too fast, too close.
From the right, a truck sped toward her, far beyond any reasonable limit. Its headlights slammed into her vision, blinding her for a split second and making her instinctively squint.
Her heart lurched. Her body tensed as instinct took over. She wrenched the steering wheel.
But too late. The distance was too close.
A violent impact tore through the car. The crash of metal against metal was deafening, glass shattering in every direction.
Arin's body was thrown hard as the seat belt crushed into her chest. The car was dragged, spinning wildly, before flipping over with a heavy slam that seemed to freeze the world.
When it was over, only silence remained.
In the middle of the dark, empty road, her white car lay mangled beyond recognition. The truck that had hit her was already gone, disappearing into the distance.
Arin felt warmth flood her mouth. Fresh blood spilled out, her breath choking in her throat. Pain surged rapidly through her body, leaving her feeling broken.
She tried to move, but none of her limbs responded. Blood streamed from her temple, covering the side of her face.
She tried to breathe more deeply.
But she failed. The air felt farther and farther away. Her vision blurred as darkness crept in, slowly swallowing her world piece by piece.
At the edge of consciousness, a single thought surfaced, impossible to push away.
Was this karma, the price she had to pay for everything she had done?
For the choices she had made, and the people she had hurt to get this far?
The question hung unanswered, then sank along with the last of her awareness.
I WILL GIVE YOU A PLACE TO REVENGE
A police station was never truly quiet. The sound of hurried footsteps, ringing phones, and fragments of raised voices collided in the air. The night had grown late, yet the room felt increasingly crowded, filled with people carrying their own problems.
Several detectives moved back and forth with folders in hand, while interrogations unfolded almost simultaneously in different corner.
At one of the interrogation tables, a detective sat upright, his gaze sharp. Across from him sat a middle-aged man and a heavily made-up woman, seated side by side. A faint smell of alcohol clung to the man, while the woman beside him kept glancing at the phone in her hand.
"Stop calling," the detective ordered curtly. His palm struck the table once, hard enough to make the woman flinch.
She clicked her tongue in irritation and lowered her phone. "That ungrateful child," she muttered without bothering to lower her voice. "Always hanging up on me whenever she pleases."
"Enough," the detective cut in. "Now explain. What have you done?"
The woman let out a long breath before crossing her arms over her chest, her posture suggesting she was the one most wronged in the room. "How are we supposed to explain something we didn't do?" she said sharply.
"What exactly did we do, huh?" the man beside her shouted. His voice was hoarse, his breathing heavy, clearly not fully sober.
The outburst made the detective rise from his seat. He slammed a folder onto the table, the vibration causing a plastic cup at the corner to shift slightly. "How dare you raise your voice here!" His shout silenced them instantly.
The woman lowered her head briefly, then looked up again, her expression completely transformed. Her eyes glistened, her shoulders drooped slightly.
"Detective," she said softly, almost plaintively. "We are just ordinary people. We don't understand anything. Why are innocent people like us being treated this way?"
"Innocent?" The detective let out a short scoff. "You've been reported for extortion, and you still dare to claim innocence?"
"What are you saying?!"
The man suddenly stood up. His chair toppled backward with a loud crash. His index finger shot up, pointing straight at the detective. His body swayed, but his eyes were defiant, showing no fear at all.
The detective stood as well, planting his hands on his hips, his jaw hardening. His stance was clear, he was ready to act if the man stepped even an inch closer.
Before the tension could fully explode, the woman beside the man moved faster. She grabbed his arm roughly and dragged him back down into the chair.
"Sit," she whispered sharply, almost like a command.
The man grumbled, his shoulders rising and falling as he restrained his anger, before finally complying and sitting back down.
"Detective," the woman said carefully, making an effort to keep her tone calm. "We don't know where this accusation came from, but we're people who work every day. We don't have time to do something so low."
The detective let out a long breath before sitting back down. His gaze grew sharper than before. "You're familiar with the young lady of the Harrington family, aren't you?"
The atmosphere at the table shifted instantly.
The woman's face froze, while the man's leg, which had been jittering, suddenly stopped.
"Ha-Harrington?" the woman stammered. "What about them?"
The detective did not answer right away. His eyes swept over the two of them, catching every subtle change, the tension they could not hide, and the alertness now burning in their eyes.
"Don't you often go to their house?" he said at last, his voice flat but with emphasis. "Asking for money. Repeatedly."
"That's slander!" the man shouted. This time his voice sounded clearer, as if the name had snapped him fully awake. "Who said we extorted them? We—"
Bang!
The folder slammed onto the table again, cutting him off mercilessly.
"Young Master Harrington himself reported it!" the detective snapped, his fingers tapping sharply against the folder of reports. "Still want to deny it?"
Those words struck harder than the sound of the slam. Both of them fell silent, neither daring to open their mouths.
The detective looked between them, his gaze cold and intense. "What were you thinking, daring to touch people of such high status?" he continued quietly, his words cutting deep.
The woman clenched her jaw, her face hardening. "That ungrateful brat—"
"What did you say?" the detective snapped.
"Nothing, sir." She forced a stiff smile.
"What exactly counts as extortion?" the man interjected. His tone suddenly softened. "We just pass by their house often. Is that wrong? That road is public, isn't it?" A thin, forced smile crept onto his face.
The detective did not answer immediately. He opened the folder in front of him with a slow motion. "We have CCTV footage," he said flatly. "If you continue to deny it, prison is your next stop."
Their faces drained of color at once, eyes widening in unhidden shock.
The woman swallowed, then tried to smile again. "Detective, you're being too hasty," she said gently as she leaned forward. "Actually, the woman who owns that house is—"
"Martha!"
The man beside her tugged at her sleeve and shook his head slightly, a wordless warning.
The woman named Martha slapped his hand away roughly. "Let go. Didn't you hear?" she hissed. "If we keep quiet, we're the ones who get destroyed. This is not the time to protect anyone."
The detective narrowed his eyes, watching their every move. "Go on," he said coldly, his voice heavy with pressure. "The young madam of the Harrington family is…?"
"The young madam of the Harrington family is…"
To be continued