A driver’s speed often reflected their state of mind. Amara could sense the rising agitation radiating from the Buick behind her.

It made sense. She had been looping around the crowded city streets for hours, making it impossible for her stalker to make a move.

With the evening rush hour fast approaching, the roads would soon be gridlocked, making any kind of ambush even more difficult. Of course he was getting anxious.

As she drove onto a massive bridge, Amara hit the gas, desperate to cross it quickly so she could head straight to Elysia’s apartment.

She had a spare key to Elysia’s place, so even if her friend wasn’t home, she could hunker down there for a while.

She instinctively checked her rearview mirror to track the Buick’s position, but what she saw made her heart practically stop.

The black Buick had suddenly gunned its engine, rocketing toward her like a missile. The front bumper was locked dead on her car.

Amara’s eyes widened in sheer terror, her heart leaping into her throat.

What was happening? Was he trying to ram her off the road?

She frantically checked her surroundings. The bridge railing boxed her in on the left, and a stream of traffic blocked her on the right. She had no room to swerve; her only option was to keep driving straight.

If the Buick was dead set on hitting her, flooring the gas wouldn’t save her forever. He would eventually find an opening to strike.

A suffocating wave of despair crashed over Amara. She instinctively curled a protective arm over her stomach as a torrent of memories flashed before her eyes…

But right at that second, a deafening crash exploded from behind her—the brutal sound of metal crunching against metal.

Yet, Amara didn’t feel a single jolt. Neither of the cars involved in the collision was hers.

She watched the entire chaotic scene unfold in her rearview mirror, her eyes wide with absolute disbelief.

Just a split second before the black Buick could rear-end her, a sleek white luxury car had surged out of nowhere slamming into the side of her attacker with reckless, suicidal force.

The impact sent the Buick careening to the left. With a sickening crunch, it smashed into the bridge’s railing. The metal barrier warped violently, leaving half the car’s front end dangling precariously over the edge, the entire chassis shuddering.

The white car that delivered the blow skidded for a long stretch, the tires shrieking against the asphalt with a deafening roar.

Screeching to a halt, Amara slammed on her brakes, the tires whining sharply as her car finally stopped.

She slumped over the steering wheel, gasping for air.

Even though the chaos was over, the sheer terror still gripped her tight.

She was trembling violently, her back completely soaked in cold sweat.

A mere second ago, she truly believed the Buick was going to plow into her, send

her car flying, and end her life right on this bridge…

Well, maybe she would have

survived, but she absolutely would have lost her baby. And even if she had clung to life, she would have been left permanently crippled.

But then that third car had charged in and intercepted the Buick. Was it a miracle accident, or a deliberate rescue?

Amara turned her head and watched as someone stepped out of the mangled white

car.

She gasped in shock. It was Finnian!

Finnian stormed over to the smashed Buick, wrenched the driver’s side door open, and dragged the man out by his collar.