Chapter 4 Mercedes Racing!
Chapter 4: Mercedes Racing!
Golden Nixon stood in front of her gilded mirror, the kind that once made her feel like a princess when she was younger, now mocking her with every reflection it cast.
Her makeup was smeared from tears that had long since dried, leaving dark stains beneath her swollen eyes. She traced the curve of her cheek with trembling fingers, the weight of her sobs pressing into her chest like lead.
She stared at her body in the mirror. Every fold reminding her of what Allan Renshaw and his friends had said and done.
Her breath hitched as she remembered the cruel laughter from the TikTalk live: "Golden probably thinks the party's tomorrow. Imagine her bursting in that dinner gown, waiting for Allan to show up."
Her hand tightened around the delft flower vessel resting on the vanity table. The vessel had always been there, a harmless decoration filled with pale roses. But tonight, it felt like the only thing she could use to silence the ugly voices in her head. With a sudden cry, she hurled it against the mirror.
The glass shattered with a deafening crack, shards scattering across the floor like ice. A jagged split fractured her reflection, turning her image into broken pieces.
"Ugly," Golden whispered, her voice raw. She slammed her palm against the table, her chest heaving. "Ugly, fat, shapeless. They're right."
She slid down into the velour chair by her vanity, shaking violently. Her phone was inches from her hand. Her breathing steadied just enough for her to grab it. With trembling fingers, she unlocked it and scrolled to a number she had saved weeks ago. She pressed the call button and put it on speaker.
The line rang twice before a man's voice answered, smooth and overly cheerful. "Dr. Velez, Cosmetic Surgery. How can I help you?"
Dr. Velez was a plastic surgeon she had secretly researched during her lowest nights.
Golden's throat felt like it was closing, but she forced the words out. "It's me, Golden Nixon. I'm ready."
A pause, then his tone shifted, sharp with interest. "Miss Nixon... ready? Tonight?"
"Yes," she whispered. "Tonight. I'm coming now."
She ended the call before she could change her mind. Grabbing her clutch and car keys from the dresser, she strode toward the door, her shoes pounding the tile.
Clandestinely, Florence, one of the estate cleaners, had been quietly dusting in the far corner of the suite. Florence froze, holding her cleaning cloth firmly as she watched Golden storm out. Her heart raced. She had overheard enough for the night. Golden Nixon was about to undergo surgery?
Florence dropped her duster and hurried down the hall, weaving past the butlers and staff. She knew there was only one person who could stop this.
Varney Nixon was in his study, surrounded by shelves stacked with leather bound books. The dim desk lamp lit up the contract papers spread before him.
At twenty eight, he carried the Nixon name tightly guarded, strong, sharp, responsible. He was the one who steadied the family after their parents passed, the one who made sure Golden never lacked a thing.
When the door burst open, Varney looked up, startled. "Florence?" His voice was clipped, but his eyes narrowed at her breathless urgency. "What's wrong?"
"Sir..." she gasped, clutching her chest. "It's Miss Golden. I heard her on the phone. She said she was going to see Dr. Velez tonight.
Varney froze, his pen clattering to the desk. "Dr. Velez?" His jaw tightened. That name was tainted. He had read enough in the papers about his botched surgeries, lawsuits swept under the rug, women dying on his operating table.
Florence nodded, tears brimming in her eyes. "Yes, sir. She left just now.
Varney shot to his feet like an arrow. He snatched his phone and rushed toward the door, his voice a sky shaking boom. "Where's security?"
In the driveway of the Nixon estate, the guards shifted nervously as Varney barreled toward them.
"She just drove out," one guard admitted, bowing his head.
Varney's fists clenched. "In which car?"
"The black Pagani Zonda HP Barchetta, sir."
Varney cursed under his breath. That gliding, fast, reckless car was Golden's pride and joy. But tonight, it was her death trap.
Without another word, Varney sped toward the garage. His white Mercedes Maybach Exelero glistened under the lights, its engine growling as he slid behind the wheel.
Golden gripped the wheel of her Pagani, her eyes red but focused. The wind whipped through her hair as she sped down Ocean Boulevard, the neon lights of Florida nightlife blurring past her.
She told herself she felt powerful, in control, but deep inside, the broken girl in the mirror still whispered.
Then came the roar behind her. Low, thunderous, demanding attention. A glance at her rearview mirror showed headlights growing larger, too fast, too close.
The Maybach Exelero surged like a prowler in the night, closing the gap. Its polished white body gleamed under the streetlights, its engine a growl that shook the asphalt.
Varney leaned on his horn, his face tight with panic. He rolled down the window, yelling across the distance, his voice carrying over the roar of engines. "Golden! Pull over!"
Golden's chest tightened. She pressed harder on the accelerator, the Pagani leaping forward like a wild stallion. The engine screamed, responding to her every desperate command.
Varney matched her speed, the Maybach gliding up beside her. His window was still down, his voice desperate now.
"That doctor is a quack! Do you hear me? He's killed women, Golden! Listen to me please!" his voice cracked, "You'll die on that table! Aren't you aware of the danger you're putting yourself in?"
The words clashed with the pounding of her heart. Golden shook her head, tears flying off her cheeks as the wind wiped them away. Her knuckles whitened around the wheel, every cruel comment from TikTalk echoing in her mind.
Golden swerved, her Pagani hugging the sharp curve of the boulevard, sparks flying as her wheels clipped the divider. The car was a jet black bullet against the glowing skyline.
Varney wasn't giving up. He shifted gears, the Maybach roaring as it surged alongside her again. His voice was raw, riding the night air. "You're about to kill yourself over one silly TikTalk live video! Golden, listen to me!"
Golden bit her lip, her tears mixing with the humid Florida air. The reflection of Allan's smirk burned in her mind, Linda's laughter replaying like a cruel soundtrack. She pressed the pedal to the floor, chasing escape, chasing silence.
They hurtled side by side down the highway. One was chasing death, the other racing to save her.