Chapter 81 She Was Going To Kill Me????

Chapter 81 She Was Going To Kill Me????
The silence in the car was thick enough to cut with a fucking knife.
​As the iron gates of the mansion faded into the rearview mirror, Isabella didn’t say a single word. Her eyes were locked onto the asphalt ahead, her jaw set, her hands gripping the steering wheel firmly.

​I leaned my head back against the leather headrest, stealing glances at her side profile. Okay, maybe she’s just one of those people, I thought to myself, trying to soothe the low anxiety humming in my chest. Maybe she’s just terrified of driving.
Maybe she just didn't like to speak when she was driving... sgebalready thought i was a rough driver... this was probably ehat she meant. I talked a lot whenever i drove Maria...

Fuck, Maria...

I missed my best friend. I made a mental note to check up on her on her trip... I wonder how muxh of my current life I'll be able to share with her...

I turned back to look at Cole's mother...​Honestly, it was kind of endearing. She reminded me so much of my late mother. Mom used to treat driving like she was piloting a space shuttle... it was always with complete silence, white-knuckled grip, her eyes wide, totally convinced that if she took her eyes off the road for a split second, the car would spontaneously combust and we would all die!

It used to be absolutely cute. I smiled a little at the memory, feeling a sudden wave of warmth toward Isabella. She was just a sweet, nervous mom trying to give me some fresh air.

But then wthout warning, she let go of the steering wheel. Completely. Both of her hands dropped into the middle console partition, leaving the sedan speeding down the winding road at sixty miles an hour with absolutely no one steering the ship.

​My heart shot straight into my throat. "Isabella—"
​She didn't even blink. Her manicured fingers casually flipped open a compartment, dug around for a moment, and pulled out a sleek silver case. With such ease, she popped it open, retrieved a long, slim cigarette, and struck a lighter, burning the other end and lighting it calmly. 
This woman was definitely a pro smoker...or whatever the fuck they were called.

​She took a slow, deep drag of the cigarette, the tip glowing a violent orange, before finally blowing a thick cloud of gray smoke right toward the windshield.

The wheel drifted slightly to the left, and she casually nudged it back into alignment with the crook of her elbow, completely unfazed.
​My cute, nervous-mother theory of this woman didn't just die...it fucking evaporated.

She was fucking badass!!

She took another slow, deep drag, the smoke curling around her face like a shroud. Then, without warning, she turned her head completely away from the road to look at me, her eyes dead and calculating.
​"Don't you like Cole Ryder as he is?" she asked, her voice dangerously quiet, missing every ounce of the warmth she’d been using earlier. "Why are you trying to change him so badly?"

​The sudden shift sent a jolt of pure adrenaline through my veins. The transition from doting mother to ice-cold interrogator was so fast it gave me whiplash.

​I swallowed the lump of panic in my throat, forcing my expression into something resembling calm. I wasn't going to let her see me sweat. I quickly recovered from the shock, leaning back in my seat and meeting her gaze dead-on.

​"I'm not trying to change him, ma'am" I said, keeping my voice steady. "I'm simply–"
"Ma'am???" She shrieked...
"Oops!! Isabella... I'm not trying to change him...making sure my man makes the right choices...what is this about? Was I wrong? Did I do something that upset you?"

Isabella didn’t answer any of the questions. She didn’t even blink. She just turned her face back toward the windshield, took another drag of her cigarette, and let the silence stretch between us like a physical wall.

​“Isabella?” I pressed, my hand gripping the armrest a little tighter. “Are you okay?”
​Nothing.... there was no response from her... just the low hum of the engine and the rhythmic tap of her manicured fingernail against the steering wheel.

​“Isabella, seriously, what’s going on?”
​My voice sounded louder in the tight space of the car, but she ignored me completely, treating me like I was nothing more than static on the radio. A cold, heavy knot of dread began to form in the pit of my stomach.
​I looked out the passenger window, and that knot instantly tightened.

​The manicured lawns, the familiar city skyline, the suburban estates—they were all gone. Instead, the scenery had melted into a bleak stretch of cracked asphalt and overgrown, dead brush. We were driving down the back, deserted roads on the extreme outskirts of the city, a desolate industrial wasteland where nobody came unless they had something to hide. Or something to bury.
​There wasn't another car in sight. No cameras, no witnesses, no help.

​Oh, hell no, my inner voice screamed, my heart hammering violently against my ribs. Fuck! Fuck!! Fuck!!! She didn’t bring me out here for fresh air. I am currently being chauffeured to my own fucking murder.

Was she going to kill me? Really? She was going to kill me?