Chapter 152 A Reckless Pursuit
Carson’s hands gripped the steering wheel tightly as the car sped down the empty road. The night wind tore through the half-open window, stinging his face, but he didn’t care.
His heart pounded against his ribs like a drum, fast and wild. The echo of voices, gasps, and whispers from the ballroom still rang in his ears.
He could still see Bridget’s face—frozen, disbelieving—as he walked away.
He pressed harder on the accelerator. The headlights cut through the darkness like knives. The road stretched endlessly ahead, but he didn’t know where he was going. He only knew he couldn’t stay there, not another second.
His phone buzzed on the seat beside him, lighting up again and again. Victoria. Bridget. Unknown Number. He ignored them all. The thought of hearing his mother’s sharp voice made his stomach twist. He had spent his entire life obeying her—being the perfect son, the perfect fiancé, the perfect man she wanted. But tonight, he had snapped the chains.
The roar of the engine filled the silence. It was the only sound he could stand. He loosened his tie and threw it onto the back seat. The smooth silk felt like a snake sliding away.
For a while, he drove with no direction, passing through city streets, blinking traffic lights, and sleeping neighborhoods. His thoughts spun faster than the tires.
He had done the unthinkable—left Bridget at the altar. He could already imagine the headlines, the gossip, the humiliation. Victoria’s empire would tremble with rage. But none of it mattered anymore. He felt empty, like a man running from smoke.
And then, amid the noise in his head, a single name surfaced—Anabelle.
Her face came to him like a flash of light in the darkness. The softness in her eyes, the way she laughed without pretending, the strength she carried even when life had beaten her down. He hadn’t realized until now how much he missed her.
He tightened his grip on the wheel.
Anabelle. She was the only thing that had ever felt real.
He had lost her once. He couldn’t lose her again.
He turned the car sharply, heading toward the part of the city he remembered so well. The tires screeched, leaving marks on the road.
Streetlights flickered over his face as he drove through familiar lanes. His chest tightened when he passed the small café where they used to sit after work. He could almost see her there, holding a cup of coffee, teasing him about his bad jokes. He swallowed hard.
The guilt hit him again, sharper this time. He had chosen ambition over her. He had let greed, pride, and his mother’s influence destroy what could have been the only true happiness in his life.
Now, he was nothing but a man in a suit with no home, no love, and no direction.
He pulled over at a red light. His reflection in the mirror startled him—his face pale, eyes hollow, lips dry. He barely recognized the man staring back.
The light turned green, but he didn’t move right away. His fingers trembled slightly as he started the car again.
Fred. That name made his jaw tighten. The man had what he didn’t. The man had been there when Carson wasn’t.
He hated the thought of it, but he couldn’t blame her. Anabelle had every right to move on. He was the one who left, the one who shattered her heart without looking back.
Still, he needed to see her. He needed to say something—anything—before it was too late.
He drove faster now, the city blurring past. The sky had turned darker, the streets quieter. Neon lights from closed shops reflected against his windshield. His thoughts screamed louder than the wind rushing past.
When he finally turned into Fred’s street, his hands began to sweat. The calm suburban road looked too peaceful for the storm raging inside him.
He parked across the street and sat still for a moment, staring at the building. A few windows were lit, soft yellow glows behind curtains. He tried to guess which one could be hers.
He imagined her inside, maybe laughing, maybe reading, maybe sitting with Fred. The thought stabbed him right in the chest.
He ran a hand through his hair and exhaled shakily. He didn’t even know what he would say. “I’m sorry?” It sounded too small. “I miss you?” It sounded too late.
Still, he couldn’t drive away.
He stepped out of the car, his shoes crunching softly on the gravel. The air was cold, carrying the faint smell of rain. His heart raced faster with every step.
He crossed the street, his eyes fixed on the apartment entrance. He hesitated for a second, his hand hovering near the buzzer. His pulse hammered in his ears.
The moment he was about to press it, a shadow moved behind one of the windows upstairs. He froze. The curtain shifted, and for a brief second, he thought he saw her—Anabelle.
Her silhouette was faint, graceful. She was walking toward the window, then paused, turning slightly as if she felt something.
His breath caught.
He whispered her name under his breath, but no sound came out. The distance between them felt heavier than ever.
He stayed there, half-hidden by the dark, watching her. He didn’t know how long he stood like that—minutes, maybe hours. The street stayed silent except for the occasional passing car.
A thousand thoughts swirled in his mind. He wanted to call out to her, to tell her he wasn’t the same man anymore. He wanted to explain everything—that he had run away from the wedding, from the life that wasn’t his, from the person he had been forced to become.
But fear rooted him to the ground. What if she didn’t care anymore? What if she had already moved on completely?
The curtain closed again, and the light went out.
The moment vanished.
Carson stepped back slowly, his throat tight. He turned around and leaned against his car, staring at the dark window above.
He realized then that his pursuit, reckless and desperate, might have come too late.
The silence of the night pressed around him. Somewhere, a dog barked in the distance.
He climbed back into the car, gripping the steering wheel again, but this time he didn’t start the engine. He sat there in the quiet, breathing heavily, trying to steady his shaking hands.
The road ahead was dark, and for the first time, he didn’t know if he could face what waited at the end.
The only sound was the faint ticking of the car’s clock, counting the seconds of his regret.
Outside, the city slept, unaware that a man who had everything once was now sitting in his car—alone, haunted, and lost—whispering a single name into the darkness.
“Anabelle.”