…Ooouuu, I'm blinded by the lights…Oh, I can't sleep until I feel your touch
Isla's eyes flew open from the usual terrible singing from her niece that woke her up.
One week after the accident.
One week after handcuffs bruised her wrists and the word attempted murder shattered her life.
Life didn't stop.
It never did.
Isla Matthews moved through her small apartment like muscle memory alone was keeping her upright.
Her home was small but cozy, the kind of place where space was limited, but warmth wasn't. Worn furniture, soft lighting, and the quiet comfort of familiarity filled the rooms. It wasn't perfect, but it was safe, and for Isla, that was everything.
She dragged herself down her bed after muttering a few words about her niece's terrible singing and deciding to go down to seize the headset and phone from her so she and Ehan would be able to sleep in peace for at least a week. She was glad Ethan beat her to it, as he was the first to holler at her.
"Keep it down there, Fiona Thee Stallion," he screamed from his room, "Some of us are trying to get ready for school."
Shut up, Ethan," Fiona yelled back. "And it's The Weekend who sang the song, not Megan thee Stallion."
Ethan screamed back, "Who cares?"
Isla decided to speak up, "Thank you, Ethan."
Isla came out of her room and met Fiona, doing her usual morning routine, exercising and singing horribly.
She walked down the staircase of her mini apartment and caught sight of herself in the mirror, messy ponytail, faint shadows under her eyes, still beautiful, but the kind of beauty dulled by too much responsibility. Thirty-six and running on caffeine, bills, and willpower.
She pulled her hair back tighter and whispered under her breath, "You've got this, Isla."
First stop, Fiona's room.
Who has stopped singing, by the way?
The seventeen-year-old was already dressed, one leg dangling off the bed, music still playing from her phone. Isla yanked open the curtains, sunlight flooding the room.
"Time for school."
"Ugh, do I have to go to school?" Fiona groaned, rolling over dramatically.
"Yes, darling, Glad you're dressed already," Isla replied, heading for the wardrobe. "And that skirt?" She pointed. "Change it. You're not auditioning for a music video."
"It's not that short!"
"It's high school, Fiona. Not a catwalk. Change."
The glare Fiona shot her could've melted steel, but she grumbled her way toward the closet anyway. Isla didn't wait around for another argument; she'd had enough for a lifetime.
Ethan's room was next.
The nine-year-old was already up, shoes tied, hair combed, and backpack neatly packed.
"Good morning, Aunt Isla!" he said brightly, that gap-toothed smile enough to melt her stress for a second.
"You're an angel," she said, kissing his head. "Don't ever grow up."
"I have to," he giggled. "Otherwise, who's gonna drive you when you're old?"
She laughed softly. "Point taken. Let's go, champ."
She straightened, her body already aching in places it shouldn't have. A week out, and she still felt it, her muscles tight, her chest heavy, her thoughts permanently stuck in that night.
Metal on skin.
Sirens.
Blood.
His face.
She shoved the memory down and moved toward the kitchen.
Coffee first. Always.
She had just reached for the kettle when…
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Sharp. Authoritative. Wrong.
Her hand froze mid-air.
No one knocked like that unless they were delivering bad news.
Her heart thudded painfully as she wiped her hands on her jeans and walked to the door.
She opened it.
Two uniformed officers stood on the other side.
Her stomach dropped.
"Yes?" she asked, already knowing.
"Isla Matthews?"
"Yes."
"We need to speak with you."
Her pulse spiked. "About what?"
One of them glanced down at a file. "You're being served."
Served.
Her breath caught. "Served… for what?"
The officer handed her an envelope. Thick. Official. Cold.
"Court summons," he said. "Civil and criminal proceedings."
Her fingers trembled as she took it.
"That doesn't make sense," she said immediately, panic clawing up her throat. "I was granted bail. I haven't missed anything. I didn't flee. I didn't…"
"This isn't about bail," the officer cut in calmly. "This is a new filing."
New.
Her mind reeled. "New…? For what? It wasn't a hit-and-run. I stayed. I cooperated. I was released."
The officer's face didn't change. "You'll find the details inside."
She swallowed hard. "I have children," she said quickly. "I'm not going anywhere. I'm right here."
"We're not arresting you today," the second officer said. "But you're required to appear in court."
Relief hit her so fast her knees almost buckled.
"Failure to appear will result in immediate detainment."
They turned and left without another word.
The door shut softly.
Too softly for the way her hands were shaking.
Isla slid down against it, envelope clenched to her chest, her breathing shallow and uneven
.
What the hell was happening?
A week ago, she'd already paid for that accident.
She remembered it vividly.
The cold bench at the station.
The single night in a cell that smelled like bleach and regret.
The way the door had slammed shut behind her was like a sentence.
And yet…
Even then, all she could think about was him.
The billionaire boy.
The boy in the hospital bed.
Isla didn't know who he was beyond his name, and that alone carried weight. A Steele, part of one of the richest and most powerful families in the city, a name that opened doors and ruined lives.
She had gone back.
She shouldn't have, but she did.
After her release, still wearing borrowed clothes, eyes swollen, dignity in tatters, she went straight to the hospital.
She told herself it was to check his condition.
Closure.
Guilt.
Ache.
But when she arrived…
He was gone.
No, Steele boy.
No ICU room.
No family.
No explanation
.
The nurses wouldn't meet her eyes. Security hovered too close. Someone finally said he'd been transferred.
That was it.
Like he'd never existed.
Like that night hadn't destroyed her life.
A laugh bubbled out of her chest now, thin, hysterical.
So why…
Why was this happening now?
"Aunt Isla?"
She flinched.
Fiona stood in the hallway, backpack slung over one shoulder, eyes sharp and too observant for seventeen.
"Who was that?"
"No one, Fi," Isla said quickly, standing. Too quickly.
Fiona frowned. "Those were cops."
"It's nothing," Isla insisted, forcing steadiness into her voice. "Just… paperwork."
Ethan peeked around the corner, cereal bowl in hand. "Are we in trouble?"
"No, baby," Isla said immediately, dropping to his level. "Never. You're fine. You're both fine."
She kissed his forehead, then Fiona's cheek.
"Go. You'll miss the bus."
They hesitated, but obeyed.
The door closed again.
Silence rushed back in.
Isla finally opened the envelope.
Her vision blurred as she read.
Attempted vehicular manslaughter.
Civil lawsuit for damages.
Intent to harm.
"No," she whispered. "No, no, no…"
Her hands shook violently now.
This wasn't justice.
This was war.
Someone was coming for her.
Someone with money. Power. Reach.
Someone who could erase a man from a hospital and rewrite a story.
Her phone buzzed on the counter. She hesitated, glancing at the screen. The number was familiar. She swallowed hard, her finger hovering over the answer button.
Amy Morgan
"Hello?" she said, voice tentative.
"Hi Isla, listen to me and listen carefully," the voice on the other end was sharp, no greetings, no small talk. It was commanding. Professional. Protective.
Her heart jumped. "Amy?"
"Yes," her best friend and the only lawyer she trusted in the city. "You're in trouble. Serious trouble. I don't have time to explain over the phone. Get to my office. Now."
Isla felt a cold chill run down her spine. The words hit like a punch. She didn't ask questions. She didn't argue. She just nodded to herself, even though Jade couldn't see it.
"Okay… I'm on my way," she whispered.
Click. The line went dead.
Isla stood frozen for a moment, staring at the envelope in her hand. The weight of the papers, the threat of a legal battle, and the fear that had been lurking since the crash all pressed down on her chest.
She took a deep breath. The kids were at school. She had nowhere else to hide.
Gripping her bag, she left the house, the morning sun burning her eyes, her mind spinning. This wasn't over. And deep down, Isla knew the worst was yet to come.