Chapter 679
Teresa frowned and checked the time. She thought, “It is 6:00 PM already. Our flight is at 7:30, and Jennifer promised she’d be back soon, but now her phone is unreachable. Has something gone wrong?”
Teresa stared at her empty contact list, thinking, “If Jonathan already knew the truth about Mike, wouldn’t he have reached out to me by now?”
Michael looked up at Teresa and called out softly, “Mommy?”
His childish voice snapped Teresa out of her thoughts. She asked, “What?”
Michael asked, “Are we still leaving today?”
“Let’s wait a little longer, okay?” Teresa said gently.
“But Jennifer took your car keys,” Michael protested.
Teresa replied, “She’ll be back soon, I hope.”
The roads of Nareigh were still slick with puddles after the rain.
Jennifer was still tailing Donald’s car, repeatedly dialing his number, but her calls went unanswered. Growing increasingly anxious, she thought to herself, “Donald must be heading straight to see Jonathan.”
She knew a shortcut to Horizonlead Group. Without hesitation, she made a sharp right turn onto that shortcut. She took the outer road near the main bus terminal—a route that skirted downtown and had barely any traffic.
Jennifer floored the accelerator. Just as she was about to merge right, a car suddenly sped head-on toward her from the opposite direction.
Her eyes flew wide as the blinding headlights glared into them. She wrenched the steering wheel desperately, but it was already too late.
With a violent crash, her car flipped, its undercarriage screeching against the asphalt as it skidded across the ground.
Blood gushed from Jennifer’s forehead and between her thighs. An excruciating pain ripped through her abdomen. She reached between her legs and found a warm pool of blood.
Searing pain—both physical and emotional—consumed Jennifer. She had always wanted to abort the baby to save her career and prospects.
But now, in this brutal moment, she felt like a sacrificial lamb on the chopping block, struck by a merciless blade. She had lost her baby—the most precious thing of all. It felt like a piece of her soul was being ripped out.
She thought, “So this is what it’s like to lose a child. Donald, is this the end for us?”
Jennifer clung to the steering wheel with desperate defiance, refusing to yield, until her grip slowly slackened and her hand slipped away, powerless.
Two men stepped out of the other car to assess the situation.
One said, “Wait, this isn’t the woman in the photo.”
The other man asked, “Weren’t we told there was supposed to be a kid in here, too?”
The first man said, “Right car, yeah? Porsche Cayenne, and the plate matches.”
The other one asked, “She’s not dead yet. Should we hit her again?”
Just then, a car suddenly pulled up behind them.
The two men cursed, scrambling back into their car and speeding away.
A black luxury van pulled up right in front of Jennifer. Two men stepped out of the van.
One of them exclaimed, “Who the hell did this? They hit someone and fled the scene.”
The other man said, “Call 911 now. Get her to the hospital.”
The first man said, “Got it. Calling 911 now.”
The other man said calmly, “Let’s get her out of the car first. Lay her flat.”
The man talking now was a composed and handsome man with refined features. The other man was his assistant. Working together, they slowly and carefully extracted Jennifer from the car.
Just then, a personal photo of Teresa slipped from the car’s wreckage.
The handsome man picked up the photo, his gaze fixed on Teresa’s face.
His assistant chuckled and said, “She looks like you.”
The man said, “Cut the nonsense. Put it back where it belongs, now.”
“Got it,” the assistant replied, placing Teresa’s photo back in the car.
The ambulance arrived within ten minutes. Unconscious, Jennifer was lifted onto a stretcher and rushed inside. Blood kept gushing from between her thighs, soaking her pants and filling the air with its thick, metallic stench.