Hot Driver - S01 E87

Story 4 days ago

Hot Driver - S01 E87

Read Story: SEASON 1 EPISODE 87

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A Graveyard – Same Afternoon

Curtis stood alone beneath a gray sky, black coat pulled tight around his shoulders, a small bouquet of white lilies clutched in one shaking hand.

He knelt slowly and laid them against the fresh headstone.

Maeve Morales. Beloved daughter. Taken too soon.

His breath hitched, and the tears came freely, dropping onto the cold granite beneath his fingers.

I didn’t know, he thought, the same useless refrain he’d repeated a thousand times over the past two weeks. I didn’t know you were mine. If I had known—

But it didn’t matter what he would have done differently. She was gone. She’d been gone within hours of drinking that poison, her body too far damaged by the time Curtis had gotten her to the hospital, screaming her name the entire way.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered to the stone. “I’m so sorry, Maeve. I would have loved you the right way, if I’d only known.”

His phone buzzed in his coat pocket, cutting sharply through the quiet.

—

A Prison Cell Block

Beauty sat curled in the corner of her cell, knees drawn tight to her chest, staring blankly at the concrete wall in front of her.

Seven years. Attempted murder. She’d gotten off comparatively light — the prosecutor had made it clear that if Duane had died, she’d have been looking at twenty, easily. But he hadn’t died. Not quite. Not yet, anyway, according to whatever fragments of news filtered into the cell block.

Small mercy, she thought bitterly. For him. Not for me.

Gemma and Jeff had both walked free within days, the investigation clearing them of any real involvement, and Beauty had felt something ugly twist in her chest when she’d heard — abandoned even by the last people who might have visited her.

A shadow fell over her.

“New girl.”

Beauty looked up. A tall, heavily muscled woman stood over her, arms crossed, several other inmates gathered loosely behind her, watching with lazy, predatory interest.

“I’m the one who runs this block,” the woman said, voice low and flat. “You do what I say. Understand?”

Beauty didn’t answer fast enough.

The slap came hard and sudden, snapping her head sideways, and she pressed a trembling hand to her stinging cheek, biting back the sound that wanted to escape her throat.

“Bend over,” the woman said, unbothered. “I want to sit.”

Beauty’s stomach turned, humiliation and fear tangling together as she slowly, silently complied, folding herself down onto her hands and knees against the cold cell floor.

This is my life now, she thought numbly, staring at the concrete inches from her face. This is what’s left.

—

The Deepest Cell Block – Same Prison

Alice sat rigid on the thin cot in her own isolated cell, staring at nothing, when the guard’s voice cut through the silence.

“Visitor.”

She was led down a long corridor into a small visitation room, and the moment she saw who sat waiting on the other side of the glass, her breath caught entirely.

Her son.

He looked older than she remembered — tired, hollow around the eyes, staring at her now with an expression she couldn’t quite read.

“You came,” she breathed, reaching instinctively toward the glass separating them.

“I heard everything,” he said, voice flat, cold. “The stolen boy. The lies. All of it.”

“I can explain—”

“I don’t want an explanation.” His jaw tightened. “I came to tell you something. Your daughter, the one you clearly loved more than you ever loved being honest with any of us — she’s dead.”

Alice’s whole body went rigid. “What?”

“She poisoned herself two weeks ago. She’s gone.”

“No,” Alice whispered, tears springing instantly to her eyes. “No, that’s not — please tell me you’re lying—”

“I’m not lying.” He stood, expression utterly devoid of sympathy. “Rot here, Mother. I mean that.”

He turned and walked out without a backward glance, and Alice pressed both hands against the glass, sobbing, screaming his name uselessly at his retreating back, the guard already moving to pull her away.

—

Ivy Fashion Empire – Afternoon

Miles knocked and entered Ivory’s office carrying a small tray. “Ma’am, I brought lunch—”

“I’m not hungry,” Ivory said, not looking up from her desk.

“You have a meeting in thirty minutes with the design—”

“Cancel it.”

Miles hesitated, then simply nodded, setting the untouched tray down anyway and retreating quietly, closing the door behind him with careful softness.

Ivory’s phone buzzed a moment later. Diana.

She answered, voice hoarse. “Mum.”

“I just wanted to check on you, sweetheart. Miles told me you haven’t been eating.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not,” Diana said gently, no accusation in it, just quiet, worried truth. “It’s alright not to be fine, Ivory. You’ve been through something enormous.”

Ivory pressed her palm against her forehead, throat tightening.

“He’s going to wake up,” she said, more to herself than to her mother. “He has to.”

Arthur’s voice came through faintly in the background, and then he took the phone. “Ivory. Listen to me. You need to eat something. You need to rest. Duane wouldn’t want you falling apart while you wait for him.”

“I know,” Ivory whispered.

“Then take care of yourself. For him.”

She nodded, though he couldn’t see it, tears sliding silently down her cheeks as she stared at the untouched tray sitting on her desk. on a normal routine, he’d be the one to bring her lunch, feeding and kissing her while she ate with great appetite on his laps.more tears poured out of her red painful eyes. she didn’t try to wipe them.

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