Natalie’s POV
The smell of burning rubber and gasoline is something you never really get out of your nose once it’s in there.
I still remember the heat hitting my face. It was suffocating.
The old coastal road was completely dark except for the massive, angry orange glow chewing through the frame of Tobias Calloway’s Mustang.
The car was flipped upside down, its tires still spinning uselessly in the air, kicking up smoke that tasted like battery acid.
"Tobias!" I screamed, but the wind just swallowed my voice.
Nobody else was there. The other teenagers who had been racing had already sped off the second they saw the sparks fly, terrified of getting caught by the cops.
They left him to burn.
I scrambled down the dirt embankment, my sneakers sliding on loose gravel, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird.
When I reached the driver's side window, the heat was so intense it felt like it was melting my eyelashes.
Tobias was slouched over the steering wheel, completely unconscious. Blood was streaming down his forehead, dark and thick, contrasting sharply with his pale skin.
"Wake up, please wake up," I muttered, grabbing the dented metal door handle.
The metal was scorching hot. The moment my palms touched it, a sharp, white-hot pain shot straight up my arms.
I could literally hear the sizzling sound of my own flesh burning, but I couldn't let go. If I let go, he was dead. I planted my boots against the side of the car, gritted my teeth until they felt like they would shatter, and pulled with everything I had.
The door gave way with a sickening, metallic screech.
Unbuckling his seatbelt was a nightmare. My hands were already blistering, losing their grip because of the fluid and blood, but I managed to hook my arms under his armpits and drag him out.
He was heavy, pure dead weight.
But still, step by step, I backed away from the vehicle, my boots digging into the dirt, my skin screaming in pain.
We barely cleared ten yards before the gas tank caught and the explosion knocked us both to the ground, a wave of pressure slamming into my back.
I rolled over, coughing violently, and looked down at him. He was still breathing. His chest was rising and falling, shallow but steady.
In the distance, the faint wail of sirens was heard.
My hands were shaking violently, the skin on my palms raw, peeling, and completely ruined. I looked at the approaching headlights through the trees, then looked back at Tobias's face.
He was alive.
That was all that mattered.
I didn't need a medal, and I definitely didn't need the cops asking why a sixteen-year-old girl was sneaking out to a drag strip at two in the morning.
I pushed myself up, cradling my burned hands against my chest, and stepped back into the shadows of the woods. I ran until the sirens drowned out the sound of my own crying.
Five years later, I learned the hard way that saving a life doesn't make you a hero. It just gives people a bigger fucking target to shoot at.
"Are you even listening to me, Natalie?"
The detective's voice snapped me right out of my head. I blinked, focusing on the cheap wooden table in front of me.
The interrogation room at the precinct was freezing cold, smelling faintly of stale coffee and bleach.
Outside the tiny, barred window, the New York rain was absolutely pouring down.
"I heard you," I said softly, keeping my hands folded neatly in my lap. I didn't want him looking at the faint, silver scars running across my palms.
"Good. Because your silence isn't doing you any favors," Detective Miller said, slamming a thick manila folder down on the table. He leaned in, placing his palms flat on the wood. "We have a statement from an eyewitness who was at the gala tonight. They saw you out by the parking valet hours before the crash. They say you were screaming at your sister. They say you told Tamara she’d be sorry for trying to take what’s yours."
I almost laughed. It was so ridiculous it felt fake. "That's a lie. I didn't speak to Tamara at the gala. I spent the entire evening sitting in the corner trying to avoid the cameras."
"The witness says otherwise, Natalie. They say you were furious because Tobias Calloway proposed to her tonight. They think you followed their car, pushed them off the road, or did something to that vehicle before they left the venue." Miller leaned closer, his breath smelling like peppermint. "The sports car Tobias was driving went straight through a guardrail on the highway. Tamara was thrown from the vehicle. She’s in surgery right now, and the doctors are saying she’ll never walk again. Tobias has severe lacerations and a concussion, but he’s going to survive. You want to tell me your version now? Because right now, the media is calling you a monster."
"I don't have a version because I wasn't there," I said, my voice completely flat. Under the table, my nails dug into my scars. I could feel the coldness creeping up my spine, that familiar protective shield I always put up. "I took a cab home early because I had a headache. Check the taxi logs. Check the street cameras. I didn't touch their car."
"A cab that conveniently can't be traced because you paid in cash," Miller countered, shaking his head. "Come on, kid. Everyone knows the Kale family is broke. Your parents are drowning in debt, and Tobias Calloway was your sister's golden ticket out of poverty. You were jealous. You wanted him for yourself, didn't you?"
"I didn't want anything," I whispered quietly.
Before the detective could fire off another question, the heavy metal door of the interrogation room swung open.
My mother, Stephanie Kale, practically collapsed into the room. She was wearing her pearls and a designer dress that was damp from the rain, her makeup completely ruined by tears.
Behind her walked Victor Calloway, looking like a statue carved out of ice. His silver hair was perfectly combed, his expensive suit immaculate despite the storm outside.
"Mom," I said, starting to stand up.
Stephanie didn't even let me finish. She marched straight over to the table and stared down at me, her eyes filled with a terrifying combination of grief and pure disgust.
"How could you?" she gasped, her voice shaking violently. "How could you do this to your own flesh and blood, Natalie? Your sister is ruined. Her life is over because of your disgusting, petty jealousy!"
"Mom, look at me," I pleaded, though my voice remained steady. I refused to let it shake. "I didn't do anything. The police are relying on a fake witness. Why would I ever want to hurt Tamara? She’s my sister."
"Do not lie to me!" Stephanie shrieked, slamming her purse against the back of a chair. "You’ve always been the difficult one. The quiet one, brooding in the corners, staring at Tamara like a creep. She had everything. She was beautiful, she was loved, and she was going to marry into the finest family in New York. And you couldn't stand it, could you? You just had to break her."
I looked past my mother at Victor Calloway. He hadn't said a single word. He just stood by the door, his arms crossed over his chest, watching me like I was a stray rat that needed to be exterminated from his pristine property.
"Mr. Calloway," I said, looking him dead in the eye. "You know me. I’ve worked with your company's minor accounts."
"What I know," Victor said, his tone incredibly smooth and utterly devoid of human emotion, "is that my son is currently strapped to a hospital bed because of a tragedy that involves your family. The Calloway name cannot be dragged through the mud by a jealous girl's antics. The police will do their job, but as far as I am concerned, the narrative is already written, Natalie. You are a liability to everyone in this room."
My mother nodded frantically, grabbing Victor's arm like a lifeline. "We don't know her, Victor. I swear to you, if she did this, she deserves to rot in a cell. We will not protect her. We won't pay for a lawyer. She is on her own."
I sat back down in the hard metal chair, the coldness finally taking over completely.
I looked at the woman who gave birth to me, who was actively handing me over to the wolves just to keep herself in the good graces of a billionaire family.
She didn't ask if I was okay. She didn't ask if I needed water. She just assumed I was a monster because of what others were saying.
"Detective," Victor said, turning his gaze to Miller. "Make sure this is handled quietly but thoroughly. The press needs a culprit so they stop digging into our family's internal affairs. If she is the easiest answer, then ensure she stays the only answer."
"Understood, Mr. Calloway," Miller replied with a respectful nod.
They were talking about my life like it was a piece of bad PR that needed to be swept under a rug. I looked down at my hands again.
The scars looked pale under the harsh fluorescent lights of the precinct.
Eleven years ago, I burned my skin to pieces to keep Tobias Calloway breathing, and now his father was using me as a scapegoat to protect their precious corporate image.
"Natalie," Stephanie said, her voice dropping to a harsh, venomous whisper. "Don't you dare come back to our house. Don't call me. You are no longer my daughter."
She turned around and walked out of the room, her head held high as Victor escorted her down the hallway.
The metal door clicked shut behind them, leaving me alone with the detective and the sound of the pouring rain.
Miller sighed, pulling out a chair and sitting down across from me again. "Well. It looks like your own mother just signed your conviction, kid. You want to start talking, or should I just call the transport van?"
I looked at him, my expression entirely unreadable. I didn't cry. I didn't scream. I didn't beg for them to believe me.
If my own family had already decided I was guilty, nothing I said in this tiny room was going to change a single thing.
The world wanted a villain, and they had chosen me to play the part.
"Do whatever you have to do," I said, my voice completely cold. "I have nothing left to say to you.”