Chapter 2He Locked Me On The Interstate

The security guard intercepted Trent at the exit, keeping him from leaving immediately.

Wyatt turned back to glare at me, his chest heaving. "Are you really going to call the cops over this? Do you want to make it that dramatic?"

"Yes," I said. "Let’s call them."

The anger on his face stiffened for a fraction of a second.

Outside, Myra sat in the passenger seat of my Model Y, watching us through the windshield. The wipers weren't on, and her face was blurred by the cascading rain.

Wyatt let out a dry, mocking laugh. "Lydia, do you honestly think the police care about a domestic dispute between a couple? Yes, you paid for the car, but I set up the software. I’m simply managing the access."

Fiona couldn't stay silent. "Sir, remote-controlling a vehicle without the primary operator's consent on an active highway is a direct endangerment to public safety. This is not a domestic dispute."

Wyatt shot her a freezing look. "What do you know? You're just a sales rep. My company handles smart-integration platforms. I know exactly what the legal boundaries are."

My phone screen lit up. It was my mother.

The moment I answered, her voice came crashing through the speaker. "Lydia! Wyatt’s mother just called me. She said you're threatening to have Wyatt arrested over a car? Have you lost your mind?"

My throat felt like it was blocked with dry cotton.

Wyatt stood beside me, his arms crossed, a smug sense of victory radiating from him.

My mother kept going. "Wyatt is a good man, Lydia. You're turning thirty next year; you can’t keep throwing these tantrums. It’s normal for a man to have female friends. I’ve met Myra—she’s a sweet, tragic girl. If you push things too far, who else is going to want to marry you?"

I stared at the drying blood on my hand, my voice barely audible. "Mom, he locked my car at twelve miles per hour on the interstate. I almost died."

The line went quiet for a few seconds. Then, my father’s gruff voice cut in from the background.

"But you didn't die, did you? Why do you always have to blow small things out of proportion?"

Wyatt's shoulders relaxed.

Myra had stepped out of the car again, holding an umbrella. She walked back into the showroom, tilting the canopy so it covered Wyatt, leaving my shoulder exposed to the cold mist blowing in through the entrance.

"Mrs. Miller, Mr. Miller, please don't be mad at Lydia," Myra sobbed into my phone speaker. "It's all my fault. I didn't have a father growing up, so Wyatt has always been extra protective of me. I understand why Lydia would misinterpret things."

My mother’s voice softened instantly. "Oh, Myra, sweetie, don't cry. Lydia has a stubborn streak. I’ll make sure to talk to her."

Everyone in the showroom was watching me now—the sales reps, the security guard, even a couple of customers who had stopped near the service desk.

I stood beside the car I had dreamed about for years, feeling like an intruder who had tried to steal someone else's happiness.

Wyatt reached over and took the phone from my hand.

"Don't worry, Mrs. Miller, I’ll handle it," he said smoothly. "Lydia has just been under a lot of pressure at work lately."

He knew exactly how to play the dutiful partner, wrapping up my humiliation in a neat bow while driving the blade a little deeper. He hung up and tossed the phone back into my lap.

"Satisfied?" he muttered. "Take the exit ramp I’m giving you, Lydia. Myra is taking the car today. The discussion about returning it is over."

Fiona looked at me, her eyes filled with quiet concern. "Lydia, do you want us to proceed with contacting the authorities?"

Wyatt immediately rounded on her. "If this dealership calls the police, I will file a formal complaint for a breach of customer privacy. This car’s system profile contains proprietary testing data from my engineering account. If that data is compromised, your store will be liable."

Fiona’s face went pale.

The store manager, who had finally noticed the commotion, hurried over and pulled Fiona aside.

"Lydia, perhaps you and your partner should discuss this privately at home," the manager said, polite but clearly eager to sweep the scene under the rug. "A vehicle return of this nature does require a formal inspection process anyway."

Wyatt smiled. He stepped closer, leaning down until his breath brushed my ear.

"See? No one is standing in your corner, Lydia. Don't make yourself look any more pathetic than you already do."

Myra tugged gently at his sleeve. "Wyatt, let’s go. We’re going to hit mountain traffic if we don't leave now."

Wyatt nodded. But as he tried to step past me, I reached out and blocked him.

"You can't take the car," I said.

He creased his brow. "What now?"

I opened my hand. The key card was gone, but tucked between my fingers was a small, laminated paper slip.

It was the temporary registration and transit permit the delivery center had just printed for me.

"Without this, you're driving an unregistered vehicle," I said. "You won't make it past the first state trooper on the highway."

Wyatt's expression hardened into stone. Myra’s weeping cut off instantly.

Trent lunged forward to grab it, but the security guard blocked him again.

In the sudden flurry of movement, Myra suddenly clutched her chest, her knees buckling as she sank to the floor.

"Wyatt... I can't... I can't breathe..."

Wyatt’s face went white. He dropped down and scooped her into his arms. He looked up at me, screaming, "Lydia, are you happy now? If anything happens to her, I swear to God I will make you pay!"

Myra clung to his neck, but as he lifted her, her hand darted out and caught the hem of my trench coat.

With a sharp, downward yank, she pulled me off balance. My knee slammed hard against the concrete step of the display platform, and I tumbled forward.

The temporary registration slip flew from my fingers, landing face-down in a muddy puddle of rainwater near the door.

Wyatt stepped forward, his heavy boot coming down directly on the paper, grinding it into the wet grit. He bent down, picked up the muddy, torn slip, and didn't even cast a backward glance at me as I lay on the floor.

"Now we can leave," he said.

The heavy thud of the Tesla doors slamming shut echoed through the glass bay. The red taillights flared like two angry eyes as the car sped out of the lot.

Fiona kneeled down to help me up. The rain outside had slowed, but wet mist was still clinging to my skin.

"Lydia," she whispered, "do you need to go to the clinic?"

I pushed myself up from the cold floor. My knee was throbbing, a dull, aching heat spreading under my jeans.

My phone buzzed again.

Wyatt: "Go home. I expect you to have this childish attitude out of your system by tonight."

Immediately after, a notification from my bank popped up.

"Authorized User Wyatt: $4,000 charged at Crystal Mountain Lodge."

The payment had been processed using my secondary credit card.