The news report made the blood freeze in Latisha’s veins. An invasive chill crept into her bones, spreading through her until her entire body felt like ice.
She stared numbly at the television, Clifford’s words echoing in her mind.
“Her chances are over.”
Latisha had been terrified he would do something to Nikita. She never imagined he would make Nikita do something to herself.
Nikita was physically unharmed, but this would be enough to destroy her. The accident wouldn't just affect her; it would drag the entire Stafford family through the mud.
And Clifford? He was just an innocent bystander.
Killian and the rest of the family rushed back to the Stafford estate. Nikita was sitting catatonically on the sofa, a shell of herself. Her voice was hoarse and choked, and when Killian tried to speak with her, she could only manage guttural, instinctual sounds, completely unaware of what she was saying.
After hearing that Nikita had run into Clifford that morning, Killian let out a long, weary sigh.
“Nikita, I told you not to mess with Clifford, but you just wouldn't listen,” he said, his voice heavy with resignation.
Nikita’s face was ashen, her fingers trembling uncontrollably. As reckless and bold as she was, she had never killed anyone before. The image of the car plowing into the crowd was seared into her memory—the sickening jolt as the tires rolled over something that wasn't asphalt played on a loop in her head. A wave of nausea churned in her stomach, and she fought the urge to vomit.
Nikita’s mother, Morena, wrung her hands. “This has blown up completely. We can’t suppress the media, and it’s clear someone is fanning the flames. What are we going to do?”
“Find the person who tampered with the car and drag them out into the open!” Nikita’s father, Hadrian Stafford, ordered, his face grim.
Killian shook his head. “It’s useless. There are videos of Nikita driving the car straight into that crowd. Even if we could find the mechanic and that’s assuming he’s still alive, the media and the public wouldn’t buy it. They’ll just say we’re using our power to frame a scapegoat.”
Hadrian’s brow furrowed even deeper. “Has the casualty list been released?”
Nikita buried her face in her hands, her whole body trembling. “But I still killed them,” she sobbed. “With my own two hands.”
Clifford was right. She was a fool. He had taught her a lesson she would never forget: if he wanted her gone, there were a million ways to make it happen.
Hadrian’s voice boomed with rage. “You’ve already caused this disaster, don’t make things worse! I told you to stay home and reflect, but you refused to listen. You had to run off, thinking you were so clever. Who do you think you are, interfering in other people’s family matters?”
He continued, his voice dripping with scorn, “Did you really think Clifford was some pushover? He’s an illegitimate son who clawed his way through the Lambert family to take over the entire Lambert Group!”
Nikita didn’t respond, her face still hidden in her hands.
After a moment, Killian spoke. “I’ll go talk to Clifford. If I can get him to back off, we can still fix this.”

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