CHAPTER 486: ACCIDENT AT THE ROADSIDE

Nightfall.

To ensure an idyllic living environment, the manor stood nestled in the serene and picturesque outskirts of the city.

Anticipating the scene unfolding in the backseat, the driver gradually pressed harder on the accelerator.

The sleek black Bentley sliced through the endless night, racing toward Manor.

The surrounding traffic thinned.

The roadside scenery grew increasingly expansive and desolate.

Backseat.

"Mr. Thomas..."

The young model feigned coy resistance, pressing her delicate hands against Thomas’s chest, her voice laced with honeyed protest.

"That endorsement deal for your company’s latest luxury line..."

"Relax."

Thomas smirked, his expression dripping with nonchalance.

Thomas tightened his grip meaningfully before adding with a sly chuckle,

"Make tonight unforgettable, and the endorsement—hell, everything—could be yours."

His words were smooth, but in truth, they carried no weight at all.

The woman before him was beautiful, but not enough to make him lose his head.

Just a bit of fun—nothing serious.

Unaware of Thomas’s thoughts, the young model flashed a satisfied look in her eyes at his words.

"You’re so good to me, Mr. Thomas."

Her voice was noticeably sweeter and softer now.

Thomas relished the way she fawned over him, his eyes narrowing lazily as he waited for her next move.

She understood instantly.

"Mr. Thomas—"

She looped her arms around his neck and pressed her lips to his with fervor.

Driven by alcohol and desire, the two were already lost in passion, barely able to wait until they reached the estate.

Just as things were about to escalate, the remote-controlled partition between the front and back seats suddenly lowered.

The tense voice of the bodyguard in the passenger seat cut through the moment.

"Mr. Thomas, don’t—"

Before he could finish, Thomas snapped impatiently.

"Goddammit, are you blind?"

Interrupted in the heat of the moment, Thomas’s irritation flared.

Thomas snatched a pair of sunglasses from the side and hurled them at the bodyguard.

"Can’t you see what I’m doing?!"

The bodyguard didn’t dare dodge, taking the sunglasses square in the face with a sharp smack.

Yet he didn’t turn away—instead, his voice grew even more frantic.

"No, Mr. Thomas, it’s—it’s behind us—"

"Behind, in front, none of it’s your damn business!

Shut your mouth.

Whatever it is, deal with it tomorrow!"

Thomas was fully under the influence of alcohol and whatever else he’d taken, his impatience boiling over.

Thomas wasn’t listening, his tone thick with barely restrained fury.

"Interrupt me again, and I’ll kick you out of this car right now."

With that, he turned his attention back to the model, gripping the back of her head to pull her toward him.

But this time, she didn’t comply.

Instead, she stiffened, jerking away from his grasp.

Thomas froze, his brow furrowing as he glared down at her, annoyance and frustration darkening his gaze.

"What’s your problem now?"

"Mr. Thomas, Mr. Thomas.."

Trembling, the model lifted a shaky hand, pointing past his head at the windshield behind him.

Her crimson lips quivered as she whispered,

"There’s... there’s a car behind us..."

"This is supposed to be a highway—if there are no cars, could there be ghosts instead?"

Thomas frowned as he spoke, tilting his head to glance at the rearview mirror.

The moment his eyes landed on the reflection, his pupils contracted in shock, his entire body freezing in place.

Three different models of off-road vehicles were rapidly closing in on their car, forming a semi-circle around them.

The road was otherwise deserted—only their convoy remained.

As realization struck, the haze of alcohol in Thomas’s mind cleared instantly.

Sinclair might be drunk, but he wasn’t stupid.

These cars were unmistakably targeting him. "Step on it! Lose them now!"

Thomas shoved the young model off his lap, his voice sharp with panic as he barked orders at the driver and bodyguard in the front seat.

"Call for backup—grab your damn phone and get me reinforcements!"

"Y-yes, sir!"

The two men stammered in response.

The bodyguard immediately pulled out his phone and dialed.

"We’ve got a situation.

Send backup immediately."

"We’re on the middle stretch of the road to Fleury Manor."

"Bring as many men as you can—right the hell now." ... The driver beside him pressed his lips together and floored the accelerator.

The car instantly shot forward at top speed.

The young model, her face drained of color, scrambled onto the adjacent seat, trembling as she clutched the seatbelt for dear life.

What on earth was happening?

She had finally gotten her big break—how could things go so wrong?

The sudden burst of speed instantly widened the gap between them and the pursuing vehicles.

But to everyone’s surprise, the three cars behind maintained their original speed, making no attempt to close the distance.

Seeing this, Thomas furrowed his brow.

After observing for a moment and confirming the cars weren’t giving chase, he finally let out a sigh of relief.

Had he been overly paranoid?

Maybe they weren’t after him after all.

Yet before he could fully dismiss the thought, everything changed in an instant.

"Mr. Thomas—"

The driver’s voice trembled uncontrollably.

Just as Thomas had begun to relax, his heart lurched back into his throat.

Thomas didn’t need anyone to tell him what was happening.

A massive truck had suddenly emerged from a nearby intersection, its blinding high beams cutting through the darkness as it barreled straight toward their car.

The searing glare swallowed their vision, plunging them all into sheer terror.

"Oh god—!"

A scream tore through the air—partly the driver’s panicked shout, partly a woman’s shriek—piercing Thomas’s eardrums like a knife.

His eyes widened to their limits, veins bulging as he roared, his voice raw with desperation.

"Move!

Get out of the way, NOW!"

Most people freeze in the face of overwhelming fear.

And when vision is compromised, reaction becomes nearly impossible.

The Thomas family’s driver was no exception.

Frozen in terror as the massive truck barreled toward him, his body went rigid—limbs locked, fingers paralyzed.

Even slamming the brakes slipped his mind.

Then— **BAM!** The deafening crash of colliding metal tore through the air.

The truck jolted to a halt, its front bumper crumpled inward but otherwise unscathed.

The sleek black Bentley, however, spun wildly from the impact, careening sideways before flipping over near the roadside.

Every window shattered instantly.

Airbags exploded from every angle, cocooning the passengers in protective cushions.

Luxury cars, after all, boasted safety features leagues beyond ordinary vehicles.

Though dazed and wracked with pain, all four occupants survived.