She Was Never Just a Pretty Face novel Chapter 188

The white Bentley was mangled beyond recognition.

Smoke billowed from the crushed hood.

The wreckage shuddered a few times before finally falling dead silent.

On the freezing, wind-whipped highway, a freezing drizzle began to fall, hitting the twisted metal like icy needles. Traffic ground to an absolute halt, cars piling up in every direction. But because the engine was smoking violently, no one dared approach. Bystanders could only call emergency services and watch from a safe distance.

It hurt.

God, it hurt so much.

Thick, dark blood poured from Harrell's temple.

—Blinding his vision.

He struggled weakly to wipe it away, but even with the blood cleared, he couldn't see straight. His head and eyes were swelling rapidly, and his brain was ringing with a deafening buzz. The only thought anchoring him was that he had to get to the airport. His mother missed Annie and Landon. He had to bring her home for a family lunch. He had even told the maid to wake Hilda up at 11 AM.

Yes, Hilda was waiting for him. They were going to have lunch together.

Christmas had just passed.

New Year's was in a few days.

And then it would be the holidays.

His very first holiday season with Hilda.

He couldn't die. He absolutely could not die. He had to make it back to Hilda. He had promised to take care of her for the rest of their lives. He had promised to raise their children together.

The man, drenched in his own blood, desperately fumbled with his seatbelt.

But the mechanism was completely jammed.

It wouldn't unlatch.

He tried over and over, his vision blurring.

His blood-soaked hand finally dropped, useless.

There were people everywhere, near and far, but no one dared step closer. Eventually, the crowd seemed to fade away entirely. The world around him grew eerily silent, as if he had been swallowed by a frozen wasteland. As if he had crossed into another realm entirely.

It was so quiet. And so unbearably cold.

The cold seeped into his bones, freezing his veins.

His fingers twitched. Using the last fraction of his strength, he managed to hook his fingers onto the torn winter coat sitting in the passenger seat. Inch by inch, he dragged it over his shattered body. He had to trap whatever body heat he had left before hypothermia set in. His life was draining out of him, but he hoarded every last drop of warmth. He wanted to live. He needed to see Hilda and the kids again. Every year, he had to buy Annie a colored gemstone.

He had promised her.

Harrell's face was a completely unrecognizable mask of blood.

If he let his willpower slip for even a second.

He would drift off forever.

He gripped the shredded jacket weakly, curling his broken body inward.

Hilda had put this coat on him.

She had said, "Make sure you stay warm when you're in and out of the car. It's freezing outside."

The distant wail of sirens finally broke through the silence.

Ambulances were rushing toward the scene.

By the time the paramedics reached Harrell, he was barely clinging to consciousness. His body was convulsing violently from massive blood loss, his blood pressure dropping to a terrifyingly fatal level. The fact that he was still breathing was nothing short of a medical miracle. If he hadn't dragged that coat over himself to trap his body heat, he would have been dead ten minutes ago.

Inside the ambulance.

The blood-soaked man was given emergency trauma care as they sped toward the hospital.

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