Chapter 1 - The Crash on the M56The Bentley’s engine roared, throwing Alexander and his small cargo back against the plush leather seats. Lionel didn't just drive; he piloted the vehicle like a man possessed, weaving through the Manchester afternoon traffic with terrifying precision.
In the back seat, Alexander held the small, cold bundle closer to his chest. The white puppy’s breathing was erratic—shallow gasps that rattled through its tiny frame. Beside him on the floor mats, the tan puppy sat entirely unbothered by the high-speed turns, its eyes locked upward onto Alexander's face.
"Sir, we're approaching the Altrincham interchange," Lionel called out over the roar of the tires on the wet tarmac. His eyes darted to the rearview mirror, tracking Alexander's face. "The call from Tokyo is coming through on your secure line. It’s Chairman Takahashi. If you don't pick up—"
"Let it ring," Alexander interrupted, his voice flat, cold, entirely devoid of the ruthless boardroom confidence that had made him a billionaire.
"Sir, four hundred million—"
"I said let it ring, Lionel!"
The sharp command echoed in the cabin, silencing the driver instantly. Alexander looked down at the white puppy. A drop of dark blood had seeped through the three-thousand-pound designer suit jacket, staining the pristine fabric. It was a stark reminder of a life he had tried to bury six years ago—the helpless feeling of watching a life slip through your fingers while you stood there, utterly powerless.
Clara, his mind whispered, flashing back to a sterile hospital room in Zurich. A heart monitor flatlining. A tiny hand growing cold.
"Hurry," Alexander whispered, his jaw tightening so hard his teeth ached.
Suddenly, the world outside exploded into white light and screeching metal.
A massive articulated lorry, hydroplaning on the slick M56 lanes, jackknifed across the highway directly into their path. Lionel cursed, slamming his foot down on the carbon-ceramic brakes. The heavy Bentley locked up, spinning violently across three lanes of traffic, the screech of tearing rubber deafening.
Impact.
The passenger side crumpled like paper against the concrete barrier. Airbags deployed with explosive force, filling the cabin with white dust and the acrid smell of burnt propellant. Glass shattered outward in a million glittering diamonds.
Silence descended, heavy and suffocating, broken only by the hiss of a punctured radiator.
Alexander’s head throbbed. Blood trickled down his temple, warm and stinging. He was pinned by the deflated airbag, his ribs screaming in protest.
"Lionel?" he rasped, coughing through the dust.
No response.
Panic, cold and sharp, flooded his veins. He forced his weight against the crushed door, his muscles tearing as he shoved it outward. It groaned, popping open enough for him to squeeze through.
He stumbled out onto the rain-slicked highway, the rushing traffic behind them screeching to a halt. He reached blindly back into the wreckage.
His jacket. The puppy.
May you like
His fingers brushed against the fabric. It was safe. He pulled it out, tearing the jacket open. The white puppy blinked its dull eyes, still breathing, somehow surviving the carnage.
And right beside his ruined Italian leather shoe, sitting calmly amidst the smoking wreckage of a quarter-million-pound car, the tan puppy looked up, let out a single, sharp yip, and stared down the highway toward an approaching black van that bore no license plates.
