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ALLISON

I ’ve made a decision. I’m not speaking to the arrogant jackass.

I will not engage.

I will not react.

I will not let the smug, fry-feeding bastard win.

Blowing out a slow breath, I force myself to stay calm. Cool. Unbothered.

The highway stretches ahead like a punishment. The weather’s garbage. So is my mood.

Connor, of course, has the radio on. It’s blaring some old country heartbreak ballad like he’s the main character in a breakup montage.

He’s drumming on the steering wheel, humming along, stealing glances at me like he’s waiting for me to crack.

I don’t.

I won’t.

I’m a wall.

I am ice.

I am vengeance in leggings.

* * *

One hour later, I’ve maintained my silence. Avoided eye contact.

And my emotional stability is mostly intact.

I’m plotting his murder when it happens.

A loud pop jolts me from my vengeance fantasy. The car jerks violently, then swerves.

Connor mutters a sharp, “What the fuck?” and pulls off to the side of the road.

Oh, no. Did Wanda finally surrender to our toxic energy?

He pulls to the side of the road, slamming his hands against the wheel. "Un-fucking-believable."

I almost smile.

He storms out of the car to inspect the damage, fuming.

Meanwhile, I sit back and sip my Coke like a queen watching her enemies fall.

His irritated groan drifts in through the cracked window.

Curious, I peek out, and almost lose it.

He’s standing there, hands on his hips, jaw clenched. His broad shoulders are tense under his shirt. For the first time in days, he looks stressed .

I grin.

Finally. My moment has come.

* * *

I slide out of the car, casual as can be, and stroll over to him.

Tilting my head, I smile sweetly. "What’s wrong, husband?"

His jaw ticks. "Flat tire."

Oh, this is delicious.

He doesn’t even react to me calling him husband, but his body definitely flinches.

“Oh, baby," I murmur, placing a hand on his bicep. "That must be so stressful for you."

He stills.

I bat my lashes. "You okay, sweetheart?"

His eyes darken.

Got him.

I trail my fingers down his arm, pretending to examine the tire. Then I pout dramatically.

“This looks bad," I whisper. "Do you know how to change a tire, Connor?"

His jaw locks tighter. "I play hockey for a living, not work in a fucking garage."

I sigh. "So… you don’t know how?"

His eyes snap to mine. "I didn’t say that."

I bite my lip, nearly bursting from the inside out.

“Oh, of course not. Because my big, strong hockey player can do anything, right?" My voice is sugar-coated poison.

His nostrils flare.

I pat his chest.

“You look tense, baby," I purr. "Maybe you should take off your shirt. You know, so you don’t get it dirty."

He blinks, looking like I just short-circuited his entire brain.

Stepping in close, I drag a finger down the center of his chest. "Bet you’d look real good fixing that tire with your shirt off."

He exhales sharply.

Boom.

I smile sweetly and step back.

"Good luck, husband!"

Then I sashay back to the car like I didn’t just shatter every last shred of his sanity.

Sliding into my seat, I sip my Coke and grin.

Vengeful Allie – 1

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