BEATRICE~
{Four Years Ago}
The first time I met Isla Matthews, she looked like the kind of woman people warned you about.
She reeked of alcohol, wore a permanently blank expression, and carried this overwhelming air of dismissal around her.
But somehow, she still stopped for me on an empty highway at midnight.
I had just gotten off a seventy-two-hour shift and was driving home when my car broke down.
The worst part was there was barely any network to call for help, and it was far too late to even try for a mechanic.
At first, I considered sleeping in the car for the night, but desperation made me open the hood anyway.
I stared at the engine for over ten minutes and realized I had absolutely no idea what I was looking at. Not to mention the extra six minutes I wasted trying to even get the damn thing open.
I was on the verge of a complete breakdown.
Exhausted. Stranded in the middle of the highway. No signal. And still nearly fifty kilometers from home.
