Bitterly Sweetly (Completed)

Last Chapter: Truly Madly Deeply

*Do not plagiarize this story, no part of it may be copied, reproduced, or transmitted in any form or by any means without my (Lara Ruze's) written permission. Plagiarizing my works will be taken as an offense and will be dealt with properly. If you find anyone copying my work, please do let me know.*

~

Max drove like a madman, his eyes narrowed to slits and stuck on the white ambassador zooming down the highway.

It seemed like a scene out of his worst nightmare.

About half an hour ago he had pulled over at the driveway of Hayden household and discovered Sofi's aunt, uncle, Skyler, and surprisingly even Neil too stood at the doorway. Seeing their identical grim faces, a horrid chill had run down his spine.

It was Pasta who'd made a ruckus across the house, barking everyone awake, exposing Neil in the middle of his midnight tryst in Skyler's room, and finally putting everyone's attention to the fact that both Sofia and her car were missing. After finding that even Sofia's phone was left behind—dead on her bed, they were calling Max, but he had arrived right then. His phone rang incessantly on the dashboard of his car.

Not wasting a single moment Max had then flown out into the road with Neil in the passenger seat and Skyler sliding into the back. She was adamant to tag along despite Neil's protest which was cut short, for every moment passing was a moment Max knew, and grew the distance between Sofia and him. And that he could not allow happening any more than it already had.

More than once in the past, Max had experienced the fear of losing Sofia. But this time, the fear he felt was incredible at its worst. It was not just the dread of physical distance from her, it was the terror of losing her forever.

"Sofia will be pissed!" Skyler screeched, shoving her head in the gap between the front seats. "Why would you put a tracker on her car?"

"Fearing times like this maybe!" Max snapped back and then sighed. "Skyler—"

"It's okay, Max," Neil cut in, understanding and sympathy in his voice.

"I can take her anger every day if that means I'll know how to find her in dire times like this," Max's voice croaked at the end, his fingers curled tighter around the steering.

He knew it was creepy, and wrong on so many levels to put a tracker on his own wife's car—hooking it to a security app on his phone. Sofia might invent some more colorful names for him when she would know of this. But since the scare he had experienced less than a month ago when she had bounded into Mevil's property and rescued Genevieve's brother with the help of those pathetic hired goons, Max had been hysterical on the inside with the worry about his wife's wellbeing.

Because while she was not the least bit worried about her own safety, he was, madly and deeply. The idea of the tracker device had been a light bulb moment then and had come in handy now.

Max was steadily increasing the speed as he chased the white ambassador. By the way, the car dashed through the highway—insensitive to the ruts and flying up the speed-breakers, he was more than sure that Sofi was not behind the wheels. She loved her car way too much to drive it like this.

Is she hurt at the moment?

Has Mevil put those filthy hands of his on her?

Max's blood boiled in rage, in distress.

He should have never allowed her to stay away from him. He should have appointed a bodyguard for her—should have made sure that Mevil stayed put behind the bars. Oh hell, he could have rather hired someone inside the jail and fed the scoundrel rat poison. Regretful thoughts swarmed his mind making it hard for him to breathe.