The Good Wife

02

A M B E R

"Sloan, I think I should slow down."
I gripped the steering-wheel tightly, glancing at my drunk sister.

"Why?" she giggles, sticking her head outside the window.

Glancing at my five-year-old niece, Ayvah, snoring in the backseat, I slowed the car down. Sloan stumbled back into her seat a minute later, glaring at me.

"What the fuck, Amber? I told you to go fast, didn't I?" She screams, taking a big gulp of alcohol.

"Ayvah is in the backseat, Sloan. I cannot take any risks with her. It's also really late at night and, you're drunk. I cannot afford any troubles." I sigh, focusing on the dark, empty road in front of me.

"You're such a party-pooper." She rolls her eyes at me.

I ignore her ranting and focus on the road. Sloan is the eldest amongst us, then comes Rose and, finally me. Sloan and I never had a good bonding, she is close to mamma while, I'm close to papa and Rose.

Rose and I easily get along but Sloan loves keeping the attention to herself. The distances between us grew even more when she got married to Pariston Hemsworth, the wealthiest and handsome of all.

I had a crush on Pariston for years, secretly watching him at parties and events. But, I knew someday he would marry someone who is confident and elegant, leaving my heart shattered... I just didn't know it would be my sister.

" Give that to me," Sloan slurs, suddenly grabbing the wheel.

" Sloan!" I scream, trying to push her hands away.

" I'll drive, Amber." She screams.

" Sloan! Ayvah is with us." I yell at her, but she was too drunk to get those words inside her head.

The vehicle turns to the other side roughly, earning a scream from me as I try to push Sloan away.

I watched the thing in slow motion, as the car hits a boulder on the side of the road, tumbling over, glass and mirrors shattering as I felt warm blood rolling down my face.

" Paaa!" Ayvah painful cries breaks into the thick air.

" Ayvah!" I scream, jerking up from the bed.

I looked around to find myself in Pariston's room. My hair and dress sticking to me with sweat, my throat scorching dry and my heart pounding like hell.

" Had a good sleep?"

" Papa!" A scream leaves my lips as I flinch back at the sudden voice.

My husband, Pariston Erik Hemsworth sat on the couch in a suit, reading newspaper as his beautiful dark eyes scanned over me.

"Paris!" I mumble, as he stares at me silently.

"Dinner in five minutes. Come." He mutters, flinging the paper on the table before he stands up, buttoning his blazer as he walks out.