Part 2Reborn Heir in the Trap Car

Tyler and Scott traded a frantic glance, their jaws tightening with swallowed fury.

They wanted to scream at me, to strangle me for walking them straight toward the cliff, but with the driver watching, they had to choke down their rage and play the pathetic, repentant charity cases.

"We didn't mean to, man," Tyler muttered, ducking his head with an air of wounded grievance. "The day you moved into the dorms, you had private movers and an assistant in an Armani suit unpacking your thread-count sheets. We were terrified you’d ice us out. We tried our best with that keyboard—it wasn't authentic bespoke, but the tech forum said it was a top-tier replica. We use them ourselves, and the switches feel great..."

I rolled my eyes, slamming my glass bottle of Voss water into the cup holder with a sharp thud.

"Of course you can’t tell the difference," I sneered, looking out the tinted window. "When you spend your whole life using dollar-store peripherals, an imitation switch is the pinnacle of luxury to someone at your level. But I was raised on custom German hand-soldered builds. It’s repulsive to force cheap plastic on my hands."

I turned away, letting my dismissive silence settle like smog in the vehicle.

To be fair, the counterfeit switches had thrown off my muscle memory for weeks. But right now, the plastic didn't matter. Survival did.

Scott’s complexion was gray. He risked a sideways glance at the driver’s motionless neck, then looked at me, wringing his hands.

"Bennett, we don't know anything about high-end tech. My mom’s on SNAP benefits... we really didn't know..."

He was desperately scouring his brain for more tales of poverty when his gaze caught a green highway sign overhead.

REST AREA — 1 MILE.

Scott lunged at the opportunity. He grabbed Zach by the elbow and leaned toward the front console.

"Sir? Could you pull over at this upcoming plaza? Zach’s crying so hard his eyes are going to swell shut. We need to get him into the washroom and splash some cold water on his face."

The driver met Scott's eyes in the mirror for a fraction of a second before looking back at the asphalt. He didn't answer immediately. He clearly had no desire to pause.

Tyler saw the hesitation, his pulse hammering visibly in the hollow of his throat. He looked at me, then took a desperate breath.

"Scott and I will handle Zach," Tyler said, forcing his tone into something breezy and compliant. "Plazas get crowded, and luggage snatchers love holiday weekends. Bennett, why don’t you just stay in the warm car? We'll leave our phones with you so we don't drop them."

Before I could answer, all three of them shoved their iPhones into my lap.

I looked down at the three glass screens, then leaned back into the leather headrest, showing zero intention of moving an inch.

The driver's eyes flicked between the heap of phones in my lap and my relaxed, indolent posture. Convinced that his real prize—the billionaire’s heir—was safely planted inside, he finally flicked on his blinker and steered the heavy SUV down the off-ramp.

I gave a vague, bored wave of my hand. "Make it quick. I have a reservation at the hotel spa, and I need a nap before dinner."

The moment the vehicle came to a complete halt, Tyler and Scott practically hauled Zach out of the door, their feet hitting the pavement like men fleeing an executioner’s block.

I stayed reclined, pulling a titanium EDC worry-stone from my pocket.

Ignoring the driver's lingering stare, I thumbed the textured metal, letting it click in rhythmic, steady snaps.

"Unbelievable," I muttered aloud to myself, loud enough for the front seat to hear. "Now I have to recalibrate my entire grip. Gifting me knockoffs... I knew those switches felt mushy."

Outside, the moment they turned the corner past the brick facade of the rest stop, Zach stopped his sniffling.

He wrenched his arms free from Tyler and Scott, dragging them into the blind spot behind the service building’s dumpsters. His breath came in ragged, wheezing gasps.

"You guys remember, right?" Zach whispered, his eyes wild. "The detour. The warehouse. The cable ties."

"We remember," Tyler hissed, shivering. "We're out of the car. We ditch the bags, ditch the coats, and run through the woods toward the highway entrance. We can flag down a state trooper or borrow a trucker’s phone."

Scott hesitated, looking back toward the parking lot. "Wait... what about Bennett? We left him alone in the SUV. He doesn't know. Shouldn't we try to get him out?"

Zach turned on him, his face twisted in venomous disgust. "Are you insane? You want to play the martyr now?"

"He's our roommate, Zach—"

"He's an arrogant, condescending prick who just spent the last twenty minutes painting a target on our foreheads!" Zach spat, saliva flying from his lips. "If we go back for him, we spook the driver. If the driver realizes we know, nobody walks out of here alive! Bennett clearly didn't come back. Look at him—he’s still acting like the king of the world. Even if we told him, he’d laugh in our faces."

Tyler nodded firmly, grabbing Scott’s jacket. "Zach’s right. This isn't us abandoning him. It’s natural selection. God didn't give him a second chance; He gave it to us."

Scott swallowed hard, the remaining trace of his conscience dissolving beneath the cold reality of self-preservation.

They locked arms, preparing to round the corner toward the trucker lounge to find help.

They took two steps.

A tall shadow stepped out from the concrete entryway, blocking the path entirely.