Chapter 18
Scott’s meeting had been going well. A boardroom full of suited investors listened intently as he laid out his next retail expansion proposal. Numbers, projections, revenue growth–it was the kind of talk that usually commanded full attention.
But then his phone buzzed.
Once. Twice. Three times. He ignored it at first, silencing it with a slight grimace. But the buzzing wouldn’t stop. His assistant hesitated at the door, holding up the screen with a single message: Call from Cassandra’s Mom. URGENT.
His heart dropped.
“Gentlemen,” he said, his voice suddenly tight. “I apologize. I need to step out. An emergency.”
He didn’t wait for approval. He rushed into the hallway and answered the call, his breath shallow. “Hello?”
“Scott!” It was Callie, Cassandra’s mother. She sounded breathless. Panicked. “It’s Cassandra! She’s still inside–the mall caught fire–she’s trapped in her boutique. No one can get to her!”
“What?” The blood drained from his face. “I’ll be right there.”
Without a second thought, Scott bolted for the elevator, barking orders into his phone for his driver to prepare the car. In minutes, he was speeding toward the scene, the skyline blurred in streaks of panic and dread.
When he arrived at the mall, chaos had already taken over. Red and blue lights. Smoke coiling into the sky. People shouting. Firefighters moving fast–but not fast enough.
“She’s in there,” Callie cried, rushing to him. “They said it’s too dangerous to enter!”
Scott didn’t hesitate. “I’ve had fire training. I’m going in.”
“You can’t!” a firefighter tried to block him. “Sir, it’s a red zone-‘
“She’s in there!” he barked, already strapping on a vest someone had left nearby. “If you won’t, I
will.”
Smoke stung his eyes as he pushed past the barrier, coughing as he moved through the thick haze. He knew Cassandra’s layout by heart. Her boutique was near the end of the hallway, second level. He counted his steps, heart pounding louder than the alarm blaring over the fire.
“Cassandra!” he shouted, stumbling over burning debris. “Cass–where are you?!”
A soft sound. A cough. A faint cry.
He found her curled in a corner of her office, half–conscious, her skin pale, her fingers shaking. He threw off his jacket and wrapped her in it, lifting her into his arms as smoke swirled around
them.
They barely made it out. The moment he stepped out of the doors carrying her, the crowd gasped. Paramedics rushed in and Scott collapsed beside her on the pavement, soot–covered and bruised but refusing care.
“She’s breathing,” he whispered hoarsely. “She’s alive.”
Two days passed.
4:00 pm
Cassandra hadn’t woken up.
Scott hadn’t left the hospital.
He sat by her bedside, hour after hour, watching the slow rise and fall of her chest. The steady beep of the monitor was the only sound that kept him sane. Sometimes he talked to her in hushed tones, telling her about the latest boutique report, how her designs were selling out, how proud he was. Other times, he just sat there, holding her hand, afraid that letting go might mean losing her.
Nurses came and went, urging him to rest, but he refused. He slept in the chair, head bowed over her arm, fingers curled protectively around hers. When her fingers twitched slightly on the second night, he sat up so fast the nurse nearly dropped the chart she was holding. But it was nothing. Just a reflex.
Still, he stayed. Waiting. Hoping. Whispering, “Please wake up, Cass. I’m right here.”
And, while Cassandra remained unconscious, he focused his fury elsewhere–figuring out what the hell happened. He called his team and demanded a full internal investigation. No one had touched her office without clearance. The fire had started inside. That alone made no sense.
Then came the worst blow.
“The CCTV footage from that hallway was deleted,” one of his men told him.
“What?” Scott stood, cold fury dripping from his tone. “That’s impossible. Our system has a backup server.”
“Even the backup is corrupted, sir.”
Scott’s jaw clenched. “Bring everyone from her boutique in. I want to speak to them. Personally.”
He sat behind his office desk, a storm in a suit, calling each staff member one by one. All swore they didn’t know anything.
Until he slammed his fist on the table.
“You’re all fired!” he growled. “Unless someone tells me the truth now.”
Silence.
Then a small voice. “Wait…”
A girl stepped forward. One of Cassandra’s newer interns. Her voice trembled.
“A package came that day… addressed to Ms. Ruiz. I didn’t think it was strange. It had a note. Said to light it up in her office. And… and there was money in the envelope. A lot. I–I needed it. I’m so sorry…”
Scott stared at her like he didn’t even recognize her.
“You almost killed her,” he said, voice low with venom. “You endangered everyone. Get out.”
He turned to his security team. “Trace every feed. Retrieve the deleted data. I want the source.
Now.”
Meanwhile, word had spread. Johansen heard about the fire on the news.
The footage of Scott carrying Cassandra out had gone viral. Of course it did. The world had always loved Cassandra–and now she was a survivor too.
Johansen arrived at the hospital hours later, guilt twisting his stomach into knots. But before he
Chapter 18
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could even reach the nurse’s station, someone grabbed his shoulder and spun him around.
Scott. He didn’t speak. He just punched.
Johansen stumbled back, blood dripping from his lip, shock widening his eyes.
“What the hell-!”
“That’s for nearly killing her,” Scott growled. “You want to know what happened? Someone triec to burn her alive. And I guarantee this has everything to do with the people around you.”
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