Chapter 4
The eerie orange glow flickered for mere seconds before erupting into a roaring wall of flames.
The fire spread with terrifying speed. Thick smoke squeezed through the door gaps, rapidly sucking the oxygen from the room.
I pressed my back against the damp concrete wall, forcing myself to stay low to the ground.
Every breath felt like swallowing broken glass. My broken ribs were mercilessly tearing into my lungs.
I coughed up a mouthful of blood, my vision blurring as the smoke stung my eyes.
Dorian, Bianca... and Leo.
Their smug faces flashed through my mind. They didn't just want to take everything from me—they wanted to erase me completely, make my death look like an "accident."
The oxygen was thinning. The heat seared my skin. My consciousness began to slip.
Was this really it? Was I going to die here?
Die in a trap set by the assistant I'd built from nothing, and the man I'd wasted three years loving?
Like hell I would.
I stared at that heavy iron door, locked from the outside, and with what little strength remained, drove my bloodied fist into the concrete.
No one up there cared if I lived or died. They were all celebrating the new queen.
Just as the darkness was about to drag me under completely—
"BOOM—!!"
A violent explosion of sound tore through the roar of the flames.
That hundred-pound rusted iron door, dead-bolted from the outside, was kicked open from outside with brutal force.
The twisted metal crashed against the wall, sending sparks flying everywhere.
My vision was already destroyed by smoke and flames.
Through the distorted, superheated air, I barely managed to crack my eyes open and saw a tall, dark silhouette stepping through the fire.
He seemed to be wearing a hoodie, most of his face hidden behind a tactical mask.
Oxygen deprivation had turned my brain to mush. The heat had nearly burned away my ability to feel anything. The shadow came toward me and slowly crouched down.
I couldn't make out his face, but I met his eyes.
Razor-sharp, with a suffocating intensity—like a predator sizing up its prey from above.
My heart seized.
Was it him?
A name clawed its way through the fog in my brain, only to be immediately drowned by a wave of absurdity.
The pain in my skull made it impossible to think clearly. It couldn't be him... He had no reason to be here, no reason to be in front of me.
Impossible. My brain was playing tricks on me.
The man stared at me coldly. Through the roaring inferno, I heard a low, gravelly voice—or maybe it was just echoing inside my skull:
"You wanna die here, or make them all pay?"
"Make them... pay..."
There was no air left in my lungs. I swallowed the blood in my mouth and forced out those words.
I didn't even know if I'd actually made a sound.
My vision began to spin wildly, plummeting downward.
Through the blur, I felt a pair of strong arms cut through the flames, secure and steady as they slipped under my arms and behind my knees.
The moment the man lifted me off the scalding concrete and pulled me into his chest, the last thread of oxygen finally ran out.
Absolute darkness crashed over me like a tidal wave, swallowing me whole.
While flames devoured the sublevels below, the MGM Grand's top-floor suite reeked of champagne and cigars.
Vegas's top media outlets, PPV executives, and combat sports stars had all gathered. This was Iron Throne's victory party for the new queen, Bianca.
Bianca had changed into a plunging V-neck dress, practically glued to Dorian's side. The championship belt that once belonged to Valkyrie now hung casually around her waist.
"Dorian, thank you. Tonight's the best night of my life." Bianca raised her champagne glass and kissed his cheek.
Dorian pulled her waist closer, flashing a natural smile for the cameras. "You earned it. From tonight on, you're America's biggest superstar."
Flashbulbs went off like a wall of lightning.
"Mr. Sterling!" An MMA reporter pushed to the front row, shouting over the crowd. "What's the condition of former champion Valkyrie? Some are alleging tonight's fight involved rule violations, and she was escorted away by security immediately after. How do you explain that?"
Dorian's eyes darkened. The image of that blood-stained cheap ring flashed through his mind. But his expression remained unchanged, shifting into perfect PR mode.
"Combat sports are brutal and carry inherent risks. Valkyrie's era is over. She got hurt because she wasn't good enough—we regret that."
"Iron Throne will handle her medical care appropriately. As for violations?" Dorian sneered. "Pure sore-loser bullshit."
Bianca put on a practiced look of hurt. "Yeah, Valkyrie's always been too reckless in the cage. I tried to hold back, but she—"
Before she could finish—
"BZZZ—! BZZZ—! BZZZ—!"
A piercing fire alarm suddenly blared. Red emergency lights began flashing frantically across the top floor.
"What the hell's going on?!" Dorian frowned, glaring toward the door.
The elevator dinged open amid the chaos. The hotel's head of security rushed into the suite with two men in tow. His walkie-talkie crackled with static, and his face was drenched in sweat, pale as death.
"Mr. Sterling! We've got a serious problem!"
"Shut up! What are you panicking for?" Dorian snapped. "Where's the fire? Kill the alarm!"
"We can't! It's... it's sublevel three!" The security chief swallowed hard. "The old medical room in the basement clinic suddenly caught fire—it ignited stored chemical disinfectants and triggered a chain of explosions! Fire department just arrived..."
Dorian's heart skipped a beat.
Sublevel three.
Valkyrie was down there.
"What did you say?!" He grabbed the chief by the collar.
"The fire department says the entire sublevel three is destroyed—even the blast doors melted." The chief was shaking. "There's... no chance anyone survived."
The champagne glass slipped from Dorian's fingers and shattered on the floor.
