Chapter4

The back of my head slammed against the sharp edge of the metal rack with a sickening thud.

My vision blacked out, and a warm trail of liquid trickled down through my hair.

"Just leave her here," Ethan panted. "Once we get past tonight's preliminary deadline, Livia's name will be locked in."

I pushed against the concrete, trying to scramble up, but he grabbed me by the collar and dragged me roughly toward the corner.

Adrian stared at the blood on the floor, his footsteps faltering for a split second.

Diana's scream echoed from the stairwell. She was holding Livia, who was curled into a ball and hyperventilating. "Hurry up! She's having another attack!"

My father urged them on. "Stop standing around!"

Adrian hesitated no longer and pinned my legs down.

I kicked and thrashed with everything I had.

My father yanked a bundle of rope from the shelf. Ethan ripped a strip of packing tape from a roll.

I looked at them—my father, my brother, my fiancé—and just like that, the fight drained out of me. I stopped struggling.

They bound me like a piece of freight and tossed me among a pile of discarded junk.

Adrian squatted down, brushing the blood-matted hair from my face, and coaxed me in a soft voice, "Just cool off down here for a bit. Tonight is Livia's birthday. We'll talk this through after the party is over."

He stood up and switched off the light.

The heavy metal door slammed shut, followed by the harsh click of the lock.

From upstairs came the muffled sounds of laughter and footsteps, then the front door opening and closing. Slowly, the entire house fell dead silent.

The darkness pressed down on me again.

I lay on the cold concrete, tears sliding silently from the corners of my eyes and disappearing into my hair.

I didn't know how much time had passed. My fingers had gone completely numb. Blood loss sent waves of dizziness washing over me, my consciousness bobbing like a cork on water, drifting in and out.

That was, until a pungent, biting odor pierced my nostrils.

It was gas.

My mind jolted awake.

The rusted pipe overhead was emitting a faint, steady hiss. The stench was growing thicker by the second.

I writhed wildly against the floor, sawing the ropes binding my wrists against the harsh edge of the metal rack. The coarse hemp dug into my flesh, rubbing it raw and bloody. Gritting my teeth, I gave a violent twist, and the rope finally gave way.

I ripped the duct tape off my mouth, threw myself at the metal door, and pounded desperately, screaming for help.

But this was the basement. No one could hear me.

I fished out my phone, hands shaking violently, and dialed my father first.

It rang and rang. No answer.

I called Adrian next.

He picked up. On the other end, I could hear upbeat music and the clinking of glasses.

"Adrian, save me... the gas is leaking. I can't get out..."

He went silent for two seconds before letting out a cold scoff. "Elara, are you seriously making up a lie like this just to ruin Livia's birthday?"

"I'm not lying!" I sobbed, my voice cracking. "The smell is getting so strong, I really can't hold on much longer!"

The line went dead.

A few seconds later, my phone vibrated in rapid succession. Texts from Livia.

[Stop calling. Ade is with me right now.]

[To tell you the truth, we’ve been together for a long time. The proposal for the last competition, the drafts for this one—he gave them to me willingly.]

[That night you cried until you passed out in the MRI machine? He left early to come see me.]

[And that penthouse... did you really think he bought it for you?]

[Take the hint, Elara. Just walk away.]

The last message was a video clip.

The lighting in the private dining room was warm and inviting, a large birthday cake sitting perfectly on the table.

Livia and Adrian stood shoulder-to-shoulder, their hands resting together on the knife as they cut the first slice. Suddenly, she turned, wrapped her arms around his neck, and kissed him.

Beside them, Ethan whistled and cheered, while my father and Diana exchanged knowing smiles, their faces brimming with pure gratification.

The video ended abruptly right there.

I stared at the blackened screen, unmoving for a long, long time.

I inhaled the toxic gas lungful by lungful, yet I didn't feel the suffocation. I only felt cold.

The future I had fought so desperately to step into... he had already walked straight into it, holding someone else's hand.

BOOM.

A deafening explosion suddenly erupted from upstairs.

The entire house shuddered violently. A sliver of fiery, erratic orange light bled through the doorframe, and dense smoke surged in from beneath the gap.

The kitchen had detonated.

I stumbled backward, frantically scanning the room.

The iron door was a dead end. The only way out was the ventilation shaft high up in the corner of the wall. It was impossibly narrow, barely wider than my shoulders, capped with a rusted wire mesh. Inside lay a stretch of endless, pitch-black nothing.

My body screamed in psychological refusal.

It was tighter than a bunker, longer than a car trunk. If I got stuck, I would never get out alive.

The metal door behind me began to radiate vicious heat. The thick smoke choked me blind.

I wrenched the strap of my crossbody bag tight across my chest, stepped onto a collapsed cardboard box to hoist myself up, tore at the rusted mesh barehanded, and shoved my body into the darkness.

The inner walls of the duct pressed suffocatingly tight against my shoulders, my back, my face.

Jagged, rusty metal shredded through my clothes and sliced deep into my flesh. My fingernails chipped and broke apart one by one against the sheet metal as I clawed forward.

Behind me, tongues of fire licked into the opening of the shaft, searing my left arm. A white-hot agony flared behind my eyes, nearly blinding me.

But I didn't stop.

Trapped in that suffocatingly tight tunnel of black, I dragged myself forward, inch by agonizing inch.

Far behind me, another massive explosion roared.

A blistering shockwave of heat surged down the shaft, flinging itself straight toward me...