Chapter 17: Trapped in Flames
1390 Words
Elara’s POV
Lucien has been acting strange lately.
Not in a bad way. Not cold or distant like before. If anything, he has been warmer than ever—gentler, more attentive, always close enough that I can feel his presence even when he says nothing.
But something about it feels different.
He watches me more carefully now. His eyes follow me when I move around the house, when I laugh, when I leave a room. At night, he pulls me closer in his sleep, his arm tightening around me as if afraid I might disappear if he lets go.
At first, I thought it was just the afterglow of our wedding. Newly married couples were supposed to be like this, right? Protective. Affectionate. Attached.
But this feels deeper than that.
He checks his phone more often. Takes calls in private. Pauses before answering simple questions.
And whenever I ask what’s wrong, he smiles and brushes it away.
“Work,” he says. “Nothing you should worry about.”
I want to believe him.
I really do.
But deep down, there’s a quiet unease growing in my chest—a feeling I can’t explain. Like standing under a clear sky while somehow knowing a storm is coming.
I try to ignore it.
Try to focus on the good things.
On the life we built together.
On the happiness I once believed I would never have.
My thoughts are interrupted when my phone buzzes on the kitchen counter.
The girls’ group chat.
A smile immediately spreads across my face as I open it.
Ciara🥰: “Yo girls! I just bought VIP tickets for the Hollywood Bowl concert! 🤩”
Mia☺️: “OMG!! Ciara, that’s so sweet! 😍 I need to cancel everything and go shopping before the weekend!”
Linda😘: “Oh my, oh my! What am I going to wear? Help me choose! I’ll send outfit snaps—modeling is exhausting! 😩”
I laugh softly, shaking my head.
Some things never change.
Even after all these years, they’re still dramatic, loud, and full of life. Being around them again feels like reclaiming a piece of myself I thought I had lost forever.
Me: “I can’t wait 😭 It’s been forever since we all went out together.”
The conversation quickly turns into jokes, teasing, and gossip. For a few minutes, everything feels normal. Light. Easy.
By the time we say our goodbyes, my mood has lifted completely.
I grab my bag and head out for the day.
The bakery comes into view a short while later, sunlight reflecting off the glass windows. My bakery.
Even now, it feels unreal.
Lucien built it for me after noticing how much baking calmed me. He said he wanted me to have something that belonged entirely to me—something created from joy, not obligation.
The bell above the door rings as I step inside.
“Good morning, ma’am!”
The staff greet me warmly, their smiles genuine. The air smells like fresh bread and vanilla, instantly comforting.
I greet everyone back, chatting briefly before heading into my office to review the accounts and upcoming orders.
The routine is peaceful.
Numbers, schedules, planning.
For once, my life feels steady.
Safe.
Time slips by without me noticing.
About an hour later, I hear a soft click.
At first, I don’t think much of it.
Probably someone closing a door somewhere.
But a strange feeling creeps over me anyway.
I stand up and walk toward my office door, reaching for the handle.
It doesn’t move.
I frown and try again.
Locked.
From the outside.
My heart skips.
“Hello?” I call, knocking lightly. “Is someone there?”
No response.
I knock harder, my voice rising. “Can someone open the door?”
Silence answers me.
A thin thread of panic begins to form in my chest.
My office is located toward the back of the building, separated from the main baking area and sales floor. Sound doesn’t travel well here.
I bang harder, calling out again and again.
Nothing.
My breathing quickens as I rush back to my desk, grabbing my phone.
Before I can dial anyone, it starts ringing.
Unknown number.
I hesitate.
Something about it feels wrong.
But when the caller ID changes and a familiar name appears, my blood runs cold.
Aunt.
My fingers tremble as I answer.
For a moment, there’s only silence.
Then laughter fills my ear.
Cold.
Cruel.
The sound sends chills down my spine.
“I hope you enjoy your new life in hell,” she says sweetly.
My stomach drops.
“I don’t understand—”
“Oh, don’t pretend,” she interrupts, her voice dripping with hatred. “Did you really think you could escape us? That you could live happily after everything?”
My mouth goes dry.
Then she says the words that shatter my world.
“Just like your parents did. We burned them alive in their car.”
The world stops.
My mind refuses to process it.
“We made it look like an accident,” she continues calmly. “And now it’s your turn. But don’t worry, baby girl… yours won’t be in a car.”
A pause.
“It’ll be right there in your little office.”
The call ends.
I stand frozen, phone still pressed to my ear.
They killed my parents.
The thought echoes again and again, drowning everything else out.
They killed my parents.
My knees weaken.
I don’t move.
I don’t think.
I just stand there, trapped in shock.
The first cough comes suddenly.
Sharp. Burning.
I blink, confused.
Smoke.
Dark smoke curls along the ceiling, thickening rapidly.
My heart slams against my ribs as reality crashes back in.
Fire.
Flames flicker near the doorway, spreading unnaturally fast.
Fear hits me all at once.
Raw and overwhelming.
I stumble backward, covering my mouth as the air grows hotter, harder to breathe.
And then—instinctively—my hand moves to my stomach.
A secret I’ve been holding for days.
A surprise I planned to tell Lucien tonight.
“No…” I whisper weakly. “Not now.”
Tears blur my vision.
I had imagined his reaction so many times. The way his eyes would widen. The way he would pull me into his arms.
You’re going to be a father.
The words I never got to say.
The smell from earlier suddenly makes sense.
Fuel.
I thought it was nothing. Just my heightened senses lately.
My hands shake as I try to dial for help, but my fingers feel numb. The phone slips from my grasp, clattering onto the floor.
Before I can reach it, flames crawl across the carpet, swallowing it completely.
A sob breaks from my chest.
Why me?
Why do they hate me this much?
Haven’t I suffered enough?
The heat intensifies, forcing me backward until my legs hit the wall.
For a moment, despair overwhelms me.
But then something inside me refuses to give up.
Not now.
Not when I finally have something to live for.
I rush into the small restroom attached to my office, turning on the tap. My hands move automatically as I soak my jacket in water and press it over my nose and mouth.
The air is slightly cooler here, but smoke seeps in relentlessly.
I sink to the floor, trembling.
“Please,” I whisper. “Someone… please.”
Time loses meaning.
Minutes feel like hours.
My throat burns with every breath. My lungs ache. The sound of crackling flames grows louder, closer.
The water suddenly sputters—and stops.
Panic surges again.
The fire reaches the door, orange light flickering through the cracks. Smoke pours inside, thick and suffocating.
My body feels heavy.
So tired.
The fight slowly drains out of me.
Tears stop coming.
Maybe this is how it ends.
My thoughts drift to Lucien.
To his smile. His laughter. The way he says my name.
I’m sorry.
I close my eyes, whispering a final prayer.
And then—
“Elara!”
The voice cuts through the chaos.
Familiar.
Desperate.
Lucien.
I try to respond, but no sound comes out.
Strong arms wrap around me, lifting me.
Or maybe I’m imagining it.
The world spins.
Darkness closes in.
And the last thing I hear before everything disappears…
is Lucien screaming my name.
- Writer
