The flames crackled in front of me, and the heat from the fire felt like a slap against my skin, but it didn’t compare to the burning ache inside my chest. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the studio as smoke billowed into the air, consuming everything I had worked for. My legs wobbled, and for a second, I thought I might collapse right there on the pavement.
Clara hovered beside me, her face streaked with tears, as helpless as I was. “Anna, I’m so sorry,” she whispered again, her voice barely audible over the commotion.
I couldn’t respond. My throat felt tight, and the weight of everything pressed down on me. The loss of the studio was too raw, too painful to even form words. This wasn’t just a fire—it was destruction. Of my hard work, my dreams, my identity.
“Anna…” Dexter’s voice cu
