I fell into a solid, warm embrace.
"Margot!" Leland's voice trembled in my ear, raw and ragged.
I lifted my head and saw the red rims of his eyes.
He said nothing else, simply wrapped me tightly in his coat and carried me to the waiting car.
The vehicle roared away, leaving behind the blazing inferno and wailing sirens.
I stole a glance at the villa engulfed in flames, the place where my love and hatred had died twice over.
From now on, it had nothing to do with me.
The fire had left everything in utter chaos.
Ian stood frozen, staring at the red figure vanishing into the fire.
His mind blank.
"Margot…" he muttered, disbelief catching in his throat.
"Sir! Move! The place is about to collapse!" a bodyguard shouted, rushing forward to drag him away.
"Get out of my way!"
Ian shoved him aside and lunged toward the inferno like a man gone mad.
"Margot! Come back! I won't let you die!" he roared, his voice cracked, raw with fear and desperation even he hadn't noticed.
Several guards had to hold him down, their arms straining against his fury.
"Let me go! I'm going to save her!" he shouted.
A burning beam collapsed right in front of him, completely blocking his path into the blaze.
He could only watch as the flames devoured everything in his line of sight.
"No!" he screamed, voice shattering, then collapsed, rigid.
By the time the fire was finally extinguished, it was already the early hours of the next morning.
The once-gilded villa had turned into a blackened ruin.
When Ian up, he ignored the doctors' protests and, despite his injuries, rushed to the scene.
He was like a man possessed, wandering through the ruins, calling my name over and over.
"Margot... Margot... "
No one answered.
Eventually, the forensic team uncovered a charred body beneath a pile of smoldering debris.
Clutched in its arms was a deformed box.
When Ian saw the charred body, he completely broke down.
He staggered forward, collapsing onto his knees in the ashes with a thud.
He reached out, wanting to touch the corpse, but couldn't bring himself to.
His hands shook violently. Then, beside the charred remains, he saw a flash of red.
It was a corner of the skirt, half-burned.
The red dress he hated the most.
He slumped onto the ground, clutching that scorched fragment in his palm.
The coarse fabric dug into his hand, sharp and unforgiving.
He lowered his head and clawed at the dirt with all ten fingers until his nails tore, blood streaming down.
For the first time, he felt his heart being ripped out of his chest. The pain was so raw that it stole his breath.
