A deafening crash ripped through the ballroom.
The glass curtain wall imploded, showering the room in sparks and shards, followed by a violent explosion. Flames erupted, and thick, acrid smoke billowed toward us, the air choking with the smell of burning silk and blood.
Chaos erupted as guests screamed and scattered. Someone slammed into me from behind, and the shockwave knocked me off my feet. A splintered table leg pierced my thigh, the pain searing through me.
I struggled to rise, but a fleeing guest trampled me, their heel digging into my back. The pressure on my lungs made me gag, the coppery taste of blood filling my mouth.
"Ronan! Save me!" I rasped.
Through the swirling smoke, I saw him, just a few meters away, holding Bianca protectively.
He looked at me for a split second, a flicker of hesitation in his eyes.
Then Bianca buried her face in his chest, shrieking, "The fire is too big! I'm so scared! We'll die if we don't leave!"
The hesitation vanished. He scooped her into his arms, wrapped his suit jacket around her, and sprinted for the exit.
As he passed, I desperately reached out, my fingers brushing against his pant leg.
He kicked my hand away.
The hard leather of his custom-made shoe smashed against the back of my bleeding hand. A scream tore from my throat as my vision swam with tears.
"You're strong enough to handle this!" His voice was glacial. "Bianca is a guest. I can't let anything happen to her. You've always been the strong one."
Strong. The word cut deeper than any blade.
The flames roared higher. The massive chandelier overhead groaned and crashed to the floor. A stray spark landed on my dress, and the fabric ignited.
The family's Soldati scrambled past, dragging their own loved ones to safety. I was left behind like a piece of trash, broken and forgotten.
"Juliet! Juliet!" Ava's frantic voice cut through the chaos.
She knelt beside me, her eyes falling to my leg, and her face contorted in fury. "That bastard! That absolute bastard Ronan!"
The family's Consigliere, Finn, appeared at my side. He shrugged off his suit jacket, smothering the flames on my dress before hooking an arm under mine and hauling me to my feet. I glanced toward the end of the hall—it was empty. Ronan was long gone.
At the exit, Finn barked orders, his men clearing a path. No wasted words, just decisive action. He wrapped an ice pack in a clean napkin and pressed it gently against my burned hand.
"A cold compress for now. The doctor is on his way." His hands were steady, his touch firm but gentle. The simple warmth radiating from his hand was more real than anything Ronan had offered me in eight years.
As Finn's men helped me into a car, I saw Ronan's bulletproof sedan pulling away. Bianca was in the passenger seat, nursing a trivial scratch on her arm. She leaned against him, whispering, "Thank God you were there. I would have been so terrified without you."
He stroked her hair. "Don't worry. As long as I'm with you, no one can hurt you."
Their car sped past ours. He never rolled down the window, never even glanced in our direction.
I closed my eyes. Eight years of devotion, reduced to ash in the roar of an explosion.
