Chapter 185: A Fight to the Death
The main hall of Lincoln Center was packed. Crystal chandeliers refracted brilliant light onto the runway, where fashion editors, buyers, and celebrities from around the globe squeezed together. The air was thick with the scent of expensive perfume and a restless, underlying anticipation.
Suddenly, the lights dimmed, leaving only a single spotlight on the stage entrance. Instead of the usual upbeat electronic music, a low, haunting cello solo filled the room.
Evelyn walked out barefoot. She hadn’t hired models; she wore the finale piece of the "Origins" collection herself. The black velvet was like liquid midnight draped over her body, the train trailing behind her embroidered with silver thread and black diamonds in the shape of massive irises.
These flowers weren't in full bloom. They were curled and charred, as if scorched by fire, yet they stretched their petals stubbornly from the ashes. The visual impact was devastating.
Professor Hayes sat in the front row, a satisfied smile touching her lips as she watched Evelyn. "That's it," she whispered.
The audience held its breath. With every step Evelyn took, the heavy train brushed against the runway with a soft, rustling sound. She held her chin high, her amber eyes staring at a point in the void as if declaring war on fate itself.
Just as she reached the end of the runway to strike her pose—
Zzz-zap!
A light overhead exploded with a loud pop, and the entire hall plunged into a sudden, dead silence. A second later, a piercing alarm shrieked through the air.
"Fire!" someone screamed.
Thick black smoke billowed from the ventilation shafts on both sides of the stage, accompanied by the acrid smell of burning chemicals. The dry ice machines had been swapped with accelerants. Tongues of fire licked up the curtains and climbed the steel rafters in seconds.
Chaos erupted. Screams, pushing, and the sound of falling chairs blended into a roar of panic.
"Evelyn!" Ryan’s voice cut through the madness. He charged onto the stage, leaping over the guest seats.
At that moment, several men in maintenance uniforms burst from backstage. They weren't carrying fire extinguishers—they had folding knives. They lunged toward Evelyn, who was still trapped on the stage.
"You want to die?"
A bloodthirsty light flashed in Ryan’s eyes. He grabbed Evelyn, shielding her behind him, and delivered a brutal side kick that snapped the lead attacker’s kneecap. The sound of bone cracking was swallowed by the noise.
"Stay close to me!" Ryan roared, wrapping his jacket over Evelyn’s head to protect her from the smoke. "Don't panic!"
Two more thugs closed in, their blades glinting in the firelight. Ryan didn't flinch. His moves were lethal. He caught one man’s wrist, snapped it backward to seize the knife, and drove it into the other man’s thigh. Blood sprayed onto Evelyn’s dress, merging with the black irises.
Boom!
The steel frame above the stage buckled under the heat, groaning as it collapsed, bringing down the burning curtains.
"Watch out!" Evelyn shoved Ryan aside.
A flaming piece of wood grazed her arm and smashed into the ground. Sparks scorched her skin, and a sharp shard sliced a deep gash into her left arm. Pain flared, but Evelyn bit her lip and didn't make a sound.
"Dammit!" Ryan saw the blood on her arm, his eyes turning a deep, vengeful red. He scooped her up, holding her with one arm while swinging a metal pipe he’d scavenged to clear a path. "Vincent! Blow the side door!"
The fire was spreading too fast. Lincoln Center had become a furnace. Smoke filled Evelyn’s lungs like grit, making every breath a searing agony.
"Over there! Don't let them escape!" the thugs shouted from behind. Marcus had hired hardened mercenaries this time. They weren't going to stop until they finished the job.
Trapped between the fire and the hunters, Ryan retreated to an emergency exit only to find the door padlocked from the outside with heavy chains.
"Hell." Ryan kicked the iron door, but it didn't budge. The thugs were closing in, grinning as they raised their weapons.
Evelyn struggled out of Ryan’s arms. Backed against a scalding wall, she reached under her skirt and pulled out her heavy fabric shears, gripping them tight. "I won't be a burden," she panted, her eyes fierce. "I'll take at least one of them with me."
Ryan glanced back at her. "Save your strength for the bedroom. This trash isn't worth your effort."
At that critical moment—
Thwip! Thwip! Thwip!
Several muffled gunshots from a silencer popped, precisely dropping the attackers with headshots. The locked iron door was then violently breached, crashing inward.
A team of men in black tactical suits swarmed in with professional precision, clearing a perimeter. An elderly man with white hair and a jagged scar across his face stepped through the debris. He walked up to Ryan and bowed slightly.
"Sir," he said, his voice respectful but firm. "I believe you need some assistance."
Ryan wiped blood from his face, squinting at the newcomer. "Albert? My father sent you?"
This was his adoptive father's most trusted lieutenant.
"Mr. Lawrence said a Lawrence heir can die on the battlefield, but never in a gutter," Albert said, gesturing toward the exit. "The cars are outside. Please, follow me."
They were escorted out of the inferno. Outside the plaza, a perimeter had been established, filled with the flashing lights of fire trucks and ambulances. Fresh air rushed into Evelyn’s lungs, making her cough violently. Ryan held her tight as a medic tended to the gash on her arm.
Suddenly, a massive digital screen on the skyscraper across the plaza flickered to life. The advertisements vanished, replaced by the grim, aging face of Marcus Lawrence. It was an emergency broadcast.
"I am Marcus Lawrence."
The man on the screen sat in a high-backed chair, his tone arrogant and cold. "I regret to announce that Ryan K. Lawrence has been stripped of all inheritance rights and banished from the family for conspiring with outsiders and attempting to embezzle family assets."
"As for the woman claiming to be a designer, Sophia Bell..." Marcus gave a cruel smile to the camera. "She is the root of all this chaos. I will use every means possible to hold her and her associates permanently accountable."
The crowd in the plaza erupted in murmurs. Evelyn watched the man on the screen, the pain in her arm keeping her mind razor-sharp. This was a declaration of war. A fight to the death.
Ryan wiped a smudge of soot from Evelyn’s cheek. He looked at the screen with a look of pure, destructive madness.
"Albert," Ryan said coldly. "Contact Washington. If he doesn't want me to be the heir, then I'll be the family's gravedigger." He looked down at the woman in his arms. "Are you scared?"
Evelyn gripped his hand, which was covered in blood and ash. Her amber eyes glowed in the firelight. "I'm only scared he'll live too long."