Chapter 611 Your Mom Is Still Up There

Chapter 611 Your Mom Is Still Up There

James dove headfirst into the smoke-filled building and vanished from sight in an instant.

"Is that guy out of his mind?"

"Seriously, there's wood and paint everywhere — if that catches, there won't even be bones left."

"Young people are so reckless. No matter how important something is, you don't just run into a burning building like that."

The people who had escaped watched in shock as someone pushed against the crowd and rushed into the flames.

They were still shaken from their own close call. They knew firsthand how suffocating and overwhelming the fire was.

When the fire first broke out, they had barely made it out alive. Now the flames were at their peak, and James charging back in was no different from a death wish.

To everyone watching, James had lost his mind — gambling with his own life.

"James, there's still someone up—"

Nearby, Reese rushed out to shout something at James, but a plastic bucket fell from the third floor and hit her square on the head.

She stumbled, blood streaming down her face, and passed out.

Several employees rushed over to help her up.

"James! James!"

"Someone help — Ms. Smith is still inside!"

"Call the fire department! Call the fire department!"

Poppy had no time to stop James. All she could do was stomp her feet and shout, then scramble to organize a rescue effort and call for the fire trucks.

James knew he was putting himself in danger, but his fear for Mary drowned everything else out.

No matter what, he wasn't going to let Mary die in that fire.

He tore off a strip of his shirt, soaked it in water, and pressed it over his nose and mouth.

In a fire, many people don't die from the flames — they go down from the smoke and the heat.

Boom—

James had barely made it to the staircase when a bucket of burning paint came pouring down, bringing a roaring wave of heat and blinding red light.

He bent low and threw himself sideways, barely dodging the splashing fire.

A few drops of hot paint hit him on the back. He couldn't help but wince — it had clearly burned his skin.

But he didn't stop. He kept moving, pushing himself upward.

The building was engulfed in flames, but the dark sky and thick black smoke made it hard to see. Some spots were so dark he couldn't see his hand in front of his face.

Still, he pushed up floor by floor, calling out Mary's name over and over, afraid he might pass her by.

By the time he reached the seventh floor, he had called her name dozens of times with no response.

He smashed open a fire cabinet, grabbed two extinguishers, and blasted the flames ahead of him.

Once he cleared a few fires, his visibility improved and his hearing sharpened.

Mmm—

He caught a faint sound coming from a room on the east side and ran toward it, extinguisher in hand.

Bang—

He reached the east room, sprayed down the fire around the door frame, and kicked the charred wooden door open.

A wave of heat hit him. Burning papers swirled toward him.

He sidestepped them and put out a few more fires inside the room.

"Mary! Mary!"

He shouted through the thick smoke.

Cough, cough…

A weak voice came from the corner of the room:

"I… I'm here…"

James felt a rush of relief. He dropped the empty extinguisher and ran toward the sound.

He pulled out his phone and turned on the flashlight. The room came into focus.

Mary was slumped in a corner, her ankle twisted, a scaffold frame pinning her down. Her face was tight with pain and her breathing was shallow.

Her left hand had been cut by a nail and was bleeding.

James rushed over, calling her name in a low voice. He shoved the scaffold off her, used a silver needle to stop the bleeding, then tore another strip from his shirt, dampened it with water from a nearby cup, and wrapped it around her nose and mouth.

Feeling the warmth of his hands, Mary forced her eyes open. A flicker of relief crossed her face — then her usual cool expression returned.

"What are you doing here? Trying to get yourself killed?"

She coughed. "The fire's too bad. People die in this. Just go. My ankle's twisted — I can't move."

As someone who had run the company through several fire drills, she knew exactly how hard it was to escape a fire like this.

James could make it out on his own — she was sure of that. But carrying her would make everything unpredictable.

She didn't want him risking his life for her again.

"Shut up."

James didn't hold back. "Whether you live or die isn't your call. It's mine."

Something stirred inside Mary. She wasn't used to seeing James like this — so forceful, so certain.

"Don't move."

He pulled off her stockings without hesitation — in a fire, stockings could melt onto skin and destroy her legs.

Then he hoisted her onto his back, tied her to him using the stockings, and grabbed a wooden plank before heading out the door.

Pressed against his back, breathing in his familiar scent, feeling the solid weight of his shoulders — Mary, who was never one to show weakness, felt tears slide down her face before she could stop them.

This man, the one she had hurt so many times, always seemed to show up when she needed him most.

And he never complained. Not once.

Mary suddenly felt the weight of everything she owed him — more than she could ever repay in a lifetime.

If she made it out of this alive, she was going to make it right.

She made herself that promise.

Bang!

A sharp crack split the air. The ceiling in the hallway gave way.

Burning planks came crashing down toward James and Mary.

Mary didn't flinch. She didn't try to dodge. Instead, she shifted her body to shield James's head.

She was going to take the hit for him.

Thud—

But before she could brace herself, James had already swung the plank and knocked the debris away.

Then he sidestepped a live wire that came swinging toward him — though his face caught a spray of ash and soot.

His vision blurred.

Mary reached up and wiped his face.

"I'm fine. Just hold on tight."

James said it quietly, then swung the plank to clear a path and felt his way to the staircase from memory.

The way down was blocked by burning debris at every turn. The railings were warped and scorching hot. But James didn't slow down. He carried her and pushed hard toward the lower floors.

Ignoring the burns, he made it down to the fourth floor in one push — then stopped.

The staircase below was completely blocked. Dozens of paint cans had melted across the path, and the flames were roaring and blinding. Getting close was impossible, let alone pushing through.

Boom—

James had just stepped back a few feet when a room beside him exploded.

The blast shook the doors and windows. Debris flew everywhere. A massive ball of fire burst out.

James shielded Mary and moved fast, but the flying debris still hit him, sending pain shooting through his body.

What is in that room? he thought. That went off like a bomb.

"The third floor used to be a wine showroom," Mary said, her face going pale.

"That was just a sample room. The room across the hall has dozens of cases of wine stored in it."

She added: "And a lot of unfiltered spirits."

James sucked in a sharp breath and looked toward the storage room down the hall.

Through the smoke, he couldn't see clearly — but he could make out the security door, its lock cracking apart in the heat.

This is bad.

Bang—

His eyes snapped wide. Without a word, he bolted into the sample room.

He ignored the burning liquor and broken glass on the floor, sprinted forward, and threw himself through the shattered floor-to-ceiling window.

At the same time, he reached back and pulled the stockings loose from around Mary.

Boom!

The glass exploded outward. James and Mary dropped from the fourth floor.

On the ground below, Poppy and the others saw it happen. Hands flew to mouths.

The security guards manning the water hoses stared open-mouthed — none of them had expected James to jump.

A fall from the fourth floor like that — even if it didn't kill him, it would break him.

Everyone held their breath.

Mid-air, James spun Mary around to face him, pulled her close, then flung his left hand out — the stockings caught a section of water pipe.

Snap!

The stockings couldn't hold their combined weight. They snapped in two almost instantly.

But it was enough to slow their fall for just a moment — and then they hit the grass.

Thud—

James held Mary tight and took the impact on his back.

A mouthful of blood came up.

Mary saw the pain flash across his face.

Poppy and the others cried out.

Medical staff rushed over.

"James! James!"

Mary threw her arms around him, tears streaming down her face. "You have to be okay. Please be okay…"

It was the first time she had ever felt this kind of panic over him — the panic of almost losing someone.

Cough, cough…

James coughed a few times, then wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth.

"Relax. I'm fine. I can handle this."

If he hadn't been holding Mary — trying to protect her from the impact — he could have landed from the fourth floor without a scratch.

So yes, his back felt like it had been taken apart, and he had coughed up blood. But it was still within what he could manage.

"You're spitting blood and you call that fine?"

Mary was both frantic and heartbroken. "Why did you take the whole hit yourself?"

"Your skin is too delicate," James said with a slight smile. "If you got hurt, I'd have to be the one treating you. Too much trouble."

"Get out of here."

Mary snapped at his grin — then, before she could stop herself, she leaned in and kissed his bloodstained lips.

James's mind went blank.

It wasn't the first time Mary had kissed him. But it was the first time he had felt something real in it.

Something in this woman was quietly changing.

Poppy ran over and saw them together. She felt a pang — but also something close to happiness. She held back the medical staff, giving them a moment.

"This is bad. This is really bad."

Just then, Reese — hand pressed to her head, being helped along by someone — called out to Mary in a panic:

"Mary, your mom is still in the third-floor conference room."

"What?"

"My mom is still up there?"

"Wasn't she with you?"

Mary and Poppy both froze, then turned to stare at Reese.

James went still, then quickly pieced it together.

That afternoon, Reese had brought Addison to the building, hoping to use her as leverage to pressure Mary into giving her a role in the new project.

Mary had remembered James's warning and refused to budge. Things got ugly fast.

Addison had thrown a fit — crying, making a scene.

Mary had ignored it all and gone up to the seventh floor to clear her head. Reese and Addison had stayed behind in the third-floor conference room with their coffee.

When the fire broke out, the explosion was sudden and terrifying. The flames spread fast and created a draft that pulled everything inward. Reese had stepped out to see what was happening and got swept up in the crowd fleeing downstairs.

It was only once she was outside that she remembered Addison was still in the conference room.

She had seen James run in and wanted to shout for him to grab Addison on his way — but the plastic bucket knocked her out before she could get the words out. She had only just come to.

"Aunt Reese, you absolute piece of work."

Mary couldn't hold it in. She slapped Reese across the face.

"You dragged my mother here to play your power games, and when things went wrong, you left her there and ran. What kind of person are you?"

She turned and looked up at the building, still pouring black smoke into the sky.

Her face fell.