Chapter 165 Through Fire
Chapter 165 Through Fire
Dante's POV
The line went quiet.
"Grandfather."
"Yes. She knew. Found out about three years before she died."
"And?"
"And she had a breakdown." His voice was heavy. "She kept calling Richard by the wrong name. Kept saying 'James wouldn't do this to me.' We thought she was confused. Delusional."
She wasn't confused.
She'd replaced her dead boyfriend with Richard. And when Richard cheated, in her mind it wasn't Richard betraying her—it was James.
The perfect man she'd been mourning for years, destroying everything.
I hung up and sat alone with the truth.
My mother killed herself because she couldn't separate fantasy from reality anymore. Because the replacement she'd built her entire life around had finally revealed himself to be just a man.
---
I sat with that knowledge for two days.
Then the wedding announcement arrived.
An email. Formal. Elegant.
Julian Cross and Lorelei Bennett request the honor of your presence at their marriage ceremony.
Saturday, June 15th, 2:00 PM
The Sunny Hotel, Zurich
Two months away.
I stared at the screen until the words blurred.
I could tell her. I could call her right now and explain everything—that we're not related, that the first test was wrong, that we can—
But what if she didn't believe me? What if she thought I was making it up, grasping at straws?
She's already chosen Julian. Already built a life without you.
My hand found my thigh. Started tapping.
Let her go. Just let her go.
But I couldn't.
---
Saturday arrived with grey skies and the particular cold that came before summer rain.
I told myself I wouldn't go.
Told myself it was masochistic, pointless, would only make everything worse.
But at 8:47 PM the night before, I found myself booking a flight to Zurich. Direct. Eight hours. The only seat left was business class—I took it without thinking.
Just to see her one more time. Just to know she's really doing this.
The flight was a blur of turbulence and failed attempts at sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw her in that champagne silk dress from the announcement photo. Saw Julian's hand on her waist.
By the time we landed, my shoulder was stiff from sitting too long in one position. Eight weeks of physical therapy, countless follow-up appointments, and the scar tissue still protested when I moved wrong.
The rental car clerk looked at me like I was insane when I said I needed it immediately—no, I couldn't wait, yes I understood the premium rate.
At 12:30 PM local time, I sat in that rented Mercedes three blocks from the hotel, watching guests arrive through the windshield.
Designer dresses. Custom suits. The kind of people who belonged in Julian Cross's world.
My hands gripped the steering wheel. The leather was cold beneath my palms.
You flew eight hours for this. You could go in there. You could tell her the truth. You could—
What? Ruin her wedding? Destroy the safe life she'd built? Force her to choose between the man who'd saved her and the man who'd failed her?
She made her choice. Respect it.
---
At 1:00, I saw her.
A car pulled up to the entrance. The door opened.
And there she was.
Champagne silk. Hair up. Flowers in her hand.
She looked beautiful.
She looked terrified.
I watched her walk up the steps, watched her pause at the entrance like she was gathering courage, watched her take a breath and disappear inside.
My chest felt like someone had reached in and squeezed.
This is it. In thirteen minutes, she'll be Mrs. Julian Cross. And you'll be—
I didn't let myself finish the thought.
---
At 1:52, I smelled smoke.
At first, I thought it was coming from somewhere else. A restaurant. A food cart.
But then I saw it. Wisps of grey curling from a second-floor window.
Then more. Thicker. Darker.
Then flames.
Someone screamed.
The front doors burst open. People started pouring out. Running. Panicked.
I was out of the car before I understood what I was doing.
"Everyone out!" A security guard was shouting. "Building's being evacuated!"
I pushed through the crowd. Against the flow. Bodies pressing against me, shoving, trying to escape.
"Sir, you can't—"
I shoved past him.
Inside, the lobby was chaos. Smoke alarms screaming. Sprinklers raining down. People running in every direction, heels clicking on marble, men shouting into phones.
"Where's the wedding?" I grabbed someone's arm—a woman in a blue dress, her makeup already running from the sprinklers. "The Cross wedding—where?"
"Second floor Bridal suite—but sir, you need to—"
I was already running.
---
The stairs were filling with smoke. I pulled my jacket over my mouth and kept going, taking them two at a time.
The second-floor hallway was worse. Heat pressing down from above. The wallpaper already starting to peel.
The Bridal suite doors were open. Smoke pouring out like a living thing.
I could hear shouting inside. Crying. The crack and groan of wood beginning to give way.
"LORELEI!" I shouted into the smoke.
Nothing.
I went in.
---
The room was a disaster. Overturned chairs scattered across the floor. Flowers trampled underfoot. The ceiling was on fire—something electrical, spreading fast across the ornate molding.
Near the entrance, a security guard lay motionless—a massive decorative column had fallen across his chest, pinning him to the floor. Blood pooled beneath the marble. Another guard was slumped against the doorframe, his head at an unnatural angle, clearly struck by falling debris during the initial panic.
Bodies near the exit—people who'd been trampled in the rush, overcome by smoke. A man in a tuxedo trying to help a woman in a green dress. Neither of them was her.
"LORELEI!" I shouted again.
Nothing.
I moved deeper. The smoke was so thick I could barely see three feet ahead. My eyes were streaming. My lungs burned with each breath.
Then I saw white.
Her dress.
She was on the floor near the far wall, collapsed against an overturned table. Not moving. A walkie-talkie lay a few feet away, its static hiss barely audible over the roar of flames.
I ran.
Dropped to my knees beside her. Pressed my fingers to her neck.
Pulse. Weak. But there.
The walkie-talkie crackled to life.
"Lorelei? Lorelei, can you hear me?" Julian's voice, strained and urgent. "We're trapped in the east wing—beam came down, blocked the corridor. I'm trying to get through. Are you okay? Talk to me!"
She didn't respond. Couldn't.
"Lorelei." I shook her shoulder. "Wake up. We need to move."
Her eyes fluttered. Opened slightly.
Unfocused. Confused. Then recognition.
"Dante?" Her voice was barely a whisper. "How—"
"Don't talk. Save your strength."
I slid my arms under her—my right shoulder protesting but holding—and lifted.
She was so light. Too light.
"Hold on," I said. "Just hold on."
Her head fell against my shoulder.
Behind us, something massive crashed down. I turned—saw the altar collapsing in on itself, flames climbing the walls, the ceiling beginning to sag.
Move. Now.
I ran toward the exit, her weight nothing compared to the terror of losing her again.
The doorway was ahead. Ten feet. Five.
Then the beam fell.
---
I saw it coming—a split second of warning as the ceiling groaned.
Threw myself forward, twisting to take the impact on my back instead of on her.
The beam caught me across the shoulders. Pain exploded through my entire body.
I went down hard, Lorelei rolling out of my arms.
Get up. Get up. GET UP.
I pushed myself to my knees. My shoulder was screaming. My back felt like it had been split open.
Lorelei was three feet away, coughing, trying to breathe through the smoke.
I crawled toward her. Grabbed her arm. Pulled.
"Come on," I said through gritted teeth. "We're almost there."
She tried to stand. Couldn't. Her legs gave out.
I got my good arm around her waist and hauled her upright. Half-dragging, half-carrying her toward the door.
Five feet. Three. One.
We burst through into the hallway. The air was clearer here. I could breathe.
But the stairs—
The stairs were gone. Collapsed. Just a gaping hole where they used to be.
"Fire escape," Lorelei gasped. "There's—window—"
She pointed down the hall with a shaking hand.
I looked. Saw the window at the far end. Saw the metal stairs beyond it.
"Can you walk?"
"I think—"
Another crash behind us. The Bridal suite's ceiling was coming down.
"Move!"
We ran.
Well—I ran. She stumbled beside me, my arm around her waist, both of us coughing, choking on smoke.
The window was stuck.
I kicked it. Once. Twice. On the third kick, the glass shattered.
I knocked out the remaining shards with my elbow, not caring about the cuts, and climbed through.
"Come on," I said, reaching back for her. “ Are you okay?”