Chapter 249: It's on Fire
Chapter 249: It's on Fire
Vivian stared at the access card in her hand, disbelief etched on her face, then looked at Neil.
"Why are you helping me?"
"Helping you?" Neil sneered. "I'm not helping you. I didn't see anything, and I never met you. I just want to watch a good show."
With that, Neil whistled and swaggered away.
Vivian gripped the access card tightly, her knuckles turning white.
Even God was on her side.
Phoebe, Noah, Larry—
Your time is up.
Weekend, The White Mansion.
Luxury cars rolled through the gates, filling the spacious courtyard to capacity.
This was a big day for the White family.
Larry had put out word that he was hosting a family banquet today and would officially announce Noah and Phoebe's engagement.
A black Bentley pulled up smoothly at the main building entrance.
The car door opened, and Phoebe stepped out, one leg first.
She wore a loose, off-white long dress with a knit cardigan over it and flat shoes.
The socialites and wealthy ladies around her were all dressed in haute couture gowns and high heels, making her outfit look completely out of place.
Noah had some urgent business at the company and was dealing with it—he'd arrive later.
But no one cared what she wore. All eyes were fixed on her slightly rounded belly.
"Is that Phoebe from the Foster family?"
"She's the most important guest at the White family now. The baby in her belly is White family blood!"
"Lucky girl. Been to prison and still gets to marry into the White family—all because of that baby."
The whispers around her drilled into her ears.
Phoebe's face paled, and she instinctively placed a protective hand over her belly.
She didn't want to come. Even though Noah's attitude had changed recently, she still didn't want to marry him.
How could she forget years of humiliation and pain just like that?
But she had no choice.
An elderly voice rang out. "Phoebe, get out of the car."
Larry sat in a wheelchair, being pushed by the butler, waiting for her on the other side of the car door.
Though his hair had turned completely white, his eyes remained sharp. Standing there, the surrounding chatter instantly ceased.
"Mr. White." Phoebe called out softly and walked over, obediently gripping the wheelchair handles.
"Don't be afraid." Larry patted the back of her hand, his voice loud, deliberately letting everyone around hear. "I'm here. I'd like to see who dares give you attitude."
Phoebe pressed her lips together and could only nod. "I understand."
...
The hall was magnificent, with crystal chandeliers dazzling enough to make your eyes swim.
Servants weaved through the guests carrying champagne as people gathered in small groups, chatting and laughing.
Phoebe stayed by Larry's side the whole time.
Larry was determined to back her up, taking her everywhere he went, introducing her to everyone: "This is my future granddaughter-in-law, carrying my great-grandchild."
Phoebe knew that Larry's complete turnaround in attitude toward her was also just about interests.
Now that the Bell Group had collapsed, she, the former castaway Phoebe, had gained twenty percent of Foster Enterprises' shares.
What's more, she was carrying the White family's fourth generation in her belly.
Those White family relatives and White Group shareholders who usually looked down on everyone, seeing Larry's attitude, immediately put on smiling faces, fawning over Phoebe, almost treating her like royalty.
She could only smile mechanically, nod, and deal with all this fake concern.
"Tired?" Larry noticed her strain and pointed to the lounge area nearby. "Go sit for a while, have some fruit. Don't tire out my great-grandchild."
"Thank you, Mr. White."
Phoebe breathed a sigh of relief and quickly walked to the sofa in the corner to sit down.
She rubbed her aching left leg.
It was an old injury. Whenever it was rainy or she stood too long, the pain would drill through her bones.
She'd barely sat down for two minutes when she looked up and caught sight of a familiar figure in the crowd.
Neil.
Today he was dressed properly, holding a wine glass, but his eyes were shifty.
He wasn't listening to the person next to him at all. Instead, every ten seconds or so, he'd check his watch, then look up at the main hall entrance, occasionally glancing toward the second-floor staircase.
Phoebe frowned. Her instinct told her something was wrong.
"Ms. Foster, I'm Joshua's wife. We've met before." A woman in a red gown came over with a wine glass, blocking Phoebe's view.
Phoebe's train of thought was interrupted, and she could only respond politely, "Hello."
Just as she looked down, a man in a servant's uniform quietly slipped out from the shadows by the side door of the hall.
...
Larry was wheeled to the microphone in the center of the hall.
A hush fell over the room.
"Everyone." Larry cleared his throat, beaming. "I've invited you all here today for two happy occasions. First, to celebrate the White Group's quarterly performance. Second, and most importantly—"
He turned to look at Phoebe in the corner and beckoned. "Phoebe, come here."
Phoebe took a deep breath and, under everyone's gaze, walked step by step toward center stage.
Just as she was about to reach Larry's side—
A piercing electrical current suddenly exploded!
Then, a loud bang. The massive crystal chandelier overhead flickered twice and instantly went out.
Everything plunged into darkness.
"What's going on? Power outage?"
"Where's the backup power?"
The crowd immediately erupted in chaos, screams, and complaints mixing together.
Phoebe's heart jumped. The uneasy feeling grew stronger.
Without thinking, she lunged toward the wheelchair. "Mr. White! Are you alright?"
"Don't panic!" Larry, with all his experience, shouted sternly. "Everyone, stay calm! Someone go check the circuits!"
But before the butler could respond—
From the direction of the second floor came a sudden explosive roar!
Then a heat wave mixed with thick smoke came rushing down.
Red flames instantly lit up the second-floor corridor. The fire spread rapidly down the curtains and carpets.
"Fire! There's a fire!"
"Run!"
The hall descended into complete chaos.
The guests who had been so elegant moments ago now scrambled in panic, screaming as they rushed toward the main door.
Pushing, trampling, crying—the scene spiraled out of control.
"The door! The door won't open!"
"What's happening? It's locked?"
"The side door's locked too! The windows! Break the windows!"
"The windows are bulletproof glass—they won't break!"
Tearful shouts erupted from the crowd.
Phoebe coughed violently from the smoke, tears streaming down her face.
She gripped Larry's wheelchair tightly, trying to push him toward the kitchen—there was a back door there.
"Mr. White, cover your mouth and nose! We'll go this way!"
But there were too many people.
The crowd jostled her back and forth. Pregnant and with her weak left leg, she was hit hard by someone and fell to her knees.
Her knees struck the marble floor. The pain was excruciating.
"Phoebe!" Larry shouted anxiously, trying to reach for her.
Just then, two figures rushed over from the side.
It was Neil and his father, Brian.
Brian's face was covered in sweat. He shoved Phoebe out of the way. "Get lost! Don't block the way!"
Phoebe was pushed and rolled across the floor, her hand cut by broken glass.
"Brian! That's your father!" Phoebe shouted.
Neil glanced back at Larry in the wheelchair, his eyes flickering. "We're all going to die—who cares about grandpa! Dad, let's go! The fire's coming!"
"You bastards! You two bastards!" Larry shook with rage, grabbing his cane to strike, but couldn't reach them.
Brian didn't even look back. Dragging Neil along, he kicked a woman out of the way and disappeared into the smoke.
The fire grew fiercer.
The wooden handrail on the second floor had burned through, and burning pieces of wood kept falling down.
The temperature in the hall was terrifyingly high, the air so thin it was suffocating.
Phoebe struggled to get up from the floor.
"Mr. White." She lunged forward, pushing the wheelchair, gritting her teeth. "I'll get you out."
But fire and smoke were everywhere.
Where was the way out?