Chapter 160 Fire in the building
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After minutes of chatting with Charlotte and a few passing guests, my nerves twist tighter and tighter. Hermes still hasn’t come back. Even Charlotte—who normally knows everything before it happens—shrugs helplessly.
"He’s the host," she says. "He’s probably doing something CEO-ish."
But that doesn’t calm me. Not when Father told me to observe, and Hermes has been gone for too long.
My tongue feels dry. I force myself not to chew on my manicure. Did Father… Did he take Hermes? No. No, he wouldn’t. That would ruin everything.
A tap lands on my shoulder and I whip around sharply.
It’s Hermes.
Relief floods me so fast my knees almost buckle. I grab his arm instinctively.
"Where were you?" I whisper, breathless, afraid my voice will crack.
Hermes sighs softly, brushing it off. "I’m sorry. Paul wanted to review some arrangements and I had to be there."
I nod instantly. That makes sense. Hermes has to oversee everything tonight. There was nothing strange. Nothing alarming.
My pulse finally begins to settle—
until the speakers chime and the announcer’s voice fills the hall.
"Ladies and gentlemen, it is now time for the opening dance."
Tradition. The hosts always begin the dance together. My heart leaps in my chest. I tighten my grip on Hermes’s hand, ready to step onto the dance floor with him—
But he slips his arm away.
"One moment," he murmurs, already turning from me.
My face falls. I watch him walk—confident, steady, purposeful—straight toward the podium.
What is happening?
Was he…?
Was he going to propose now?
He takes the microphone from the event coordinator and faces the crowd.
"Hello distinguished ladies and gentlemen," Hermes begins. "Thank you all for joining us at this exclusive gala. While I apologize for interrupting the dance portion of the night, I promise it will be worth your time."
My heart flutters wildly. Charlotte squeezes my arm as I lean into her slightly, butterflies exploding in my stomach. I refuse to glance at my father. He’ll ruin this moment. He always ruins moments.
Hermes continues, "Earlier, I mentioned that tonight would include a big surprise. And now, it’s time."
My breath stalls.
This is it.
This is it.
"Please come up here—"
I beam.
I step forward, lifting the hem of my dress.
This was it. This was finally—
—I hear whispers ripple through the crowd. Gasps, murmurs, and heads turning.
I freeze mid-step and turn to see what everyone is staring at.
Uncle Lucien. Wait– What? Uncle Lucien!
He is walking slowly—very slowly—supported by Paul. His posture is stiff, but his eyes are too, not like someone recovering or someone sick.
My heart plummets.
No.
No.
No.
I was wrong.
Hermes knows.
I spin toward the crowd and instantly spot my father—phone pressed to his ear, expression tightening. He’s making a call.
I whip back toward the stage just as Hermes hands the microphone to Uncle Lucien.
My blood runs cold.
Before Lucien can say a word, the fire alarm shrieks through the hall.
Screams erupt, lights flash red, and unfamiliar security guards swarm inside, shouting:
"There’s a fire in the building! Everyone outside—move!"
Bodies push and rush toward exits. Confusion ripples through the room, disorienting, chaotic.
Charlotte grabs my arm. "Natalya—come on!"
But my father’s hand clamps onto my wrist, his voice low and sharp.
"Stay inside girl."
My breath lodges in my throat.
I stare at him—at his cold eyes, his grip tightening.
My gaze darts wildly around the room. My heart drops.
Is this… Father’s doing?
His plan? His trap? His mess unraveling in real time?
And Hermes—
Hermes is standing right there, visibly confused.
What has Father done?
In minutes, everyone had evacuated, leaving just a handful of bodyguards, my father, Hermes, and Uncle Lucien.
"What’s going on, Father?" I asked, my voice trembling as dizziness crept over me.
My father shoved me aside, stepping in front of Hermes and Lucien. "Nobody leaves this room. There are bombs planted at every corner of the building," Dominic said, his hand sweeping the space around us.
I froze, my eyes widening. Bombs? That was… too much.
"You play well, boy," Dominic continued, shaking his head slowly, "but you’re not as smart as your father."
I couldn’t hold back. I rushed toward him, voice rising, "Papa, no! Don’t go that far. We can handle—"
Before I could finish, a sharp, sudden impact hit the back of my head.
Pain exploded across my skull. My vision blurred, the room tilting and spinning, air escaping my lungs.
"Natalya," a voice called out—urgent, familiar—before the darkness claimed me.