Chapter 145

Chapter 145

No response came from outside. Thick smoke poured through the room.

The commotion was impossible to miss, yet no one came. Cordelia found that strange—but there was no time to dwell on it.

She turned and rummaged through the clutter behind her. She remembered the clothing rack had a solid metal rod. If she could get it free, she could break down the door.

But the clothes on the rack were already ablaze. The metal was searing hot.

Cordelia touched it and jerked her hand back with a hiss.

Even so, she didn't hesitate. She clenched her jaw and forced the screws loose with her bare hands.

Bethel saw the burns blooming across Cordelia's fingers and grabbed her arm. "Are you trying to destroy your hands?"

Sweat streamed down Cordelia's forehead.

Whether it was from the pain or the heat, she couldn't tell anymore.

She managed a weak smile at Bethel, coughed hard, and said, "Mrs. Landry, stay back. I'm getting you out of here."

Bethel frowned. "Someone will come for us."

Cordelia had never been one to sit and wait for rescue. Putting your life in someone else's hands was a gamble she refused to take.

Besides, the fire had been burning for a while now and no one had shown up. Something about this felt wrong.

"Mrs. Landry, we can't just wait." As she spoke, Cordelia twisted the last screw free, seized the iron rod, and headed for the door.

---

When Logan arrived at the set, a crowd had already gathered outside.

He scanned the faces. No Cordelia. No Bethel.

He tried calling Cordelia's phone. It wouldn't connect.

He was heading toward the green room when someone stepped into his path.

Logan looked up. Bianca stood before him, smiling warmly. "Mr. Landry, what brings you here? Looking for Cordelia?"

She was soft-featured and approachable, radiating charm from every pore.

Logan wasn't charmed. His hands stayed in his pockets. "Ms. Johnson. Do you need something?"

Her smile stiffened for a fraction of a second. "No, I just thought there might be some misunderstanding between us. Because of Cordelia, I—"

Logan had no idea why she was blocking his way to ramble about this. Impatience sharpened his features. "There's no misunderstanding. We have nothing to do with each other. If there's nothing else, please move."

He was here for Cordelia. He was worried Bethel had cornered her somewhere. He needed to find her—now—and had zero patience for this.

Bianca's expression dimmed. She lowered her head. "I'm sorry..."

"Talking down to a woman like that isn't exactly a good look, Mr. Landry." A cold voice cut in from behind.

Bianca turned, her face brightening. Nathan was striding toward them, jaw set.

Logan cursed inwardly. Were these two tag-teaming him on purpose?

He tilted his head, a mocking smile curving his lips. "Why would I waste manners on someone who has a problem with my fiancée?"

Then he nodded, feigning realization. "Though I have to say, Mr. Foster—you've got manners for days. So many that you drove your own wife away. I'd never be that stupid."

Nathan's face went white with fury. "What did you just say?"

Logan scoffed. "Is something wrong with your hearing? Fine—I'll say it again. You're an idiot. That clear enough?"

Two lunatics stepping directly into his path. If he didn't tell them off, he'd be doing himself a disservice.

And where was Kaida? He'd been here long enough—she should've come out to meet him by now.

An uneasy feeling crawled under his skin. Logan was done entertaining these two. He sidestepped them and started walking.

Nathan blocked him, insisting on having it out.

"Is that smoke? Smells like something's burning."

Someone in the crowd shouted the words, and the atmosphere snapped taut.

"Fire! It's coming from the green rooms!"

Logan locked onto the word 'green room.' A vein pulsed at his temple. Dread slammed into him like a freight train.

He broke into a sprint.

He'd barely made it a few strides when a figure came staggering out of the smoke—stumbling, barely upright.

It was Bethel.

"Mom! What happened?" Logan rushed forward and caught her before she collapsed.

Bethel gripped his hand with what little strength she had left. Her voice was raw, barely a rasp. "Go... save Cordelia... fire... I couldn't... couldn't drag her out..."

The broken words hit Logan like a punch to the chest.

His blood ran cold. He handed Bethel off to the nearest crew member and charged into the fire.

Nathan moved to follow, but Bianca seized his arm. "Don't! It's too dangerous!"

Her face was tight with worry. She kept her voice low, soothing. "Mr. Landry is already in there. Cordelia will be fine."

"Get off me." Nathan shoved her aside without a second glance and ran toward the green room.

The director was already mobilizing a crew to fight the blaze.

The deeper they went, the thicker the smoke grew. Visibility dropped to almost nothing.

Logan shouted her name through the haze. "Cordelia!" He choked, coughed. "Cordelia, where are you? Answer me!"

"There!" Nathan pointed at a flash of red in the murk. Thank God Cordelia's costume today was red.

Logan followed his gesture and saw the figure crumpled at the end of the corridor.

She must have already lost consciousness. She lay face-down on the floor, completely still.

Both men raced toward her.

Logan reached her first. He pulled her up and saw her eyelashes trembling faintly against her closed eyes. Some of the terror crushing his chest eased—just barely.

She was alive. Alive was enough.

He swept her up in his arms.

Nathan didn't fight him for her. Getting out was all that mattered now.

Logan carried Cordelia out into the open air.

The moment Bethel saw Cordelia brought out safely, the relief overwhelmed her. She fainted.

---

Ambulances arrived within minutes and rushed both women to the hospital.

Because Cordelia had shielded her, Bethel had inhaled less smoke. She woke first.

When her eyes opened, Cordelia was still unconscious in the bed beside hers, utterly still.

"Bethel, you're awake."

Axel was at her bedside. The moment he saw her stir, he was on his feet, hands on her shoulders, searching her face. "Does anything hurt? I'll get the doctor."

Bethel was still groggy. She watched her husband rush out the door, then turned her head—and met her son's face, cold as a glacier.

"Mom. You're up." Logan's voice was flat.

Bethel opened her mouth. Pain flared in her throat.

"The doctor says you damaged your vocal cords. Don't try to talk for now."

Bethel pushed through the pain. "Cordelia?"

"She's okay. But the doctor says she inhaled a lot more smoke than you. Her condition is worse."

Anguish flickered across Bethel's eyes. "That girl... suffered for me."

"Now isn't the time for guilt." Logan's gaze was steel. "Mom—tell me. How did the green room suddenly catch fire?"