Threads of Fate

Chapter 6: Flames of Malice

The photograph began circulating early in the morning, a simple yet damning image. Maya and Lucifer stood side by side on a Venetian bridge, the golden sunlight catching the edges of their figures. While Maya's expression was serious, focused on the notebook in her hand, Lucifer's casual smirk hinted at something deeper. The angle of the photo and their undeniable chemistry painted a picture far more intimate than reality.

By midday, the photograph was on every student group chat. Speculation ran wild.

"Are they dating?"

"Did you see how close they looked?"

"Lucifer's moved on again?!"

Maya was oblivious to the storm brewing on social media. She was too engrossed in her project, finalizing presentations with meticulous care. It wasn't until a classmate hesitantly approached her during lunch that she learned of the uproar.

"Maya, you're... trending," the girl said awkwardly, showing her the photo.

Maya's stomach dropped. "What the hell?" she whispered, her face heating up. She knew how vicious college gossip could be, but this was worse.

The photograph was a trigger, reigniting old rivalries and jealousies among Lucifer's past and present flames. His ex-girlfriend Celeste, who prided herself on her on-and-off relationship with Lucifer, saw red.

"That little nobody thinks she can replace me?" she hissed, glaring at the photo.

Across the room, a group of equally envious girls nodded in agreement. They had all tasted the charm of Lucifer St. Clair, only to be discarded like accessories he no longer needed. Maya's sudden rise to attention was an insult they wouldn't tolerate.

Celeste leaned forward, her perfectly manicured nails tapping on the glass of wine in front of her. "She needs to be taught a lesson. Something she'll never forget."

A younger girl in the group hesitated. "Do you think Lucifer will care?"

Celeste smirked. "Oh, he won't even notice. He's probably too busy chasing another skirt right now."

The plan was hatched over drinks and venomous laughter. Celeste's family owned a construction company, and she had access to several properties—including a penthouse in the city. A few whispered favours later, the trap was set.

Maya wasn't sure why she'd been invited to the party that night. It wasn't her scene, but the message had come from a girl she vaguely knew from her college's event committee. "Networking, maybe," Maya thought.

The penthouse was luxurious, sprawling across an entire floor of a high-rise. The interiors were modern and sleek, with floor-to-ceiling windows offering panoramic views of the city. The scent of expensive perfumes mingled with the sharp aroma of champagne.

Maya felt out of place but remained polite, her natural curiosity pushing her to explore the space. However, something felt off. The host, a girl she'd barely spoken to before, was overly accommodating, ushering Maya to the quieter upper level with vague promises of meeting "important people."

The unease grew as the party raged below. Maya was alone on the top floor when the faint smell of smoke reached her nose.

Miles away, in the sprawling vineyard estate of one of his family's business partners, Lucifer was fully occupied. The room was bathed in dim light, the air thick with the scent of wine and sex. His current girlfriend, a heiress named Margot, lay tangled in the silk sheets beside him.

Lucifer's phone buzzed on the nightstand, but he ignored it. He was far too distracted to care about whatever trivial notification had come through.

"Don't tell me you're getting bored of me already," Margot teased, trailing her fingers across his chest.

Lucifer smirked lazily. "Never."

The smoke grew thicker, curling ominously into the air. Maya's first instinct was to head for the stairs, but when she opened the door, she was met with an inferno. Flames licked up the walls, fueled by the sleek, modern furniture that had once screamed luxury.

She slammed the door shut, coughing as the acrid smoke filled her lungs. Panic clawed at her throat as she realized she was trapped. The room had no exit except for the large window that overlooked the city skyline.

Frantic, she grabbed her phone, dialling emergency services with shaking hands.

"Fire... penthouse... 12th floor," she rasped, her voice barely audible through her coughing.

Her thoughts raced. How had this happened? Why wasn't anyone helping her? Then it hit her—the suspicious invitation, the host who had vanished, the locked stairwell. This wasn't an accident. "Someone did this on purpose."

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