Threads of Fate

Chapter 7: A Race Against the Flames

The phone rang sharply, jolting Lucifer from the uneasy silence of his penthouse living room. He clenched the phone tightly as he read the caller ID: Matteo.

Matteo was one of his closest confidants, a friend who had stood by him through wild parties, business deals, and even the occasional scrape with the law. Lucifer swiped to answer, already dreading what Matteo might have to say.

"You need to get to the farmhouse," Matteo's voice was tense, almost panicked.

"What now?" Lucifer groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"It's Maya," Matteo cut in sharply. "She's there. Celeste and her cronies spiked her drink and locked her inside. They're planning to burn the place down."

The words hit Lucifer like a physical blow. "What the—are you serious?"

"Dead serious. If you don't get there now, she's as good as gone."

Lucifer didn't wait to hear more. He grabbed his keys, stormed out of the penthouse, and jumped into his car, adrenaline flooding his system as he peeled out of the driveway. The roads leading there were narrow and winding, and now, during rush hour, clogged with impatient drivers and endless traffic.

Lucifer swerved onto the shoulder, weaving through honking cars and furious shouts. His sleek black car roared past slower vehicles, his mind racing faster than the engine.

Maya's face flashed in his mind—her sharp eyes, her exasperated glares, her rare but genuine smiles. The thought of her trapped, alone, and vulnerable stirred something primal within him. He floored the gas pedal, darting into the oncoming lane as headlights bore down on him.

"Out of my way!" he snarled, narrowly avoiding a collision.

By the time Lucifer reached the penthouse, the fire was already raging. Thick black smoke billowed into the night sky, illuminated by the flickering orange of the flames that devoured the wooden structure.

He slammed on the brakes, his car skidding to a stop just yards from the burning building. Without hesitation, he bolted toward the farmhouse, ignoring the searing heat and the acrid stench of smoke.

Inside, the scene was chaos. The air was thick with choking smoke, and the fire crackled menacingly as it consumed the furniture and walls. Lucifer covered his mouth with his sleeve, his eyes scanning the room desperately.

"Maya!" he shouted, his voice hoarse from the heat. There was no response.

Lucifer forced his way through the blazing interior, the soles of his shoes crunching on charred debris. He found her in a back room, slumped against the wall like a broken doll. Her eyes were closed, her face pale, and her breaths—if there were any—were imperceptible.

"Maya!" he shouted again, dropping to his knees beside her. He shook her shoulders gently at first, then with growing desperation.

Her skin was alarmingly cold, and the faint sweet smell of whatever had been used to spike her drink still lingered on her breath. Lucifer's heart thundered in his chest.

"No, no, no," he muttered, scooping her up into his arms. "Not like this." He carried her out of the farmhouse, navigating the collapsing hallways and dodging falling beams. The flames seemed to mock him, roaring louder with every passing second.

Outside, the cool night air felt like a slap to his face. Lucifer laid Maya down on the grass a safe distance from the farmhouse, his hands trembling as he checked for a pulse.

Nothing. His heart sank, but he refused to give up. "Come on, Maya," he muttered, tilting her head back and starting chest compressions. "You're not leaving me like this."

He counted each compression aloud, his voice growing more frantic with every passing second.

"1... 2... 3..."

Still nothing.

"Damn it!" He leaned down, pinched her nose shut, and breathed into her mouth. The contact sent a jolt through him, but he forced himself to focus. "Breathe, damn you," he growled, repeating the process.

Minutes felt like hours. The penthouse continued to burn behind him, the flames reflecting in his eyes as he fought to save her.

Lucifer's mind raced as he worked. For the first time in his life, he felt truly powerless. Money, charm, connections—none of it mattered here. Maya's life was slipping away, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

"Don't you dare die on me," he said through gritted teeth, his voice cracking. "You're too stubborn for that." He gave her another breath, then another. Her chest rose and fell under his hands, but still, she didn't wake.

Lucifer sat back, his hands trembling as he stared down at her lifeless form. A lump rose in his throat, and for the first time in years, tears pricked his eyes.

"This isn't how it ends," he whispered, his voice barely audible.

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