He didn’t catch the meaning behind my words. He was too busy fussing over Daphne, completely blind to what I was really planning.

When we got to the car, Daphne was quick to reach for the front passenger door like she owned it. But Marshall grabbed her arm gently and stopped her.

“Hold on, Daphne,” he said, then turned to me with a small, hopeful smile. “Liora, maybe you should take the front seat.”

“No way. I get so dizzy sitting in the back.” Daphne pouted, throwing a little fit. “Our baby was making me feel awful lately, Marshall.”

I rolled my eyes.

Marshall looked stuck between us, clearly trying to figure out how to keep us both happy.

“It’s okay,” I said coldly. “Let her have the front.” Marshall started to protest, but I cut him off. “I said it’s fine. Let her sit up front. I don’t care.”

There was a heavy silence. Daphne beamed like she won, and Marshall frowned but didn’t argue.

I slid into the backseat, my whole body aching, but I said nothing. Leaning my head against the cold window, I stared outside like I wasn’t really there.

After a few minutes, Daphne began her usual game, hoping to get a reaction out of me.

She rested her hand on Marshall’s thigh, her fingers slowly tracing circles. I didn’t bother looking, but from the corner of my eye, I caught her glancing back at me with this smug little smirk.

Marshall stiffened immediately. “Daphne,” he muttered under his breath, moving her hand away.

“What?” she said, innocent as ever.

When he said nothing more, she tried again, this time moving her fingers higher.

“I said stop!” Marshall snapped, his voice sharper now.

She flinched and suddenly tears welled up in her eyes. She turned away and began quietly sobbing into her hands.

“Why are you yelling at me?” she whimpered, “I’m carrying child, Marshall. And you’re yelling at me?”

Marshall sighed, his expression softening as he ran a hand through his hair. “Sorry, alright? I didn’t mean to yell. Just... not when she’s here.”

He never said my name. Like I was invisible, like I didn’t exist back there.

Daphne sniffled, then leaned forward to rummage through the glove box. “Just looking for tissues,” she said quietly.

What she pulled out was definitely not tissues.

It was a small piece of lace bright red panties. She giggled, holding them up like a trophy.

“Oh, Marshall,” she said playfully. “Remember when we couldn’t make it to the hotel? You just pulled me into your lap right here in the car.”

“That’s enough,” Marshall said sharply without looking at her.

“Oh, relax,” Daphne rolled her eyes. “Liora gets it. Hormones make you crazy. Lucky you’re here to help.”

She slid her hand back onto Marshall’s thigh. This time, he didn’t move it away.

Marshall glanced in the rearview mirror and our eyes met for a split second. I looked away before he could see the storm inside me.

Once, that same glance could melt me.

I still remember the first time we met. It was at a charity dinner my parents were hosting… he’d been a last-minute guest, filling in for some investor who’d backed out. He’d stood there in his dark suit, tall, broad-shouldered, with that half-smile.

“Do you always stare at people this way?” he’d asked me, and I’d been too stunned to answer. Later that night, he walked me to my car and kissed me under the moon. Back then, he didn’t just look at me, he saw me.

For the first two years, he treated me like I was the only woman in the world. No matter how busy his work got, he always showed up at the vineyard for Friday night dinners, always made sure my glass was full, always asked if I’d eaten. Sometimes, we’d sneak away into the vines, laughing like teenagers.

Then Daphne came back.

She’d been abroad for “architecture school” a term she liked to toss around to make herself sound impressive. But the truth? She never finished a degree. Hated studying. Changed courses every semester like she was trying on clothes she’d never buy. Paris, Rome, Tokyo— she’d been everywhere except anywhere she was supposed to be.

When she finally came home, she brought chaos with her. At first, it was subtle. Little laughs at my expense. Innocent touches on Marshall’s arm during family dinners. And now, here we were… her hand on his thigh.

The man who once swore he’d never let anyone come between us was now sitting next to the only woman who ever had.

**

When I finally got to the vineyard, I didn’t say a word. I got out and walked past Marshall and Daphne without looking back.

The wrought-iron gates stood tall, the same as they had for decades. Familiar, yet heavy with memories. My parents had bought this land in the early 1980s, turning bare soil into rows of vines that fed generations. They were gone now, leaving this vineyard as the only piece of their lives I had left.

My chest tightened with the memory, but I pushed it down. I had business to handle.

Mr. Hernando, the estate manager, looked up from his ledger when I entered the main house. His eyes went wide at the sight of me, then softened with a warm smile.

“Miss Liora,” he said, standing up quickly. “Welcome back.”

“I need to talk to you,” I said, cutting straight to it.

We were wrapping up when a sharp, terrified scream ripped through the air from outside.

My heart stopped. Something was wrong.

I bolted toward the door, Mr. Hernando close to my heels.

As soon as I stepped outside, the acrid stench of smoke hit me like a punch.

Shouts came from the west fields.

I ran forward and froze, staring in horror at the flames devouring the vines, the very lifeblood of my parents’ legacy.

The west wing of my parents’ vineyard was burning. Flames were swallowing everything—rows of oak barrels, crates of bottled vintages, decades of our family’s work. Thick, bitter smoke clawed at my lungs, tasting of charred wood and spilled wine.

Workers were shouting, running, hauling hoses that seemed useless against the blaze. Some had already escaped, coughing and stumbling, but others were still inside trying to save equipment, records, the heart of our family business.

I grabbed one of them, panic twisting my voice. “How did this happen? Who started it?”

One of the cellar hands broke down, tears streaming down his soot-streaked face. “It was Daphne. She was messing with the gas stove in the tasting kitchen. Said she just wanted to scare you.”

My blood boiled, but there was no time for rage now.

“Get everyone out! I’m going back in,” I shouted, pushing through the smoke and heat.

Every step felt like walking into an oven. My lungs burned, my arms shook, but I kept going. The twins I was carrying didn’t get to live. This vineyard... the land my parents built, deserved to survive. I owed it to them.

Room after room, I hauled out people. Cellar workers, interns... faces streaked with ash, hands trembling. I couldn’t stop. Not yet.

And then I saw her.

Daphne stood in the courtyard, her face lit by the glow of the fire, not with fear, but with delight. She laughed, actually laughed, while the home and legacy our parents had poured their lives into turned to ash.

“I’ve hated this place ever since I was born,” she said, her voice sharp with venom. “Now I finally got rid of it.”

Something inside me snapped. I stormed up to her and slapped her so hard my palm stung. “This was our parents’ life’s work! Their blood, sweat, and tears are in this land, Daphne! How dare you—”

She just smirked, unfazed. “I don’t care. I hated them. And I hate you just as much.”

I stared at her, my vision trembling with rage.

Her grin widened, wicked and taunting. “Oh, and… wanna make a bet?” She tilted her head toward the flames as if admiring her own masterpiece. “Let’s see who Marshall saves first.”

A chill ran through me despite the heat raging around us.

Before I could speak, a loud crash came from inside the estate. The roof was caving in. Smoke poured out in thick black clouds. Somewhere in the chaos, I heard voices—men shouting, someone calling my name.

“Liora!”

Marshall’s voice.

For one wild, desperate second, I thought maybe he meant it. Maybe he’d come for me.

But Daphne only smiled wider, like she already knew the answer.

Before I could even spit out a reply, part of the balcony gave way with a deafening crack. The fire roared higher, heat slamming against my skin like a wall.

The smoke was getting thicker, stinging my eyes, burning my throat. I coughed so hard it made my ribs ache.

And then—

“Marshall!” Daphne screamed, dropping to her knees like some damsel in distress. “I’m choking! The baby! I can’t—”

Her voice cracked perfectly, fake enough for me to hear, but real enough for him to believe.

Marshall’s shadow appeared through the smoke. He was holding two fire masks. His eyes found me instantly.

“Liora!” he called, stepping toward me.

But then Daphne whimpered, one hand clutching her stomach, the other reaching for him like she was on the brink of death.

He froze. I saw it happen. That split-second shift.

Marshall turned away from me.

“No,” I rasped, stumbling forward, my hand half-raised for the mask he was still holding.

He yanked it back without even looking at me. “Daphne needs them more, Liora. I'll be back, promise."

The words cut cleaner than any knife.

He forced the mask over her face, scooped her up and bolted for the exit. The second mask dangled in his other hand and never even offered to me.

For a heartbeat, our eyes met through the haze. Cold. Resolved. And just before the smoke swallowed her, Daphne turned her head…her lips curling into a slow, poisonous smile, that said: I’ve won.

Then he was gone.

“M-marshall…”

The smoke pressed down on me, thick and choking. My legs gave out. I hit the floor.

“I’ve got you, Miss! Don’t move.”

Mr. Hernando. Our old estate manager.

He dragged me out of the inferno. The heat was unbearable, but he didn’t stop until we reached the safety of the gravel drive.

My chest burned with more than smoke.

I gripped Mr. Hernando’s arm. “Drive me home.”

He hesitated. “Miss Liora—”

“Now.” My voice came out raw, “Marshall won’t be there. He’ll be with her.”

We sped away from the vineyard, the burning silhouette shrinking in the rearview mirror.

At the house, I moved quickly, methodically. Suitcase. Passport. Clothes. The documents I had hidden for months, waiting for the day I’d finally stop hoping.

Fifteen minutes later, we were on the road again, this time toward the airport.

In the departure hall, the air smelled of coffee and jet fuel. I stood at the boarding gate, the weight of everything I was leaving behind pressing against my ribs, but not crushing me.

When they called my flight, I didn’t look back.

"Goodbye, Marshall. You fed me to the flames. When I return, I’ll be the fire."