After My Fiancé Tried to Burn Me Alive

The sound came first. A crash from the living room. Then another. Glass shattering. Something heavy hitting the floor.

I walked out of the bedroom. Ivanna stood in the center of my living room. She held a sculpture in both hands. Murano glass. I'd bought it in Venice three years ago. She raised it over her head and hurled it at the wall.

It exploded. Blue and gold fragments scattered across the marble.

She turned to the next piece. A painting I'd commissioned from an artist in Brooklyn. Her nails raked across the canvas. Four long tears through the center.

"Ivanna." My voice was steady. "Stop."

She laughed. High and sharp. "Stop? You think you can just throw us out like garbage?"

Declan stood near the door. His arms were crossed. He wasn't stopping her. He was watching.

"You need to leave," I said. "Now."

Ivanna grabbed a crystal vase from the side table. She threw it at my feet. It shattered. Water and roses spread across the floor.

"You don't get to do this," she said. Her voice was shaking. "You don't get to humiliate us and just walk away."

I pulled out my phone. I started dialing 911.

She moved fast. She crossed the room and slapped the phone out of my hand. It skittered across the floor.

"You ruined everything," she said. Her face was inches from mine. "He was happy before you made this about money. Before you made it ugly."

"I made it ugly?" I stared at her. "You were in my bed."

"Because he wanted me there!"

"Then take him and go."

She shoved me. Hard. I stumbled back against the wall.

Declan finally moved. "Ivanna, that's enough."

"No." She spun toward him. "It's not enough. She gets to keep everything. The house. The career. The money. What do we get?"

"You get to leave," I said.

She turned back to me. Her eyes were wild. She looked around the room. At the furniture. The art. The floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the ocean.

Then she walked to the curtains.

She grabbed the heavy silk panels and yanked. The rod bent. She pulled harder. It came down with a metallic screech.

She dragged the curtains into the center of the room. She pulled a lighter from her pocket.

"Ivanna." Declan's voice changed. "Don't."

She flicked the lighter. The flame jumped.

"Put it down," I said.

She looked at me. She smiled.

Then she touched the flame to the silk.

The fabric caught instantly. Fire raced up the curtain. Orange and bright. The smell hit me. Chemical and hot.

"Jesus Christ!" Declan moved toward her. "What did you do?"

The flames spread fast. They climbed the curtains and licked at the ceiling. Smoke began to pour into the room.

I ran for the kitchen. I grabbed the fire extinguisher from under the sink. My hands were steady. I pulled the pin and aimed.

Nothing happened.

I squeezed again. The extinguisher was empty.

The smoke was thicker now. It burned my throat. I could hear the fire alarm starting to wail.

I turned toward the front door. Declan was standing there. Blocking it.

"Move," I said.

He didn't move.

"Declan. Move."

He looked at Ivanna. She was backing toward the door. Her face was pale. The fire reflected in her eyes.

Then he looked at me.

Something passed across his face. Something cold and final.

He stepped forward. He put his hands on my shoulders. He shoved me back toward the hallway.

"What are you doing?" My voice came out sharp.

He shoved me again. Harder. I stumbled into the hallway. The master bedroom was behind me.

"Declan!"

He pushed me through the bedroom doorway. I caught myself on the dresser.

He stepped back into the hall. He pulled the door shut.

I heard the deadbolt slide into place.

I ran to the door. I twisted the handle. It didn't move.

"Declan! Open the door!"

No answer.

I pounded on the wood. "Declan!"

I heard footsteps. Moving away. Toward the front door.

Then I heard the elevator chime.

Smoke was seeping under the bedroom door. Thin gray tendrils curling across the floor.

I ran to the bathroom. I turned on the sink. I soaked two towels in cold water. I dragged them back to the door and stuffed them along the threshold.

The smoke slowed. But it didn't stop.

I could hear the fire now. A low roar from the other side of the door. The building alarm was screaming.

I looked around the room. The window. I ran to it. I tried to open it. It was sealed. Hurricane glass.

I grabbed the marble bookend from the nightstand. I swung it at the window. Once. Twice. The third time, the glass cracked. The fourth time, it shattered.

Wind poured in. Cold and sharp. Seventeen floors above the rocks.

I leaned out. I could see people on the street below. Tiny figures pointing up.

I heard sirens.

The smoke was thicker now. It filled the room. My eyes burned. My lungs burned.

I leaned further out the window. I waved my arms.

The sirens got louder.

I don't know how long I stood there. It felt like hours. It was probably minutes.

Then I heard voices. Shouting. A ladder appeared at the window. A firefighter in full gear climbed through.

"Ma'am, I need you to come with me."

His voice was muffled behind the mask. I nodded.

He helped me onto the ladder. My legs shook. The wind pulled at me.

We climbed down. One rung at a time.

When my feet hit the ground, paramedics surrounded me. They put an oxygen mask over my face. They guided me to an ambulance.

I sat on the back bumper. I watched my building burn.

The penthouse windows glowed orange. Smoke poured into the sky.

A paramedic checked my pulse. Another shined a light in my eyes.

"We're taking you to Cedars-Sinai," one of them said.

I nodded.

They loaded me into the ambulance. The doors closed. The sirens started.

I lay on the gurney and stared at the ceiling.

My throat was raw. My lungs ached.

But I was alive.

Declan had locked the door. He had walked away.

He had chosen to let me burn.