Chapter 6 The Fire Incident

# Chapter 6: The Fire Incident

Something shifted between Dorian and me after our confrontation in the library. The carefully maintained distance dissolved, replaced by a tentative, fragile connection. He no longer avoided me at mealtimes. Sometimes I would enter a room to find him watching me with an expression I couldn't quite decipher—part wonder, part regret.

One evening, I found a small package outside my door—a first edition of Jane Eyre with a simple note: "Since you're living the Gothic romance, you might as well revisit the classic." It was the first genuine gesture of warmth since our marriage began, and I hugged the book to my chest like a treasured gift.

Evelyn noticed the change immediately. Her watchful eyes followed our interactions, her mouth tight with disapproval. The household staff seemed to divide into factions—those loyal to Evelyn maintained cool professionalism around me, while others began to show small kindnesses, as if taking cues from Dorian's softening attitude.

"You're playing a dangerous game," Martha, my lady's maid, whispered one morning as she arranged my hair. She had been with the Blackwood family for decades and had shown me small kindnesses from the beginning. "Ms. Evelyn doesn't forgive those who interfere with her plans."

"What plans?" I asked, meeting her eyes in the mirror. "What does she want?"

Martha's hands stilled. "It's not my place to say, ma'am. But be careful. These walls have eyes and ears loyal to her."

The warning lingered as I made my way downstairs for breakfast. I found Dorian already at the table, reading financial reports. He looked up when I entered, the visible corner of his mouth lifting slightly.

"Good morning," he said, setting aside his papers. "Did you sleep well?"

"Well enough." I took my seat as a maid poured coffee. "Thank you for the book."

"I thought you might enjoy it." His tone was casual, but his eye held mine with an intensity that made my pulse quicken. "Though I hope your story has a happier ending than Jane's first wedding attempt."

Before I could respond, Evelyn swept into the dining room. "Good morning, family." The word dripped with sarcasm. "Dorian, don't forget the foundation board meeting this afternoon. And Lila, I've scheduled a fitting for the charity gala next week."

"Actually," Dorian interjected, "I've asked Lila to join me at the foundation meeting today. It's time she became more involved with the family's philanthropic efforts."

Evelyn's smile didn't reach her eyes. "How... progressive of you. Though I wonder if Mrs. Blackwood is prepared for the foundation's specific focus."

I looked between them, sensing undercurrents I didn't understand. "What focus is that?"

"The Blackwood Foundation primarily supports victims of traumatic accidents," Dorian explained, his gaze steady on mine. "Particularly those involving automotive incidents."

The irony wasn't lost on me. "I see."

"Yes," Evelyn added sweetly. "Dorian established it after his own... unfortunate experience. The foundation provides medical care, rehabilitation services, and legal support to victims who might otherwise be forgotten. Like those involved in hit-and-runs."

I refused to flinch under her pointed barb. "It sounds like meaningful work. I'd be honored to contribute."

Something like respect flickered briefly in Dorian's expression before he turned to Evelyn. "It's settled then. Lila will accompany me today."

Evelyn's lips pressed into a thin line, but she merely nodded and excused herself, claiming a headache.

After breakfast, I retreated to my room to prepare for the foundation meeting. I was selecting appropriate jewelry when a knock came at my door. I opened it to find Dorian, looking uncharacteristically hesitant.

"May I come in?" he asked.

I stepped aside, oddly nervous to have him in my private space. He entered, glancing around at the few personal touches I'd added to the ornate room.

"I wanted to make sure you're comfortable with today's meeting," he said. "The foundation's work might hit close to home for you."

"Because of the accident?"

He nodded. "It might seem like another layer of my revenge plot, but the foundation's work is genuine. It was actually my mother's idea, before she..." He trailed off.

"Before she died from the shock of what happened to you," I finished quietly. "Evelyn told me."

"Evelyn has her own version of events." His jaw tightened. "My mother had a pre-existing heart condition. The stress of my accident exacerbated it, but her death six months later wasn't the direct result Evelyn implies."

I studied his face—what I could see of it—trying to gauge his honesty. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I'm tired of half-truths between us." He moved closer, close enough that I could see the different shades of blue in his visible eye. "Whatever this is becoming, Lila, I want it built on something more solid than revenge and manipulation."

My heart stuttered at the implications of his words. Before I could respond, his phone rang. He checked the screen and frowned.

"I need to take this. The car will be ready in thirty minutes." He hesitated, then added, "Thank you for agreeing to come today."

After he left, I sat on the edge of my bed, trying to calm my racing thoughts. What was happening between us? Were these growing feelings real, or just Stockholm syndrome on my part and a change in revenge tactics on his?

I was still contemplating this when I smelled smoke.

At first, I thought someone had lit a fire downstairs despite the warm day. Then I noticed wisps of gray seeping under my door. I rushed to open it and was immediately driven back by a wall of smoke and heat.

The hallway was engulfed in flames, blocking my exit. I slammed the door shut and ran to the windows, but my suite was on the third floor—too high to jump without severe injury. Smoke began filtering through the door frame as I grabbed my phone to call for help.

No signal.

Panic rising, I soaked towels in the bathroom sink and stuffed them along the bottom of the door, but smoke continued to fill the room. I moved to the window, waving frantically, hoping someone would see me from the grounds below.

The smoke thickened, burning my lungs with each breath. I dropped to the floor where the air was clearer, crawling toward the bathroom with the vague plan of filling the tub with water. My vision began to blur, darkness creeping at the edges.

Through the growing haze, I heard splintering wood and shouting. The bedroom door crashed open, and a figure charged through the smoke and flames.

"Lila!"

Dorian's voice. I tried to call back, but only managed a weak cough. Strong arms found me, lifting me from the floor. Through watering eyes, I saw his face—the mask gone, destroyed by the heat or discarded in his rush to reach me. The scars I'd glimpsed in the library were fully visible now, reddened by exertion and the fire's heat.

"Hold on," he ordered, wrapping me in a wet blanket. "Keep your face covered."

He carried me through the burning hallway, shielding me with his body as flaming debris fell around us. I pressed my face against his chest, feeling his heart hammering beneath his shirt. The heat was unbearable, the roar of the fire deafening.

Then suddenly—cool air. We were outside on the back terrace. Staff members rushed forward with oxygen as Dorian gently laid me on a chaise lounge.

"Breathe," he instructed, holding an oxygen mask to my face. "The ambulance is coming."

I tried to focus on his face—his real face, exposed for everyone to see. The right side bore the network of scars I'd glimpsed before, but in daylight, I could see they continued down his neck, disappearing beneath his collar. Burns, surgical scars, evidence of the reconstructive work that had saved his features but left them forever altered.

He seemed oblivious to his exposure, his attention fully on me. "Stay with me, Lila."

"Your mask," I managed to whisper between oxygen breaths.

His hand flew to his face as if suddenly remembering, but he made no move to cover himself. "It doesn't matter. Not now."

Through the fog of smoke inhalation, I registered the significance of those words. He'd discarded his most zealously guarded secret to save me.

Sirens wailed in the distance as my consciousness began to fade. The last thing I saw was Dorian's unmasked face hovering over mine, his expression raw with an emotion that looked remarkably like fear—not for himself, but for me.

I woke in a hospital room, the steady beep of monitors filling the silence. My throat felt scorched, my chest tight. It took a moment to remember why—the fire, the smoke, Dorian carrying me to safety.

"You're awake."

I turned my head to find Dorian sitting beside the bed. His mask was back in place, though a different one than usual—simpler, medical-looking. Burns marked his hands where he'd pushed through flames to reach me.

"What happened?" My voice emerged as a rasp.

"The fire started outside your bedroom. The investigators suspect arson."

"Arson?" I struggled to sit up. "Who would—"

"I don't know." His voice hardened. "But I intend to find out."

"You saved me." I reached for his hand, careful of the bandages. "You could have been killed."

"Yes, well." He looked away, uncomfortable with my gratitude. "Dying in a fire would have been an anticlimactic end to our complicated story."

Despite everything, I smiled at his attempt at humor. "You lost your mask. Everyone saw."

"A small price." His thumb brushed over my knuckles in a gesture so gentle it brought tears to my eyes. "The staff has been instructed to be discreet."

A memory surfaced through the haze. "You said it didn't matter. The mask."

He was quiet for so long I thought he wouldn't answer. Finally, he sighed. "In that moment, it didn't. Nothing mattered except getting you out safely." His eye met mine, vulnerable without the shield of cold indifference he usually wore. "I've spent five years plotting revenge against you, only to discover I couldn't bear to see you hurt."

The confession hung between us, profound in its simplicity. Before I could respond, the door opened and a nurse entered, followed by a doctor and, to my complete shock, a face I hadn't seen in years.

"Lila! Thank God you're awake."

"Caleb?" I blinked, wondering if the smoke had affected my brain. "What are you doing here?"

Caleb Reynolds had been my closest friend throughout childhood and early college, before the accident changed everything. After that night, I'd pushed everyone away, including him. Last I'd heard, he'd moved abroad.

"I came as soon as I heard." He moved to my bedside, opposite Dorian. "I've been trying to reach you for weeks, but your number changed, and your assistant kept blocking my calls."

I frowned. "My assistant? I don't have an—"

"Mr. Reynolds," Dorian interrupted, his voice cooling noticeably, "perhaps this reunion could wait until my wife has recovered more fully."

Caleb's eyes narrowed as he took in Dorian, the mask, and his protective posture by my bed. "Your wife. Right. That's actually part of why I've been trying to reach Lila." He turned back to me. "There are things you need to know, Li. About the accident. About what really happened that night."

The monitor beside me registered my quickening heartbeat. "What do you mean?"

"Not now," the doctor interjected firmly. "Mrs. Blackwood needs rest. You can discuss this tomorrow."

As they ushered Caleb out, he called back, "I'm staying at the Grand Hotel downtown. Call me when you're alone."

After they left, silence fell heavy between Dorian and me. His posture had changed, tension radiating from every line of his body.

"Who is he?" he finally asked.

"An old friend. We grew up together." I studied his rigid profile. "Dorian, what did he mean about the accident?"

"I don't know." His voice was carefully controlled. "But I intend to find out before you speak with him again."

"Are you forbidding me to see him?" I challenged.

His eye met mine, conflict evident even through the mask. "No. But I'm asking you to be careful. Someone just tried to kill you in our home. And suddenly an old friend appears with mysterious information about the night that connects us?" He shook his head. "The timing concerns me."

Before I could respond, a nurse entered to check my vitals. Dorian stood, adjusting his mask.

"Rest now," he said, his tone softening. "I'll have security posted outside your door."

At the threshold, he paused. "Lila? When I couldn't find you in the fire..." He stopped, seeming to struggle with the words. "Just... recover quickly."

As he disappeared down the hallway, I sank back against the pillows, mind reeling. The fire, Dorian's rescue, Caleb's unexpected appearance, and cryptic words about the accident—it was too much to process in my smoke-addled state.

But one thing stood crystal clear amidst the confusion: when faced with losing me, Dorian Blackwood had revealed more than his scarred face. He had revealed that somewhere along the way, his carefully orchestrated revenge had transformed into something neither of us had anticipated—something that looked dangerously like care.