Chapter 5 Final Explosion Countdown

# Chapter 5: Final Explosion Countdown

The drive to my childhood home was a blur of streetlights and tension. My knuckles turned white as I gripped the steering wheel, pushing well beyond the speed limit while Daniel made calls to his security contacts.

"My team will be there in twenty minutes," he said, ending his last call. "They'll secure the perimeter without alerting Nicholas."

"We don't have twenty minutes," I replied, checking the countdown on my watch: 18:42 and ticking down relentlessly. "Whatever Nicholas has planned, he's forcing our hand."

Rain began to fall as we approached the sprawling Victorian house where I'd spent my formative years. Before my mother's death, it had been a place of warmth and laughter. After she was gone, it became a mausoleum of memories my father couldn't bear to face. He buried himself in work, and I buried myself in books, both of us haunting separate corners of the too-large house.

We parked two blocks away and approached on foot, using the cover of darkness and rain. The house loomed against the night sky, most windows dark except for a faint glow from what had once been my bedroom on the second floor.

"Security system shows no additional heat signatures besides one in the target room," Daniel whispered, checking his phone. "Front and back doors appear uncompromised."

"He wouldn't use conventional entry points," I said, leading Daniel toward a weathered trellis on the east side of the house. "There's a window in the library that never latched properly. My father never fixed it because he didn't know I used it to sneak out as a teenager."

Daniel raised an eyebrow but followed as I scaled the trellis with practiced ease. The window, as I'd predicted, opened with minimal effort. We slipped inside the library, the smell of old books and leather instantly transporting me back to my youth.

"Fifteen minutes," Daniel mouthed, pointing to his watch.

We moved silently through the darkened house, avoiding the creaking floorboards I still remembered after all these years. As we approached the staircase, Daniel suddenly pulled me back, pointing to a nearly invisible tripwire stretched across the third step.

"Crude but effective," he whispered. "He's rigged the obvious approaches."

We detoured through my father's study to access the servant's staircase at the back of the house. Each step felt like a countdown to disaster, but we had no choice but to continue. Whatever Nicholas had planned, we couldn't let him execute it uncontested.

At the top of the stairs, Daniel took point, gun drawn as we approached my old bedroom. The door was ajar, a sliver of light spilling into the hallway. My watch showed 8:27 remaining.

Daniel motioned for me to stay back as he peered through the gap. His body tensed, and he pulled back immediately, his expression grim.

"Bomb," he mouthed silently.

My heart raced. I gestured for details.

Daniel held up five fingers, then pointed to different corners of an imaginary room—five explosive devices. Then he made a cutting motion across his throat—deadly, not for show like the wedding car. Finally, he pointed to the center of the room and mimicked someone sitting.

Someone was in there with the bombs.

I pulled out my phone and typed: "Nicholas?"

Daniel shook his head and typed back: "Can't see face. Tied to chair. Unconscious."

A hostage. Nicholas had taken a hostage.

With just over seven minutes remaining, we had to act. Daniel carefully pushed the door open wider, revealing the full scene within.

My childhood bedroom had been transformed into a death trap. Five compact explosive devices were positioned around the room, each with its own digital countdown synchronized to my watch. In the center sat a figure bound to a chair, a hood covering their head.

And taped to the wall opposite the door was a tablet displaying Nicholas's face, watching us through the camera.

"Finally!" his voice came through the tablet's speaker. "I was beginning to think you'd miss the grand finale."

Daniel kept his gun trained on the tablet as if he could shoot Nicholas through the screen. "Turn off the bombs, Nicholas. You've lost."

"Lost?" Nicholas laughed, the sound distorted through the speaker. "I'm just getting started. Do you like my setup? Much more professional than your wedding fireworks, Lara."

"Who's in the chair?" I demanded, staying in the doorway.

"Why don't you see for yourself?" Nicholas suggested. "But I wouldn't take too long. Five minutes isn't much time for a proper reunion."

Daniel motioned for me to stay back as he cautiously approached the bound figure, keeping his gun ready. With one swift motion, he pulled off the hood.

Jennifer's unconscious face emerged, a bruise darkening her left cheek. She was breathing, but unresponsive.

"Jennifer?" I gasped.

"Surprise!" Nicholas's voice was gleeful. "I thought it fitting to include her in our final act. After all, she's carrying the next generation of this twisted little family."

Daniel's face hardened as he checked Jennifer's pulse. "She needs medical attention. This is between us, Nicholas. Let her go."

"I'm afraid that's not possible," Nicholas replied. "The bombs are linked. Disarm one, they all detonate. Try to move her, they detonate. Attempt to leave the room, they detonate. You have—" he checked his watch dramatically, "—four minutes and twelve seconds to figure out a solution."

I scanned the room desperately, looking for any advantage. "Where are you, Nicholas? Too cowardly to face us in person?"

"Oh, I'm closer than you think," he replied enigmatically. "But unlike you, I prefer to maintain a safe distance from explosions."

Daniel had moved to examine one of the devices without touching it. "Military-grade," he muttered. "Where did you get this hardware, Nicholas?"

"I've made some useful connections over the years," Nicholas said dismissively. "Three minutes, forty seconds."

Jennifer stirred slightly, a moan escaping her lips. Her eyelids fluttered but didn't open.

"What do you want?" I demanded, keeping Nicholas distracted while Daniel continued his assessment of the bombs. "You've already lost everything. Your reputation, your freedom, your future."

"What I want," Nicholas snarled, his composed façade cracking, "is for you to understand what you've done. You took everything from me, Lara. My carefully constructed life. My fortune. My freedom. Now I'm taking everything from you."

"By killing a pregnant woman?" I challenged. "That's not revenge. That's cowardice."

"The woman carrying your precious Daniel's child," Nicholas shot back. "Oh yes, I know all about that little complication. Jennifer was quite forthcoming once I applied some... pressure."

Daniel had finished his circuit of the room and returned to my side, whispering urgently, "The detonator is remote. He's controlling it from somewhere nearby."

"Two minutes," Nicholas announced. "Any last confessions? No? Then let me offer one: I did kill your father, Lara. I watched the light fade from his eyes as I held the pillow over his face. He knew it was me. He tried to fight, but he was so weak by then. The look of betrayal in his eyes was... exquisite."

My vision blurred with tears of rage. "You won't get away with this."

"I already have," Nicholas replied coldly. "In ninety seconds, this room explodes. The police find the charred remains of Daniel Cross—officially back from the dead—his pregnant mistress, and poor, unstable Lara Butler, who couldn't handle the pressure of her public humiliation and decided to end it all in spectacular fashion."

Daniel's eyes met mine, a silent plan forming between us. He nodded almost imperceptibly toward the tablet, then to the window.

"You're forgetting something, Nicholas," I said, stepping fully into the room. "I've already beaten you once."

"And yet here we are," he replied smugly. "One minute."

Daniel moved slowly toward Jennifer while I approached the tablet. "You know what your mistake was? Thinking I was the target all along."

"Oh?" Nicholas seemed amused. "Do enlighten me in your final moments."

"You never understood that this wasn't about me," I continued, watching as Daniel carefully began working on Jennifer's restraints. "It was about justice. For my father. For Melissa. For everyone you've hurt."

"Touching," Nicholas sneered. "Forty seconds."

"And you never asked the most important question," I added, positioning myself directly in front of the tablet camera.

"Which is?"

"Why would I come here without a plan?" I smiled coldly. "Now, Daniel!"

In one fluid motion, Daniel lifted Jennifer from the chair and dove toward the window while I grabbed the tablet and hurled it in the opposite direction. The sudden movement triggered an immediate reaction from Nicholas, whose face contorted in rage.

"No!" he screamed, his finger visibly pressing something off-screen.

The explosives detonated prematurely—just as we'd gambled they would. Nicholas's need for control meant he'd keep a manual override. His rage made him use it.

The blast wave hit me like a physical wall, throwing me against the far side of the room as Daniel crashed through the window with Jennifer in his arms. The floor beneath me gave way, and I felt myself falling amid a storm of debris and flame.

Pain blossomed across my back and legs as I landed on what remained of the first-floor ceiling. Through the smoke and dust, I could hear sirens in the distance—Daniel's team had arrived, or perhaps neighbors had called emergency services.

I tried to move, but my right leg wouldn't cooperate. Something warm and wet was spreading beneath me—blood. My blood. The room swam around me as shock set in.

"Lara!" Daniel's voice called from somewhere outside. "Lara, answer me!"

I tried to respond, but only a weak cough emerged. The smoke was thickening, flames licking up what remained of the walls.

Then, through the haze, a figure emerged. Not Daniel. Not emergency services.

Nicholas.

His face was partially bandaged from the wedding car explosion, his expensive clothes exchanged for nondescript dark attire. He limped heavily, but the gun in his hand was steady as he approached.

"You should have died in the blast," he said, his voice raspy from smoke. "Always complicating things."

I tried to push myself backward, away from him, but my injured leg wouldn't cooperate. "You were supposed to be somewhere safe," I managed to say. "Watching remotely."

"And miss seeing your face when everything fell apart?" Nicholas smiled thinly. "Never. I was just in the garden house, watching through the security cameras I installed."

He leveled the gun at my head. "Any last words, Lara? Perhaps a plea for mercy?"

"Just one question," I said, fighting to remain conscious as blood loss weakened me. "Was any of it real? Did you ever love me at all?"

Something flashed across Nicholas's face—perhaps regret, perhaps just irritation. "Does it matter now?"

"I suppose not," I conceded. "But you should know—I meant what I said earlier. I came with a plan."

Confusion crossed Nicholas's face, quickly replaced by alarm as he heard movement behind him. He spun around, gun raised.

Daniel stood in the doorway, his own weapon trained on Nicholas. Blood streamed from a cut on his forehead, and his left arm hung at an awkward angle, but his aim was unwavering.

"Drop it," Daniel commanded.

"Well, well," Nicholas said, keeping his gun pointed at me. "The heroic husband returns. Tell me, Daniel, how does it feel knowing Jennifer lost your baby in the explosion? Such a shame."

Daniel's expression remained impassive. "Last chance. Drop the gun."

Nicholas laughed bitterly. "Or what? You'll shoot me? Go ahead. But I'll take her with me." He pressed the gun barrel against my temple.

The standoff stretched for what felt like eternity, the only sounds the crackling of flames and distant sirens growing closer.

"Ten seconds," Nicholas announced suddenly. "Ten seconds to say goodbye before I pull this trigger. Ten... nine..."

Daniel's eyes locked with mine, conveying a lifetime of emotions in a single glance.

"Eight... seven..."

I closed my eyes, preparing for the end.

"Six... five..."

A new voice cut through the tension: "Stop."

Nicholas froze, his countdown interrupted as a figure stepped into view beside Daniel.

It was Daniel—another Daniel.

Nicholas's eyes widened in shock, his gun hand wavering slightly. "What the hell is this?"

The second Daniel stepped forward, his face identical to the first but his clothing different. "Game over, Nicholas."

Before Nicholas could react, the first Daniel—the one I'd arrived with—lunged forward, tackling him to the ground. The gun discharged, the bullet embedding itself in what remained of the ceiling.

As they struggled, the second Daniel rushed to my side, his familiar touch confirming what I already knew. "Hold on, Lara. Help is coming."

"How?" I whispered, the edges of my vision darkening.

"I told you the game wasn't over," he replied softly, pressing something against my bleeding leg to stem the flow. "Not until we're both safe."

The last thing I saw before consciousness slipped away was Nicholas, subdued and handcuffed, staring in disbelief at the two identical men who had finally outmaneuvered him.

And somewhere in the distance, a voice that sounded like Daniel's whispered, "Ten seconds paused."