Chapter 10
At eight o'clock that evening, the birthday party officially began.
The lawn of the villa was ablaze with lights, crowded with the city's elite.
Jemma, dressed in a white gown, leaned affectionately against Ian's side.
I stood on the second-floor curved balcony, pushing a massive gift box, looking down coldly at the scene below.
"Oh? Isn't that Margot?" someone scoffed from the crowd, his voice cutting clean through the music. "Red, of all colors? That's just inviting bad luck."
"She probably knows she's just a counterfeit. Trying to grab attention."
"I heard her hand's ruined, Serves her right. Who told her to mess with Miss Lane?"
The so-called socialites who used to flatter me now tilted their heads back, their faces openly filled with disdain and mockery.
Jemma looked up at me as well, feigning surprise. "Margot, why are you standing so high up there? Come down. You're frightening everyone."
She stood radiant in her white dress, elegant and flawless.
Ian remained at her side as guests showered them with congratulations.
From upstairs, I watched them in silence.
Then I pushed the enormous gift box forward, the one I had prepared long ago.
The moment it appeared, every pair of eyes turned toward me.
The music gradually died down.
Ian frowned when he noticed me.
But when his gaze landed on the gift box, his expression softened.
He probably thought it was a surprise I had prepared for Jemma.
Jemma also looked at me with open curiosity.
"Margot," she asked sweetly, "is that the gift you got me? It's huge."
I slowly scanned the crowd—the same people who had laughed at me, looked down on me, and waited eagerly for my downfall.
The corners of my lips curled into a strange, chilling smile.
"Ian," I called out calmly. He looked at me, irritation flickering in his eyes.
"Aren't you fond of blind boxes? Today, I brought you one too."
Before anyone could react, I lifted the lid of the gift box in full view of the stunned crowd.
There was no surprise, no gift. Inside lay a pitch-black coffin, radiating an ominous chill.
In front of it stood a stark white funeral arrangement.
A collective gasp swept through the lawn as everyone stared at me like I had lost my mind.
"Ian, You love blind boxes. So tell me, do you like this surprise?" I asked, pointing at the coffin, smiling brightly and cruelly at once.
"This is the wedding house I prepared for you and Jemma. Spacious enough, don't you think?" I added.
Jemma screamed and buried herself in Ian's arms.
Ian's face darkened instantly.
"Margot, have you lost your mind?!" he roared.
"Yes, I have," I replied, smiling.
"And you're the one who drove me there," I added calmly.
As he lunged toward me, I pressed the remote hidden in my pocket.
"Don't bother," I said coolly.
From behind the coffin, I dragged out two massive containers.
High-concentration alcohol, delivered by Leland's people.
I twisted the caps open and splashed the liquid freely across the ornate carpets, the expensive curtains, and the floor beneath the panicking crowd.
The sharp, choking stench of alcohol filled the air instantly.
"Alcohol! It's alcohol! Run!"
"She's insane! She's going to kill us all!"
Moments ago, they had been smug and superior. Now they scattered in chaos, screaming as they rushed for the exits.
"Margot! What do you want?! Stop this now!" Ian shouted, panic finally breaking through his composure.
I didn't stop. I poured the last container of alcohol over the coffin.
Then I walked toward it, step by step.
From my pocket, I took out a lighter.
I looked at him and smiled.
"This coffin," I said softly, "is my final gift to you."
Under the dead silence of the crowd, I flicked the lighter.
Click. Flames erupted violently, shooting skyward. In an instant, the entire banquet hall became an inferno.
Guests surged toward the exits, fighting to escape the living hell.
Amid the screams and chaos, I took one last look at the man frozen in terror.
"This life, I'm giving it back to you. We're even now."
I raised my middle finger at him.
Then I stepped forward and leapt into the pitch-black night.
This time, I was done being contained.
Whatever had left of me would survive.
Chapter 11
I fell into a solid, warm embrace.
"Margot!" Leland's voice trembled in my ear, raw and ragged.
I lifted my head and saw the red rims of his eyes.
He said nothing else, simply wrapped me tightly in his coat and carried me to the waiting car.
The vehicle roared away, leaving behind the blazing inferno and wailing sirens.
I stole a glance at the villa engulfed in flames, the place where my love and hatred had died twice over.
From now on, it had nothing to do with me.
The fire had left everything in utter chaos.
Ian stood frozen, staring at the red figure vanishing into the fire.
His mind blank.
"Margot…" he muttered, disbelief catching in his throat.
"Sir! Move! The place is about to collapse!" a bodyguard shouted, rushing forward to drag him away.
"Get out of my way!"
Ian shoved him aside and lunged toward the inferno like a man gone mad.
"Margot! Come back! I won't let you die!" he roared, his voice cracked, raw with fear and desperation even he hadn't noticed.
Several guards had to hold him down, their arms straining against his fury.
"Let me go! I'm going to save her!" he shouted.
A burning beam collapsed right in front of him, completely blocking his path into the blaze.
He could only watch as the flames devoured everything in his line of sight.
"No!" he screamed, voice shattering, then collapsed, rigid.
By the time the fire was finally extinguished, it was already the early hours of the next morning.
The once-gilded villa had turned into a blackened ruin.
When Ian up, he ignored the doctors' protests and, despite his injuries, rushed to the scene.
He was like a man possessed, wandering through the ruins, calling my name over and over.
"Margot... Margot... "
No one answered.
Eventually, the forensic team uncovered a charred body beneath a pile of smoldering debris.
Clutched in its arms was a deformed box.
When Ian saw the charred body, he completely broke down.
He staggered forward, collapsing onto his knees in the ashes with a thud.
He reached out, wanting to touch the corpse, but couldn't bring himself to.
His hands shook violently. Then, beside the charred remains, he saw a flash of red.
It was a corner of the skirt, half-burned.
The red dress he hated the most.
He slumped onto the ground, clutching that scorched fragment in his palm.
The coarse fabric dug into his hand, sharp and unforgiving.
He lowered his head and clawed at the dirt with all ten fingers until his nails tore, blood streaming down.
For the first time, he felt his heart being ripped out of his chest. The pain was so raw that it stole his breath.
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