He Left Me to Burn, Now I Own His Dream

A sudden fire broke out in the underground archives.

My boyfriend of three years, Alfred, kicked away the fire extinguisher I was using to prop up a heavy steel bookshelfall just to protect Vivian, an intern who had only sprained her ankle.

Its just a stupid metal can. Don't let it trip Vivian.

He carried Vivian in his arms, rushing out of the raging fire without once looking back.

He left me pinned under a shelf weighing hundreds of pounds, suffocating in the thick, black smoke.

I dragged myself out of the fire and spent three days and nights fighting for my life in the ICU.

Meanwhile, he posted a photo on Instagram of Vivian eating imported organic cherries in a luxury private hospital room.

The caption read: "A false alarm. Thank God I protected my girl."

He even stole the core architectural blueprints I had stayed up for three months to draw, using them to kiss up to the global architectural giant, "Asterion Group."

My coworkers mocked me, calling me a pathetic charity case with no family backing who deserved to be abandoned.

Looking at the painkillers scattered all over the floor, I smiled coldly.

They had no idea.

The Asterion Groupthe ultimate powerhouse they were all desperately trying to claw their way intowas actually owned by me.

The air in the underground archives was as thick and hot as boiling asphalt.

An electrical fire had sparked an explosion. Within minutes, the narrow aisles between the bookshelves became a sea of flames.

Choking black smoke clawed at my throat, making it impossible to breathe.

I was pinned to the concrete floor by a row of collapsed heavy steel bookshelves.

Hundreds of pounds of metal crushed my chest. Every single breath sent a sharp, agonizing pain through my broken ribs.

The intense heat blistered my skin, and I could smell the sickening scent of my own hair burning.

Less than ten feet away, through the shimmering waves of heat, I saw Alfred.

For him, I had worked three jobs at once just to pay for his masters degree.

I had stayed up countless nights drawing blueprints to pave his career path, single-handedly turning him into a rising star in the architecture world.

But right now, he didnt even look at me.

His entire attention was focused on the woman clinging tightly to his neck.

Vivian, the new intern at our firm.

She was the type who always wore innocent white dresses and spoke in a sweet, helpless voice.

"Alfred... Im so scared. The fire is too big. My ankle hurts so bad..."

Vivian buried her face in Alfreds chest, crying like a helpless victim.

I could see her ankle. The one she claimed was "sprained" didn't even have a scratch on it.

But her tears completely wiped out any logic Alfred had left.

"Don't worry, Vivian. Im here. Ill get you out of here right now."

Alfreds voice carried a tone of panic and tenderness I had never heard before.

He swept Vivian up in his arms, cradling her like she was some priceless treasure.

"Alfred..." I squeezed a broken, raspy plea out of my throat with the last of my strength.

I reached out with a hand covered in black ash and blood, blindly searching the hot floor.

I needed leverage. If I could just prop the shelf up by a few inches, I could crawl out.

My fingers brushed against a cold, cylindrical objecta dry chemical fire extinguisher that had fallen off the wall.

This was my only lifeline.

I grit my teeth, ignoring the blinding pain, and slowly dragged the heavy red canister toward the edge of the shelf.

"Alfred... help me..."

I coughed up a mouthful of bloody phlegm, looking desperately at his back.

Alfred heard me. He turned his head.

For a split second, I thought he finally saw me. I thought he would put Vivian down and rush over to lift this damn shelf off my chest.

But he only frowned. His eyes were filled with pure, unadulterated annoyance.

Vivian followed his gaze, saw me, and suddenly let out an exaggerated, dramatic shriek.

"Oh my God! Alfred! That red thing is blocking the way! I'm scared it'll trip us!"

Alfred looked down at the fire extinguisher I was desperately clutchingthe tool that was supposed to save my life.

He didn't see a dying partner who had sacrificed everything for him. He only saw an obstacle that might trip the delicate little bird in his arms.

Without a single second of hesitation, he raised his foot. He was wearing the custom leather shoes I had spent three months of my salary to buy him.

Thud!

Alfred kicked the fire extinguisher with full force.

The red canister slipped from my fingers, rolling heavily across the concrete floor before disappearing into the deep flames.

"Its just a stupid metal can. Don't let it trip Vivian. Useless trash."

Alfred threw those cold words over his shoulder, tightened his grip on Vivian, and stormed toward the emergency exit.

He didn't look back. Not even once.

The fire extinguisher was gone. My leverage was gone. My only lifeline was cut off by the man I had loved for three years.

The flames greedily licked the paper files around me, making a terrifying crackling sound.

My vision began to blur. The oxygen in my lungs was completely gone.

Right before I lost consciousness, I didn't cry.

I just stared blankly at the direction where Alfred had disappeared, carving his cold, heartless face deep into my soul.

Alfred, if I, Valerie Padilla, survive today... I will make sure you taste what real hell feels like.

When I finally opened my eyes, the first thing that hit my ears was the sharp, rhythmic beeping of an EKG monitor.

I squinted against the blinding, cold white light of the room.

My throat felt like it was lined with razor blades. Every breath was excruciating.

I was hooked up to multiple IV drips, and my chest was wrapped in thick, heavy bandages.

I was alive.

The hospital room was completely empty, smelling strongly of bleach and antiseptic.

Alfred wasn't there.

A nurse pushed the door open. Seeing me awake, she let out a huge sigh of relief.

"Oh, Miss Padilla! Youre finally awake! You suffered severe carbon monoxide poisoning and multiple fractured ribs."

"You were in the ICU for three whole days. We even had to use the defibrillator on you. It's a miracle you're alive."

Three days and nights.

I pulled the oxygen mask off my face, my voice sounding like sandpaper.

"Who... brought me here?"

The nurse looked at me with deep pity. "The firefighters. They found you pulled under the debris after they put out the fire."

"You weren't breathing when they got to you."

It wasn't Alfred.

He hadn't even called 911 to tell them someone was still inside. He hadn't sent anyone to look for me.

He had truly left me in that fire to die.

"My phone..."

The nurse took my cracked phone out of a plastic bag on the nightstand.

I plugged it in and turned it on.

Countless notifications flooded the screen, but not a single missed call or text was from Alfred.

I opened our work group chat on WhatsApp.

Rachel, a senior designer at the firm, had sent a voice note. Her tone was dripping with venom.

"Honestly, we are so unlucky. Valerie is always so careless. How do you manage to start a fire just by looking for files in the basement?"

"She almost got Alfred and Vivian killed!"

Another coworker, Chris, immediately chimed in.

"I know, right? I heard Vivian was traumatized. Her ankle is still swollen."

"Thank God Alfred risked his life to carry her out."

"As for Valerie, she made her bed, now she has to lie in it. Shes probably hiding in some corner too embarrassed to show her face."

I stared at the screen, my dry, cracked lips curling into a mocking laugh.

I started the fire? Im hiding because Im embarrassed?

I closed WhatsApp and opened Alfreds Instagram.

His latest post was from yesterday afternoon.

The photo showed a luxurious VIP room in a private hospital.

On the nightstand were expensive imported organic cherries and a massive bouquet of pink roses.

Vivians hand, featuring a fresh, expensive manicure, was in the frame, holding a cherry.

The caption read: "A false alarm. Thank God I was able to protect my girl when it mattered most."

"As for those who only cause trouble, I hope they learn to reflect on themselves."

My girl. Those who only cause trouble.

A sharp, stabbing pain hit my chestfar worse than my broken ribs.

But it lasted for only a second before it was entirely consumed by a cold, burning hatred.

Three years.

For three years, I worked three jobs, ate expired bread, and spent every penny to enroll him in the most expensive architecture seminars.

I ruined my eyesight rewriting his blueprints so he could be the star of the firm.

And in the end, my life wasn't worth Vivian's fake ankle pain.

Suddenly, the door to my room was pushed open.

Rachel and Chris walked in, carrying a cheap, sad-looking plastic fruit basket.

Seeing me awake, surprise flashed across their faces, quickly replaced by their usual arrogant disdain.

"Oh, look who's awake. Valerie, you really are like a cockroach, aren't you? Still alive."

Rachel slammed the fruit basket onto the nightstand and crossed her arms.

"Do you have any idea how much trouble you've caused?"

"Do you know how many priceless paper archives the firm lost because of you?"

I stared at her coldly, saying nothing.

Chris rolled his eyes. "Don't look at us like that."

"Alfred hasn't slept in days because he's been taking care of Vivian."

"Vivian has nightmares and cries every night because of you! And here you are, hiding in the hospital playing the victim."

"Playing the victim?" My voice was incredibly raspy. I slowly raised my arm, which was covered in IV lines and nasty red burn marks.

"You call this... playing the victim?"

Rachel sneered. "Cut the drama, Valerie. The doctor said you just inhaled a little smoke."

"Alfred said that once you're discharged, you need to write a formal apology letter."

"You also have to publicly apologize to Vivian at the next all-hands meeting. Otherwise, consider your career in this industry over."

Apologize to Vivian?

I stared at Rachels smug face. Suddenly, I snatched the cheap fruit basket from the nightstand and hurled it at the door with all my strength.

Crash!

The plastic basket shattered, and bruised apples and oranges rolled all over the floor.

"Get out." I stared at them, my eyes completely dead and cold.

Rachel shrieked and jumped back, pointing a shaking finger at me.

"Valerie! Have you lost your mind?!"

"You're just an orphan living off Alfred's charity! How dare you tell us to get out?"

"Alfred can get you kicked out of Los Angeles with a single phone call!"

"I won't say it again," I said, my voice completely devoid of warmth. "Get. Out."

Maybe the sheer hatred in my eyes scared them. Rachel and Chris swallowed hard, shut their mouths, and slammed the door as they left.

The room fell silent again.

I leaned back against the pillow and stared at the ceiling.

The naive, pathetic Valerie who begged for love had died in that thirty-nine-degree basement fire.

The Valerie who survived was going to burn their lives to the ground.

It wasn't until I was moved to a general ward the next day that Alfred finally showed up.

He was wearing a perfectly tailored designer suit, his hair styled flawlessly. He still smelled faintly of the sweet, cloying perfume Vivian always wore.

He stood by my bed, looking down at me.

His brow was furrowed. There wasn't an ounce of guilt in his eyesonly annoyance.

"Stop acting so weak now that you're awake," he said. His first words were like poison.

"The doctor said you're out of danger. You made such a scene, Valerie. Its embarrassing."

I looked at the face I used to adore, and a wave of intense nausea hit me.

"A scene?" I asked quietly.

"I was pinned under a steel shelf in a burning building. I spent three days in the ICU. And you call that a scene?"

Alfred tugged at his tie impatiently. "Can you stop being so dramatic?"

"The fire was huge, and Vivian sprained her ankle. Of course I had to save the weaker person first."

"Aren't you always boasting about how tough you are? Why couldn't you just climb out yourself?"

"You had to stay inside and play dead. Are you trying to guilt-trip me into proposing to you?"

He actually thought I stayed in the fire to force a proposal out of him.

"Alfred," I said, looking him dead in the eye. My voice was as quiet as a whisper.

"When you kicked that fire extinguisher away, were you thinking the same thing?"

Alfreds face instantly froze.

His pupils dilated, and he quickly raised his voice to cover his guilt.

"What fire extinguisher? I didn't see anything!"

"The smoke was so thick! How could I see what was on the ground?"

"Valerie, don't you dare try to pin this on me!"

"Really?" I picked up my phone and opened a video file.

"The security cameras in the archives sync directly to the cloud in real-time."

"The camera eventually burned, but the high-definition footage from the first five minutes of the fire was saved perfectly."

Alfreds face went dead white. He took a sharp step back.

"You... you watched the footage?" His voice started to tremble.

"I didn't just watch it. I backed it up," I said coldly.

"I saw everything. I saw you look at me while I was pinned under the shelf. I saw you kick away the fire extinguisher I was trying to reach. And I saw you carry Vivian away without a single backward glance."

"The audio is very clear too, Alfred. Especially when you called me 'useless trash'."

Alfred completely panicked.

He rushed to the bedside, trying to grab my hand.

"Valerie... it wasn't like that... I was terrified."

"I didn't realize you were trapped! I thought the canister was empty..."

"Don't touch me. You disgust me." I slapped his hand away.

I sat up, staring at the pathetic, hypocritical man before me.

"Alfred, we're done. We are over."

I thought saying those words would break my heart, but in this moment, I felt nothing but pure, intoxicating relief.

Alfred stunned.

A few seconds later, the panic on his face vanished, replaced by a arrogant, mocking sneer.

"Over? Valerie, did the smoke damage your brain?"

He shoved his hands into his pockets, returning to his usual condescending self.

"You're breaking up with me? You're an orphan who had to take out massive student loans just to get through school. Without me, do you think you can even survive in LA?"

"The only reason you have this job is because I fought the partners to get you onto the project team. You think you got here on merit?"

He truly believed he was my savior.

"And another thing," Alfred leaned down, his eyes gleaming with greed and ambition.

"Asterion Groups 'Sky City' bidding process is about to wrap up. My design has already been selected as the number one finalist."

"Vivians father is a massive venture capitalist. Hes already agreed to invest ten million dollars in my startup."

"Once I land this multi-billion-dollar project, I'll be made a senior partner immediately."

He pointed a finger at my face.

"When that happens, even if you beg me on your knees, I won't give you a second glance."

Sky City? I repeated the name in my mind, a dark smile playing at the corners of my lips.

That design was mine. I had spent six months, pulled countless all-nighters, and rebuilt the model over a hundred times to perfect it.

I had planned to give it to him on his birthday as a gift to help him get his foot in the door of the elite world.

But while I was fighting for my life in the ICU, he had hacked my encrypted laptop, stolen my life's work, and put his own name on it.

"Great," I said, looking at him like he was already dead. "I can't wait to see you land 'Sky City'."

Alfred sneered. "Crazy bitch."

He turned and strode out of the room, his posture radiating the confidence of a man who thought he was about to conquer the world.

Once the door shut, I pulled out my phone. I dialed a number at the very bottom of my contact lista number I had blocked for three years.

It rang only once before a trembling, highly respectful voice answered.

"Miss Padilla."

"Arthur," I said, looking out at the glittering Los Angeles skyline. My voice was terrifyingly calm.

"Send a car to pick me up. Also, notify the board of Asterion Group. My leave of absence is over. I am taking full control of the company tomorrow."

"Yes, Miss Padilla! But... how is your health?"

"I'm not dead yet," I replied, closing my eyes. "Have the legal department prepare a lawsuit against Alfred Miller for intellectual property theft and corporate espionage."

"And one more thing. I will personally chair the final bidding meeting for 'Sky City'."