A Silence Born of Fireworks

I waited for my fiancé on New Year's Eve.

He didn't come. The earthquake did.

Trapped in the rubble, I prayed he was safe.

I found out later where he really was.

With his childhood sweetheart, setting off fireworks.

I was left deaf.

When I told him it was over, he knelt. His eyes red, mouthing words I couldn't hear.

I smiled. “Blake, I hope you live a day just like this one. Every single year for the rest of your life.”

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1

On New Year's Eve, Beverly Hills was ablaze with lights.

I’d mixed the cocktails by hand and laid out his favorite food.

Blake promised he'd be back to count down with me.

My calls went unanswered.

My texts vanished into the abyss.

We had been in love for five years and had just gotten engaged. I should have trusted him.

But a creeping unease, like a thorny vine, coiled tightly around my heart.

I stepped out onto the terrace, the biting air a sharp sting of clarity.

Suddenly, toward the Hollywood Hills, the night sky erupted in a dazzling display of fireworks.

It felt like all of Los Angeles was watching.

Some rich kid was making a grand, romantic declaration to the world.

I was mesmerized.

I didn't even notice the blaring emergency alert on my phone.

Not until the ground beneath my feet began to tremble violently.

A massive fissure spiderwebbed across the terrace at my feet.

Before fear could find its voice in a scream, the entire villa came crashing down.

I plunged into darkness.

When I next awoke, I was in Cedars-Sinai Medical Center.

My entire body screamed in protest; it felt like every bone had been shattered.

I could feel warm blood steadily seeping from somewhere on my body.

I prayed for Blake, just hoping he was safe.

"Isadora Hawthorne, two fractured ribs, a comminuted fracture in the right leg. She needs complete rest."

I was awake.

But the world was silent.

It was like being on the other side of a thick pane of glass.

When the doctor saw I was awake, his lips moved.

I couldn't hear him.

Not a single word.

I whispered in a panic, "I can't hear."

He frowned, his expression grave.

I grabbed his arm, my voice urgent. "My fiancé… is Blake Carrington here?"

If he was okay, he'd be here. He'd have to be.

The doctor shook his head.

My heart sank, inch by inch, into an icy sea.

He adjusted my blankets before quietly leaving the room.

My chest was tight with a dull pain, and the world was dead silent.

I drifted back into unconsciousness.

The next time I woke, it was to the sound of faint voices.

“Did you hear about those fireworks in the Hollywood Hills last night? I heard they were for the Carrington heir’s long-time girlfriend.”

"You mean Blake Carrington? Seriously? How romantic!"

“I know! Five years is a long time. You don’t expect to see real love come out of those big, wealthy families.”

“Guess you just have to wish them the best.”

Hearing the familiar name, my eyes flew open.

Two nurses were changing my dressings by the bed, gossiping in low voices.

“Are you talking about… Blake Carrington? From the Carrington Group?” My voice was as dry as sandpaper.

They nodded. “Who else in L.A. has that name?”

My mind went blank.

"You said… his girlfriend of five years…"

“Oh, you’re curious too?” one of the nurses chirped. “The rumor is she’s been in England and just got back last month.”

"I think her name is… Dahlia Greystone."

Dahlia Greystone.

Blake's childhood sweetheart.

So, those fireworks were for her?

But I'm his fiancée. We've been together for five years.

A sharp pain exploded in my chest, as if I were being torn apart alive.

A deathly chill swept through me.

Every breath carried the weight of rubble, suffocating me.