Reborn From Fire: The Billionaire's Obsession

Deliah Quinn stood before the massive floor-to-ceiling mirror in the master bedroom of the Hamptons estate. She smoothed her hands over the intricate lace of her haute couture wedding gown.

Tomorrow, she would marry Everette Baird.

Her chest felt tight, a pleasant kind of pressure that made her lungs expand with pure anticipation.

The heavy oak double doors of the bedroom pushed open without a single knock.

Deliah turned. Her younger sister, Arvilla, walked in. Arvilla wore a burgundy velvet robe, holding two crystal flutes of champagne.

"To the bride," Arvilla said. Her smile didn't reach her eyes. She shoved one of the flutes into Deliah's hand, forcing the glass against Deliah's until they clinked with a sharp, fragile sound.

Deliah took a small sip. The liquid burned the back of her throat. "Why are you here so late, Arvilla?"

The fake smile vanished from Arvilla's face. Without warning, she tilted her glass and poured the remaining champagne directly onto the pristine white lace of Deliah's gown.

The cold liquid soaked through to Deliah's skin. She gasped, stumbling back half a step. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

Arvilla sneered. She reached into the pocket of her velvet robe and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. She slammed it down onto the vanity table.

It was an ultrasound sonogram.

"I'm pregnant," Arvilla said, her voice dripping with venom. "With Everette's child."

Deliah's pupils dilated. Her eyes locked onto the black and white image. Her stomach dropped, twisting into a violent knot. She shook her head, her vocal cords paralyzed.

"You're just a boring tool for a Wall Street merger," Arvilla stepped closer, her perfume suffocating. "He doesn't love you."

Deliah opened her mouth to argue, but a sudden, violent wave of dizziness hit her. The room spun. The champagne. Her tongue felt thick.

Her knees buckled. She collapsed onto the Persian velvet rug, her muscles turning to water.

Arvilla didn't even look down at her. She turned, walked to the hallway, and dragged a heavy red metal canister of industrial gasoline into the bedroom.

The acrid, chemical stench of fuel instantly overpowered the air in the closed room.

Arvilla unscrewed the cap. She began sloshing the thick liquid everywhere-over the silk curtains, the bridal bed, the floor.

Deliah forced her arms to move. She dragged her heavy body forward across the rug. She reached out with trembling fingers, trying to grab Arvilla's ankle.

Arvilla kicked Deliah's hand away with the heel of her slipper. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a sleek, metal lighter.

With a flick of her thumb, a flame sparked to life. Arvilla tossed it onto the soaked rug, stepped out of the room, and pulled the heavy oak doors shut. The lock clicked from the outside.

The gasoline caught. Flames shot three meters into the air, a roaring beast that instantly swallowed the bed canopy.

Thick, black smoke forced its way into Deliah's lungs. She coughed violently. The searing pain in her chest cut through the drug's haze, forcing a spike of adrenaline into her veins.

She grabbed the heavy, solid brass candlestick from the vanity. She crawled toward the locked doors, her muscles screaming. She swung the brass base at the doorknob.

The wood didn't even splinter. The fire was eating the oxygen. Her vision blurred at the edges.

Deliah turned her head. The wall of floor-to-ceiling glass doors leading to the second-floor balcony. It was her only way out.

She pushed herself up on shaking legs. She raised the heavy candlestick with both hands and slammed it into the tempered glass.

The glass shattered into a million sharp pieces.

Deliah didn't hesitate. She threw her body through the opening, rolling out onto the stone balcony as jagged shards sliced open her arms and her cheek.

Behind her, the master bedroom detonated. A massive wave of heat and pressure blasted outward, lifting Deliah off her feet.

She was thrown over the edge of the balcony.

She fell through the dark air and slammed into the freezing, violent waters of the Atlantic Ocean behind the estate.

The cold was a physical shock that stopped her heart for a second. She kicked her legs, breaking the surface. She gasped for air, tasting salt and blood. She looked up at the estate, now a towering inferno against the night sky.

I will survive this, she promised herself.

A heavy piece of the stone balustrade, superheated by the blast, broke free and plummeted from above. It struck the side of her head with a sickening crack.

Warm blood rushed down her neck. The world went completely black, and the ocean dragged her under.