Birthed For Me (From Guardian to Groom)

The car door had barely clicked shut when she hit me like a tornado. 

A cloud of floral perfume and silky fabric swirled around me as she launched herself into my arms, nearly knocking me backward onto the gravel driveway. Warm, frantic kisses rained all over my face.

There was only one person in the world who greeted people with that kind of wild, unstoppable energy.

“Mom,” I groaned, though I couldn't stop the small smile tugging at my mouth. I tried to gently peel her arms away. “I’m thirty-one. People are staring at the ‘baby’ being tackled in the driveway.”

Pamela Mayer just laughed, squeezing me tighter. “Nonsense. You could be a hundred and gray, Maurice. You’ll always be the boy I brought home in a yellow blanket. Get used to it.”

I shook my head, grabbing my bag from the trunk. As I followed her inside, the familiar scent of home, cinnamon and old floor wax, hit me, along with a heavy dose of dread. I hadn’t stepped foot in this house in six months for a reason. The relentless guilt-tripping, the crying, the  "check-in" calls had become a mental minefield I wasn't ready to cross.

Since they wouldn’t let up until I showed my face, so here I was.

Please, I prayed silently as I stepped inside, just this once… don’t start with the usual sermon.

My prayer didn’t even reach the ceiling, it hit the floor before I reached the living room.

“You’re alone?” my father’s voice boomed. It wasn't a question; it was an accusation. He stood by the mantle, his posture as rigid as a military general’s. “Pamela, did he really not bring anyone?”

I let out a long, tired breath.

“He didn’t,” Mom answered, her voice a little too bright, a little too excited. “But that doesn’t matter. Our boy is finally home!”

Something felt off.

I lifted my head, then I saw her. 

Matilda.

She was sitting on the sofa, smoothing her skirt with an expression of smug triumph. She looked like she’d already picked out the wedding china. That girl was a master of social chess, and I was clearly the king they were trying to corner.  

The thought of what she did the last time crossed my mind, Matilda tampered with an elevator just to have alone time with me. The scene from that event still gives me the chill. That girl is pure bad luck.

I sighed, as expected of my mom, always trying to play matchmaker with her friends daughter.

But too bad, I could never have anything to do with this one, even if she were the last woman on earth.

I turned on my heel, ready to retreat to my old room, but my father was faster. His hand clamped around my arm like a vice, steering me firmly toward the study.

“What now, Dad?” I asked, exhaustion heavy in my voice.

He didn’t waste time.

“You still haven’t found yourself a girl, have you?”

All the energy drained out of me in one second. I just stared at him, speechless.

“Dad… I just got here. I’m hungry, I’m tired, and I drove for hours to see you two. This really isn’t the welcome I was hoping for. I just want a night of peace.”

“You’ve had years of peace, Maurice. What you lack is a purpose,” he snapped, closing the door behind us. “Look at you. Thirty-one. At your age, I was already raising you. If you don't like Matilda, fine. Find someone else. Anyone. I don't care if she’s a waitress or a wanderer, just bring a woman home and start a life, or I’ll start making your decisions for you.”

I glanced at him from the corner of my eye, my chest tight.

I said nothing. What was there to say?

Nothing, because the truth was a ghost I didn't want to summon.

Even at thirty-one, almost thirty-two now, marriage had never once crossed my mind in a serious way. Part of me wished I could just get it over with, find someone, get married, and finally shut down these endless lectures and emotional ambushes.

But what-to-do, I am the sole heir to the family conglomerate, I am way too busy to even have time to think about it.

I walked away without another word and headed upstairs to my old room. My hand had just touched the doorknob when my phone rang.

It was Martin, my assistant.

The moment Martin spoke, the room, the house, and my father’s demands simply vanished.

“Sir... it’s Mia,” Martin’s voice was distorted by wind and sirens. “The shopping plaza downtown. There was an explosion. It’s an absolute inferno, Maurice. She’s still inside.”

I was thunderstruck.

My feet carried me even before I could process what he just said.

I threw myself into the car, the tires screaming against the asphalt as I tore out of the driveway. I had only been in the city for an hour, a coincidence that felt like a cruel joke from the universe.

Not her. God, please, not her.

My heart hammered against my ribs as I tore out of there like the devil himself was chasing me.

The assistant’s words kept ringing in my head on loop.

No. No. No. Not Mia.

I drove like a madman through Chicago’s insane traffic, screaming through red lights, weaving between cars with this cold, frantic kind of focus. Traffic rules? They barely even registered.

I believe I broke every traffic laws that ever existed. It was a miracle I didn’t kill anyone. Or myself.

All I could see was her face, the way she looks when she was smiling brightly like the sun, those dimples, those beautiful dentitions, those blue eyes, the way she never noticed me watching her from the shadows of her life.

But none of that mattered.

Mia was my life.

She might not know of my existence or even remember me. But I swear that was okay. Fine by me. As long as she was breathing. As long as she was safe and happy, I could live with the silence. I could live with the distance.

Because although I was just a stranger in her periphery. But she was the sun my world orbited around.

And if anything happened to her…

I couldn't bring myself to even imagine that.

I pressed the pedal harder, the world blurring outside the windows.

I just needed to get to her.

Finally...

I slammed on the brakes in front of the building, tires screeching, and bolted out of the car without even killing the engine.

The crowd had already swelled into a chaotic sea in front of the mall. Thick black smoke poured from the upper floors, and when I caught sight of the angry orange flames licking out of broken windows, my blood turned ice.

People were shouting over one another. “Firefighters are on their way!” someone yelled. Another voice cut through the noise: “The building’s about to collapse, stay back!”

No one was moving. No one dared step into that burning hell.

My assistant’s car screeched to a stop beside mine, and Martin, along with a couple of my guys, rushed over. The moment Martin saw the raging fire, his face went pale.

“Boss! Please stop! Just hold on okay” Martin shouted, grabbing my jacket. “I know what Mia means to you, but help is coming. The fire department said the structure is unstable. You can’t go in!”

I didn't hear him. I only heard the roar of the fire and the silent scream in my own head.

The situation was dire. A massive pillar groaned and crashed somewhere inside, sending sparks and debris flying. There was no safe way in. Every rational part of me screamed to wait.

But then I thought of Mia trapped somewhere in that inferno, and every ounce of reason vanished.

I stripped off my overcoat and ran to the decorative fountain near the entrance. I dunked the heavy fabric, saturating it until it was leaden with water, and then I charged straight into the flames without looking back.

I stumbled through the haze, my vision blurring. My wet coat was already steaming, the moisture evaporating into the hungry air. I was losing time.

I could barely see two feet ahead. Debris rained down around me as I pushed deeper, coughing, stumbling, but never stopping. My lungs screamed for air. Every breath felt like swallowing fire.

I didn’t know where I was going. The hallways had turned into a maze of collapsed ceilings and flickering flames.

My coat was already drying out from the insane heat, but I kept it pressed over my mouth and nose.

At one point, my legs nearly gave out.

Exhaustion and smoke were winning. I dropped to one knee, gasping, ready to collapse right there.

Then I heard it.

A faint voice, almost lost in the roar of the fire.

It was like some invisible force grabbed me by the chest and pulled me forward. I didn’t question it, I just followed.

“Mia!” I roared, the sound swallowed by the collapse of a nearby ceiling section..

I strained to listen through the crackling flames.

“Help me… please… help…”

There it was. Weak. Terrified. But... alive.

I followed the sound, shoving past a toppled shelf, my hands burning as I touched hot metal. Hidden in the corner behind a tall cabinet, I finally found her.

My Mia. 

She was curled into a ball, her skin silvered with ash, her eyes closed. She looked so small, a broken porcelain doll in a burning house.

“I’ve got you,” I whispered, draping my damp coat over her to shield her from the sparks.

I didn't have the strength to carry her back through the maze. I scanned the environment as my breath was almost seizing, then I saw a shattered remains of a second-story window.

Perfect.

I carried her and rushed to the nearest broken window and leaned out, waving frantically.

The firefighters had finally arrived below. “Up here!” I shouted, my voice hoarse.

“Below!” I screamed at the silhouettes of the firefighters. “Take her! Take her first!”

I felt the rough canvas of a ladder hit the ledge. Hands reached up. I lowered her carefully, watching as they pulled her into the cool, evening air. I stayed there until I saw the paramedics swarm around her, until I knew she was breathing.

I let out a single, relieved breath.

But before I could even celebrate, the floor beneath me gave way with a sickening crack.

Everything went black.