Beginning: The Fire That Stayed

Beginning: The Fire That Stayed

Rain fell like secrets that the sky could no longer keep.

It was supposed to be just another evening in New York. A gala, a few polite smiles, a speech about corporate dominance, and the clink of champagne flutes echoing off marble walls. But inside the penthouse of the Forger Hotel—a kingdom in the clouds where power whispered and luxury reigned—everything changed.

Everything burned.

Kourtney Saavedra didn't remember the first flame. All she knew was that there was smoke in her lungs and panic in her chest. Her dress, the sapphire silk one she had worn just to spite him, now clung to her legs like second skin soaked in fear. The fire had come fast, devouring the suite like it had been waiting for the right moment to strike.

She coughed, stumbled, her heels snapping against the tiles as the ceiling groaned. The air was thick and black, but she saw him through it—Travis Forger, tall and unshaken, the kind of man whose presence made people move and made empires kneel. His face was lit by the orange glow of chaos, his jaw clenched, eyes scanning the room not for riches but for her.

"Kourtney!" he barked, voice sharp through the crackling.

She turned toward him instinctively. That was her first mistake.

Her second was hesitating when he held out his hand.

The floor above them moaned. Something gave way. There was a thunderous snap—then silence. For a moment, the world held its breath.

Then the chandelier collapsed.

The last thing she remembered was a flash of gold and glass, and the warmth of his arms catching her just before darkness swallowed everything.

She awoke in white. Blinding white. Sterile. The scent of antiseptic, the hum of machines, and then the pain—sharp and blooming across her back like a memory she didn’t want.

Her voice was raw when she asked, “Where… where is he?”

The nurse looked up from her clipboard. "Mr. Forger is stable. He’s down the hall, but he hasn’t left your side until now."

The words stung more than soot or smoke.

Of course he had stayed. He had to.

Because once—just once—he had promised he would never let her die.

That was before he left her.

Before he erased her name from his future like she was a scar, not a vow.

Before she became the wife he tried to forget.

Three Years Earlier

Rome

He had kissed her beneath the fountains, with the whole world watching.

She had been twenty-two, radiant with foolishness, and he had been the golden heir—cold, brilliant, dangerous in ways she hadn’t understood. Their love had made the tabloids ache. Kourtney, the rebellious Saavedra heiress, and Travis, the only Forger son ruthless enough to earn his father's empire. Together, they had burned like summer lightning.

But their marriage wasn't a fairytale. It was war in silk sheets. Love, in the Forger household, came with conditions. And when Kourtney refused to be molded into a corporate trophy wife, the fire between them turned to ash.

She had left. Or maybe he had pushed her out. All she remembered was the silence that followed—the kind that clings for years.

Until last week.

Until the gala.

Until the fire.

Back in the hospital, her bandaged fingers curled around a paper cup of water as her heart echoed every footstep beyond her door.

Would he come in?

Would he look at her like he used to—like she was gravity?

Or would he look away again, like she was a chapter he had burned?

The door clicked open.

She didn't have to look. She felt him enter. Travis always brought a different kind of silence—one that wasn't empty, but heavy with the weight of things unsaid.

“Kourtney.”

Her name in his voice was a sin she had missed too much.

“You’re awake.”

She turned her head slowly. He was still impossibly handsome, but there were lines on his face now, stories carved by stress and secrets. His dark suit was flawless, but his eyes betrayed sleep he hadn’t gotten.

“You saved me,” she whispered.

“You didn’t leave me much of a choice.”

That was Travis. Always hiding behind logic. As if she hadn’t once been the only thing he chose.

She nodded slowly. “The fire… it wasn’t an accident, was it?”

His jaw tightened. “We’re investigating. But I think you know better than to believe in coincidences.”

Her heart skipped.

“You think someone tried to kill me?”

“No,” he said coldly. “I think someone tried to kill us.”

Later that night, when the lights were dim and her room quiet, Kourtney stared at the bouquet he had left.

Calla lilies. Her favorite. He remembered.

She hated that he remembered.

She hated that her fingers still twitched at the memory of his skin.

And worst of all, she hated that part of her still believed he loved her.

Because if he did…

Then why did he abandon her?

Why did he let her go three years ago without a fight?

The next morning, the storm outside had calmed—but not the one inside her.

A knock on the door broke her thoughts.

It wasn’t Travis this time. It was Jacobo, his loyal assistant.

He handed her a tablet. “Mr. Forger asked me to give you this. You’ll want to see the footage.”

Kourtney took it with trembling hands.

The video showed the penthouse security feed. The fire had started behind the walls—an electrical box tampered with. The timing, the execution… it was deliberate.

And then came the final clip.

A figure cloaked in black, entering the suite hours before the event. Masked. Calculated.

But what stopped her heart was the flash of silver on the intruder’s wrist—a bracelet, one she’d seen before.

On someone they both knew.

She dropped the tablet. Her breath hitched.

Travis had known. That’s why he stayed.

Not just to save her—but to protect a truth.

Their enemy wasn’t a stranger.

It was someone from their past.

Someone who knew what they had once been.

And what they could still be.

That night, she sat up in bed, waiting. He came again, as she knew he would.

“I saw the footage,” she said.

“I know.”

“It was Kim.”

His face didn’t move. His voice was ice. “We can’t be sure yet.”

“She had the bracelet,” Kourtney whispered. “The one I gave her when she stood beside me at our wedding.”

“I remember.”

“I trusted her.”

“So did I.”

Silence, thick and sharp.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked.

“Because I didn’t want to believe it,” he said, stepping closer. “And because if it’s true… then this wasn’t about you, or her.”

“It was about us.”

He nodded.

She exhaled shakily, meeting his eyes. “Why are you really here, Travis?”

His gaze darkened. “Because when I thought I might lose you, I realized something.”

Her heart pounded.

“I tried to forget you. I tried to erase what we had. But the truth is… I never stopped loving you.”

The confession came like a storm in summer—unexpected, overdue, and impossible to ignore.

He sat beside her, his hand brushing hers like an apology.

“I thought letting you go would save you from my world,” he murmured. “But you were never meant to be saved. You were meant to fight beside me.”

“I was meant to be your wife,” she whispered.

“You still are,” he said. “If you’ll have me.”

And for the first time in years, the fire in her chest wasn’t fear.

It was hope.

The silence after Travis's confession was thick with memories. Kourtney's breath hitched, her heart thundering as she looked at the man who had once shattered her, only to now offer something terrifying: the truth.

"You can't say that now, not after everything," she whispered, her voice trembling. "You left me."

Travis didn't flinch. "I know. And I've hated myself for it every day. But I thought I was doing what was best for you. For both of us."

Kourtney turned away, the sterile scent of the hospital clinging to her skin like guilt. "You think that justifies walking away from our marriage? Without explanation? Without a word?"

"I was afraid," he admitted, his voice low. "Not of you, but of what I was becoming. What my family wanted me to become. I thought by leaving, I was giving you a chance to be free."

She looked at him then, her eyes fierce. "You don't get to decide what I needed. You were supposed to fight for us, Travis. And you didn't."

He sat at the edge of her bed, the weight of his regret etched into his posture. "You're right. I failed you."

Silence stretched again, broken only by the rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor. Then Kourtney asked the question that had haunted her since the fire:

"Why now? Why come back?"

He hesitated. "Because someone wants you dead. And because when I saw you lying there, unconscious... I realized I couldn’t lose you again."

To be continued...