I'm going on hiatus for 2 month...😮💨
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The world outside the hospital was chaos flashing cameras, shouted questions, headlines spinning out of control.
But inside room 407, peace still lingered soft beeps from monitors, the faint hum of machines, and the steady rain tapping against the windows. Ava lay pale, her hair sticking to her damp forehead, two tiny lives resting near her — a boy and a girl, small as porcelain, fragile as dawn.
Nanny Bella wiped her tears, her trembling hands hovering over the incubators. "They're beautiful," she whispered. "Just like their mother."
Liam stood at the foot of the bed, still in the same blood-stained shirt from earlier, his eyes fixed on the boy in the nurse's arms. His lips parted in a shaky breath. "Lyon," he murmured, his voice cracking. "You'll grow strong. You'll protect your sister. You'll make her proud."
Mr. Carter watched from the doorway, his expression carved in stone. "He's a Carter," he said sharply. "That boy carries our name. Don't forget that."
The doctors spoke in low, tense voices — the girl's pulse weak, her breathing shallow. The boy was stronger. Ava's vitals were stable but delicate, her fingers limp in the sheets. Liam wanted to stay, to be there when she woke, but Mr. Carter's glare burned into his back like fire.
"You've done enough," the man spat. "Leave her be."
Liam said nothing. He left the room, heart heavy, each step echoing down the hallway like guilt.
Then — smoke.
At first, it was faint, like something cooking far away. Then alarms blared, red lights flashing through the corridors. Nurses ran. Doctors shouted orders. The air thickened, heat rolling through the walls.
The power flickered. A thunderstorm raged outside. The fire began in the west wing — a single spark from a shorted wire. Within minutes, flames crawled through the halls. Panic spread faster than the smoke.
Liam turned at the end of the corridor and saw it — black smoke billowing toward room 407. His blood turned cold. "Ava!" he shouted, sprinting back. But the ceiling cracked before he reached her door. A roar of fire swallowed the hallway, knocking him backward.
He hit the ground hard. The world tilted. Heat, screams, chaos.
Inside the maternity ward, the nurse by Ava's side fought through smoke to reach her. The alarms wailed as ceiling panels fell. She coughed, trying to unhook the IV lines when a shadow appeared in the doorway — tall, cloaked in smoke, a face hidden behind a mask.
Smoke thickened fast, curling along the ceiling as alarms screamed through the corridors. Heat licked the walls, spreading like a living thing. Somewhere outside, a voice shouted for help, then was swallowed by the roar of flames.
Room 407 was already filling with haze. The machines beside Ava flickered one short beep, then silence. The glass on the incubator cracked.
Through the blinding smoke, a man burst into the doorway — soot streaked across his face, fire gear half torn, his breathing heavy. He was one of the responders, but the name tag on his uniform was burned beyond reading.
He froze when he saw her. The young woman on the bed, limp but breathing. The monitors still blinking faintly. A small cry from the corner the baby girl.
"God…" he whispered under his breath, moving fast. He covered his mouth with his sleeve and stepped closer. The heat was unbearable. The ceiling groaned.
He grabbed a spare blanket from the cabinet, wrapping it around Ava's fragile body. Then, with trembling care, he lifted her — one arm under her back, the other cradling her head. The baby girl whimpered again, her voice barely a whisper in the noise.
He hesitated only for a second, then bundled the child in his jacket and held her close against his chest. "Hang in there," he said softly. "You're both getting out."
The hall outside was chaos — collapsing beams, rolling smoke, the red glow of fire swallowing everything behind him. He ran through it, shielding the baby with his arm, Ava's weight pressing against his shoulder.
The world roared, walls buckled, alarms wailed — but he didn't stop.
By the time the west wing exploded, the man was already outside, coughing in the rain, his knees giving way on the wet pavement. Behind him, the hospital burned like a furnace.
He looked down at the woman in his arms — pale, unconscious, streaked with soot — and at the tiny baby girl crying weakly against his chest. Relief broke through the smoke in his lungs.
"You made it," he whispered. "You're safe now."
An ambulance siren wailed nearby. He looked toward it, hesitated — then turned away, disappearing into the chaos of flashing lights and falling ash.
By the time Liam clawed his way through the debris, the hospital was gone — swallowed by fire and ruin. Firefighters and reporters flooded the scene. The dawn that followed smelled of ash and heartbreak.
He searched through the chaos, his voice breaking as he screamed her name. "AVA!"
A cry answered him — small, fragile.
Lyon.
He found the boy beneath a fallen beam, a nurse's body shielding him. Liam gathered his son into his arms, sobbing, whispering words that barely came out. "I've got you… I've got you."
When they led him out, the cameras went wild. Reporters shouted questions over the sirens:
"Mr. Ford! Is it true your mistress is dead?"
"Was this an accident or revenge?"
"Who will raise the child now?"
He didn't answer. He couldn't.
Later, the search teams found a woman's body near room 407 — burned beyond recognition, wearing Ava's hospital tag. No one questioned it. No one thought to.
The news spread faster than the fire had.
"Ava Carter and Infant Daughter Confirmed Dead in Explosion."
"Only One Twin Survives — Baby Lyon Steele Rescued by His Father."
The city mourned.
Mr. Carter vowed vengeance.
Yvonne stood before the cameras in black, her crocodile tears glistening under the flashes. "He loved her," she said softly, painting herself the victim.
Liam didn't speak at all.
At Ava's funeral, rain poured down in endless sheets. White lilies lined the altar. Her father stood like a statue, Clara wept uncontrollably, and Liam arrived late — drenched, carrying his son in one arm. He stayed at the back, silent.
Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust.
He pressed a trembling kiss to Lyon's forehead. "We'll survive this," he whispered. "For her."
Inside the vehicle, silence hung heavy. In the back seat, a woman lay unconscious, her small frame protected beneath layers of blankets. Beside her, a tiny baby girl slept, safe for the first time since the chaos began.
Rain streaked the windows as the car wound through empty country roads, the city's fire and smoke fading behind them. Emergency sirens echoed faintly in the distance, but here
away from the devastation there was only quiet and the steady rhythm of two hearts still beating.
The world mourned what it thought was lost, but not every life had been claimed by the flames that night.
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I'm just joking 🤪
Moving on...this story is still long, the next chapter names will be different ,so reference back to my NOT UPDATE chapter.
Correct me in the comments section and please share with ur friends.