Heiress in Distress

•Prologue•

•Word count: 1,610

-5 Months ago-

"When are you planning to quit that morbid habit ?" I ask with an exaggerated roll of my eyes. I'm not sure when he started it, but I personally think his current 21 years of age is just too young.

In response to the smirk he's now sporting, I narrow my eyes and pull the collar of my shirt up to cover my nose and mouth from what I know would be a hovering cloud of smoke in a few seconds.
He doesn't answer until another draw of the toxin he's holding;

"It keeps me in control of my temper-" he's interrupted by a cough -coming from him- and I raise a dubious eyebrow at him. His lungs obviously disagree here.

"and it helps me think properly" He's in a coughing fit now, and I don't notice that I'm coughing just as hard until Andrew's image begins to blur.
When did the smoke become so thick that it's making me choke on my already shallow breaths?

Why is my breathing shallow in the first place ?

"Lily!" when Andrew desperately shouts the nickname, I only manage to wipe some of the tears before strong hands clamp onto both my shoulders.

I open my eyes to have them stare directly into clear blue ones- Andrew's.

"Wake up! we have to get out of here!" Why is he screaming ? I'm right in front of him.
Why is half his face masked ? And when did smoke from a single cigarette make this much-

"The house is on fire, Lily. Please get up!"
My mind only allows a fraction of a second for me to try to comprehend the sudden turn of events -one second I'm about to make an announcement to my fiancé, who's a regular smoker, and the next, he's telling me my parents' house is on fire- before I'm leaping out of the bed and heading for the hallway in no time. I barely notice the carbon filter mask he slaps against my face and helps secure each strap behind my ears in a hurry.

Despite my brain's attempts to catch up with everything, I will myself to move forward, following after Andrew's steps.

He's headed for the baby's room, but someone -also masked- already stands there; the baby, safely tucked in a portable baby nest bed, cradled in their arm.

I don't remember any of my parents purchasing this; it's covered in some sort of acrylic or polycarbonate glass, keeping the baby completely safe from the black smoke that's engulfed the house.

"...a black SUV is parked just across the street, waiting for you." I catch the last bit of words falling off Andrew's mouth before I'm ushered towards the fire escape.

I've only made a few steps before my brain freezes on a crippling thought and I, once again, pause and look back at Andrew through wide eyes.

"Mom and Dad are still in there, here, take the baby; I'll go get them" He catches the baby when I clumsily pass him the nest, whilst I'm turning, headed for their room.
He follows me, uttering all sorts of incoherence, or at least it's what my mind identifies as such.

Despite the warm smothering air, the feeling of a bucket of ice being poured over my head stops me in my tracks right in front my parents' room. The door is still locked and I can see the flames escaping the bottom of the wood where the door meets the floor; however, what scares me the most is the silence, the absolutely deafening silence. No cries for help, no screams of agony from the scorch, and not even whispers of tender words. Nothing.

Although the sounds of crackling flames and the sound of house structure hitting the ground as it collapses bit by bit is a constant reminder of who's in charge here.