Chapter 20 — The Breach (How to Outrun a War in Six Inches of Heels)
The first explosion wasn't deafening — it was felt.
A low, violent tremor that rippled through the steel floor before the sound caught up, cracking through the vault like thunder.
Arielle staggered, her hand shooting out to steady herself on the table. "What—"
Damian didn't let her finish. "Down!"
He yanked her behind the reinforced console just as the door blew inward — a burst of smoke, heat, and flying metal. Shards whistled past her head. The red alarm lights strobed wildly, flashing in sync with her pounding pulse.
Damian moved like controlled fire — efficient, lethal, silent. One second he was crouched beside her, the next he was up, firing in clean bursts.
From Arielle's view, it was chaos: black-clad intruders pouring in through the smoke, the metallic scent of gunpowder thick in the air. She tried to breathe but the noise crashed in waves — gunfire, shouted orders, the hiss of ricochet.
"Stay low!" Damian shouted, reloading with one smooth motion.
She nodded — not trusting her voice — and crawled along the cold floor toward a steel cabinet for cover. Her gown snagged, tearing further. She didn't care.
Switch — Damian's POV.
His mind was pure calculation. Two shooters, front left. One behind the breach shield. The rest still funneling in.
He fired again, hitting the first man square in the shoulder, then ducked behind the console as return fire shredded a monitor beside his head.
Arielle. Where was she—
He caught sight of her crawling toward the cabinet, moving faster than he expected. Good. He couldn't protect her if she stayed near him. Not with the kill zone narrowing.
Switch — Arielle.
The floor vibrated under each shot. She pressed her back against the cold cabinet, clutching the small handgun Damian had given her. Her palms were slick with sweat. She'd never fired a gun in her life — not even at a range.
A shadow moved across the floor.
Her stomach twisted. She aimed, hands shaking. A man rounded the corner — tall, masked, rifle raised.
She didn't think. She just squeezed the trigger.
The shot cracked like lightning. The man jerked back, his weapon clattering to the floor. Arielle froze, breath caught halfway in her throat.
Damian's head whipped around at the sound. His eyes found her — wide, terrified, alive. "Good girl," he muttered under his breath, firing again to cover her.
Switch — Damian.
"Two more!" he shouted. He ducked, slammed a spare magazine into his gun, and moved to the far side of the vault. His every motion was precision — all training and muscle memory — but the worry in his chest wasn't tactical. It was Arielle.
She shouldn't have been in this.
She shouldn't have had to pull a trigger.
He took out the second attacker, then dove behind a support pillar as bullets bit into the wall where he'd been standing.
The air was thick now — acrid smoke, hot brass, ozone.
He keyed his earpiece. "Gate system—manual override. Lockdown now!"
No response. Dead signal.
Switch — Arielle.
The gun in her hand felt impossibly heavy. Her breathing was ragged, uneven. She peeked over the edge of the cabinet — and locked eyes with another intruder moving toward Damian's flank.
"Damian!" she screamed.
He spun instantly, catching sight of the threat just as the man fired. The bullet grazed his arm — a flash of crimson, then fury. Damian retaliated before the man could reload.
He hit the ground hard, bleeding.
Arielle crawled toward him without thinking, ignoring the heat and chaos. "You're hit—"
"It's nothing." He pressed a hand to the wound, wincing. "Keep your head down."
But she didn't. She reached for him instead, pulling him behind a toppled console as more shots rang out. "You're bleeding," she said again, voice breaking.
He glanced at her — just once — and in that heartbeat, everything slowed. The alarms, the gunfire, even the flashing red light.
"Arielle," he said quietly, "if I tell you to run—"
"Don't you dare."
Something flickered in his eyes — a mix of pride, frustration, and something softer he didn't have time to name.
Then the final charge detonated at the vault entrance. The force threw them both backward, metal shrieking. Arielle's head hit the floor; the world tilted. Her ears rang.
Through the smoke, she saw movement — not enemies this time, but sleek, dark drones descending from the ceiling vents, lights pulsing blue.
"Stand down!" a distorted voice commanded through a speaker. "Authorized personnel only. Targets identified."
The intruders hesitated — too late. The drones fired tranquilizer bursts, neutralizing what remained of the strike team. One by one, the masked men dropped.
Damian lowered his weapon, chest heaving. "Finally."
Arielle blinked through the haze. "Who—who are they?"
"Automated countermeasures," he said, slumping slightly against the wall. "Built into the system. Took them long enough."
She crawled closer, hands trembling as she reached for his arm. The blood was real. The pain was real.
"You're hurt," she whispered.
He gave a faint smirk, even through the exhaustion. "You're worse — you missed a heel."
She looked down. Her left stiletto was broken clean off. "Perfect," she muttered. "I survive a firefight and lose to fashion."
He actually chuckled — a low, breathless sound that cracked the tension.
Then silence. The vault was filled with the smell of smoke and gun oil, the floor littered with shell casings and shattered glass. The drones hovered briefly, scanned, then retreated into the ceiling vents as quickly as they'd arrived.
Damian leaned his head back against the steel wall, exhaling. "It's over."
Arielle looked at him, her throat tight. "Is it?"
He didn't answer. Just closed his eyes, voice rough. "Not even close."
She swallowed hard, watching the faint tremor in his injured arm, the exhaustion creeping into his perfect composure. Then, quietly — "You almost got yourself killed for me."
His eyes opened again, meeting hers — dark, unreadable, but raw. "I told you. I'll find you… no matter what it takes."
Arielle's pulse stumbled. She wanted to speak, to say something reckless — but before she could, another soft ping came from the vault console.
A new alert.
Coordinates flashing red on the screen.
Damian's expression hardened instantly. "They're regrouping. Someone's still giving them our location."
Arielle's heart dropped. "You mean—there's a traitor?"
His gaze snapped to hers — sharp, cold, furious. "Worse," he said. "There's a leak inside my own team."
Xoxo Eloura 😘😍