"We are sorry, ma'am, but we couldn't save anything. The fire consumed everything," the policeman said, his voice gentle.

Nicolette nodded at the two officers standing beside her. She held onto the brown coat around her shoulders, hoping its warmth would find a way to ease her aching heart. It was over. She had lost everything.

Her chest squeezed as she listened to the noise around her; firemen gave orders, the ambulance shrilled, policemen gathered round, trying to calm the chaos.

The air was dark, acrid, smelling of cinder, burnt papers, and her shattered dreams.

The smoke tingled her throat, and she stifled a cough, refusing to believe this was real.

The gallery was gone. It had been more than just a business—it was the last piece that reminded her of her late mother. And now, it was gone.

"We're still trying to find the source of the fire," the second officer added softly.

"You can't find it," Nicolette said flatly.

The policemen exchanged looks.

"What do you mean?" The first one asked.

"Do you know who might be responsible?" the second one pressed.

Nicolette nodded her head. "Ronald Voss is responsible."

"That's a serious accusation, ma'am," the second officer said, frowning. "Why would a renowned man like Ronald Voss—"

"That's because you don't know him," she interrupted with a scoff. "You don't know my father."

As soon as she said it out loud, the pain tightened her chest. She knew her father was behind this. He had never forgiven her for leaving home, for deciding to make a name for herself, and worse, for working with Julius Allens—his rival.

It had taken her six months to get the gallery to this level. Six months of pain, debts, sleepless nights, and just when things were starting to look great, he came and yanked it all off.

"We'll investigate that, ma'am," the first policeman said, closing his jotter. "I'm sorry for your loss."

Nicolette nodded, but of course she didn't believe them. She knew they wouldn't find anything that tied Ronald to the crime.

The policemen said something about calling friends or family, but Nicolette had already zoned out of the conversation. She turned to the building, the place that had once given her joy and drew her closer to her late mother.

Firemen moved around, trying to retrieve anything beyond the debris and ashes. Some neighbors had gathered around, murmuring about her loss, probably even looking for her to offer condolences.

She needed no one's pity, she just wanted to wallow in her misery alone. Her phone rang, pulling her out of her thoughts.

She looked at the screen, thinking it was Suzie, her best friend, calling, but it turned out to be her half-sister.

"Hey, Hillary," she answered, her voice dull.

"Oh, Lettie, are you okay?" Hillary asked, her voice filled with concern. "I heard about the fire."

Nicolette's heart clenched with more pain as tears pricked her eyes. But she couldn't cry. Not here, not now. "I'm good. How did you…"

"It's all over the news," Hillary replied sadly.

She tapped her temple in frustration. What a perfect day. Now everyone knew she had nothing left.

"Where are you? Were you able to save anything?" Hillary asked.

Nicolette bit her lip to stop the tears from falling. She had just signed a deal with Julius Allens, allowing her to sell three of her paintings for ridiculous prices.

That was supposed to be her breakthrough. She was supposed to make that money, pay off her debts, live well with her boyfriend, Robert, and finally get enough rest, without worrying about the small things.

But there was nothing now. No paintings, no money. Just a mounting debt and a fresh beginning. Her father knew she was about to succeed, of course, he did.

Ronald must have heard of how she went to Julius for help. It had been one of the hardest things she had done. As the daughter of a media mogul, she had been taught to hate Julius, even though he was richer, more influential than her father. He was their competitor, and she was never supposed to trust him.

But when Ronald had blocked every opportunity, when nobody would help her or buy her paintings, she did what any reasonable, hungry, but desperate person would do—she went to Julius and struck a deal.

She would rather owe Julius than beg her selfish father for help. But even now, the idea of begging was becoming more likely—because she had nothing left.

"I'm still here," she finally answered. "And no, there's nothing to save. Everything is gone with the fire."

And there was no insurance, she couldn't afford the premium.

"I'm so sorry, Lettie," Hillary said and then she paused. "Maybe it's time to come home."

"No way, Hills!" Nicolette snapped, all her pain turning into anger. "You know he's behind this. You know he wants me to beg. I can't do that."

"But you can't keep living like this!" Hillary shot back. "You have done this for six months, Lettie." Hillary's voice went soft. "You want to be independent, you've made that clear, but it's not working out, darling. Swallow your pride, and come back home, please."

Anger tightened Nicolette's chest. "You don't understand, Hills, and I don't blame you, but I'm never coming back to that house!" she said before ending the call.

Nicolette sighed, removed the brown coat from her shoulders, and kept it in the police car. For the first time in a long time, she had shouted at Hillary, and it made her sad.

She wiped her face with the sleeves of her shirt and walked away from the car.

"Miss Voss," a young officer called. "You still—"

"I just want to go home," she interrupted, waving her hand. "Please."

The policeman hesitated but then nodded. "I understand, ma'am. We'll call you when we need you again."

Nicolette nodded as she made her way to her car without glancing back at the remnants of the gallery. She just wanted to go home, wrap herself in Robert's arms, and forget about everything. At least for a while until she could come up with a plan.

She turned on her car radio, blasted the music at high volume as she drove away. Her neighbors waved at her, trying to get her attention, but she ignored them all.

The drive home was quick as she sang along to the music, shoving her pain away. When she got to her home, she took a deep breath before stepping out of the car.

But as she got to her front porch, she froze.

Something wasn't right.

The front door was slightly open. The soft blue doormat was missing and as she stepped forward, her heart flipped with fear. The small voice in her head told her to run, but something else pushed her to go inside.

"Robert?" she called, her voice shaking as she pushed the door. "Robert?" she called again.

There was no response, so she walked in and her heart hitched at the sight before her.

Her apartment was empty!

The television, the couches, the tiny fridge in the kitchen. All gone!

She ran to the bedroom, her steps echoing in the empty house, her heart pounding in her chest.

Her brushes. Her paints. Her mother's original sketchbooks were all missing from the small table by the window. There was nothing left except her clothes scattered all over the floor.

She felt the tears at the corner of her eyes, but she held them together as she dialed Roberts's number.

"Robert, where are you?" she asked, her voice shaking.

"In Las Vegas, baby!" Robert laughed, sounding wild and unhinged.

She blinked. "What? My… things. Did you—"

"Oh, come on, Nicolette." His tone suddenly turned cold and dismissive. "I thought you got the message already. The relationship is over, I took everything. I'm done with your broke ass."

Nicolette gasped as he ended the call.

Her chest squeezed as reality dawned on her. She had nothing left. Her gallery was gone, her apartment was empty.

Nicolette fell on the floor, tears finally sliding down her cheek.