Taming My Sugar Mommy
Chapter 80: The Escape

Chapter 80: The Escape

The first major explosion rocked the building’s foundation just as Isabella and Liam reached Richard’s office. The floor lurched beneath them, sending them staggering into the doorframe. Ceiling tiles crashed down behind them, narrowly missing Liam’s injured shoulder.

"That wasn’t on the countdown," Isabella gasped, fighting for breath. "He’s started the sequence early."

Liam grimaced, pressing a hand against his bleeding wound. "Richard never was one for playing fair, was he?"

The office before them was a monument to power—sleek furniture, wall-to-wall security feeds, and a massive obsidian desk dominating the center. Everything perfectly ordered—a physical manifestation of Richard’s need for control.

"We’ve got less than ninety seconds," Isabella said, moving toward the desk. "Where would he keep it?"

Liam staggered to the filing cabinets, yanking drawers open only to find them empty. "He wouldn’t leave physical records where anyone could find them," he muttered, frustration in his voice.

Isabella ran her hands along the underside of the desk, searching for hidden compartments. "Think! You knew him better than any of us. Where would Richard hide something he never wanted found?"

Liam paused, his expression shifting with sudden realization. "Not hide," he said slowly. "Richard would never risk complete loss of information. He’d want access, but with plausible deniability."

He limped to the desk, leaving a trail of blood droplets across the pristine floor. With surprising certainty, he reached for an ornate paperweight—a glass hemisphere containing what looked like a preserved scorpion. He turned it over, revealing a small metal disk embedded in its base.

"Biometric scanner," he explained, pressing Richard’s watch—which he had quietly taken from the dead man’s wrist before they’d fled—against the disk.

A soft click, then a hidden drawer slid open in what had appeared to be a solid desk front. Inside lay USB drives, paper dossiers, and a small leather-bound notebook, all meticulously labeled.

Isabella grabbed everything, stuffing items into her jacket pockets as another explosion—closer this time—sent tremors through the building. Dust and concrete fragments rained down as cracks spread across the ceiling.

"We’ve got it," Liam gasped, his face paling as the exertion took its toll on his wounded body. "Let’s scarper, shall we?"

They stumbled toward the door just as a deafening blast erupted from somewhere down the corridor—their planned escape route now swallowed by flames and falling debris.

"Other way," Isabella shouted over the chaos of alarms and collapsing architecture. She wrapped her arm around Liam’s waist, supporting him as they turned toward the emergency stairwell at the far end of the office wing.

The countdown on Richard’s desk read 0:45 as they disappeared into the smoke-filled corridor.

Meanwhile, Marcus and Christina fought through the chaos of the building’s central sector. Sprinklers rained down on them, water mixing with smoke to create a suffocating fog. The floor creaked beneath them with every step like some wounded animal.

"We should’ve found them by now," Marcus yelled, wiping water from his eyes. His voice tight with fear—not for himself, but for the others. For Isabella, who’d believed in him when he deserved nothing. For Liam, already wounded and struggling.

Christina opened her mouth to answer when a shadow burst from a side corridor. One of Richard’s die-hard security men—Marcus recognized him instantly. Decker. The one who’d always watched him with suspicious eyes.

"YOU!" Decker’s face twisted with fury, spittle flying from his lips. "This is YOUR FAULT!"

The knife came out of nowhere—a silver blur aimed at Marcus’s throat. Pure instinct saved him. He jerked sideways, but the blade still caught his jacket, slicing through fabric.

Marcus grabbed Decker’s wrist, feeling the tendons and bones beneath the skin. They crashed against the wall, Decker’s strength fueled by blind rage. The knife trembled between them, inching closer to Marcus’s face.

Water streamed down both their faces, mixing with sweat and blood.

"You killed him," Decker hissed through clenched teeth. "He was the only one who understood what needed to be done!"

Marcus felt his grip slipping. Three years of playing the obedient servant hadn’t prepared him for this raw, desperate struggle. Decker’s knee drove into his stomach, forcing the air from his lungs.

Christina circled them, gun raised, unable to get a clean shot as the two men grappled.

"Move right!" she shouted, but Marcus couldn’t break free.

The knife pressed against Marcus’s cheek, drawing a thin line of blood. In Decker’s eyes, he saw nothing but hate—the same blind devotion that had let Richard build his empire of lies.

"He sold children," Marcus gasped, driving his elbow into Decker’s ribs. "He sold MY DAUGHTER!"

Something shifted in Decker’s expression—not doubt exactly, but the briefest flicker of hesitation. It was enough. Marcus twisted, feeling a muscle tear in his shoulder as he wrenched himself away.

Christina didn’t waste the opening. The gunshot cracked through the chaos of alarms and falling debris. Decker’s head snapped back, a small, neat hole appearing between his eyes.

For a moment, he stood there, knife still raised, a look of profound confusion crossing his face. Then he crumpled, sliding down the wall to leave a smear of red on the white paint.

Marcus stood frozen, chest heaving, droplets cascading down his face. His knuckles were split open, blood mixing with the sprinkler water to create pale pink rivulets down his hands.

This death felt different than Richard’s. Emptier. Just another life swallowed by the madness that had consumed them all.

"You okay?" Christina asked, her voice softer than he’d ever heard it.

Marcus nodded, still staring at Decker’s body. "He believed in Richard. Really believed."

The realization hit him hard—how many others had been pulled into Richard’s orbit, consumed by his twisted vision?

"We need to move," Christina said, already checking behind them. "Twenty seconds, maybe less."

As they ran, Marcus couldn’t shake the image of Decker’s eyes in that final moment. Not evil. Just deceived. Another victim in Richard’s long shadow.

They pressed on, navigating the increasingly treacherous path toward the east wing. The building was coming apart around them, supports failing as Richard’s carefully planned demolition sequence progressed. Each explosion seemed calculated for maximum damage—methodical destruction that mirrored the control Richard had exerted in life.

As they rounded the final corner toward the emergency exit, they saw Isabella and Liam staggering through the smoke, bloodied but alive. Isabella clutched a bundle of documents and drives against her chest like precious cargo.

"We found it," she called out, her voice hoarse from the smoke. "Everything. The transaction records, coordinates—"

Her words were cut off by the loudest explosion yet—a detonation that shook the entire structure to its core. The ceiling between them collapsed in a cascade of concrete and steel, instantly creating an impassable barrier.

"GO!" Marcus shouted through the gap, seeing Christina and Isabella separated from him and Liam. "Get out! We’ll find another way, right?"

Christina hesitated briefly before grabbing Isabella’s arm and pulling her toward the exit, the precious intelligence about Sophia still clutched in Isabella’s grasp. They disappeared into the smoke as another section of ceiling gave way behind them.

Marcus turned to Liam, now barely conscious, blood soaking through his makeshift bandages.

"Stay with me, mate," he ordered, slinging the injured man’s arm over his shoulder. "We’re not done yet."

Together they stumbled through the inferno the building had become, seeking any path to safety. The heat was unbearable, the air almost unbreathable. Liam’s steps faltered, his strength failing.

"Leave me," he gasped. "You can move faster alone, old boy."

Marcus tightened his grip. "Not bloody happening," he growled. "I’ve left too many people behind already."

They found their salvation in a maintenance shaft—a narrow tunnel used for ventilation that sloped downward toward the building’s exterior. It would be a tight fit, especially supporting Liam’s weight, but it was their only chance.

Outside, Christina and Isabella emerged into daylight just as the building’s eastern section began to collapse. They staggered away, coughing and gasping for clean air.

"Marcus and Liam," Isabella choked out, turning back toward the burning building. "They’re still in there!"

Christina held her back, preventing a suicidal rescue attempt. "We can’t help them by dying ourselves," she said, though her own gaze remained fixed on the collapsing structure, searching for any movement.

The final explosions began—not the controlled demolitions of Richard’s plan but the catastrophic failure of weakened supports and ruptured gas lines. The building seemed to implode, folding in on itself in a roaring cascade of destruction.

Isabella’s cry of despair was lost in the thunderous collapse. The documents against her chest—their only link to Sophia—suddenly seemed a hollow victory in the face of such loss.

Then, movement at the edge of the destruction caught Christina’s eye. A maintenance hatch, partially buried under debris, burst open. A figure emerged, dragging another behind him—both covered in gray dust and streaked with blood, but unmistakably alive.

Marcus had done the impossible, hauling Liam’s barely conscious form through the shaft seconds before the final collapse. His face showed nothing but exhaustion and determination as he pulled Liam clear, finally collapsing to his knees yards from the burning wreckage of Richard’s empire.

For long moments, the four survivors simply remained where they were—Isabella and Christina standing at the edge of the disaster, Marcus and Liam sprawled on the ground amid settling dust. The only sounds were their labored breathing and distant emergency vehicles.

Isabella moved first, rushing to Liam to check his wounds. Christina remained cautious, weapon ready—years of training making her wary of the open area, conscious that Richard’s influence extended far beyond the destroyed facility.

Marcus stared at the flames consuming what had been his prison for three years. The files in Isabella’s possession might lead them to Sophia, or reveal a truth too painful to bear. But for the first time since Richard had first mentioned his daughter’s name, Marcus felt something beyond the hollow desperation that had driven him for so long.

"Let’s not do that again," Christina muttered, finally lowering her weapon as she helped Isabella tend to Liam.

A ghost of a smile crossed Marcus’s dust-covered face as he watched Richard’s legacy burn to ash. "No promises, love," he replied quietly.

Isabella glanced up from Liam’s injuries, the stolen files still secure in her jacket. "These will lead us to her," she said with quiet certainty. "We’re going to find Sophia."

Marcus met her gaze, allowing himself, just for a moment, to believe it might be true. Whatever came next—whatever horrors or hopes the files might reveal—they would face it together.

For now, that was enough.