Before Arthur could take another step toward the desk, a sudden massive explosion ripped through the bright luxury room[cite: 1]. A deafening loud explosive blast tore open the hardwood flooring, shattering expensive furniture into splinters and sending heavy debris flying amidst thick white smoke[cite: 1]. Shards of glass rained down from the crystal chandelier as the shockwave threw Arthur and Elena hard against the opposite wall[cite: 1]. Heavy rapid footsteps and shouting voices echoed from the hallway outside as the estate's security systems failed all at once.
Arthur: Elena! Are you alright? Talk to me!
Elena: I'm... I'm okay, Dad! Just help me up from the floor!
Margarethe: (Coughing through smoke) Fools! You thought you could trap me? The entire estate is wired to blow!
Arthur: You insane woman! You just destroyed decades of your own company's history!
Margarethe: If I can't control the trust fund, nobody can! Enjoy your burning mansion!
Flames began licking up the velvet curtains near the tall windows, casting a flickering orange glow over the ruined parlor. Thick white smoke billowed toward the ceiling, obscuring the ornate crown molding and choking the air with the smell of scorched velvet and burnt wood. Arthur shielded Elena with his own body, coughing heavily as he tried to find a clear path toward the shattered double doors. The low dramatic sub-bass pulse thrummed through the floorboards, matching the frantic beating of their hearts[cite: 1].
Arthur: We need to get out of here right now before the roof collapses!
Elena: Look at her, Dad... look at what she's doing.
Arthur: Forget about her! Our lives are worth more than this cursed estate!
Elena: No, wait. Look closely at her face.
Arthur blinked through the haze of smoke, turning his head toward the center of the devastated room where Margarethe stood laughing maniacally amidst the blazing debris. The horrific destruction had not broken Elena as her stepmother expected; instead, something inside the young woman had completely shifted.
Margarethe: Burn, you ungrateful little brat! Burn with your precious inheritance!
Elena: Keep laughing, Margarethe. Your trap just sprung on the wrong person.