Chapter 2 - The Sworn Enemy in the Dark**
“Clara, answer me, you stubborn idiot!”
The steel door shuddered under a ferocious kick, followed by the screech of a crowbar tearing through the reinforced rubber seal. The door sprang open with a violent pop, flooding the freezing vault with a blinding wash of hallway light and a rush of warm, ambient air that felt like fire against my frostbitten skin.
Standing in the doorway, panting heavily with a grease-stained crowbar in her hand and fury blazing in her eyes, was Vanessa Cole.
Vanessa. My absolute sworn enemy. For three years, we had engaged in a bitter, merciless corporate war at the distribution center, trading insults, sabotaging each other's promotion bids, and treating our rivalry like a blood feud. She was the last person on earth I ever expected to see—let alone the person rescuing me.
“Vanessa...” I choked out, collapsing sideways onto the frosty floor as another excruciating contraction tore through my body.
Vanessa dropped the crowbar with a loud clatter and rushed forward, her usual polished, arrogant demeanor entirely shattered. When she saw my condition—the frost clinging to my hair, the blood on my hands, and the unmistakable agony of labor writ large across my face—her breath hitched.
“Holy mother of God,” Vanessa breathed, sliding onto the freezing floor beside me and stripping off her heavy leather jacket to wrap it tightly around my shivering shoulders. “Clara... what happened?”
“Victor...” I gasped, tears freezing on my cheeks. “He... he locked me in. He wants the insurance money.”
Vanessa’s expression shifted from shock to a cold, murderous rage that I had never seen on her face before. But before she could speak, a fresh, agonizing contraction ripped a scream from my throat. I grabbed her arm with desperate strength.
“The babies... they’re coming, Vanessa. Right now. I can’t stop it.”
Vanessa didn’t hesitate. Years of corporate rivalry vanished in a single second, replaced by fierce, unyielding survival instinct. She whipped out her phone, frantically pressing buttons. “911? Yes, I need an emergency ambulance at the Miller Distribution Warehouse, Vault 7! I have a thirty-two-week pregnant female in active labor suffering from severe hypothermia! Hurry!”
She tossed the phone aside, slid her hands beneath me, and hoisted me up with surprising strength, dragging me out of the freezing tomb and into the relative warmth of the outer corridor. But as we emerged into the brightly lit warehouse staging area, the distant sound of heavy footsteps echoed from the main entrance.
A familiar voice called out, dripping with fake, manufactured panic.
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“Clara? Honey? Where are you? The security guard said the vault door malfunctioned!”
It was Victor. He had returned to check if the job was finished.
