Taming My Sugar Mommy
Chapter 79: The Trigger

Chapter 79: The Trigger

As Marcus moved to follow the others into the corridor, a sharp, insistent beeping cut through the tense silence. Electronic, mechanical, purposeful—like a countdown beginning.

Christina reacted first, combat training kicking in as she rushed back to Richard’s body. She dropped beside the corpse, ignoring the spreading blood as she grabbed his limp wrist.

"It’s a detonator," she said, voice tight with urgency as she examined the blinking red light on Richard’s watch. "Dead man’s switch."

The beeping intensified, changing pitch—no longer just coming from Richard’s watch but echoing throughout the building. Multiple charges priming in sequence.

Marcus’s face drained of color. "He wouldn’t," he whispered, though his expression said he knew better. "Bloody hell, the man’s mad." Richard’s contingency plans always had contingency plans.

The guards at the doorway, initially frozen at the sight of their employer’s execution, now exchanged panicked glances as understanding dawned. They’d been left to die—collateral damage in Richard’s final act of control.

"How long?" Isabella demanded, still supporting Liam’s weight against her shoulder.

Christina examined the watch, pressing a button that revealed a digital display. "Two minutes," she said grimly. "Maybe less."

As if confirming her words, Richard’s voice suddenly crackled through the room’s intercom—pre-recorded and eerily calm despite the violence that had just claimed his life.

"If you’re hearing this, congratulations," the disembodied voice announced. "You’ve made a terrible mistake. Perhaps you believed you could take control of my operation. Perhaps you thought you could simply walk away. Either way, you’ve miscalculated."

A countdown began displaying on screens throughout the room: 1:59... 1:58... 1:57...

"My entire life’s work was built on the understanding that everything—and everyone—is ultimately disposable," Richard’s voice continued. "Including myself. Did you really think I would leave anything of value behind for others to claim?"

Marcus cursed, barely containing his rage as three years of manipulation culminated in this final betrayal. "We need to move. Now."

Christina nodded, shifting into tactical mode. "We split up. Cover more ground, increase our chances."

"Split up?" Isabella protested, her arm tightening around Liam as he swayed beside her. "That’s insane."

"It’s our only option," Christina insisted, checking her weapon. "Two teams. Marcus and I will clear a path to the exit. You and Liam head for Richard’s office—third floor, east wing. Find anything you can about Sophia."

Isabella’s eyes widened. "But the building’s about to—"

"We’re already dead if we don’t try," Marcus interrupted, his voice hollow but determined. The despair that had gripped him after killing Richard had been replaced by cold resolve. "Richard’s whole life was built on leverage. Information. If there’s any record of what happened to my daughter, it’ll be in his private files."

Liam straightened despite his injury, face pale but determined. "She’s right," he said, his voice carrying a slight British inflection. "We’ve got to get those records, haven’t we? No other choice."

1:30... 1:29... 1:28...

The guards, realizing they’d been abandoned to die, were already fleeing in panic—some toward exits, others toward Richard’s lieutenants, seeking guidance that no longer existed.

"Go," Christina urged, tossing a key card to Isabella. "This will get you into the restricted areas. We’ll meet at the south entrance in ninety seconds."

Isabella caught the card, her expression hardening as she nodded once. With Liam leaning against her, they moved swiftly toward the eastern corridor, disappearing around the corner as the countdown continued.

Christina turned to Marcus, weapon raised. "Ready?"

Marcus picked up his gun from where it had fallen beside Richard’s body. It felt heavier now, weighted by what he had done. What he still might have to do.

"I’ve been ready to leave this place for three years," he said quietly, a subtle British cadence in his words. "Bloody well past time, I’d say."

Together they moved into the main corridor, away from Richard’s body and toward the building’s exit. The hallway was already filling with smoke—the first charges must have been set off in the lower levels, designed to weaken the structure before the main detonation.

They hadn’t gone twenty paces before encountering the first obstacle. Two of Richard’s security team stood at the junction ahead, weapons drawn. Unlike the panicked guards who’d fled, these men were harder, more disciplined—true believers in Richard’s operation.

"Stop right there," the taller one commanded, training his weapon on Marcus. "You did this. You killed him."

Marcus felt an eerie calm settle over him—the same detached focus that had helped him survive three years in Richard’s organization. "He was already planning to kill all of us," he replied evenly. "Check your comms. No evacuation order. No emergency protocols. You really think that’s an oversight?"

Doubt flickered across the guard’s face, but his weapon remained steady.

"We don’t have time for this," Christina muttered.

1:10... 1:09... 1:08...

A distant explosion shook the building, sending a tremor through the floor. Plaster dust sifted down as emergency lights flickered on, bathing the corridor in pulsing red.

The momentary distraction was all Christina needed. Her movement was fluid and economical as she fired twice—two precise shots that dropped both guards before they could react. Not kill shots, Marcus noted. Incapacitating.

"Let’s go," Christina said, stepping over the wounded men without breaking stride.

They continued forward, meeting sporadic resistance—some from loyal guards, others from desperate employees trying to escape, viewing anyone armed as a threat. The building was descending into chaos, smoke billowing through vents, alarms blaring, the countdown a grim reminder of their dwindling chances.

0:50... 0:49... 0:48...

’Sophia,’ Marcus thought as he followed Christina through the maze of corridors. ’Hold on. I’m coming.’

He had no right to hope anymore. No reason to believe his daughter was even alive after three years of Richard’s lies. And yet, as he fought toward an uncertain escape, that tiny, stubborn ember of hope refused to die.

A guard emerged from a side passage, eyes wild with panic, weapon swinging toward them. Marcus reacted without thought, his body moving on instinct honed by years under Richard’s thumb. His first strike knocked the weapon aside; his second drove the man to his knees. The third—delivered with cold precision—ensured he wouldn’t get up again.

Christina watched the brutal takedown with narrowed eyes but said nothing. This wasn’t the time for moral judgments. Not with less than a minute left.

They rounded the final corner to find the main entrance blocked by debris—a ceiling collapse triggered by the earlier explosions. Smoke poured through the rubble, and beyond it, they could see daylight.

"Alternate route," Christina said grimly, turning toward a service corridor. "East wing. We’ll have to go through—"

"The office sector," Marcus finished, his heart sinking. "Where Isabella and Liam are headed. Blimey, we’re cutting it rather close."

Their eyes met in shared understanding. If the main exit was already compromised, the entire building was failing faster than anticipated. The countdown might be academic—they could have even less time than they thought.

0:30... 0:29... 0:28...

As they changed course, racing toward the east wing through smoke-filled corridors, Marcus felt the weight of his choices bearing down. Three years of compliance. Three years of following Richard’s orders, all to protect a daughter who might already be lost to him.

And now, in killing Richard, he might have sealed all their fates.

’I’m sorry, Sophia,’ he thought as they ran. ’I’ve failed you in more ways than I can count.’

But even as despair threatened to overwhelm him, another thought surfaced—unexpected and fierce.

’But I’m not done fighting. Not yet.’

The building trembled around them as the countdown continued its merciless progression.

0:20... 0:19... 0:18...