Red.

The insides of my nose are raw, throbbing with the repeated sting of sharp intakes of smoky air. My lungs heave, and I reach into my dress bodice, head aching, heart splitting, to grab the wad of cash I brought. I toss it to the ground for him to find. Or for the firefighters to find. Or for the house to claim. Like it matters, really.

The beams of the house begin to twist and shake, their groans overshadowing the panicked shouting in the background. I don't get what the big deal is. I left him an out. If he wants to make it out alive, he should take it. He's always bragging about how smart he is anyway. Time to put it to the test.

The bottom of my dress tears on the splitting wood floors, and the ripping sound triggers a flash of rage. I just bought this dress. $10,000 dollars, hand tailored, one of a kind. Guess I'll have to get a new one. Black this time, instead of red. Maybe I'll wear it to his funeral. Wishful thinking and all that.

I feel my head start to spin, the lack of oxygen starting to grow into something serious. Serious, and soon to be deadly. The house echoes this sentiment in an agonizing blaze, its lungs struggling for the last of its breath. Never liked this house much. A bit dramatic for my taste, with its gold trim in every room and abundant chandeliers. I'd always found the extreme decadence to be nothing short of nauseating. I mean, does any one person really need a guest kitchen for show and an actual kitchen for cooking? I certainly don't, especially since I've had the same Doordash driver for the past four years. Still not sure why I bought it, but isn't that the whole point of being rich?

I catch a sharp glint out of the corner of my eye, a shine coming off a framed photo, the late afternoon sun rays lightening upon it. Against my better judgement (not that I have much of it left, but you get the picture) I grab it. It's hot. My hand tightens around it, refusing to relinquish its steady grip. I suppose this is worth taking. The photo joins my hand that holds my car keys, and I feel the metals continue to warm uncomfortably.

I exit the house, stepping out to a chorus of screeching cicadas, protesting the oncoming autumn with a delirious, rebelliously long summer. They're almost loud enough to shroud the now continuous screams from inside, though those are quickly becoming fainter as the house pleads for its end. I wonder if he's found the axe I placed under his pillow before I locked him in our bedroom. If he hasn't by this point, there won't be much of a difference.

I leisurely make my way to my car, which waits for me patiently, keys twirling in my hand. I toss the frame into the passenger seat, and the car purrs to life as I turn the key. I caress the wheel, watching the orange flames grow larger, a riveting backdrop as I reverse my car out of the mile long drive way. Some would say its a skill, but I personally think it's nothing more than being familiar with your surroundings. Or maybe I'm just that talented. I mean, if I can engineer an electrical fire, secure a foolproof alibi, and run a multi-billion dollar business that I started out of my college dorm, then yea, I figure I can back out my own driveway backwards. And I do so enjoy the view.

There should be sirens at any moment. My land is secluded, but not to the point of hiding a massive fire from my neighbors, especially since they're so damn nosy. They'll be all over this one. I can hear their revolting, fake sympathy now.

I pull into the woods off of the country road, fully hidden, to wait out the disaster. I admit, there is a part of me that wants to know if he makes it or not. My tailor gets busy, and I prefer to schedule dress fittings as soon as I know I'll be attending an event. I kill the engine and leave my car, my feet now boot-clad in shoes that have no features on the bottom, and cover my tracks until I'm sure I'm invisable. I begin to hear sirens, and I watch, hidden in the trees, as firetrucks, police cars, and an ambulance zoom past me to my former home. The last truck is probably unnecessary.

I return to my car, my home until they all leave, or until right before dawn. Whichever comes first, I'm not in a rush. Maybe I should be.

I awake to the sounds of leaves rustling on the road just in time to watch the firetrucks pass by. No sign of the police cars or ambulance. I don't know if that's good or bad. I stretch my arms, the stiffness evident of my night spent cramped in the car. I check the time. 5am. No time like the present.

I turn my car on and leave my hiding place, taking my space back on the road. I exit to cover my tracks, taking extra care with the tire marks and broken sticks. As I climb back into my car, the stiffness of my body echoes in my mind, and I find myself uncharacteristically empty and unfeeling. I lower the windows, letting the cool, almost morning air blow my loose hair wild. I smell like smoke, and it annoys me. Turns out setting my multi-million dollar home aflame was less exciting than I had hoped. A bit anti-climactic when you can't stay to watch the entire event. Next time I set a house on fire, I'll be sure to manage my expectations better. I've had enough disappointment for a while. My eyes lower to the frame in my passenger side.

I'm glowing. I'm in his arms, and I'm glowing. With happiness this time, not orange, uncontrollable flames, and in a white dress, not a red one. He stands tall beside me, smile contagious, mirroring mine, his black suit tailored perfectly by (you guessed it) my favorite tailer. I'd booked out months in advance for that one.

I grab the photo and throw it out the window. It lands far behind me on the road, tossed in the center. I slam on the brakes, suddenly feeling sentimental. Interesting. Before I can fully process another thought, I throw my car in reverse, swing my arm over the passenger seat, and floor it backwards. The photo glints softly in the moonlight, a shine coming off the frame from the moon rays that gently illuminate it. It taunts me. I set my eyes on my target.

The photo frame crashes into bits as I run my car over it again, again, again. Smashed to ruin. Gone at last.

I drive off softly, the wind caressing, the woods quiet, the moon still shining, my dress red.

Although in this light, covered in soot and smoke, it looks almost black.