The Ultimate Choice Between Love and Fortune

Six years ago in J City, the midsummer sun hung like molten iron, pouring over the asphalt and baking the road so soft you could feel heat rising each time you stepped on it. The air was thick with car exhaust and oily smoke from street food stalls, stifling and oppressive, even the cicadas in the trees called out weakly and breathlessly. My name is Frank Collins, twenty-eight years old, the youngest bomb disposal expert in the city police department's bomb squad. That afternoon, I was in the equipment room organizing my tools, my fingertips brushing over the cool bomb disposal pliers, the multimeter, and a tangle of wires and detectors, each polished to a gleaming shine. These guys are the most reliable partners I have when I'm on a mission. Just thinking about them puts my mind at ease; they're better than anything else. "Frank! Frank! Confirm receipt!" The walkie-talkie suddenly crackled sharply, static carrying the dispatcher's tense tone, breaking the silence in the gear room. I grabbed the walkie-talkie immediately and pressed the call button, my voice steady: "Received. This is Frank Collins. What's the situation?" "Bomb found on the rooftop of the Global Office Building! The suspect is holding a hostage and insists on seeing you!" The dispatcher's voice was crystal clear through the radio, urgent and unwavering. My heart tightened suddenly; I grabbed the black toolbox from the table and rushed out. The toolbox was heavy, carrying all my belongings—and an even heavier responsibility. "Frank, be careful!" Alex, my colleague, shouted from the next office, his face full of concern. I waved back without a word and sprinted out of the office building. Downstairs, the police cars were already running, sirens wailing through the bustling afternoon, flashing lights spinning in a dizzying blur. I threw open the car door and jumped in. The driver slammed the gas pedal to the floor, and the car shot forward with a whoosh, speeding toward the Global Office Building. The street scene outside the window blurred past. Pedestrians along the roadside stopped to stare, but in my mind, there was only one thought: faster, even faster. Twenty minutes later, the car came to a steady stop at the foot of the Global Office Building. Yellow police tape was already stretched tight outside the office building. Beyond the tape, a crowd had gathered—some standing on tiptoe to look in, others holding up phones to take photos and record videos. The hum of their chatter was chaotic and buzzing. Negotiation expert Ben approached with a grave expression, sweat beads still clinging to his forehead. He hurried to my side: "Frank, the suspect's emotions are extremely unstable. The standoff has already lasted half an hour. The captain is waiting for you upstairs. You need to go up and calm her down first." I nodded without asking any questions, then turned and ran straight into the office building, heading directly into the emergency stairwell. The stairwell was dim, lit only by the faint glow of emergency lights. Taking two steps at a time, I climbed swiftly, my heart pounding fiercely. Finally reaching the top floor, I pushed open the iron door leading to the rooftop. A blast of heat mixed with a fierce wind hit me, making my hair stand on end. At the edge of the rooftop stood a familiar figure — Hannah Lynn, my ex-wife. A year ago, we divorced because of her paranoia and suspicion. I thought I'd never see her again in this lifetime, yet here we were, meeting like this. She wore a white dress, her hair tangled and stuck to her cheeks. In her hand, she gripped a black remote control so tightly that her knuckles had turned white from the strain. At her feet lay a metal box, tangled with colorful wires in a chaotic mess, one end still wrapped around the girl herself. The girl looked barely over twenty, wearing a simple T-shirt and jeans, her mouth sealed with tape, unable to speak. Her eyes were full of fear, her whole body trembling uncontrollably, tears streaming down her cheeks, soaking the front of her shirt. "Frank Collins, you finally came." Hannah Lynn's voice came through the small walkie-talkie strapped to her body, sharp with a thread of grievance and a near-mad obsessive edge. I slowly moved forward, my right hand quietly reaching for the bomb disposal pliers clipped to my waist. I tried to keep my tone calm: "Hannah, stay calm. Let's talk this through. Don't hurt innocent people." "Innocent?" She suddenly let out a cold laugh, glanced down at the girl beside her, her eyes full of hostility. "Her name's Nora Scott, your new girlfriend, right? Frank Collins, did you forget what you told me at the Marriage Registration Office's door? How you said you'd love me forever?" "Hannah, you're mistaken." I stopped in my tracks, about ten meters away from them, too afraid to move forward, worried I might provoke her. "Nora Scott was just a stranger I saved last month. There's really nothing between us!" "Nothing between you?" She suddenly screamed, shaking the remote control violently. "Then why is she always hanging around you? She's taking up the time that should have been mine—of course it matters!" "Our business is between us." I tried hard to control my emotions, making my voice sound as calm as possible. "Let her go first. She's unrelated to all this, no need for her to pay for our past." "Let her go." Hannah Lynn looked up, her eyes blazing with defiance as she stared straight at me. "Get back together with me—agree right now, and I'll release her immediately. Otherwise, I'll press the button this instant!" I instinctively glanced at the bomb; the wires were a chaotic tangle, making it impossible to quickly identify the main line. In this situation, trying to forcibly disarm the bomb was far too risky—one wrong move would mean total destruction and loss of life. "We can talk about getting back together slowly." I tried to buy time, my mind racing through possible strategies. "Let Nora Scott go first, then we find a place to sit down and talk this through, alright?" "I don't have time to waste on you!" Hannah Lynn refused to listen and immediately started the countdown, "180, 179, 178..." The cold numbers struck my heart like heavy blows, over and over. I saw the fierce will to survive in Nora Scott's eyes, and my heart ached as if pierced by needles. She was so young, so innocent—she shouldn't lose her life because of our grudge. Time ticked away second by second, the countdown numbers getting smaller: 100, 99, 98... "Hannah, I promise to get back together!" I shouted desperately. "Stop the countdown, I agree!" But then she suddenly laughed, a laugh full of sarcasm and contempt: "Frank Collins, do you really think I'd believe you? 30, 29, 28..." In the final seconds, I stared at the tangled wires, steeling myself, and bit down hard as I cut the red wire — the one most likely to be the main line. I had to take a gamble. But I lost that gamble. "Bang —" The deafening explosion rattled my ears; the powerful shockwave threw me into the air and slammed me hard onto the ground. Everything went black in front of me; my body felt like it was being torn apart, especially my right hand, which first went numb with a piercing sting, then lost all sensation — I felt nothing at all.