I gripped the intercom in the sealed cellar, gasping as carbon dioxide spiked. Instead of a rescue, my husband Julian’s voice echoed with his mistress's laughter. "Stop using the old woman's life to scare me," he sneered. "If she dies down there today, the ultimate control of the family trust is mine." The line went dead, leaving grandmother Eleanor unconscious. To blow the locked blast doors open, I jammed a wrench into a fermenting tank's exhaust valve. Then, I smashed the glass protecting the Origin Blood, our family’s century-old vintage, to short-circuit the heating system. I had to completely destroy my winemaking masterpiece and the priceless heirloom to trigger a physical explosion. As the overloaded tank groaned, I threw myself over Eleanor. The deafening blast tore through the cellar, leaving our survival entirely to fate.