The dining hall glowed with warmth and sunlight, golden light spilling through the high windows across polished floors and long tables. Servants moved with practiced grace, setting silver dishes before each guest. The soft clink of cutlery and faint hum of conversation should have made the room comforting, ordinary.
Yet Riella couldn't shake the unease prickling at the back of her mind. Something felt wrong, though she couldn't name it.
Amelia, seated at her side, spoke cheerfully with Chloe about returning to the manor later that day. Across from them, Seraphine filled the air with chatter about fabrics and romantic tales from her travels, and though Riella flushed at the boldness of her cousin's words, she still forced a small smile. Dimitri, as ever, remained silent—present but unreadable, his stillness more commanding than words.
Then the silver lids were lifted.
Steam rose from roasted meats, herbs, and warm bread. But when Riella removed her cover—
The world stopped.
Her plate held no food. Instead, nestled neatly inside was a small painted portrait. The edges were worn, the colors faded, but Riella knew the face instantly.
Angela.
Her adoptive mother's kind smile stared up at her from the little painting, her soft eyes radiating the same warmth Riella had always carried in memory. And draped cruelly across that portrait was a pendant—Angela's pendant—the one she never took off. Its chain was twisted, its charm darkened with a crust of old, dried blood.
Riella's breath caught. The silver cover slipped from her hands and clattered against the table, the sound jarring in the sudden, suffocating silence.
Her lips quivered, and the word tore itself out before she could contain it.
"Mom…"
Her voice broke. Her chest caved inward, as though the air itself had betrayed her. Memories she had fought so hard to hold onto—the gentle laughter of Angela's voice, the comfort of her arms, the way she always smelled faintly of lavender—came rushing back only to be shattered by the grotesque offering in front of her.
Tears blurred her vision. She pressed a hand to her mouth, but the sobs slipped through anyway, raw and uncontrolled.
Amelia's chair scraped against the floor as she turned in panic. "Riella? What is it? What happened?" She grabbed her hands, her own voice shaking as she tried to steady her.
Dimitri was already moving. His chair pushed back sharply as he crossed to her side. His eyes fell on the portrait and pendant, his jaw tightening until it looked carved from stone. He recognized it. He knew exactly what had been placed before her—and what message it carried.
Seraphine's hand shot to her lips, her face pale. Kael's eyes darkened, his fist clenched tight beneath the table.
And then Dimitri reached into the dish with careful fingers and found a folded scrap of paper tucked beneath the pendant. He unfolded it slowly.
The words were written in jagged strokes:
"I've killed her."
The silence that followed was crushing.
Riella broke into louder sobs, her shoulders shaking violently as Amelia drew her close, murmuring soothing words that broke apart on her own trembling lips.
Dimitri's hand came down firmly on Riella's shoulder, grounding her even as her world collapsed. His voice was low, but steel ran through it.
"Kaien."
The trusted soldier appeared at once, bowing.
"Take the twins away," Dimitri ordered, his gaze never leaving Riella.
Noel and Nathaniel, who had been laughing just moments before, were now silent and pale. Their wide eyes flicked between Riella's tears and the blood-stained pendant.
"But, Papa—" Noel's small voice cracked.
"Now," Dimitri said, his tone hard enough to cut stone.
Kaien obeyed. With reluctant steps and worried glances, the twins disappeared through the heavy doors.
As soon as they were gone, Dimitri straightened, his gaze sweeping over everyone still in the room. His voice carried like a blade unsheathed.
"Search the estate. Every servant, every guard, every shadow. Someone has walked into my halls who does not belong."
The hall shifted into frantic movement—guards hurrying, servants pale as they scattered. But Dimitri stayed at Riella's side.
Her sobs were still shaking her, Amelia clinging to her as though she could hold her together. On the table, Angela's pendant glimmered faintly, cruelly. A relic of love desecrated by blood.
And though Dimitri's expression never faltered, his chest was a storm of fury. Whoever had dared to place this in Riella's hands had not only reopened her wounds—they had insulted her grief, her very humanity.
This was no random cruelty. It was a message.
And Dimitri knew one thing with certainty—whoever sent it was closer than any of them realized.