The pendant glimmered faintly on the table, its stained chain catching the light like a cruel joke. The portrait of Angela lay beneath it, silent proof of a love now tainted by someone's malice.
Amelia had come to retrieve the pendant. Said Riella wanted it.
Around the hall, chaos spread. Guards were called, orders barked. Every corridor, every servant's quarters, every shadowed corner of the estate was combed through with merciless efficiency.
But no intruder was found. Whoever had done this was gone—or worse, was still among them.
Servants whispered fearfully as they hurried past. Some swore they'd seen nothing; others trembled at the thought that such a violation could happen within Dimitri's own walls. The soldiers' eyes darted sharply, suspicion falling on everyone.
But none of it reached Riella.
She was escorted quietly from the dining hall, Amelia clinging to her hand. Her tears had not stopped—silent now, but streaming in endless rivers. Chloe tried to comfort her, but Riella's gaze was distant, locked on something none of them could see.
When they reached her chamber, Amelia guided her inside, shutting the heavy door against the echoing steps of guards outside.
Riella sat on the edge of the bed, shoulders hunched, the sobs returning with sharp force. Her hands clutched at the sheets as though she were drowning.
"Why would they—why would they do this to her?" she choked, her voice breaking. "She never hurt anyone. She was… she was my mother…"
Amelia wrapped her arms around her, her own eyes brimming. "Don't… don't say was. She is your mother. She always will be."
But Riella shook her head, her whole frame trembling. "I can't—Amelia, I can't stop seeing it. The blood, her face…" Her words dissolved into sobs.
Amelia held her tighter, whispering soothing nonsense, knowing it could never be enough.
The chamber was dim, curtains drawn against the noon sun. A basin of cool water sat by the bedside, the cloth beside it already damp from Amelia's repeated attempts to soothe Riella's fevered skin.
Riella sat curled against the pillows, her cheeks wet, her eyes swollen from crying. Her hands would not let go of the pendant. She clutched it tightly, knuckles white, as if by holding it she could keep Angela alive.
Amelia perched at the edge of the bed, her hand stroking Riella's hair. "I'm here," she whispered, her own voice unsteady. "You're not alone, Riella. Please… breathe."
The door opened.
Both women turned. Dimitri stood there, tall and imposing even in the soft shadows. His black coat had been stripped away, leaving only the dark shirt beneath. The sight of Riella undone, trembling with grief, seemed to carve something sharp into his face.
Amelia rose quickly, glancing between them. She pressed a gentle kiss to Riella's damp hair before stepping away. "I'll bring more water." Her voice wavered. She left the chamber quietly, the door closing behind her.
For a moment, silence.
Dimitri crossed the room in a few steps and stopped at the edge of the bed. Riella lifted her tear-streaked face, her lips trembling, eyes shimmering with despair.
"She's gone," Riella whispered, clutching the pendant tighter. "They took her from me, Dimitri… they—" Her voice broke.
He reached out, taking her wrist gently but firmly, prying her clenched fist open enough to free the chain from her bruised grip. He laid the pendant on the table, then sank to one knee before her.
"Look at me." His voice was low, commanding, yet it carried something softer beneath the steel.
Her lashes fluttered, tears sliding down her cheeks as her gaze met his.
"I can't lose anyone else," she whispered brokenly. "Not again. I can't—"
"You won't," he cut in, his tone sharp but trembling with something more. His hand rose, cupping her face, his thumb brushing away her tears. "Not while I breathe. Do you hear me, Riella? You will not be taken."
Her sob caught, her lips parting as though to argue—but the intensity in his eyes held her. His palm was warm against her cold skin, anchoring her in place.
The chamber seemed smaller, the air tighter, as though everything had narrowed to this—his hand on her cheek, his breath brushing hers, the closeness charged and dangerous.
Her tears fell faster, but softer now. She leaned into his touch, unable to resist the comfort it gave.
"Dimitri…" she breathed, his name breaking like a confession.
Something in him shifted. His other hand slid behind her, pulling her forward until her forehead rested against his chest. She clutched his shirt desperately, burying her face there as sobs wracked her frame.
He held her with both arms now—one cradling her head, the other wrapped firmly around her waist. His grip was unyielding, protective, almost possessive, as though he could shield her from every cruel hand fate dealt.
"Let it break," he murmured into her hair, his voice low and rough. "Let it break here. With me."
Her sobs quieted, though her body still trembled. She felt the steady beat of his heart beneath her cheek, the rise and fall of his chest grounding her when everything else was chaos.
His lips brushed the crown of her head—not quite a kiss, not quite not—and lingered there for a breath too long.
When he finally pulled back just enough to look at her, their faces were inches apart. His gaze locked with hers, dark and searing, filled with a storm he could no longer hide.
Neither spoke. Neither moved.
And in the silence, heavy and trembling, it was clear—Dimitri's love for her was no longer something he could bury, no matter how much he tried.