CHAPTER LXXIX
The soft crunch of gravel beneath tires broke the quiet air as a sleek car came to a stop outside my house. Its horn echoed faintly, snapping me from my thoughts. My heart leapt, a flutter of anticipation pulling me to the door.
I stepped outside, smoothing the folds of my dress nervously, and there they were—my family.
The car door opened, and my father stepped out first, his dignified presence commanding respect without effort. His sharp features softened, though, when his gaze found me. My mother followed, her warm smile lighting up her face, her presence like a calming breeze that made the tension in my shoulders melt. Then my sister emerged, her eyes bright with excitement as she rushed forward.
"Mother!" I breathed, and in the next moment, I was in her arms. I clung to her, inhaling the familiar scent of jasmine and sandalwood that brought back childhood memories—nights when she hummed softly to lull me to sleep. Tears pricked my eyes, and my voice cracked as I whispered how much I had missed her.
My father's proud smile and my sister's laughter wrapped me in warmth. For a brief, precious moment, standing there under the sun with their arms around me, I felt whole again.
But then another sound cut through the stillness—a deeper, heavier hum of an engine.
I turned toward it, and my breath caught.
A second car pulled up, this one unlike any I had ever seen. It was a vision of sleek darkness, its polished black surface glinting in sharp flashes of sunlight. It wasn't just a car; it felt like a presence. The air around it seemed to hum with quiet power, as though it belonged to another realm entirely.
The door opened, and from within stepped Finnian.
Even without introduction, his presence commanded silence. He was ageless—his handsome, chiseled face unchanged from the portraits that hung in our ancestral home. He had first appeared in our family's history when my grandfather was a young man of twenty-three, yet here he stood decades later, untouched by time. He was more than a priest to us; he was a legend, a guardian woven into the fabric of our bloodline.
To outsiders, Finnian was a mysterious advisor, but to us, he was near-divine. His wisdom was revered, his words treated as prophecy. Whenever he appeared, it was never without reason, and that reason was never small.
The air seemed to shift as he approached. My father bowed his head with respect, my mother's hand tightened around mine, and I felt his gaze sweep over me like a piercing light, as though he could see straight through the walls I'd built around my heart.
And that was when the weight of his influence crashed over me again.
It was Finnian who had chosen her—the girl I was meant to marry. His voice had been calm, assured, as if he were reading a destiny already written. No one in our family dared question him; not even my father, who treated him with reverence.
I had been told her name, told of her perfect lineage and beauty. Yet I had never seen her face. Not once. And I didn't want to.
Not because I hated her. Not because she was unworthy. But because I already knew my heart could not belong to her. To see her face would make this arrangement real, would chain me to a future I did not choose. Every time her name was spoken, my chest tightened, not with anger but with grief—grief for a love I'd found elsewhere. A love that felt older than time itself.
Lylah.
Her name was a whisper in my soul, a melody I'd known before I had even met her. Every glance at her felt like remembering something I had lost long ago. How could I marry a stranger when every part of me screamed for her?
But none of that mattered. Not when Finnian's word was treated as law.
"Mr. J," Finnian's voice cut through my thoughts, smooth and commanding, "have you ever heard the name… Vorgath?"
My father stiffened, his lips pressing into a thin line. "Yes," he said carefully. "Stories, of course. Tales of a dangerous demon who ruled the Devil's realm."
Finnian's lips curved—not into a smile, but something heavier, like he was about to share a truth few had ever heard.
"Indeed," he murmured. "Vorgath was feared by all… but few know that she was once capable of love."
The words struck me strangely, sending a chill creeping up my spine.
"She fell in love," he continued, his eyes glinting with memories that seemed far older than any mortal life. "With a fairy. A pure, radiant soul who saw the light in her darkness. Vorgath loved her so deeply she was willing to abandon everything—her power, her identity, her throne of shadows—just to be with her."
I held my breath, the weight of his words sinking deep into my chest.
"But Fairyland…" Finnian's voice softened, his tone like steel wrapped in silk, "…could not trust her. They believed a demon's heart could never be pure. So, they destroyed her. They killed the one love that could have united their worlds."
The silence that followed was suffocating. A sharp pain pierced my skull, sudden and relentless, as if the story itself was unlocking something buried deep within me. My hands trembled, though I clenched them into fists to hide it.
"Finnian," my father scoffed lightly, trying to dispel the heaviness in the air, "you always tell these stories so dramatically. They're nothing more than myths."
But Finnian's expression didn't waver. His gaze was steady, knowing, carrying secrets I couldn't begin to unravel. And as my father dismissed him, I pressed a trembling hand to my forehead, the throbbing pain intensifying.
Something about this story felt too real, too familiar. It wasn't just a legend. It was a warning… or perhaps, a memory I wasn't ready to face.
To be continue....