Aria's hands were still trembling when she returned to her room, the whispers from the servants echoing in her skull. If she keeps digging, she'll end up like Matteo.
She paced the room, heart pounding, her fingers dragging over the velvet curtains and carved furniture. This house was a cage of secrets, and she was done pretending the chains weren't there.
She pulled open her drawer, retrieving the notebook she'd been keeping in secret. Pages filled with overheard whispers, late-night movements, patterns in Dante's absences. She'd written it all, piecing together a puzzle she wasn't sure she wanted the answer to.
But tonight, there was something new. A thread she couldn't ignore.
Lucian.
The silver-eyed shadow who haunted Dante's steps. The brother who looked too calm, too amused, whenever Matteo's name was mentioned.
Her pen hovered over the page before she wrote one word, circling it twice: Lucian.
She snapped the book shut as a soft knock rattled her door. Her breath hitched.
"Aria?" It was soft, careful. One of the younger servants—Lena, barely seventeen, her wide eyes always darting over her shoulder.
Aria opened the door a crack. "What is it?"
The girl hesitated, glancing down the hall before pressing a folded note into Aria's hand.
"He said you'd need this."
Aria frowned. "Who—"
But Lena was already gone, scurrying into the shadows.
Aria unfolded the paper. Her stomach dropped.
Written in hurried ink were six words:
Meet me. Midnight. The gardens.
And below it, scrawled in a hand she recognized all too well:
—Lucian
The gardens were cloaked in shadows, the fountain's water whispering like secrets under the moonlight. Aria wrapped her shawl tighter, every step echoing louder in her ears than it should have.
Lucian was already there.
He leaned against the marble edge of the fountain, silver eyes glinting like knives in the dark. "You came," he said, voice smooth, almost bored.
Aria didn't move closer. "Why call me here?"
Lucian's smirk was a dagger. "Because no one else will tell you the truth. Certainly not Dante."
Her pulse quickened. "The truth about Matteo?"
For the first time, Lucian's smile faltered. Shadows shifted across his face. He tilted his head, watching her with something sharper than amusement.
"I didn't mean to," he said softly, almost too softly. "But accidents happen when brothers fight with blood in their eyes."
Her breath caught. The words slammed into her chest like bullets. It was Lucian.
But before she could respond, Lucian stepped forward, and in that instant, she saw it—the dangerous gleam in his silver eyes, the twitch of his hand toward the knife at his belt.
Her body screamed run. But her legs wouldn't move.
"Shame," Lucian whispered, circling her like a predator. "Dante will hate me for this. But you? You were never meant to last."
The knife flashed in the moonlight—
And suddenly Dante was there.
He tore through the shadows like a storm, grabbing Lucian's wrist mid-strike. The blade halted an inch from Aria's throat.
"Enough," Dante snarled, his voice low, feral.
Lucian's smirk returned, though his wrist trembled in Dante's grip. "Always the hero, brother. Always saving what you can't protect."
Aria stumbled back, her chest heaving, her gaze darting between them. "He—he said it—he killed Matteo—"
"Shut up, Aria!" Dante barked, harsher than he meant. His eyes burned into hers, and for the first time, she saw it—not just fury, but desperation.
Lucian chuckled darkly, wrenching free from Dante's grip. "Go on, brother. Tell her. Or will you keep lying to save her from drowning in your guilt?"
Dante shoved him back, teeth clenched, every muscle vibrating with restraint. "Get out of my sight, Lucian."
Lucian smirked one last time before slipping into the shadows, leaving the garden heavy with silence.
Aria's knees buckled, but Dante caught her before she hit the ground. His hands were rough, trembling, and when she met his eyes, there was no comfort in them—only torment.
"You lied to me," she whispered, voice breaking. "All this time—you knew."
Dante didn't answer. He just pulled her against him, holding her as if she'd shatter.
Because the truth was worse than what she thought.
Yes, Lucian had killed Matteo. But Dante had been there. And the secret he carried wasn't just about Matteo's death—it was about the blood on his own hands that night.