The world tilted. The room's cruel laughter turned distant, like echoes in a tunnel. My breath hitched, shallow, ragged.
Then — nothing.
My body gave out. The marble floor rushed up to meet me with a crack, and pain burst sharp against the side of my skull. Gasps sliced through the laughter, silencing it.
Blood. Warm, wet, trickling down my temple.
"Lyra!" Adrian's voice thundered, tearing through the hall like a storm breaking.
He was on his knees beside me in an instant, his mask of indifference gone, replaced by raw panic. His hands hovered, trembling as if afraid to touch me, afraid to see how broken I was.
"Don't you dare close your eyes," he whispered harshly, his voice cracking in a way I'd never heard before. "Stay with me, damn it. Stay with me."
The crowd pressed closer, but Adrian's roar shattered them into silence.
"Everyone—GET OUT!"
For the first time, the great Adrian Veylor looked undone. Not a man of power, not a lord of icy control — but a man kneeling in blood, his world slipping through his fingers.
Clara's smile faltered. She stepped forward, lips parting as if to speak — but Adrian's glare cut her down. A single look, filled with such venom, such pure hatred, that she stumbled back as though struck.
He lifted me into his arms, ignoring the crimson staining his shirt. His jaw clenched, his breath ragged. "Hold on, Lyra," he muttered, pressing his forehead to mine as he rose. "I swear to God, don't leave me."
For the first time, Adrian Veylor's control shattered.
And everyone saw it.
Clara's smile faltered. She stepped forward, lips parting as if to speak—
"Adrian, I didn't mean—"
But Adrian's glare cut her down. A single look, filled with such venom, such pure hatred, that she stumbled back as though struck.
"You," he hissed, his voice low but lethal. "Stay away from her. Or I'll end you myself."
The hall was deathly silent. The words were not an idle threat; everyone could feel it.
Adrian lifted me into his arms, ignoring the crimson staining his white shirt. His jaw clenched, his breath ragged. The man who never bowed, never broke, now held me as if I were the only fragile thing left in the world.
"Hold on, Lyra," he muttered, pressing his forehead to mine as he rose. "I swear to God, don't leave me."
The great Adrian Veylor — cold, untouchable, merciless — carried me through the shattered silence of the hall. And every eye watched, knowing this was the moment his mask had finally shattered.
The hall was deathly silent. The words were not an idle threat; everyone could feel it.
Adrian brushed my blood-matted hair from my face with a gentleness that made my chest ache. His jaw clenched as if each second he wasted tore another piece of him apart.
Then, slowly, he slipped his arms beneath me and lifted me from the ground. I felt weightless, fragile in his grasp. His pristine shirt bloomed crimson where my blood touched him, but he didn't care.
Every step he took through the hall was a declaration: Mine. Untouchable. Irreplaceable.
The nobles whispered, scandal vibrating in the air, but none dared speak louder than a breath. Clara's face was pale now, her victory crumbling into dust.
Adrian bent his head, lips grazing my temple in a desperate, almost prayer-like touch.
"Hold on, Lyra," he murmured, voice hoarse. "Hold on for me. I can't lose you. Not like this. Not ever."
The man who had once called me nothing now carried me as though I were everything.
And for the first time, the great Adrian Veylor's mask shattered before the world.