Page 135 of Knot Heirs: Serenity's Reign

She arched an eyebrow. "You're apologizing for having a business to run?"

"I'm apologizing for not prioritizing correctly."

They stopped at the fork in the path, and Lucian gestured to the left. "It's this way."

As they continued walking, he couldn't help but wonder if she had any idea what was coming. Her Heat would change everything between them—between all of them. The thought both terrified and exhilarated him.

"Serenity," he said, his voice low, "there's something you should know."

She looked up at him, those unique eyes searching his face. "What is it?"

How the hell did he tell her that her body was preparing to submit to them? That soon she'd be consumed by urges shemight not understand or want? That he and the others were already planning how to handle it?

"We're here," he said instead, stopping before a simple white marble headstone.

The name "Elisa Castellano" was etched in elegant script, along with dates that were far too close together. Twenty-two years. That's all his sister had gotten.

"Your sister," Serenity said softly.

Lucian nodded, kneeling to brush away fallen leaves from the stone.

"She was beautiful," he said. "Smart as hell too. Reminded me of you sometimes."

He placed the lilies against the headstone, his fingers trembling slightly. The conversation with Darius still echoed in his mind.

"If her Heat comes while we're dealing with the Vale situation—" Lucian had started.

"Then we handle it," Darius had cut him off. "She's ours now. We take care of what's ours."

Looking at Serenity now, standing respectfully beside him at his sister's grave, Lucian made a silent promise. This time, he wouldn't fail. This time, he would be there.

No matter the storm that was coming, he'd face it head-on.

Lucian knelt before the grave,the bouquet of white lilies clutched in his hand. Each step through the cemetery's winding path had felt heavier than the last, memories weighing him down like stones in his pockets. The autumn wind whispered through the cypress trees, carrying the scent of earth and decay.

"Elisa would have liked you," he said without looking back at Serenity, his voice uncharacteristically raw. "She never took shit from anyone either."

His fingers traced the engraved lettering on the headstone. How many times had he done this? The marble felt cold against his skin, an annual ritual of pain he couldn't abandon.

"She fought her own battles, even when I tried to help," Lucian continued, placing the lilies gently against the stone. "Stubborn as hell."

Darius's warning about Serenity's approaching Heat flashed through his mind again, bringing with it a wave of protective instinct that threatened to overwhelm him. His mind continued calculating all the variables, potential outcomes—a curse of his photographic memory. Every scenario ended with Serenity vulnerable.

"Lucian?"

Serenity's voice cut through his thoughts, pulling him back to the present. She stood a respectful distance away, her golden eyes with those distinctive red flecks studying him with an intensity that seemed to pierce right through his carefully constructed facade.

"Sorry," he said, adjusting his tie. Even here, he couldn't break the habit of perfect appearance. "Got lost for a minute."

He knelt down and arranged the flowers with methodical precision. Each stem had to be perfect, just as Elisa would have wanted. His fingers lingered on the delicate petals, tracing their edges as if they might somehow connect him to his sister.

"In nomine Patris," he whispered, his lips barely moving, an old prayer his sister had taught him resurging from memory. He wasn't religious, hadn't been since he was a child, but this ritual was for her.

Serenity stood silently beside him, not interrupting the moment. She didn't reach out to touch him or offer emptyplatitudes. Instead, she simply existed in the space with him, her scent—that unique combination of honey and something distinctly *her*—providing an unexpected anchor.

The wind picked up, rustling through the flowers. Lucian remained kneeling, his amber eyes fixed on the dates carved into the stone. He calculated the years reflexively—twenty-two years, four months, seventeen days. Not enough time. Never enough time.

"Thank you," he said finally, his voice steadier now. "For coming with me. Most people can't handle seeing this side of me."

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