Page 117 of The Devil's Canvas

“Are you happy now?!” My voice cracks as I shove the words in his face. “You got what you wanted. He’s gone. So go ahead—celebrate.”

His expression twists, but he doesn’t speak.

“Say something!” I scream. “Say it was worth it. Say you’d choose her again even knowing what it would cost—because you did.”

I take a step closer, shaking, unhinged, breaking apart. “You hated Julian so much you couldn’t even see what he was trying to save.”

Bella steps between us, her eyes wide and glassy. “Ophelia, please,” she says, voice gentle but urgent. “Don’t do this. It’s not Rhys’ fault.”

I laugh. It’s hollow. “Isn’t it? Because when I said it wasn’t Julian’s fault, he tore me apart. But for you? He stands there and says nothing.”

I look between them, bitterness flooding every vein.

“Well, if being silent is enough to be spared, let me make this easy.” I pull away from all of them. “I’ll be good. I’ll be quiet. I’ll disappear again—just like before.”

And before anyone can stop me, I close my eyes. If I still have anything left—if there’s even a shred of power still mine—I use it.

I vanish. When I reappear in my apartment, the first thing I see are the boxes lined up in perfect rows, ready to be taken to Julian’s. Ready to start a new life.

Except there’s no one to bring them to now. No Julian. No bond. Just the echo of what should’ve been.

I stagger a step forward and stop cold. My mark is silent. Empty.

It used to thrum—quiet, constant, like a heartbeat beneath my skin. Now… nothing.

The pain hits so fast, so violently, I don’t have time to scream.

It’s not just gone. It’s ripped out. Like something ancient and burning has been torn from the deepest part of me, taking every breath with it. My knees hit the ground. My hands clutch at my chest. I press my hand over it, like I can force it to come back. Like maybe if I just stand still, he’ll come through the door and tell me it was all a mistake.

But he doesn’t. He traded everything for me to have my family. And now he’s gone.

The sob hits before I can stop it, sharp and shaking and loud in the quiet space. I sink to the floor between the boxes—neatly stacked memories of a future that never had a chance. I try to breathe, but my chest won’t expand. My lungs won’t work. Everything inside me feels like it’s breaking.

I curl in on myself and cry.

Because I’m alone, I’m still here. Because the one person who saw me—really saw me—took my place in hell.

And left me behind.

I do the only thing I know how to do. I call Owen.

Ophelia:Owen. Please… I need you.

He appears in a blink, the scent of smoke and shadow trailing behind him. His eyes widen when he sees me, crumpled on the floor, surrounded by the boxes that were meant to be the start of my new life, my happy life.

He crosses the room quickly, kneeling beside me.

“I’m here,” he says gently, wrapping his arms around me. “I’ve got you.”

I press my face into his shoulder, barely holding together.

“Have you seen him? Is he okay?”

Owen hesitates. “I have. He’s... alive.”

“But?” I step closer. “There’s something you’re not saying. What is it?”

He looks away, his voice lower now. “No one’s ever done what he did. Not like that. No loophole. No trick. Just… offered himself. Completely.”

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