Page 11 of Blood Heir

Not out of desire. It was something else. A quiet breaking. A question I wasn’t ready to ask out loud.

Our mouths met softly, hesitantly. I could feel her breath catch against my lips. The warmth of her skin. The scent of whatever soap she used—lavender and something sweet. Innocent.

I moved slowly, letting my mouth brush down the line of her jaw. Lower. Her pulse beat under her skin, rabbit-fast. I kissed the corner of her throat, just once.

Her shoulder rose as she exhaled, like she hadn’t realized she was holding her breath.

I reached up and slid one finger beneath the strap of her nightdress. It slipped off her shoulder with barely a sound.

I kissed the skin it revealed. She made a sound then, barely audible. Not pleasure. Not fear.

I lingered there, my lips pressed to her shoulder, feeling the tremble beneath.

I don’t remember what I thought at that moment. Only how still she was.

How close she felt.

The cigarette almost burns out in my hand.

I drop it into the tray.

Her window is still lit.

And I don’t know whether the woman behind it is my wife…or someone I’ll have to win all over again.

Chapter 3 - Fioretta

The guard leads me to the room, his presence impassive as he holds the door open for me. It feels like a stage, like I’m the only one who doesn’t know the script.

I step inside, my breath catching slightly. I can’t help it. My eyes trace the room, wide. I’m stunned by its opulence. The walls are painted in deep jewel tones, and the furniture—luxurious, polished—gleams like it’s waiting to be admired. A massive, four-poster bed dominates the space, draped in rich fabrics that shimmer faintly in the soft light.

There’s a large vanity in one corner, mirrors everywhere, reflecting the space back on itself in a dizzying effect. Ornate curtains hang from the tall windows, heavy and indulgent, matching the drapes at the bed’s foot. The floor is smooth, gleaming beneath my bare feet. It’s beautiful. But it’s too much.

I approach the wardrobe, the only space left for me to find some sense of normalcy. The wood is dark and rich, and I slide the doors open with hesitation.

Inside, hanging neatly, are rows of clothing—but they’re nothing like what I expected.

The dresses are all drab, modest, and unremarkable. A dark grey gown catches my eye first, heavy and simple with long sleeves and an almost shapeless cut. There’s no waistline, just a straight drop from neck to hem. The fabric looks thick and coarse, like something a servant might wear, not a woman who has everything.

Next, a brown wool dress with a high collar. It’s sturdy, almost stiff. A greenish-brown skirt with a matching jacket. Plain. Functional. Not a trace of color. No silk, no lace, no embroidery.

What is this?

The guard’s still standing there, silent. He’s not moving, not even breathing.

I look at him. He’s not going to make this easy, is he?

“Get out,” I snap, my voice sharp and cracking, but clear. “I need some space. Now.”

The guard doesn’t flinch. He just nods once, stepping back toward the door without a word.

I strip, and I just stand there, naked, in the middle of a room that doesn’t feel like mine, holding on to my own temper like a string too taut to snap.

Once the door clicks shut behind him, I step away from the wardrobe, walking toward the mirror on the wall. The mirror. The one that reflects me in all my discomfort, my bare skin.

The woman who’s staring back at me isn’t the one I expected. She’s taller than I remember. Lither than I imagined. Shapely, but it feels like I don’t know her.

I stand still, eyes locked on the reflection. There’s a softness to my body that feels…unfamiliar. My curves feel foreign, like someone else’s. The way my hips curve out beneath my waist, the small dip of my stomach. It’s all me, but it isn’t.

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