Page 77 of Blood Heir

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Her skin is warm against mine, soft and pliant as we lie tangled together beneath the sheets. The air still carries the scent of her—of us—and my arms tighten around her, unwilling to let her slip away just yet.

She rests her head on my chest, her breath light, calm. For once, there is no distance between us, no games, no knives hovering unseen. Just her. And me.

My hand traces steady circles across her bare shoulder, my fingers memorizing the delicate curve of her back as I press a soft kiss against her temple. She shifts slightly, her lips brushing the skin of my chest.

“I love you,” I whisper, my voice quieter than it’s ever been. The words feel both terrifying and liberating. “I don’t want to lose you again.”

Her lips stretch into a faint smile, and she nods gently without saying a word, as if the weight of her own feelings might break the fragile quiet between us. I feel her fingers curl lightly into my side, holding on.

“Stay tonight,” I murmur. “Don’t go back to your room. Just…stay.”

Her nod is small but certain, and she burrows deeper into me like she’s always belonged there.

For the first time in what feels like forever, I close my eyes and allow myself to breathe without the weight of the world crushing my chest.

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The light from the window slices through my eyelids, waking me. The warmth beside me is gone.

I sit up instantly, my hand instinctively reaching for where she lay only hours ago. Cold sheets. Empty space.

The room is quiet. Too quiet.

Then I see it.

On the bedside table, placed neatly where she knew I’d see it, sits our ring. The one I slipped onto her finger when I begged for a new beginning.

The band glints cruelly beneath the morning sun, mocking me.

She’s gone.

My chest tightens, and for a moment, I forget to breathe.

Chapter 18 - Fioretta

The first pale light of dawn leaks through the thin gap in the heavy curtains. The soft amber glow spills across his face, tracing the sharp angles of his jaw, the slope of his nose, the faint crease between his brows. He sleeps soundly, chest rising and falling in a calm rhythm, lips slightly parted.

I lie there for a moment, watching him. Studying him.

His face is softer in sleep. Less dangerous. Less cold. Almost…tender. My hand moves on its own, reaching to gently brush a stray lock of hair from his forehead. My lips follow, pressing a soft kiss there. He stirs slightly under my touch, murmuring something incoherent, but doesn’t wake.

A small laugh escapes my throat, but it carries no joy. Just a hollow echo of the ache gnawing at my chest.

“If only,” I whisper to myself.

If only things were different.

If only this was love.

If only I could believe he was truly mine. That we were something simple and pure—a man and woman who could wake together without blood, betrayal, or legacy between them. But that isn’t our story. It never was. And now I remember why.

Every piece of it.

I am his enemy. I was always meant to be.

The one bred and raised to dismantle everything he built. The pawn my father bought from a woman who wanted nothing to do with me. The child of a man who had stolen from his bloodline and tried to reclaim his own revenge by using me. AndSerevin—the boy who was never supposed to be Don, the man they forced into power.

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