Page 78 of Blood Heir

The tears come without permission. They glide silently down my cheek, hot against my cool skin as I lift my hand. The ring he placed there only last night glints in the sunlight.

I slide it off slowly, my chest tightening with every small tug as the band slips past my knuckle. My fingers tremble as I hold it in my palm for a moment, staring at its weightless gleam. Then I set it down carefully on the bedside table, right where I know he’ll see it when he wakes.

I swallow the lump rising in my throat.

I slip out of bed with quiet precision, careful not to disturb him. My bare feet touch the cold floor, and I pad softly to his closet. The familiar scent of him floods my senses as I open the heavy doors. My hand reaches for one of his large black T-shirts—soft cotton, oversized against my frame. It smells like him. That dangerous mixture of smoke, cedarwood, and something uniquely his.

I slide it on, pulling it down to my thighs. It’s too big, but it makes me feel wrapped in something safe, even if only for a moment.

I stand in front of the mirror, taking in my reflection. The haunted eyes. The bruise still faint on my temple. The birthmark on my shoulder, my mother’s one gift to me. The girl who used to smile in these mirrors is gone.

I pull my hair into a loose bun and inhale sharply. There’s no time for hesitation.

As quietly as I came in, I slip out of his bedroom, shutting the door behind me with a soft click. My bare feet move quickly but silently down the long hallway. My destination is clear.

Brother Stefano.

With my memories returned, I remember him now—the only person who ever truly stood by me. The one who whispered his warnings when I first agreed to marry Serevin. My father’s confessor. My only confidant. He knows everything. He was part of the plan. And if anyone can help me now, it’s him.

After my father died, Stefano had come to me, not with condolences, but with warnings.

“You are not safe under this roof, child,” he’d told me, eyes full of that quiet wisdom that used to irritate me. “Vittoria’s ambitions run deeper than you know. Serevin may smile at you, but that house was built on blood.”

But I had shaken my head, young and so desperately naive.

“No, Brother. I trust him,” I had whispered. “Serevin isn’t like the others.”

And Stefano had looked at me the way one looks at a bird flying straight into a storm.

“Child, a goal is a goal,” he’d said gravely. “You cannot abandon things that carelessly.”

But I did.

I was foolish. I was in love.

And now, I’m here. Full circle. Betrayed. Used. And with every memory snapping into place like shards of broken glass finding their original shape.

It’s time to see him.

Time to face the only person who can help me measure just how much I’ve truly lost—and how much I still have left.

But first, I need to get out of this house. And I know how.

I turn down the corridor, feet light on the floors. My pulse quickens as I push open the door to Emilia’s room. She startles, her head snapping up, eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights. Around her are boxes and half-packed bags—chaos scattered across the once-pristine space. She’s dressed in a loose hoodie and jeans, hair thrown up carelessly.

Her eyes narrow as I enter, instantly defensive.

“I see you’re busy,” I say, my voice calm, but there’s a sharp undercurrent. My gaze sweeps the room. “Packing, are we?”

She swallows. “Serevin kicked me out.”

I click my tongue, feigning sympathy. “Ouchie.”

She crosses her arms, her jaw tightening. “What do you want?”

I step closer, each movement calculated. “I want to get out of this house. And you’re going to help me.”

Emilia’s mouth opens slightly, her chest rising and falling. She stiffens, clutching the edge of one of her boxes. “I would be a fool to make Serevin angrier than he already is with me,” she whispers, her voice trembling. “Leave me out of this.”

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