I stayed quiet. Just stared at him, like he was no longer someone I knew.
Something flickered in his gaze. Guilt, maybe. He reached into his jacket and pulled out the watch I gave him before. He held it out. “I’m getting married. This belongs with you, not me.”
I stared at the watch until the silence grew unbearable.
Finally, I lifted my arm and took it. “From now on, Lucian, you and I are nothing.”
I threw the watch down, hard. It hit the floor with a crack that echoed louder than either of us expected.
CRACK.
Lucian stood there frozen. After what felt like forever, his voice came out low. “I’m sorry.”
I didn’t answer. I turned the chair around and wheeled myself back to my room.
Afternoon slipped into evening. The sun dipped below the skyline, the lamps clicked on, and the warm yellow light spilled across the walls. I sat there, quiet, staring at nothing. The truth had already settled inside me. Lucian and I were over. My legs were gone. My future was locked in place.
Viktor.
There was no escaping it. Marrying him wasn’t a choice anymore… it was the only path left. And if it meant I would eventually be crushed under him, then maybe a grand, fiery end was better than another slow death.
I lifted my head. My reflection in the darkened window looked steadier than I felt.
**
The days blurred. Soon it was Lucian and Polly’s wedding. The Velasquez villa glittered with lights, crowded with laughter and champagne. From my second-floor room, it might as well have been another world. The voices of the maids floated up, careless, too loud.
“Poor Miss Aurelia… marrying into the Roberts family with those damaged hips and legs…”
“Mr. Roberts doesn’t mind now, but later? Who knows.”
“At least Miss Polly is lucky. Mr. Sullivan designed her ring himself, swore in front of everyone he’d never let her down. What a man.”
“Yeah, handsome, rich, devoted. She won the jackpot.”
I sat straighter in my chair. Across from me, on the white wall, I’d written a letter in lipstick—words big and red, like fresh blood. My confession. My accusation. My end.
I picked up the lighter. My hand didn’t even shake as I sparked the flame and touched it to the silk curtain. Fire bloomed fast, orange and alive. The crackle filled the room, brighter, louder, and hotter. My eyes reflected the flames, and one tear slid down, vanishing into the smoke.
The fire ate the bed, the walls, the air itself. It came for me next.
Outside, the wedding procession was waiting. Lucian stood by the long black limo, sharp in a tailored suit. Polly’s veil trailed as bridesmaids circled her, fussing and laughing.
He looked at her, but his mind was elsewhere. His eyes dimmed for a moment, like he’d remembered me. The way I used to look at him. The way I’d never look at him again.
The emcee barked his name, snapping him out of it. He lifted Polly in his arms, carried her to the car.
Still, he told himself the same lie: that giving me up was the best thing for me. That Viktor’s world was safer. That I deserved a future, even if it wasn’t with him.
The line of cars slowed. Shouts broke out from the sidewalk.
“Fire! Fire at the Velasquez house!”
Lucian’s head whipped around. Black smoke rose in the distance, flames licking at the sky. His chest tightened. He couldn’t breathe.
The voices of strangers cut through the heat of the day.
“They say it’s the young lady’s room!”
“She can’t walk, right? How would she escape?”
“Poor thing. Burned alive… nothing left but ashes.”
I smiled through my tears. But just as the smoke thickened and the fire reached for me, a pair of strong arms grabbed my chair and yanked me back.
“Aurelia!”
It was Mercedes. My nanny. My second mother. Today was her last day of work but why was she here? She's the only one who ever truly saw me. Her apron was half-burned from the flames, her hair falling loose, but her eyes—her eyes were steady, fierce.
“Not today, child. Not like this.”
Behind her, her son Mateo and daughter Clara rushed in, coughing against the smoke. Mateo lifted the curtain aside while Clara pushed from behind. Together they wheeled me fast, down the servants’ stairs, through the back door.
The house blazed behind us, swallowing everything. No one noticed us slipping out the back gate. No one cared.
Mercedes didn’t stop until we reached the old truck parked by the alley. Mateo hoisted me in, his hands gentle even when the pain made me bite my lip. Clara climbed beside me, wrapping a shawl around my shoulders.
“Hold on,” Mercedes said. And she drove. Away from the fire. Away from the villa. Away from everything I thought was home.
We didn’t stop until the train station. The last evening train sat there, huffing steam, waiting for its passengers. Mateo and Clara lifted me down, carried me like I was something fragile but worth saving.
The platform was quiet. No crowds, no lights, just the whistle blowing and the night air heavy with smoke.
Mercedes cupped my face, her rough, kind hands trembling. “You’re my daughter too, Aurelia. Always have been. Forget them. Forget that house. This is your chance.”
I nodded, throat burning, eyes wet. I had no words left, only the weight of her love pressing into me like a shield.
They settled me by the window of the train. The whistle blew again, long and low. As the wheels began to turn, I pressed my forehead to the glass.
“Goodbye, Lucian. Goodbye, Viktor,” I whispered,
“I will no longer choose love.”
The train pulled forward, carrying me into the dark, into the unknown.
For the first time in forever, I felt free.
