With a heavy thud, Lia hit the stone floor.
The impact knocked the air out of her lungs. Cold marble bit into her palms as she tried to steady herself, but it was already too late.
The Moonstone frame slipped from her fingers.
Time didn’t just slow—it fractured.
She watched it fall like it belonged to someone else.
The glass shattered on impact.
A sharp crack echoed through the chamber, too loud for a space that had learned to stay controlled. Like something sacred being signed out of existence.
Fragments scattered across the floor, catching torchlight in broken glints. The image inside—Selene Moretti holding a younger Lia beneath soft light—was torn apart in an instant.
And then the blood came.
Not metaphor.
Not illusion.
Real.
Red spread across the broken photograph like a signature no one intended to leave.
Lia froze.
Her body simply… stopped.
“Mother…”
The word came out cracked, barely formed.
She moved forward on instinct, knees scraping stone, hands shaking as she reached for the fragments.
But a grip closed around her wrist before she could touch it.
Rick.
“Don’t,” he said sharply. “You’ll cut yourself.”
She fought immediately.
Not strategic. Not careful.
Just raw.
“No—let me go!” Her voice broke. “That’s her—my mother—let me—”
Rick tightened his hold, pulling her back as he saw the blood on her palm.
“Stop moving,” he said, lower now, urgent. “You’re bleeding.”
His hand shifted, holding her wrist steady, then he did something almost unthinkable in a room like this.
He pressed a kiss to her knuckles.
Not performance.
Not politics.
Instinct.
“I’ll replace it,” he said, voice strained. “I swear. Just stop hurting yourself.”
But Lia wasn’t listening anymore.
“This is all I have left of her,” she whispered, shaking. “Don’t take this too.”
Behind them, Luca stepped forward.
His expression tightened the moment he saw the shattered frame.
“Enough,” he started—
But Virella moved first.
She crouched beside the fragments.
“Virella, no—” Luca warned.
Too late.
A shard sliced into her palm.
She gasped softly, almost rehearsed in its timing, blood dripping onto the broken photograph like punctuation.
Rick let go of Lia instantly.
“Virella!” he said, catching her hand. “You’re bleeding.”
And just like that, the room reoriented itself.
Concern shifted direction.
Attention followed.
Virella winced, but her voice stayed gentle.
“It’s fine,” she said softly. “It doesn’t matter… as long as the picture is safe.”
Lia stared.
At the blood.
At the shattered frame.
At how quickly pain had been reassigned.
Her breathing turned shallow.
“What…” she whispered, barely audible. “Did my mother ever do to you?”
No one answered.
They were already elsewhere—Rick with Virella, Luca signaling for a healer, elders murmuring about damage control instead of what had actually been broken.
Lia lowered herself slowly.
Her fingers touched the soaked fragments.
Careful.
Like something still sacred might forgive her if she handled it gently enough.
But the image had already bled through. Selene’s face distorted, swallowed by red.
Gone in real time.
Her vision blurred.
And then—
The hall disappeared.
She was back in memory.
A crashed vehicle.
Rain hammering metal.
Her mother holding her close.
Too tight.
Too final.
A voice she could barely hear anymore.
Then silence.
When she returned, her breath hitched violently.
Something inside her didn’t break.
It detached.
Cleanly.
Her body folded forward.
And everything went dark.
**
When she woke, Virella was the first thing she saw.
Sitting beside the bed like she belonged there.
Soft expression. Controlled grief. Perfect timing.
“Lia,” she said gently, “you’re awake.”
Silence.
Lia didn’t respond.
Virella smiled faintly.
And something in that smile shifted—just slightly. Not kindness. Not apology.
Ownership.
“I didn’t mean for it to happen,” she said softly. “You’re not angry with me, are you?”
Lia stayed still.
So Virella leaned in a little closer.
“You see?” she whispered. “It’s easier than you think.”
A pause.
“To take what belongs to you.”
Her gaze sharpened subtly.
“I just needed people to look at me instead.”
Still no reaction.
So she continued, voice almost conversational now.
“Luca is already changing,” she said. “Rick too. Even your father.”
Lia’s fingers twitched under the blanket.
Virella noticed.
“Do you want to know why?” she asked lightly.
That pulled something loose.
Lia turned her head slightly.
Her voice was hoarse.
“Why?”
Virella smiled as if she’d been waiting for that exact word.
“I brought a priest,” she said. “From the northern syndicate rites. The kind who reads fate through old blood methods.”
A pause.
“He said you’re cursed.”
Lia’s breath stalled.
Virella watched it land.
“He said everyone close to you will suffer,” she continued casually. “And that your mother’s death wasn’t an accident—it was payment.”
Lia’s grip tightened beneath the fabric.
Cold spread through her chest.
“And Luca believed it,” Virella finished simply.
Silence followed.
Not loud.
Not dramatic.
Just absolute.
So that was it.
Not truth.
Not logic.
Just a story with enough authority behind it to replace reality.
A curse.
A convenient explanation for everything that had already been decided.
Lia didn’t move for a long moment.
Then she closed her eyes briefly.
When she opened them again, something had gone still behind her gaze.
Not acceptance.
Not collapse.
Calculation without emotion.
**
Rick came later.
Twice. Maybe more.
He sat like nothing had changed.
Like distance was optional.
“You shouldn’t think too much,” he said calmly. “Virella only meant to preserve the photograph. It was already damaged.”
A pause.
“I know you’re upset,” he added, softer. “But she isn’t your enemy.”
Lia didn’t respond.
Only when he mentioned the photograph did her fingers tighten slightly.
He noticed.
Of course he did.
Rick reached out, brushing her cheek like it still belonged to someone who trusted him.
“I’ll bring it back when it’s restored,” he said.
Then he left.
Like that solved something.
**
Luca came in the evening.
He held the frame.
Repaired.
But wrong.
The image had been reconstructed, but something in it was off—like memory forced through unfamiliar hands.
He placed it down gently.
“It couldn’t be fully restored,” he said. “Virella tried.”
Lia stared at it.
Long.
Unmoving.
Then:
“Throw it away.”
Luca stiffened.
“What?”
Her voice didn’t rise.
It emptied instead.
“Throw it away.”
He hesitated.
“Virella worked hard—”
Lia finally looked at him.
And there was nothing left in her expression that expected him to understand.
“If it had never been touched,” she said quietly, “none of this would have happened.”
Silence.
Then she asked:
“Luca… do you think Mother’s death was my fault?”
The room tightened.
Luca didn’t answer.
And that was enough.
Lia exhaled once.
“I see.”
She looked away.
Not at him.
Not at the frame.
Somewhere past both.
**
Later, Sebastian entered.
His presence filled the room without announcement.
“This house has been in chaos since your return,” he said sharply. “When will you stop behaving like a liability?”
His gaze narrowed.
“Learn from Virella.”
Lia didn’t respond.
Not even a glance.
That silence irritated him more than argument.
But he left anyway.
Because he always did when nothing in her reacted the way it was supposed to.
**
At last, Lia spoke.
“I will leave.”
Quiet.
Final.
“My mother left me assets of my own. I won’t stay here any longer.”
Luca turned sharply.
For the first time, something uncertain crossed his face.
“Lia,” he said slowly, “I’ve already asked Virella to begin managing your estate affairs.”
