Sebastian gave a single approving nod, as if the matter had already been stamped by something final and irreversible.
“You are to wed Rick,” he said, voice clipped, decisive. “Stay within the family. Preserve what remains of this house’s standing in the circuit.”
Lia didn’t move right away.
The words took a moment to settle, like ink sinking into fabric.
Not just her mother’s photograph.
Not just her memories.
Now even the last thread of Selene Moretti’s legacy—the company she had built quietly, protected carefully, kept out of the dirty hands of power games—was being pulled away.
Lia’s fingers curled so tightly her nails bit into her palms. The air in the room felt thinner, like even the walls were listening and deciding she had already lost.
“That company,” she said slowly, voice trembling but controlled, “was left to me. Not transferred. Not shared. Left. On my mother’s will. What authority do you have to decide it like it’s spare property?”
Sebastian didn’t even entertain the question for long.
Luca stepped in instead.
Always Luca.
His tone was measured, the kind of calm that didn’t soothe—it sealed things shut.
“I hold equity in it,” he said. “That gives me legal standing under house structure and corporate agreement.”
A pause.
“You’re unstable right now, Lia. Rest. Don’t involve yourself in decisions that will only drain you further.”
It wasn’t cruelty.
That was the problem.
It was worse.
It was dismissal dressed as care.
Like her grief was an inconvenience in a ledger that needed balancing.
The door closed after them with a soft click.
Final.
Not loud enough to protest.
Just enough to confirm she had no further say.
Lia stood alone in the chamber.
Silence settled around her like dust after a raid.
Then her breath broke.
A tear fell.
Then another.
She didn’t wipe them away.
There was no audience left to maintain dignity for.
Everything Selene had left behind was being redistributed like assets after a collapse.
Piece by piece.
As if she had never existed at all.
**
Rick came more often after that.
Always with the same approach—controlled steps, softened voice, hands that tried to feel like safety.
When he held her, it was gentle in a way that used to mean something.
Now it felt rehearsed.
“Don’t worry,” he would say, brushing her hair back as if smoothing out damage. “Once we are officially bound, everything that was taken will be returned under joint control. No one will be able to touch what belongs to you.”
Lia said nothing.
The words passed through her without finding a place to land.
So he changed tactics.
Gifts began appearing in her room.
Imported fabrics. Antique trinkets. Jewelry that didn’t belong to any single territory or supplier, the kind that moved through private channels and passed through too many hands to trace cleanly.
Small luxuries meant to soften resistance.
Soon, the room stopped feeling empty.
It started feeling occupied.
But not with comfort.
With things that watched.
**
It happened in the afternoon.
Lia had woken earlier than usual, the kind of waking that doesn’t feel like rest ending but tension continuing.
Voices outside her door.
Low. Familiar.
Too familiar.
She didn’t move.
She listened.
“I’m asking you,” Virella’s voice drifted in, light, almost amused, “you bring her so many things… and nothing for me?”
A pause.
Rick.
Lower.
Careful.
“Virella… Lia is inside.”
A soft laugh followed immediately.
Unbothered.
“So?” Virella said. “She’s not awake, is she? Since when did you start fearing silence on her behalf?”
Lia’s hand tightened slightly under the blanket.
Outside, footsteps shifted closer.
Cloth brushing cloth.
Distance collapsing.
Rick’s voice dropped further.
“We should talk somewhere else.”
But Virella didn’t move.
“I won’t,” she said simply.
Then, quieter—almost playful.
“I want these.”
Lia didn’t need to open her eyes.
She already knew what “these” meant.
The gifts.
The replacements for absence.
A pause stretched.
Then Rick exhaled—low, controlled, like something inside him had stopped resisting.
“You’re pushing it,” he said.
“I want them,” Virella repeated.
Another rustle.
Then restraint broke—not violently, but decisively. Like a line crossed without hesitation.
A murmur.
Too low to be fully words.
Too close to be denial.
Lia heard movement.
Fabric shifting.
Then stillness that wasn’t empty anymore.
Through the curtain slit, she saw it.
Shadows overlapping.
Virella’s hand resting on his chest like she already had permission to stay there.
Rick’s posture loosened, his gaze angled away from the bed.
And then—
Virella leaned up.
And kissed him.
It wasn’t uncertain.
It wasn’t accidental.
It was familiar in a way that suggested repetition.
Rick froze for a fraction of a second.
Then exhaled.
Not rejection.
Not retreat.
Just acceptance of something already decided.
Lia stared at the space between them for a moment longer.
Then slowly turned her face away.
Not because it hurt more to see.
But because there was nothing left in it worth confirming.
**
After they left, the room felt heavier than before.
Lia rose.
Walked to the corner.
And there, quietly, she bent over and vomited.
No sound beyond breath and effort.
No collapse beyond necessity.
Just the body rejecting what the mind had already stopped disputing.
**
Days passed without clarity.
Only patterns.
Rick came and went.
Virella smiled in public and claimed private space in pieces.
Luca spoke in terms that sounded like concern but functioned like control.
And Lia began to listen differently.
Not emotionally.
Strategically.
She noticed who entered without announcement.
Who left without accountability.
Which documents disappeared from desks overnight.
Which signatures shifted under “review.”
She started remembering everything.
Not as pain.
As structure.
**
Then she left her chamber.
No warning.
No explanation.
Just absence.
Rick found her in the corridor before anyone else noticed.
“Lia?” he said, stepping forward. “Why are you out here?”
She was already dressed as if she had been preparing for this longer than anyone realized.
Her expression was calm.
Too calm.
“This room is compromised,” she said.
Rick blinked.
“Compromised?”
Lia looked at him steadily.
“Yes,” she said. “You don’t stay in a space once you know it’s no longer secure.”
A pause.
His shoulders eased slightly, misunderstanding settling in.
“I’ll have it cleaned,” he said. “We can move you somewhere else.”
Lia tilted her head faintly.
“That won’t be necessary.”
Something in his expression softened.
Relief, almost.
“Good,” he said. “We’re close to finalizing the union anyway. After that, nothing here will be uncertain anymore.”
He stepped closer, voice lowering.
“I’ve been waiting too long for you to stop resisting me.”
Lia didn’t answer.
Not because she didn’t hear him.
But because she did.
Completely.
She looked at him for a long moment.
Then said, almost gently:
“Before that happens… I’ll give you something.”
Rick smiled faintly.
“A gift?”
“Yes,” she said.
His hand reached for her wrist, casual, familiar.
“You’re finally learning,” he murmured. “Good.”
Lia didn’t pull away.
That was what made him comfortable.
That was what made him mistake silence for surrender.
Her voice followed, soft enough to feel intimate.
“It’s a secret.”
Rick chuckled under his breath, pulling her briefly closer.
“I’ve been half-mad waiting for you,” he said quietly.
Lia didn’t respond.
Because only she knew—
this wasn’t closeness.
It was timing.
Five days remained until Virella’s name-day.
And in five days, the structure they thought was stable would stop being theirs to control.
Not with noise.
Not with warning.
But with disappearance.
