Week passed.
I felt empty. These days are the moments I hate the most—the anniversary of my mother's death.
My stomach churns at the memory. Her darkened, lifeless body still haunts me. An unexplainable image burned into my soul.
I changed into black. I would be visiting her grave today. After all, I'm leaving for Australia soon. I might as well say goodbye to the one person I still owe something to in this world.
As I stood in front of her grave, a quiet rage burned in my chest.
And then I saw it.
RIP ELIAS CALLISTA.
So, he finally died.
What a relief.
I almost laughed, but the emotion tangled in my throat. I never thought I'd stand here again. And yet, here I was, kneeling in front of both of them—not even sure if the tears on my face were for grief… or relief. Maybe both.
I cried hard, the rain pouring as if the world joined in.
My parents. Both gone.
Gone from this world, and from my life. I can't even remember if they ever hugged me… ever told me they loved me.
What a shame.
Should I erase you from my memory?
Because right now… you are my weakness.
I sat there for hours, soaked in rain, staring at their names etched in stone. Thinking about this ache inside me. I've achieved everything—top of my field, wearing luxury brands, commanding respect.
And yet… I feel hollow.
I need more. I need power.
But even that won't fill this void.
You made me like this.
Just take me with you.
Lucien's POV
"So this is the day," I mutter to myself.
The rain falls in violent sheets, like heaven itself is mourning.
I glance at the passenger seat. The umbrella is just an excuse. I don't care if she's soaked—I just want to see her. Raw. Unfiltered. Drenched in grief. I want her stripped of every mask, vulnerable and bare.
God, I want her.
I clutch a bouquet of red roses, completely inappropriate for a grave. But I know she hates expectations. Tradition. Rules.
So red roses it is.
I step into Verano del Cielo Memorial, the only place silent enough to hear the dead whisper. And there she is.
A rare sight. A haunting one. Black dress, black heels, drenched and still standing proud like a cursed angel.
I knew she'd be here.
Lira's POV
A shadow looms over me. The rain stops hitting my skin.
I don't need to look. That scent—musky, cold, unmistakably male—is burned into me. Lucien Arcelli. Of course it's him.
He's holding a bouquet of red roses. Too romantic for the dead, I think bitterly.
"You don't get to cry alone on a day like this, Lira," he says softly. "Not when I've seen what you've buried under that ice."
I rise slowly, not looking at him. "You don't get to tell me when, where, or how to cry. I despise people who dictate me. You're skating on thin ice, Mr. Arcelli."
My voice is sharp—venom dressed in velvet.
He flinches for half a second, then recovers with that damned composure.
"I'm not here to control you. I'm not here to expose you. I just want you to know… you're safe with me, Lira. You can open that door on your own. I won't force it. I'll just wait—little by little."
"What do you even know?"
"Bits. Pieces. Scattered shards I've stitched together… just enough to understand the cracks."
I look at him. Something cracks in me too.
"Would you die with me?"
He stares. Intently as if hearing the word die and Lira together would shatter him completely
I scoff. "So much for a man who says he understands me. What a hypocrite, Mr. Arcelli."
I walk away. The rain doesn't stop. Neither does he.
Cemetery Exit – Lucien's POV
As she walked away, I followed—not to stop her, just to match her pace. She moved like she was trying to outrun something only she could see.
I asked quietly, "Why?"
She didn't look back. Just said, "Understanding me means dying at heart."
Her voice cracked—just a bit.
"How could someone with a perfect family and perfect life ever understand the kind of pain that comes from losing everything—because of your own goddamn dreams? Because you made one wrong move and suddenly there's no going back? I'm stuck in it, Lucien. I can't escape."
I reached out, almost without thinking. I wanted to pull her into me, to hold the hurricane still for just a second.
She turned sharply.
"Don't," she said. "Not ever."
And just like that—she slipped through my fingers again.
Later – Lucien's Office
Glass shatters. The sound rings sharp across the empty room.
The bouquet lies mangled on the marble floor—red petals like blood, crystal shards like bone.
"She's like a goddamn maze," I growl, pacing.
Rael stands by the door, silent. Watching.
"I thought I had control," I mutter. "I always have control."
My fists clench at my sides, jaw tightening with every breath.
"She looked right through me… like I was nothing."
Rael finally speaks, voice low. "You're obsessed."
I let out a dry, humorless laugh.
"Obsession?" I glance over my shoulder, eyes blazing. "That's too soft a word for what this is."
__________________
Lira's POV
"Ira, Ira, Ira... wakeey wakeey!"
A petite girl with impossibly long hair barged into my room, ripping me out of my sleep.
"What are you doing here, Nadia?" I asked lazily, eyes still adjusting to the light.
"Seriously? You don't remember? You just dropped a bombshell—you're flying to Australia for work. Are they slaving you over there?" she said dramatically, hands flailing.
"I wanted this, Nadia." I paused, Lucien's face flickering in my mind before I shoved the thought aside. "I really do."
I wasn't just convincing her. I was convincing myself.
Nadia sat beside me, suddenly quieter.
"Ira... I have to tell you something. I don't know if it'll help, but you should know."
My chest tightened. I knew that tone. This wasn't just gossip. This was weight.
I held my breath. "What is it?"
She hesitated.
"Eros..."
Just one name. And everything inside me stilled.
"Eros is back. He's asking about you. He contacted me—wanted your address. I told him I didn't know."
My pulse roared in my ears.
"But?"
"He won't stop. Not just me—he's reached out to Vanessa, Ayah... everyone. He's looking for you, Ira."
She squeezed my hand.
"I'm only telling you now because you're leaving. Australia is far. You won't see him. We'll handle it. Until then, don't worry too much."
But it was too late.
The ground beneath me cracked, and the past came rushing back in broken waves.
"What could be worse?" I murmured, voice barely a breath.
I looked at Nadia—my best friend, my constant—and let the mask slip. With her, I didn't have to pretend.
"I owe you too much, Nads. I'm sorry for dragging you into this. I'll fix it. I have to."
Her eyes softened.
"But... are you okay?"
I looked away, then back again.
"Trust me."
"I do," she whispered. "I just don't want you to get hurt anymore."
"I won't. Not ever again."
I said with much Conviction.
This too shall pass…
____
THIRD PERSON POV
As Lira stepped into the grand hall, her thoughts remained clouded by Nadia's earlier revelation. The news unsettled her, clinging to her mind like smoke.
Another party.
The venue was enormous—drenched in extravagance, a spectacle of wealth. It was exactly what one would expect from the Arcelli family. Of course, they had insisted on hosting a send-off celebration for her and Lucien before their departure to Australia. Everything shimmered, sparkled, smiled. But beneath all the glittering decor and champagne flutes, a quiet tension pulsed—a weight only she seemed to notice.
Heads turned as she walked in.
She wore a backless, midnight silk gown that clung to her like liquid sin—high-slit, delicate straps, and a neckline that teased without begging. A silver chain draped across her spine, glinting under the lights like a whispered secret. Her heels clicked softly against the marble floor, commanding yet elegant. She looked ethereal—dangerous in the way fire lures you in with warmth before it burns.
The room buzzed with chatter and congratulations. Admirers flocked to Lucien, and shallow smiles clung to opportunists seeking favor. Lira moved through the crowd, her patience thinning as hollow compliments and suggestive glances came her way.
"Ms. Callista, beautiful as ever," came a voice, smarmy and familiar. The man took her hand and kissed it, his lips damp with arrogance.
"You're looking sharp as ever, Mr. Cadwell," Lira replied, her sarcasm thinly veiled.
He didn't take her indifference well. Reaching for her exposed shoulder, he barely brushed it before she recoiled. The rejection was public, and the flicker of wounded pride in his eyes was unmistakable.
His grip on her hand tightened. He leaned in close, breath stale, intent on regaining dominance.
Then he flinched.
Lucien stood beside him, hand wrapped firmly around Cadwell's wrist, eyes dark and voice low.
"You don't get to touch what's mine," he whispered, venom dripping from every word.
The tension spiked. Lucien's expression was murderous—he looked ready to shatter the man's bones.
Lira placed a calming hand on Lucien's other arm.
"Lucien, don't do that here," she said gently, her tone laced with quiet urgency. "Not now."
At her touch, the storm in Lucien's eyes settled. He released Cadwell's wrist, letting the man retreat, humiliated.
"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice softer now.
"I'm perfectly fine, Lucien. Thank you."
She forced a smile, but inside, her thoughts were spiraling.
What was that just now? What gave him the right to say that—to stake a claim on me in front of everyone?
And yet... there was something in his voice. Not possessive. Not entirely. Protective, maybe. Like he'd drawn a line around her, and dared the world to cross it.
Lira couldn't decide if it infuriated her or pulled her deeper into something she wasn't ready to name.
She needed air.
Later, she stood alone on the balcony, the chill of the evening brushing against her skin as she gazed into the distance. Lucien's words echoed in her mind.
You don't get to touch what's mine.
A flicker of unease twisted in her chest. No one owned her. She had sworn that to herself. No one.
Then—unbidden—a memory surfaced.
"You are mine, Lira. This song is for you. Play with me, my love."
A bittersweet smile ghosted across her lips. Remembering him now was a mistake. Vulnerability had no place in a room like this.
"Give your hand to me. Let's escape the world together, now and forever."
You still haunt me, Eros, she thought, her throat tightening.
She inhaled deeply, forcing the emotion down, willing her composure back into place.
From across the hall, Lucien watched her closely. She looked distant, troubled—her eyes far away.
What is she thinking? he wondered. Is it me… or someone else?
Please, he silently begged, just let it be me.