Apology

The barn reeks of blood, sweat, and something fouler—something that makes my stomach curl in disgust. Aldo's body trembles against the ropes that bind him to the chair, his head lolling forward, his breath shallow. His shirt, once white, is torn and soaked in blood, clinging to his heaving chest. His boxers, stained and wrinkled, barely cling to his frame. I wrinkle my nose.

At one point, I had feared this man. He was a towering figure in my nightmares, a shadow that loomed over me no matter how far I ran. But now? Now he’s just a sack of meat, barely holding on to life.

"Enough… f-finish it," he groans, his voice barely above a whisper.

I tilt my head, watching as his blood pools around his feet. "You don’t get to make demands here," I murmur, dragging the tip of my knife down the inside of his thighs, slow and deliberate. The blade bites into flesh, and he lets out a strangled cry. "Oops," I mutter, watching the crimson pour faster. "Looks like I nicked something important. My bad."

A giggle slips past my lips. It's an odd sound in the suffocating silence of the barn, but the satisfaction curling in my chest is undeniable. His whimpers echo, mingling with the rustling of the wind outside. Once, his voice alone was enough to paralyze me. Now, it barely holds any weight.

I grab a fistful of his greasy hair and yank his head back until his panicked gaze meets mine. "Aren’t you a prize?" I purr, my voice dripping with mockery. His eyes are wide, bulging with terror. Good. I want him to feel it. To drown in it.

"Fucking make me!" he spits, his weak defiance laughable.

I slam the blade into his knee. The scream that rips from his throat is sharper than the steel in my hand. I think I should feel something—satisfaction, justice, closure. Instead, I feel... hollow.

I lean in close, my lips brushing against his blood-slicked ear. "Let’s take a trip down memory lane, shall we?" I whisper. "It’s my turn to touch you in all the places you put your greedy hands on me."

His sobs turn to shrieks as my blade carves twin Xs into his chest, marking him as the filth he is. He had stolen my body, my power. But this? This moment belongs to me.

His gargling breaths grow weaker. His head slumps forward, his body going slack. Silence falls over the barn.

I release a slow exhale, stepping back. Blood clings to my hands, my clothes, my skin. I wipe my blade on my jeans and flick the hair out of my eyes.

I should feel something.

But all I feel is... tired.

I step out into the crisp night air, inhaling deeply. The scent of blood still lingers, but the fresh breeze clears my head.

Enzo is waiting by the car, his expression unreadable. His gaze sweeps over me—over the blood splattered across my face, my ruined clothes, the emptiness in my eyes.

He doesn’t ask questions. He doesn’t have to.

I shake my head and walk past him. "I’ll walk," I mutter.

Enzo doesn't argue. He simply turns the car around and follows at a slow pace as I make my way back to the house. The rhythm of my boots against the gravel is steady, grounding. The adrenaline starts to fade, leaving behind exhaustion.

By the time I reach the front door, the sun is setting, casting an eerie glow over the estate. My once-pristine boots are now caked with blood and dirt. I kick them off at the entrance before stepping inside.

The house is eerily quiet. No maids. No guards. Just silence.

Lucian is waiting.

He stands in the dimly lit bedroom, his suit immaculate, his posture tense. The moment I push through the door, his gaze locks onto me. His jaw tightens.

"What the hell have you done?" he demands, his voice sharp, cutting through the quiet like a blade.

I roll my eyes, brushing past him. "I seized my fucking vengeance before you could take that away from me too."

He doesn’t move immediately. But when he does, it’s deliberate. Controlled.

"Did that make you feel better?" he asks, voice low, dangerous.

My blood boils.

"You tell me, Lucian," I snap, turning to face him. "Did it make you feel better to trade away my revenge like it was yours to give?"

His hands twitch at his sides. "I made the decision that was best for the family."

"For the family?" I scoff, stepping closer, my finger jabbing into his chest. "You made a deal that benefited you, not me. Not us."

His eyes darken. "Be careful how you speak to me, Aurora."

I bark out a laugh, shaking my head. "Or what? You’ll silence me? Just like you silenced my father?"

Lucian’s jaw clenches, but he doesn’t deny it.

I inhale sharply, my hands trembling with unspent rage. "You promised me, Lucian," I whisper, my voice trembling. "You promised I would get my revenge. And then you just... gave it away. Like it was nothing. Like I was nothing."

He exhales, running a hand through his hair. "I knew you’d be upset—"

"Upset?" I laugh, but there's no humor in it. "Upset doesn’t even begin to cover it."

Silence stretches between us, thick with unspoken words. His gaze searches mine, but I don’t let him in.

"You didn’t do this because you had to," I murmur. "You did it because you didn’t see my pain as worth defending."

Lucian’s eyes flicker with something I can’t place. Regret? Guilt? It doesn’t matter.

"I know," he finally says, his voice quiet. "I’m sorry."

The apology should mean something.

But it doesn’t.

I shake my head and step past him, heading toward the bathroom. "It’s too late for that, Lucian."

I don’t look back.

Lucian’s gaze rakes over my face, lingering on the drying spatters of blood painting my skin. His eyes darken, something unreadable flickering behind them.

“I know the strength that lies behind that innocent face of yours.” His voice is low, measured—almost careful. As if he’s only just now seeing me in a different light.

But not as an equal.

I let the silence stretch between us, watching him, waiting for more—for something that might tell me he understands. That he finally sees me. But it doesn’t come.

The corner of my mouth lifts in a mirthless smirk. “You promised to respect me,” I murmur, tilting my head. “At least give me the courtesy of a fucking conversation next time you plan to betray my wishes.”

I don’t wait for his response. Instead, I step back, tearing off the sticky, blood-soaked t-shirt clinging to my skin—his t-shirt. A trophy from a past moment that seems almost laughable now. I let it drop to the floor between us.

Lucian’s jaw tightens. His lips part slightly, but no words come out. I see the surprise there, the way his expression shifts as he takes in the aftermath of my rampage, the evidence of what I’ve done.

Good. Let him choke on it.

His next words come softer than I expect. “You don’t need to prove anything to me, principessa.” The endearment drips from his lips, warm, almost reverent.

But it’s not enough. Not when I know he still doesn’t see me as I am.

I hold his gaze, letting the weight of my next words settle between us. “I will.”

Then I turn and walk away, leaving him standing in the wreckage of what he thought he knew about me. Let him try to underestimate me again. Let him dare.

I’ll prove to both of us that I am fit to be queen of this city we are about to wage war over.