“It’s just a photo,” Alessia said quietly. “We don’t need any more photos together.”

Her tone was final—clean, decisive, leaving no space for negotiation. But Dante, as always, tried to smooth the fracture before it could fully split.

“The weather’s clear tonight,” he offered after a beat, his voice deliberately casual. “We could still take a few later, if you want. It’s been a while since we left the estate. Might be good for us.”

Then, as if afraid silence might undo the moment, he added quickly, “We could bring Clara too. She’s never been north of the city. Always said she wanted to see the old districts.”

As if a simple drive could preserve something already broken.

At the mention of Clara—soft-spoken, carefully sheltered Clara—Alessia’s lips curved faintly. Not with joy. With resignation. She didn’t respond, but Dante mistook her silence for consent, a fragile reprieve from the pressure closing in around them.

They turned toward the hall.

Then Dante stopped.

His eyes landed on the neatly stacked boxes by the door.

“What’s this?” he asked, confusion edging into his voice.

Alessia didn’t look at him. Her gaze flicked briefly to the boxes before she answered evenly, “I resigned from the syndicate’s intelligence division. Nathan approved it.”

Dante froze.

Shock crossed his face, sharp and unmistakable. He knew what that position meant to her—how she’d fought to earn it, how she’d refused to step aside even when her health worsened. His lips parted as if to argue, to demand an explanation—

—but no words came.

For the first time in years, Dante Velmont looked unsteady.

A flicker of panic surfaced in his eyes.

He drew a breath, clearly about to speak—

“I—I can’t see in here.”

Clara’s voice drifted down from upstairs, soft and anxious, brittle as spun glass.

“The power’s out in the bedroom. It’s really dark. I’m scared… I don’t know what to do.”

Dante’s expression changed instantly.

Concern erased the confusion, softened the tension in his jaw. Without hesitation, he turned and headed upstairs, his steps quick, purposeful, already gone.

Alessia watched him leave.

The rush of his movement stirred dust and scraps of paper from her packed boxes, sending them fluttering briefly through the air before settling again. The silence that followed felt deliberate—heavy, final.

Once he was gone, Alessia reached for her phone and dialed a familiar number.

It connected after two rings.

“Alessia?” Anna’s voice came through warm and steady.

Anna wasn’t just the syndicate’s private physician. She’d been Alessia’s guardian when politics and bloodshed had left her without one—offering quiet protection in a world that devoured the weak.

“I wanted to let you know,” Alessia said softly, “I’ll be leaving soon. I’m entering a marriage arranged by my parents.”

There was a pause on the line.

“Have you told Dante?” Anna asked gently.

“No,” Alessia replied without hesitation. “He’ll find out eventually. For now, I need things to stay uncomplicated. Please don’t tell him.”

Anna exhaled slowly. “He’s watched over you since you were a child, Alessia. I always thought… it would end differently.”

A faint smile touched Alessia’s lips. “There’s no tragedy in it, Anna. We were never officially bound. He’ll understand.”

Another silence.

“Promise you’ll come see me before you go,” Anna said quietly. “It feels sudden. And once you leave… who knows when we’ll meet again.”

“I promise,” Alessia replied warmly. “I have something for you. I wouldn’t leave without saying goodbye.”

They spoke a little longer before ending the call.

The quiet barely had time to settle before another secure line cut in—this time, Nathan.

“Your service to the syndicate’s intelligence division has been exemplary,” his voice said, precise and authoritative. “As recognition, I’ve commissioned a crystal award in your name. It’s already been delivered.”

The call ended.

Moments later, the doorbell rang.

Alessia opened the door to find Clara standing there, holding a small box. Inside, nestled in velvet, was the crystal trophy—etched with Alessia’s name and years of service.

“It’s your reward,” Clara said softly, extending it toward her.

Her expression was polite. Carefully respectful.

And beneath that practiced composure, there was something else—something tight and restless that flickered in her eyes before disappearing. A mixture of relief, calculation, perhaps even triumph. Whatever it was, Alessia chose not to give it a name. Naming it would mean acknowledging it, and she had already given Clara more attention than she deserved.

Alessia took the box from her hands without a word.

Their fingers brushed for the briefest second, and Alessia felt nothing—no anger, no jealousy, no need to prove anything. Just distance. Clean and final.

She turned away, the weight of the box solid in her grasp, grounding her in the certainty of her decision. The door closed softly behind Clara, the sound echoing through the quiet space like a punctuation mark at the end of a sentence.

Some goodbyes didn’t need to be spoken.

They were understood the moment you chose to walk forward and never look back.

Clara held the crystal trophy in both hands, her fingers tightening slightly around the velvet-lined box. Her expression wavered between hesitation and something almost pleading—but the innocence on her face didn’t quite reach her eyes. There, beneath the softness, was calculation.

“Alessia,” Clara began quietly, her voice lowered as if confiding a secret. “Nathan asked me to bring this to you since I’m already staying here. It’s… really precious. You earned it. You’re… incredible.”

Alessia lifted an eyebrow, unmoved. She could feel it—the pause before the real request, the way Clara was testing the waters.

The air between them tightened as Clara drew a shallow breath.

“I know it doesn’t belong to me,” Clara continued, eyes flicking up through her lashes, “but could I borrow it? Just for a few days.”

Alessia felt something cold settle in her chest.

Borrow it?

The award she had earned through years of surveillance work, coded intelligence drops, nights without sleep, and risks Clara could never imagine.

A slow, dangerous smile curved Alessia’s lips—sharp, humorless.

“You’re bold,” she said flatly. “If you want something like this, Clara, earn it. Join intelligence. Put in the years. Bleed for it. Maybe then your name will be engraved on something crystal instead of borrowed.”

She reached for the box, expecting Clara to hand it over.

Instead, Clara clutched it tighter, her face twisting in disbelief.

“Why are you being so cruel?” Clara whispered, wounded. “I’m not stealing it. I just wanted it nearby. For motivation.”

Alessia’s patience snapped.

“Give it to me,” she said, holding out her hand. “Now.”

Clara backed away instinctively, arms curling around the box like a shield. In the brief struggle that followed, the box slipped.

It hit the floor.

The crystal shattered.

Shards exploded across the marble tiles, glittering like broken ice.

Silence fell.

Then—

“Ah!”

Clara gasped, collapsing slightly, clutching her leg. A thin line of blood seeped down her calf where a jagged shard had nicked her skin.

The door opened.

Dante stepped in.

His expression shifted instantly—from confusion, to shock, to fury.

Without hesitation, he rushed to Clara’s side, kneeling, lifting the hem of her skirt just enough to inspect the cut.

“Are you hurt?” he asked, his voice low, urgent.

He barely looked at Alessia.

“I—I think so,” Clara whispered, trembling.

Dante stood abruptly, his jaw tight. “I’ll have someone take you to the doctor.”

He lifted Clara into his arms as if she weighed nothing, barking an order to a nearby guard. She was carried away, clinging to him.

Then Dante turned back.

“Alessia,” he said sharply. “What were you thinking? She’s pregnant. What if something happened to my child?”

Alessia stared at him, stunned by how easily the verdict had already been delivered.

“I know she’s pregnant,” she replied tightly. “That doesn’t give her the right to take what’s mine.”

Dante’s eyes flashed.

“She’s carrying my heir,” he snapped. “You should’ve been more careful.”

And just like that, he turned and left.

No questions. No pause. No concern.

Alessia stood alone.

Her gaze dropped to the shattered trophy—the last tangible proof that her work, her loyalty, had ever mattered here.

Dante expected an apology?

For defending what she earned?

Her breath came fast, shallow. Only then did she notice the pain.

She looked down.

Blood soaked through the fabric at her own calf. A shard had cut deep—far deeper than Clara’s superficial wound. Her condition made healing slow, unpredictable. The bleeding wouldn’t stop on its own.

She knelt, collecting the crystal fragments one by one, each edge biting into her fingers.

No one came.

No one noticed.

Later, she cleaned the wound herself, teeth clenched as she disinfected and bandaged it. When she finally finished, exhaustion weighed heavy in her bones.

Her phone buzzed.

Mom.

“Hi, Mom,” Alessia said softly.

“I’ve sent you some dress options for the wedding,” her mother said warmly. “Tell me which ones you like. We’ll make sure everything is perfect.”

Alessia scrolled through the photos—elegant gowns, pristine, untouched by blood or betrayal.

“Mom…” she murmured.

Her mother caught the tone immediately. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

Alessia swallowed, drawing in a slow, steady breath, forcing the tremor in her chest to settle before it could reach her voice. “I’ll be ready soon,” she said evenly. “Just one more week. After that, everything will be taken care of. How are the preparations going on your end?”

Her mother’s answer came without hesitation, warm and buoyant with excitement. “Everything’s going beautifully. The venue, the guests, the arrangements—every detail is falling into place. A new life is waiting for you, Alessia. One that will keep you safe.”

Alessia’s fingers tightened slightly around her phone. “About the wedding—” she began, intending to ask about the final schedule.

Footsteps sounded in the hallway.

Slow. Familiar.

Her spine went rigid.

The air around her seemed to shift as the presence drew closer, the instinctive tension settling deep in her bones before her mind had time to react.

Then his voice cut through the quiet, sharp and incredulous.

“Wedding?”

Alessia closed her eyes for a fraction of a second before turning.

Dante stood just inside the doorway, his expression stripped of all color. The usual authority in his posture faltered, shock written plainly across his face as realization dawned.

“What wedding?”