Lessa’s hands shook as she jabbed the hospital elevator button, fingers raw from twisting her own rings. The fluorescent lights made her skin look pale, almost translucent. Her hair, usually glossy and pinned, slipped unheeded down her shoulders, the blouse she’d thrown on inside out. When the doors finally slid open, she pressed herself to the corner, arms wrapped around her waist as if holding herself together by force. She wanted to sob, to collapse—her mother’s name was still echoing in the ER, brittle and terminal. Instead, she forced herself to think of Corven, the only thing that felt safe, and for a split second, she considered running straight to him.

But Corven wasn’t answering. His last message—just a simple Are you okay?—blinked unanswered on her phone. Every muscle in her body ached with the urge to go to him, to lose herself in arms that only wanted her, but that path was cordoned off now by duty, by fear, by the venom Briq had whispered in her ear just hours before.

She could still see Briq’s smile, sharp as a blade, his suit immaculate, posture predatory as he cornered her near the hospital cafe. His voice was velvet and poison: “I can save Lirae. I have the capital. But you’ll end it with Corven. For good. Or you both lose everything.” He waited, eyes unwavering, darker than she remembered. Lessa glared, shoulders squared, hating that he saw through every mask. She wanted to spit at him, to call his bluff. Instead, she just nodded, almost imperceptible. He knew he’d won; he didn’t even smile when he left.

Night pressed heavy on Corven’s office, where he waited, half-drunk, slumped in his chair, the glow of the desk lamp painting hollows in his cheeks. When Lessa found him, he didn’t look up at first—he only heard her breath, ragged and uneven. She looked wrecked: makeup streaked, skirt wrinkled, jaw set too hard. “Tell me it’s not over,” he said, voice wounded, eyes desperate. She tried to answer, but only tears came.

She crossed the room in two stumbling steps, hands in his hair, lips crushing his with need and grief. He pulled her down onto his lap, arms wrapping her so tightly she gasped, but didn’t pull away. Their kisses tasted of salt and need and the last moments of hope. His hands were rough, greedy, sliding under her skirt, gripping her thighs as if anchoring her to this world. Her blouse came unbuttoned beneath trembling hands. She pressed his forehead to hers, breathless, whispering, “I can’t—I have to—” but couldn’t finish. He hushed her with another kiss, his mouth moving to her neck, her collarbone, until she trembled in his arms, sobbing against him as heat and heartbreak blurred.

Their bodies moved together in frantic, messy desperation—buttons popping, fabric bunched, skin on skin, neither caring about the rough desk edge or the scattering of wine notes beneath them. Each thrust was an apology, every moan an echo of loss. “Don’t let me go,” he pleaded, and she bit back a sob, clutching his shoulders. Afterwards, they sat tangled, faces damp and shining with tears, barely breathing, knowing this was goodbye.

Senne’s world narrowed to the festival storeroom, her heart thundering as Briq blocked the door, eyes wild, hair mussed by rain. “You owe me the truth,” he growled, voice breaking, hands trembling as he braced himself on either side of her. She bristled, fists clenched at her sides—then, unable to bear it, she thrust the photo toward his chest: a tiny, sleeping face. “She’s yours. Two years, Briq. You don’t get to pretend anymore.”

Briq’s jaw worked, color draining from his face. His immaculate control crumpled—his knees buckled and he slid to the floor, burying his face in his hands. Senne stood frozen, knuckles white, lips trembling as if she might break. When Briq finally looked up, his eyes were red, mouth pressed tight. “Let me see her,” he whispered, voice hoarse. Senne nodded, just once, and something in her shattered as she watched him finally, finally let himself feel.

Later, Lessa stared blankly at her phone, reading Corven’s unanswered texts again and again, hands limp in her lap. She tried to picture a future with him, with her mother, with anyone at all—and found only emptiness.

Corven, alone in the cold glow of dawn, stared at the message from Vyn: “Ready to make Audelis pay?” His eyes glinted, hollow and furious, as he began to type a single word.

To be continued…