“And how could I kill a woman like that?”
He shook his head slightly, almost as if the thought itself was unbearable.
“I can’t let her give you her heart, Violet. I won’t.”
The finality in his voice was absolute.
Violet’s face crumpled instantly.
The strength that had been holding her together—however fragile—collapsed.
Tears slipped down her temples, disappearing into the pillow beneath her.
Her breath hitched unevenly.
“So... she means more to you than I do now?” she whispered.
Her voice rose slightly, thin and shaking.
“After... everything... you love her... now?”
Her fingers tightened weakly around his.
“She charmed you...”
A sob broke through. “She stole my wedding...”
Her voice cracked harder now, unraveling.
“And now she’s stolen your heart too...”
The accusation hung in the air.
Vincenzo exhaled slowly.
His thumb brushed gently over her knuckles, a small, absent motion that felt more like habit than comfort.
“I didn’t give her a chance to steal my heart. I... may have given it willingly to her. What I feel for Elena... it’s close to love, though I don’t know how to love properly—or how to show it.”
“With you, Violet... I’ve been trying. I’ve been trying to show it all these years.”
His voice carried a quiet weight, the kind that made the room feel smaller, as if the air itself had shifted around his words.
“Die peacefully, Violet,” he said, voice steady, unyielding.
“I’ll see to it that your burial is the grandest this city has ever known.”
Violet shivered.
“You will never be forgotten.”
The words lingered.
Permanent.
For a moment, there was nothing.
Then—
