Evelyn, a modern woman, finds herself suddenly transmigrated into a novel where her peaceful life is turned upside down by a crazy Duke who happens to be her husband. Her new life is a maze of danger and betrayal, as the Duke is determined to kill h...
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The corridor outside Arya's room reverberated with the sound of shattering glass. Servants, at the door, pleading her to open but one after another the noise continue to echo. Ivan rushed towards the same direction, closely followed by Stefan and Alfred. Bang, "Arya open the door. Arya", panicked his trembled as it banged on the close door. "Madam", "my lady, please open the door", Alfred, Miya begged her to open the door. "Arya, dear, please open the door", Ivan's voice trembles, he was foreboding, as if after this moment he would lose her forever; that thought alone, price his soul.
Nonetheless no matter who or what they say Arya did not open the door, suddenly the breaking noises stoped, silence emarge. The people at the door got petrified by this stifling silance, "dear? Arya? Arya?" Ivan kept calling her name, his breath caught in his throat, "master, here's the key", Alfred handed him the separate key to her room. But before I am could use it, opening the door, Arya came out, she was in a messy state. No one said a word, there was this strange rage in her eyes that bought sheer fear to them, looking at Miya her expression was arctic, "attend to the chember." Ivan seeing her in disarray tried to approach but she stoped him, "I would like a moment alone, only Miya is enough."
"Yes, my lady", her head was bowed as she entered. "The rest, go attend matters at hand", Arya ordered them to leave. They were hesitant to leave but her gaze state clearly her spoken words. "Leave", Ivan says glancing at Stefan. All left yet he stands at the door, Arya's silent glance spoke volumes. She entered the room once again and shut the door, leaving Ivan shattered. Each moment felt like a relentless ache, his soul bleeding with every breath. Standing alone at the door, unable to move from where he stood, consumed by the haunting memory of her loathing gaze.
The preparation for the debut ball was progressing smoothly. Natasha excelled in her dance practice, and everyone was dedicated to their tasks. Madam Fredeca focused on creating the perfect dress for Natasha, as Arya had requested. Everything is going smoothly, invitations have been sent, flowers are arranged, ball room is being ornamated.and the dancefloor painted in oceanic hue. It was the last gift to Natasha from her, she wanted to make it worth it. While her heart cried in betrayal, the inch amount of trust she had in him has disappeared. Her heart shattered into a million pieces, each shard a painful reminder of the betrayal etched deep within her soul. In the depths of her heartbreak, she found herself lost in a sea of anguish, questioning every moment of their shared past, the loss of the friendship she once held so dear.
Ivan was devastated; he couldn't make sense of what had caused her so much heartache. The silent pain she bore seemed more melancholic than any scream of agony. Her anguish was buried before it reached her lips, before her eyes could shed tears, before it could be expressed. In realization, his hand halted, and the pen he was holding fell onto the papers, spreading ink across the pages, melding with the same color of the written letters. He knew something was wrong the moment her loathful gaze met his; he was the one—the culprit of her agony, the one who made her feel like that. Her eyes spoke, loud enough to be seen, yet how could he be so blind not to see her pain, not to feel the words of her gaze. The pain she suffered was spoken through her eyes, It seemed clear, yet he was the blind one, deaf to her anguish.
