Chapter Twenty-Six: Shadows of the Past

It was a bloodline war. And she was right in the center of it.

The words wouldn’t stop echoing in Ariella’s mind as she stood frozen in the cold cellar. Her father’s letter trembled in her hand, the red wax seal broken and lying on the dusty floor. Everything she thought she knew about his death twisted into something darker. They will come for you too, my little flame.

Her breath came out in shallow bursts. The letter slipped from her fingers and drifted to the ground like a leaf. She turned sharply, scanning the dimly lit room as though someone might already be watching her. Every sound—the creak of wood above, the faint hum of the generator—felt magnified, dangerous.

She backed up slowly, her shoulder brushing against a wine rack. The bottles rattled softly. Somewhere above, she thought she heard footsteps. Her pulse jumped.

“Lucien?” she called out, her voice barely more than a whisper.

No response.

Ariella grabbed the letter again and tucked it deep inside her jacket. Her father’s handwriting was burned into her memory now. She needed to show Lucien—if she could still trust him. The thought made her chest ache. He had saved her more than once, yet the shadows around him always lingered too long.

She climbed the stairs carefully, every creak making her flinch. The air was heavier upstairs, thick with tension and the faint smell of smoke from the previous night’s attack. A maid hurried past her in the hallway, head bowed low.

“Has anyone seen Mr. Draven?” Ariella asked.

The maid shook her head quickly, eyes darting away before she whispered, “He went to the east wing. Said not to be disturbed.”

Ariella didn’t wait for more. She went straight there, her heart thudding with a mix of fear and determination.

When she pushed open the door to Lucien’s study, he was already there—leaning over his desk, the dim light of a single lamp outlining his shoulders. Papers were scattered everywhere, old photographs, files stamped with her father’s name.

He looked up sharply, his expression unreadable. “You shouldn’t be here, Ariella.”

“I found something.” Her voice cracked as she placed the letter on his desk. “It’s from my father.”

Lucien’s eyes darkened. He hesitated before picking it up. His jaw clenched as he read the first few lines. “Where did you get this?”

“In the cellar,” she said softly. “Taped under the stairs. He… he said not to trust Elise.”

At that, Lucien’s gaze flickered—something close to guilt, or maybe fear. “You weren’t supposed to find that yet,” he muttered.

“What does that mean?” Ariella’s voice rose, her palms flattening against the desk. “You knew about this?”

Lucien exhaled slowly, setting the letter down. “There are things I’ve tried to keep from you—things that could destroy you if you’re not ready.”

“Destroy me?” she shot back, trembling. “My father was murdered, my life turned upside down, and now you’re saying there’s more? I deserve to know everything, Lucien!”

For a moment, silence. Only the ticking of the clock between them.

Then he stepped closer. “Your father wasn’t the man you think he was,” he said quietly. “He was part of something bigger—something that started long before you were born.”

Ariella shook her head. “No. He was a good man. He protected us.”

“He tried to,” Lucien said, voice deep with regret. “But he was running from the same people I’ve been fighting for years.”

Her chest tightened. “The ones who killed him?”

Lucien hesitated before nodding. “And they won’t stop until they get what he was protecting.”

Ariella stepped back, confusion twisting through her. “Protecting what?”

Lucien’s eyes met hers—steady, unreadable. “You.”

The room fell silent again, heavy with words unspoken. Ariella stared at him, her heartbeat in her throat. “Me? Why?”

Lucien looked away, the muscles in his jaw tightening. “Because you carry something they want. Something tied to the Cruz bloodline.”

Her breath hitched. The letter. The warnings. The whispers she’d overheard from Elise. It all began to connect—but the picture was still incomplete.

She swallowed hard. “What are you not telling me, Lucien?”

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he walked to the window, pulling the curtain aside to glance out at the fog-covered grounds. “If I tell you,” he said, voice barely above a whisper, “there’s no going back.”

“I’ve already crossed that line,” Ariella replied, her tone steady despite the tremor in her hands.

Lucien turned then, eyes burning with something fierce and unspoken. He took a slow step toward her, then another, until the space between them dissolved. She could feel his breath, warm against her skin.

“This isn’t just about revenge anymore,” he said softly. “It’s survival.”

Ariella’s pulse raced. “Then teach me how to survive.”

Something in Lucien’s expression broke then—a mix of pain and pride. He reached out, brushing a strand of hair from her face, his fingers trembling slightly.

“You don’t know what you’re asking for.”

“Maybe not,” she whispered. “But I know who I’m asking.”

For a heartbeat, they just stood there, breathing the same air, caught between fear and something deeper. His hand lingered near her cheek, and for a moment she thought he’d finally close the distance between them.

But he didn’t. Instead, he stepped back, the moment shattering. “You should rest,” he said roughly. “Tomorrow, everything changes.”

“Lucien—”

“Please, Ariella.” His voice softened, eyes searching hers. “Don’t make me choose between protecting you and telling you the truth.”

She wanted to fight it, to demand answers, but something in his tone stopped her. She turned away before he could see the tears threatening to fall.

As she left the room, she caught one last glimpse of him—standing by the window, staring into the night like a man haunted by ghosts he could never escape.

Outside, the wind howled through the trees, carrying whispers of a past that refused to die.

And somewhere deep inside the mansion, another secret waited to be uncovered.