Ivy Blackwood

Aria’s POV

The confession slipped from my lips, raw and unfiltered. “Because I killed my younger brother."

The words hung in the air like a storm cloud, heavy and ominous. My voice trembled, betraying the effort it took to say them aloud.

For years, I had buried this truth deep within, afraid of what it would mean to let it surface. Now, I felt exposed, as though I had torn open an old, festering wound that refused to heal.

I stared at the ground, too ashamed to meet Richard's gaze. I braced myself for the inevitable—the flicker of disgust, the revulsion that would spread across his face. I had seen it so many times before in the eyes of others, in the hushed whispers and pointed fingers that followed me everywhere.

But Richard didn’t pull away. His grip on my hand tightened, steady and grounding, as if silently telling me I wasn’t alone.

“Aria,” he said, his voice calm yet firm, “you didn’t kill your brother.”

My head snapped up, my eyes locking onto his. The certainty in his tone caught me off guard. “What happened could have been a terrible accident,” he continued. “You are just a child. No one should have blamed you for that.”

Tears welled up in my eyes, blurring his face. His words, so simple yet profound, pierced through the armor of guilt I had worn for years. No one had ever told me this before. Not once. Every glance, every word spoken behind my back had only reinforced what I already believed: that I was a monster.

“Thank you,” I whispered, my voice breaking as the tears spilled over. The words felt inadequate, but they were all I could muster. For so long, I had carried the weight of that night, the guilt of what I had done. Yet here was this man, a stranger who had no reason to care, telling me that I wasn’t beyond redemption.

Richard nodded, his expression unwavering. “We’ll leave this place soon,” he said, his voice steady with quiet determination. “We’ll return to the city and start fresh. Together, we’ll build a new life. You’ll have a purpose, a family. From this day forward, you’ll be Ivy Blackwood.”

The idea seemed like a mirage, almost too much to grasp. A new name, a new identity—it felt like a dream I didn’t deserve. But then, just as a flicker of hope began to take root in the cracks of my broken spirit, a voice cut through the moment like a blade.

“So this is where you’ve been hiding her.”

The words were cold, detached, yet laced with menace. My body tensed instinctively, and I turned toward the doorway.

A tall man stood there, his silhouette sharp against the dim light filtering in from the hall. His features were sharp, angular, and his piercing gaze pinned me in place. There was an air of authority about him, the kind that demanded obedience without question.

Richard immediately stepped in front of me, his broad frame acting as a shield. “Marcus,” he said, his tone frosty, “you’re intruding.”

Marcus's eyes barely flicked to Richard before returning to me. His gaze was unrelenting, dissecting me as though I were nothing more than a specimen under a microscope. “Have you forgotten the risk of taking in… strangers? Have you forgotten so soon what happened the last time?”

The word “stranger” hit me like a slap. I fought to keep my expression neutral, but inside, I felt the sting of it. That word had followed me my entire life—an outcast, an outsider, never truly belonging anywhere.

Richard's shoulders squared, his posture rigid with defiance. “Aria is my daughter now,” he said, his voice like steel. “She deserves a fresh start, and you will treat her as such.”

Marcus's mouth tightened, a flicker of something unreadable passing through his eyes. “Very well,” he said at last, though his tone was anything but conciliatory. There was a warning buried beneath his words, a subtle threat. “But remember, Richard—loyalty is never guaranteed. You should know better.”

His implication was clear, and it cut deeper than I cared to admit. The doubts I had fought so hard to suppress came rushing back, drowning the fragile hope Richard had given me. Maybe Marcus was right. Maybe I didn’t deserve this chance at redemption.

Marcus lingered a moment longer, his presence oppressive, before finally turning and leaving. The tension in the room didn’t ease with his departure. If anything, it seemed to thicken, suffocating in its intensity.

Richard turned back to me, his expression softening, but there was pain in his eyes. Why? “Don’t let him get to you,” he said, his tone gentle yet resolute. “Marcus is wary of everyone, but he’ll see in time that you belong here.”

I swallowed hard, the knot in my throat refusing to loosen. “Are you sure?” I asked, my voice barely audible. “I don’t want to be a burden. I don’t want to bring you trouble.”

Thomas stepped closer, his gaze piercing yet kind. “You’re not a burden, Aria. You’re stronger than you realize, and you’re not alone anymore.” He hesitated, then added, “Marcus is just looking out for me. But soon enough, he would see how special you are.”

His words settled over me like a warm blanket, soothing the storm raging inside me. For the first time in years, since the night my brother died, I felt a flicker of something I thought I had lost forever: hope.

But even as Richard's reassurances tried to anchor me, I couldn’t shake the memory of Marcus's cold, calculating gaze. His parting words echoed in my mind, a constant reminder that the past had claws, and it wasn’t done with me yet.

That night, as I lay in the large soft bed, I stared at the ceiling, my thoughts a chaotic mess. The walls felt too close, the air too thick. Somewhere in the distance, a branch scraped against the window, the sound sharp and grating. I couldn’t shake the feeling that Marcus's warning wasn’t just a general statement—it was a promise.

Sleep eluded me as doubt crept back in. Would Richard's faith in me withstand the weight of my past? Could I really build a new life, or was I destined to be a shadow, haunted by the ghosts of my sins?

What if he finds out about my real identity?

The darkness outside seemed to press against the room, oppressive and unrelenting. Somewhere deep in my heart, a voice whispered the truth I didn’t want to face: hope was a fragile thing, and it wouldn’t take much to shatter it.

And yet, as dawn’s first light began to seep through the cracks in the curtains, I held on to Richard's words like a lifeline. “You’re not alone anymore.”

For now, that had to be enough