Semua Bab The king of Ashes : Bab 121 - Bab 130

(Isabella’s POV) I was numb, a hollow, walking shell, as I allowed two silent guards to lead me to the elevator. I did not fight, nor did I cry, for all my tears had turned to a cold, thick dread in my throat. Lucian walked beside me, his face a mask of profound, weary sadness, and his refusal to meet my eyes was a judgment far worse than my mother's anger or Alessandro's rage. He, the man of wisdom, the man who had begun to look at me with something like respect, now saw me as a poison, a danger that had finally, fatally, wounded his king. The ride down from the penthouse, a journey I had taken so many times, felt different, each floor we passed a descent into a new kind of hell. The Citadel, once my fortress and my home, had become my prison, and now, I was being transferred to a different, more remote cell. We walked through the silent, cavernous garage, the sound of our footsteps echoing in the empty space, and a black, armored sedan was waiting, its engine a low, quiet ru

(Alessandro’s POV) The Citadel was silent, a vast, echoing tomb, and the silence pressed in on me, a heavy blanket woven from betrayal and a cold, profound emptiness. I stood in the library, the room that had felt like the heart of our new world just yesterday, now it was just a room, cold and meaningless. The massive mahogany table was still scattered with her plans, with the samples of lace and fabric for a wedding that felt like a story from someone else's life, a cruel joke played by a merciless fate. I picked up one of the creamy white invitations, its elegant script mocking me, and my hand was perfectly steady, my expression perfectly blank. Inside, where my heart should have been beating with grief or rage, there was nothing, just a cold, hollow, and endless void. She had not just broken my heart, she had ripped it out, taking the man I was becoming with her, leaving only the ashes, the cold, dead ashes of the king I thought I had escaped. The King of Ashes was back on

(Isabella’s POV) The lake house was beautiful, a stunning cage made of glass and stone, perched on the edge of a vast, calm lake, yet I felt like I was suffocating. Days bled into one another, marked only by the rising and setting of the sun over the water, each sunrise a painful reminder of the morning I was supposed to marry Alessandro, each sunset a confirmation of the darkness that had fallen over my life. I was alone, truly alone, surrounded by silent guards whose faces were carefully blank, their presence a constant reminder that I was a prisoner, not a guest. My heart felt like a raw, open wound, aching with a pain so deep it felt physical. I replayed our last conversation, his cold, dead eyes, his final words turning his back on me, over and over in my mind, each repetition a fresh stab of agony. The greatest lie of all. He believed it, he believed my love, the most real and true thing I had ever felt, was just part of a mission, a calculated deception. And the worst par

(Alessandro’s POV) I sat there, my world reduced to the sterile, white room and the small, pale woman lying in the bed, her hand, cold and limp, held tight in my own. The only sound in the universe was the quiet, steady beep of the heart monitor, a fragile rhythm that was the only proof she was still with me. The silence in the room was heavy, a suffocating blanket of my own guilt and fear. Dr. Al-Jamil, my most trusted physician, stood on the other side of the bed, his face a mask of deep, professional concern as he checked the IV drip, his eyes scanning the monitors that showed her vital signs. “Why isn't she waking up?” I finally asked, my voice a rough, broken sound, a stranger's voice in my own ears. I could not, would not, look away from her face, from the dark, fan-like lashes resting on her pale cheeks. “You said she fainted. You said it was just exhaustion.” Dr. Al-Jamil stopped what he was doing, and his sad, weary eyes met mine. There was a hesitation in his gaze,

(Alessandro’s POV) She drifted back to sleep almost immediately, her body surrendering to the exhaustion, and her small, trusting smile as her eyes closed was a fresh, sharp twist of the knife in my gut. “You came back for me.” I had, but I had come back as a liar, a man now guarding a secret so terrible it felt like a physical weight, a cold, hard stone in my chest. I had just sacrificed our child, the only innocent part of either of us, and I had told her it was nothing, just stress, just a simple collapse. The lie I had told to protect her felt like the most profound betrayal of all, far worse than the spy games her mother had forced her into. I sat there for hours, my gaze never leaving her face, watching the slow, steady rise and fall of her chest. The steady beep of the monitor, which had been a sound of terror just a short time ago, was now a comforting rhythm, a lonely song that proved she was still here, that my world had not, in fact, ended. I held her hand, so much