The doors burst open with a thunderous crack, echoing through the grand chamber like a declaration of war.
Lila didn't flinch. She didn't even turn around. Her gaze remained fixed on the sword resting across the scrolls, its metal catching the twilight like it remembered blood.
"Get out," she said, her voice low, measured—but dangerous.
Axel didn't obey.
He stood there, his chest rising and falling with restrained emotion. His dark clothes were dusted with the cold of the night air, the gold trim of his collar gleaming faintly under the chandelier light. His eyes—stormy and haunted—were fixed on her back.
"You're pregnant," he said.
Silence stretched between them like a noose.
Lila turned then. Slowly. Her eyes, ruby red and glinting like a flame barely contained, locked onto his. Her lips were parted, but not in surprise. It wasn't shock that stirred in her expression—it was rage. Cold, deliberate rage.
