(Aria's POV)
Morning sunlight spilled through the high windows of the cathedral, filtered into shards of color that danced across the stone floor. The bells had long stopped ringing, yet their echo lingered faintly, like a heartbeat beneath the silence. I sat by the window of my small chamber, sewing the frayed hem of my sleeve, though the needle trembled slightly in my grasp.
It was becoming harder to think clearly these days.
Leo's face followed me everywhere—his calm, unshakable voice still murmured in the back of my mind, his gaze burned through my thoughts even in the gentlest moments. Sometimes, when I closed my eyes, I could still feel the faint brush of his fingertips against my cheek, the warmth of his breath when he spoke.
I told myself these memories were sinful, delusions born of loneliness and confusion.These feeling will destroy my dreams of freedom.But the heart—oh, it is such a rebellious thing. It refuses obedience.
Every gesture from Leo seemed more tender than before, every word more intimate, every look more personal. When he smiled at me during morning prayers, when his hand briefly brushed mine as he passed a chalice, it felt like a promise whispered in silence—a bond only we could understand.
And I had begun to believe in it.
A foolish part of me painted dreams in color and light: a small cottage beyond the woods, laughter over morning tea, his hand on mine not hidden by robes or ritual. A life beyond these walls, beyond vows and guilt. Beyond the hell of a family I have .A future that didn't belong to the church,the dark past, but to us.
I pressed my palms together, whispering a prayer for forgiveness, though I no longer knew whether I was repenting for sin or for hope.
A soft knock interrupted my thoughts.
"Come in," I said, hastily setting aside the needlework.
The door creaked open, and Sister Agnes entered, her steady eyes observing me with quiet concern. Her presence always carried a grounding calm—a reminder that the world still had order, still had rules.
"You've been distant," she said gently, closing the door behind her. "Your duties are performed, but your spirit… it drifts elsewhere my dear.If there's some problem tell this sister.I am like your family"
I hesitated. "I am simply tired, Sister. Perhaps I've been praying too little."
Her gaze lingered on me, skeptical. "No amount of prayer can hide unrest, child. I have seen that look before—the one that says your heart is no longer in the sanctuary."
My lips parted, but no words came.
She sighed softly, walking closer. "You must be careful, Aria. Sometimes, the devil does not come roaring with horns and flame. Sometimes, he comes cloaked in calm words and kind eyes."
Her warning struck too close to truth. I dropped my gaze to my lap, fingers knotting in the fabric of my dress.
"Thank you, Sister," I murmured, though my voice trembled. "I will be cautious."
She gave me a long, unreadable look, then simply nodded and left, her steps echoing down the hall.
The silence that followed felt heavier than before.
I rose to my feet and walked toward the chapel. The halls were cool and still, lined with ancient icons that stared back at me with cold compassion. Outside, the gardens shimmered beneath the noon light, and I could see a familiar figure by the fountain—Father Leo, his posture serene as he spoke with a tall man in a dark coat.
It took a moment for me to recognize him: Cassian, Leo's personal attendant. A silent, watchful presence who always seemed to appear at the edges of conversation. There was something sharp in his demeanor, like a blade hidden beneath civility.I thought why someone like him be a attendant.
As I approached, Cassian's eyes flicked to me briefly before he turned back to Leo, murmuring something I couldn't hear. Leo responded with a faint smile, dismissing him with a nod.
When Cassian walked away, his gaze brushed mine again—measured, assessing—before disappearing down the path.
"Little dove," Leo greeted, turning toward me, his tone soft and welcoming. "You look troubled."
I tried to smile, though the air felt strange around us. "I suppose I have been thinking too much."
"Ah," he said, stepping closer, "that is a dangerous habit."
The corners of his mouth curved faintly. "Thoughts have a way of turning desire into doubt. And doubt, my dear, is the thief of peace."
I blinked, startled by how easily he could name what I dared not admit. "I… I do not wish to doubt," I whispered.
"Then don't," he said simply. "Faith is not only in God, Aria—it is in what your soul recognizes as truth."
He reached for the fountain's rim, fingers trailing lazily through the water. "You still fear what you feel, but it is not sin that drives your heart—it is life."
I didn't know what to say. My pulse thudded painfully in my throat.
He looked at me then, truly looked, and I felt myself unraveling under that gaze. His eyes were like deep water—inviting, dangerous, impossible to escape once you stepped in.
"Do you trust me?" he asked softly.
"Yes," I said before I could think.
The word felt too easy, too natural.
Leo smiled, faint and satisfied. "Good. Because the world will not always understand what we are building here. It will try to take it from us."
"What… what are we building?" I asked, my voice trembling.
He tilted his head, watching me with quiet amusement. "A truth that cannot be undone by fear."
Before I could speak, he turned, gesturing for me to follow. "Walk with me."
We moved through the gardens, sunlight filtering through vines of wild roses. The air smelled of water and summer. Leo spoke idly at first—about the history of the cathedral, the struggles of faith—but every word carried a hidden thread, weaving itself deeper into my mind.
When we reached the cloister archway, he stopped.
"Aria," he said, his tone shifting to something low and intimate, "have you ever wondered why you were drawn here? Why you sought a life of restraint when your spirit longs for freedom?"
I swallowed hard. "Because I wanted to be good," I whispered. "To be free from my past."
"Freedom," he repeated softly, "is not the absence of sin. It is the ability to choose your own."
I stared at him, uncertain whether his words were wisdom or blasphemy.
He smiled faintly, noticing my confusion. "You are not meant to be confined, little dove. Some souls are born to seek light in forbidden places."
And then, before I could step back, his hand rose—fingers brushing lightly against my wrist, the faintest contact, yet enough to still my breath.
"Do you feel it?" he murmured.
I did. The pulse beneath my skin answered for me, betraying every defense.
"Good," he said quietly. "Do not be ashamed of what is real."
We stood there for a long moment, silence thick between us.
Then a voice cut through the stillness.
"Father Leo!"
I turned sharply to see Father Gabriel striding toward us, his expression guarded. "The Bishop has requested your presence," he said evenly, though his eyes flicked between us with faint suspicion.
Leo's hand slipped from mine so smoothly it could have been imagined. "Of course," he said, inclining his head. "Thank you, Father Gabriel."
Gabriel hesitated, then added, "And Sister Aria—the Mother Superior would like a word with you after vespers."
My heart stuttered. "Yes, Father," I said softly.
As Gabriel left, Leo leaned closer, his voice barely audible. "Do not let their rules cage you, Aria. They fear what they cannot control."
He walked away then, his robes brushing against the path, leaving me standing beneath the archway, my thoughts a storm of guilt and wonder.
That night, I could not sleep.
Every glance, every touch, every word he had spoken echoed through my mind, tangled with the memory of his lips in dreams. My heart refused stillness.
When I finally rose to fetch water, I noticed something glinting beneath my window. A piece of parchment, folded neatly and sealed with dark wax.
My name—Aria—written in some unknown handwriting.
I hesitated, then opened it.
Meet at the confessional after midnight. There are things you must know—truths the light cannot hold.
My pulse quickened. I knew I should ignore it, should cast the letter into the fire and pray for strength.What if something important will happen tonight?What if someone is pranking me?But the flame that had been kindled inside me refused to die.
So I waited for midnight.
The cathedral was silent when I slipped from my cell, the hallways dimly lit by moonlight filtering through colored glass. My bare feet made no sound on the stone floor. The confessional loomed ahead, half-shadowed, ancient and waiting.
When I entered, I saw Leo was standing there. His face was calm, but his eyes burned like coals beneath the faint candlelight.I thought what he is doing there at this time.Then suddenly his voice sounded.
"Oh," he said quietly, "you came."
Then a cloaked figure came into my view.
"Yes," he answer .I breathed, unsure what was happening.
The flickering candlelight in the chapel cast long shadows across the stone floor, making the darkness feel almost alive. Leo's voice, calm but measured, echoed softly, barely disturbing the stillness. I crouched behind the confessional's corner, holding my breath, my heart hammering in my chest.
"You understand the stakes," Leo said, his tone low, almost a whisper, as if the walls themselves had ears. "One wrong move, and the entire family loses more than money. Lives will—"
The figure across from him, shrouded in black, inclined their head, their voice muffled but firm. "We understand. Your cover as a priest has worked perfectly. No one suspects the involvement of the Lucchese family."
My stomach dropped. My mind refused to process the words fully. "Lucchese family… mafia?" I thought, my fingers clutching the edge of the wooden partition.
"I needed access," Leo continued, "and the church provides it. Documents, donations, even certain transactions—it all passes through here. My role is simple: observe, report, ensure nothing jeopardizes the family's interests." His voice carried a subtle pride, a careful charm hidden under the weight of deception.
The cloaked figure chuckled softly. "And no one notices the golden boy in a priest's collar. Clever. But what about her?" The figure's tone shifted slightly, curiosity laced with concern.
Leo's lips curved into a faint smile. "Her?" He glanced toward the pulpit, as if remembering someone. "She's… complicated. But she won't interfere. Not yet. She trusts the wrong man."
My hands trembled. I had trusted the "wrong man." All the quiet smiles, the whispered confessions in empty hallways, the moments I thought were intimate, genuine—they were part of a masquerade I hadn't even known I was in.
The black figure's voice softened, almost advising. "Be careful, Leo. Emotions have a way of unraveling even the most carefully laid plans."
"I know," Leo said, his tone a blend of regret and cold calculation. "But this must be done. No hesitation. No weakness."
The footsteps of the figure faded as they left, and the chapel returned to its solemn silence. I remained frozen, the faint scent of incense mixing with the bitter taste of betrayal on her tongue.
I pressed my hands to my mouth, feeling my chest tighten. Everything I had believed about Leo, about his gentle smiles and quiet kindness, crumbled in that single revelation. He wasn't the man I thought he was. Not a priest, not someone to confide in, but a calculated member of a mafia family—using me ,the church, and even my trust for his own purposes.
My eyes blurred with tears, I refused to let fall. I felt… utterly betrayed.
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