Chapter 9 - The Morning After
783 Words
The morning was sweet.
Light slipped shyly through the gap in the heavy curtains, as if it too feared disturbing her after the night they'd shared.
Diana stretched, slowly opening her eyes. Her body still pulsed with memories—fevered, fierce, unexpectedly necessary. Her lips curled into a faint smile. For the first time in so long, she felt... alive.
The blanket slid slightly off her shoulders, revealing the graceful line of her collarbones. She sat up, ran her hand through tangled black hair, tucking a strand behind her ear. Inside, she glowed—still caught in the heat of Rayan. Dominant. Dangerous. Harsh. But somehow, only with him did she feel safe.
She slipped on a shirt—his, of course—and padded downstairs.
Rayan’s voice drifted up from below. It sounded rough. Controlled. Annoyed.
— “Please… forgive me… Rayan…”
A man’s voice, cracking, desperate.
— “Who sent you?” Rayan asked, cold and level.
— “I… I can’t say—”
— “You want to die? Fine.”
The sound.
Wet. Dull. Terrifying.
Diana froze on the staircase. From the hallway, she saw the knife sink deep into the man’s neck. Blood sprayed onto Rayan’s white shirt, the floor, the wall.
The man didn’t even scream—just a sharp gasp, and silence.
Rayan turned.
His face calm. As if he’d just closed a door, not ended a life.
He saw her.
— “Awake already, princess?” he murmured, stepping forward.
He kissed her forehead, leaving a crimson mark on her skin.
— “Put something warmer on,” he said. “It’s getting… cold around here.”
He walked away without looking back.
And Diana stood there—barefoot, trembling, wearing his shirt… and someone else’s blood.
This is the man I gave myself to last night.
The man I almost believed in.
The man's body was still there.
Fallen. Lifeless.
His eyes — open.
Staring at the ceiling, but seeing nothing anymore.
Diana didn’t scream. She just stared.
"He killed him."
Coldly. Cleanly.
As if he had done it hundreds of times before.
Suddenly, she realized — maybe he had.
The garden was quiet.
Too quiet.
Only a soft breeze rustled the old maple’s leaves.
It smelled of grass and sunlight.
Diana gently tucked a blanket over Eleonora’s knees.
The girl sat still in the chair, unmoving, her face frozen.
But her eyes were alive. Watchful.
“It’s warm today. We’re lucky,” Diana said, settling beside her on the bench.
Eleonora looked at her.
Didn’t blink.
Just waited.
Diana glanced away.
“I’m fine. Just… didn’t sleep much.”
Silence.
Eleonora moved one finger slightly — like she wanted to ask something.
Diana noticed.
“You think I’m different, don’t you?”
One blink.
“You’re right.
Sometimes adult life is like a storm.
We just hold the sail and pretend everything’s fine.”
Eleonora’s brow creased slightly. Very faint, but clear.
“I’m not angry,” Diana added. “Just… disappointed. In someone.”
Blink.
“Yes. Him.”
A pause.
The girl’s pinkie twitched gently.
A question. Is it dangerous? Are we in trouble?
Diana understood.
“No. I won’t let you get pulled into it. Do you hear me?
Whatever’s happening between him and me — it’s not yours to carry.
You’re here to live. To breathe. To heal.
Everything else is just noise.”
Eleonora blinked twice. Precisely.
As if saying: You can’t lie to me. I see.
“Yes, you see,” Diana whispered.
“But I want you not to feel it.
I want you to just live. Even here. Even if it’s only a little.”
A shadow stretched across the gravel.
Footsteps behind them.
Diana already knew who it was without turning.
Raine.
He stood two steps away, composed.
His face — a mask.
“Everything alright?” he asked evenly.
Diana didn’t look at him.
“Her blood pressure’s fine. Condition’s stable.
Everything is fine — until you speak.”
He said nothing.
Eleonora slowly shifted her gaze to him.
Careful.
No fear — but a question.
Raine noticed.
“I just wanted to make sure she’s okay,” he said. “Nothing more.”
“You’ve seen she is,” Diana replied. “Now leave.”
A long pause.
He looked at Eleonora.
Then at Diana.
But she didn’t move.
Didn’t even blink.
He left.
Diana followed his back with her eyes. Then leaned closer to Eleonora and whispered:
“He’s lost.
But you’re not.
You’re still here.
You’re real.
You are the meaning.”
Eleonora gently moved a finger, then closed her eyes.
Softly.
As if to say: I understand.
- Writer
