The morning after their passionate night together, the house was unusually quiet. Elena woke up first, still resting on Lorenzo's chest. For a long time, she just listened to his heartbeat — steady, strong, and calm. It felt safe… yet something in her heart wouldn't stop whispering that peace never lasted long in their world. She got up slowly, wrapped herself in a robe, and walked to the balcony, the cool wind brushing against her face.
Down below, the guards were changing shifts, the maids were whispering as usual — but there was a strange tension in the air. She could sense it. Something was coming.
Lorenzo woke up moments later, eyes half-open, still tired but peaceful for the first time in days. "You're awake early," he said, his voice husky.
Elena turned to him with a faint smile. "Couldn't sleep. My mind keeps replaying everything. The past… your ex… my father."
He stood up, walked toward her, and wrapped his arms around her from behind. "Forget the past, Elena. We've both lost too much. Let's protect what we have left."
She nodded, but deep down she knew it wasn't over. The past never truly stayed buried — it always found a way back.
Later that day, Lorenzo received a call that froze him. His jaw tightened as he listened silently, his eyes darkening with every second. When the call ended, he smashed his phone against the table.
"What happened?" Elena asked, startled.
"They found out who helped poison you," Lorenzo said coldly. "And it wasn't just your father."
Elena's heart skipped a beat. "What do you mean? Who else?"
He looked at her, his voice low and sharp. "Someone close to you. Someone you trusted."
Her hands began to tremble. "Who?"
Lorenzo didn't answer immediately. He walked toward the window, staring outside as if searching for control. "Your mother," he finally said.
Elena froze. For a moment, it felt like her entire world stopped moving. Her knees weakened, and she held onto the table for balance. "No," she whispered. "You're lying… she would never—"
"The evidence doesn't lie, Elena," Lorenzo said, his voice cracking under the weight of anger and sorrow. "She helped plan it. Your father wasn't working alone."
Tears filled her eyes, but no words came out. She just stood there, shaking her head over and over.
"She wanted power," Lorenzo continued, trying to keep his voice steady. "She traded your life… for a seat beside your father. But when she failed, she ran."
Elena's tears turned into quiet rage. "She's alive?"
"Yes. And she's hiding. Somewhere far. But we'll find her."
Elena turned away, clenching her fists. "No, Lorenzo. I will find her."
He stepped closer, holding her arm tightly. "You're not going anywhere without me."
She looked up at him, her eyes cold but filled with pain. "Then don't stop me when I do."
Lorenzo stared at her for a long moment — the woman he loved was turning into something else, someone stronger, darker. And maybe, that was the only way she could survive.
He reached out to touch her face, but she pulled away and walked out of the room, leaving him standing there in silence.
That night, when he entered their bedroom again, her clothes were gone — the closet half-empty. On the bed, she left only one note, written in her elegant, sharp handwriting:
"Don't follow me. I need to face this alone.
Lorenzo crushed the note in his hand, his heart pounding with fear and anger.
He whispered to himself, "Elena… what are you about to do?"