The night was quiet. Too quiet.
The fire that once lit the battlefield was gone, leaving behind the scent of blood and smoke. Bodies had been cleared away. The mansion's yard, once filled with chaos, was now heavy with sorrow.
Elena sat beside her mother's lifeless body, her eyes red and swollen. She hadn't moved for hours. Lorenzo stayed near her, watching silently, knowing this pain was something even he couldn't protect her from.
The morning sun rose slowly, its golden light falling across her mother's pale face.
Elena reached out and brushed a strand of hair from her mother's cheek, whispering softly, "You finally came back… and I still lost you."
Tears slid down her face. Her hands trembled as she held her mother's cold fingers.
Lorenzo knelt beside her. "Elena, we have to move her inside," he said quietly. "She deserves a proper goodbye."
She looked up at him, her lips quivering. "She tried to kill me, Lorenzo… but she also saved me. I don't even know what to feel anymore."
He took her hand gently. "Feel everything, mi amor. The anger, the pain, the love… let it all come out. You don't have to understand it now."
Elena nodded slowly, her tears falling freely again. Together, they lifted her mother's body and carried it inside.
That evening, the mansion was silent. Every staff member stood still in respect as the body was laid in the center of the main hall. White candles surrounded her mother's coffin, and soft music played in the background.
Elena stood there, dressed in black, her long hair tied back, her eyes blank. She didn't speak for a long time.
When everyone left the room, she finally stepped closer and whispered, "I hated you… but I still needed you."
She placed a hand on the coffin and closed her eyes.
"I wanted to hear you say you were sorry. I wanted to tell you how much you hurt me… but I never wanted you to die. You made me strong, mama — strong enough to survive you. But I would give anything just to hear your voice one last time."
She paused, her breath catching. "You died saving me. After everything, you still chose to fight for me. Maybe that's what love really is — messy, painful, but real."
Her voice cracked as she whispered, "Goodbye, Mami."
Lorenzo watched her from a distance, his hands in his pockets, his heart heavy.
He had seen Elena break down before — during battles, during nightmares — but this was different. This wasn't anger. It was grief. Pure and sharp.
When she turned to face him, her eyes were empty, the spark he loved so much hidden behind pain.
"She didn't deserve to die," she said softly.
He walked closer and held her hands. "No one ever does."
"I kept thinking I wanted revenge. That if I saw her, I'd hate her. But now I just feel… lost."
Lorenzo brushed his thumb across her cheek. "You're not lost, Elena. You're finding yourself. Sometimes it takes pain to show us who we really are."
She looked at him for a long moment, then rested her head against his chest.
"Promise me, Lorenzo… promise me this will end soon."
He wrapped his arms around her. "I promise, my love. For you, I'll end it. For her, I'll make it right."
The next day, they buried her mother at a small private cemetery near the edge of their estate.
Only a few people were there — Lorenzo, his men, and Elena.
The priest's voice echoed quietly as the wind blew across the field. Elena didn't cry this time. She stood tall, her expression calm, her hands gripping a single white rose.
When the coffin was lowered, she stepped forward and dropped the flower onto it.
"Rest, Mami," she whispered. "I forgive you."
Lorenzo watched her with admiration. She wasn't just his mate anymore — she was a warrior, a queen who carried her pain like a crown.
As the others left, she stayed behind, staring at the fresh grave. Lorenzo walked up beside her and took her hand.
"Do you think she's proud of me?" Elena asked softly.
"I know she is," he said. "She fought her last battle for you. And she won — because you're still here."
Elena smiled faintly, her tears returning. "You always know what to say."
He smirked. "It's my job to keep you standing, even when the world tries to break you."
She looked up at him, her heart tightening. "I don't know what I'd do without you."
"You'll never have to find out," he said, kissing her forehead.
That night, Elena sat on the balcony of their room, watching the moon.
The wind was cold, carrying the faint scent of smoke and roses.
Lorenzo came up behind her and wrapped a blanket around her shoulders.
"Still thinking about her?" he asked softly.
She nodded. "I keep hearing her voice. The way she called me mi niña. I used to hate it. Now I miss it."
He leaned down, whispering, "She's still with you, Elena. In here." He placed a hand over her heart. "Every part of you carries her strength."
Elena looked down at his hand, then covered it with hers. "Maybe that's true. Maybe she left me more than just pain."
Lorenzo smiled faintly. "She left you a reason to fight."
Elena turned her head to look at him, her eyes hardening with new resolve.
"Yes," she said. "My father took her from me. And now I'll make sure he pays for every drop of blood he spilled."
Her voice was calm — too calm — and Lorenzo saw the fire return to her eyes.
The same fire that burned in her mother's when she went to war.
Lorenzo nodded. "Then we'll finish this together."
She reached up and cupped his cheek. "Together," she whispered.
The moon shone down on them, casting silver light across their faces.
For the first time in days, Elena didn't feel broken. She felt ready.
Her mother's death wasn't the end.
It was the beginning of her reckoning.