Page 90 of Marriage of Revenge

She doesn't understand. This isn't about winning some prize, about claiming territory.

I just want him whole. Want him to find light in all this darkness.

The tears burn like acid. I want to run to him, shake him, make him see we don't have to become our parents - don't have to let history repeat in blood and betrayal.

One last glance back stops my heart. Paola slides against him like smoke, all feline grace and victory. He stands there at the window, shoulders rigid under that black shirt I was clinging to hours ago, muscles coiled like he's fighting something inside.

When her arms wrap around his waist from behind, his jaw clenches - but he doesn't pull away. Not like in that corridor before our wedding, when he made sure I watched him claim her. Now he just... accepts her touch, lets himself lean back slightly into her embrace. His scarred profile catches morning light, turning him into some tragic marble statue while her fingers spread possessively across his stomach.

And he still doesn’t turn to look at me.

And whatever light was still shining in my chest crumbles.

"Move it." The command snaps like a whip. They march me away from Naomi's wing, deeper into stone and shadow where salt air mingles with decay. My escort's as large as my wedding party, but their laughter carries different music now - celebration of plans perfectly executed.

After all, isn't that what this is?

A marriage of revenge.

The Beast's perfect choreography of destruction.

Franco's eyes catch mine in the crowd - something complicated there, pity mixed with worry. Once, I would havedissected that look like choreography, found meaning in every nuance.

But now?

Nothing matters anymore.

Not Naomi's friendship I'll never see again.

Not the way dance used to make me feel alive.

Not the memory of Antonio's smile or how safe I felt in his arms last night - like maybe love could heal what cancer tried to destroy.

"Time to lock up the princess and celebrate!" Someone shouts, shoving me forward into another shadowed hallway.

"Don't." Franco's warning cuts sharp - but who is he talking to? Me? The man with hands like brands on my shoulders?

Bodies press in from every direction - leading, flanking, following. The air grows thick as hospital rooms at midnight. I'm more surrounded than I ever was during treatments, but I've never felt so alone.

"Welcome home, Ballerina." Snake-eyes opens a door that belongs in a dungeon, not a fortress. When he pushes me inside, my chest constricts like before bad news.

No books to escape into.

No music to dance to.

Nothing but stone and silence and the death of every dream I was stupid enough to believe in.

Just a bed and there, laid out like evidence at a murder scene - every letter his mother wrote me. Every letter we hid from his father. From him. From everyone.

Letters filled with love and laughter and hope.

The sight sends barbwire twisting around my lungs, proving just how naive I was to think I'd already felt the worst pain possible.

Because this? This is Antonio showing me exactly how thoroughly he plans to erase me. Each letter a reminder of whatI helped destroy, what I failed to protect. The second act of his revenge carefully choreographed to break whatever's left of me.

But he doesn't see what's happening to him - how every step deeper into darkness transforms him into something his mother feared most. The Beast isn't just consuming me anymore. It's devouring whatever light she tried to preserve in him, replacing it with rage and revenge until nothing else remains.

I helped forge these chains without knowing.

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