Page 58 of Blood Heir

“You don’t need to. I’m fine. You’re making me worse by staying here.”

She shifts up, leaning back into the pillows, frustration tightening her jaw. The way she looks at me—like I’m the intruder here—makes my teeth grind. Her skin is pale. There are scratches across her cheek. The faint outline of bruises darkens along her collarbone. My stomach coils.

She notices my stare and huffs impatiently. “I said I’m fine.”

I stand, my fists curling at my sides. “Alright then. I’ll talk to you after you rest.”

But before I reach the door, she calls my name softly.

“Serevin.”

I pause. Turn halfway toward her.

“It was a misadventure, nothing more,” she says. Her voice is steady, but her eyes don’t meet mine. “Emilia met me on the way.”

A weak cover. She’s lying. I feel it. But I let her keep her story—for now.

I smile thinly. “Of course. Rest up.”

She turns her back on me without another word, curling into herself as she lies back down. I watch her for a few seconds longer, then step into the hallway and shut the door behind me.

The rage is clawing at my ribs again.

Down the corridor, Cassian lounges against the wall like a man without a care in the world, a half-eaten slice of pizza hanging between his fingers. The smell of cheap cheese and garlic assaults my senses.

“You’re enjoying yourself,” I mutter.

He grins, licking sauce off his thumb. “A man has to eat.”

I don’t stop walking as I speak. “Get me Monte and Gustavo. Now.”

Cassian straightens, still chewing as he nods. “Your wish is my command.”

He licks his fingers again, but his tone shifts as I reach the stairs.

“But…Vittoria isn’t going to like this.”

I turn my head just slightly, giving him a look that silences anything else he might say. “I don’t care what Vittoria likes.”

Chapter 14 - Fioretta

It starts with a sharp snap behind my eyes—like something brittle breaking under pressure. I sit up in bed, my breath hitching. Something is different. There are pieces floating just beneath the surface. Pieces of me. Of before.

I press my hands into the mattress as my chest tightens. My stomach twists like I’ve been punched. My mind feels swollen, crammed full of images that don’t quite fit together, but some of them slip through. I see myself—young, desperate, broken.

I remember closing my eyes and jumping. The rooftop. The rain. The wind pulling at me as I let go, as I fell. And I prayed, not for survival, but for death. For release.

The memory is fragmented. I can’t see what came after, but the feeling remains—raw, sharp, bleeding.

Tears sting my eyes. I clamp my hand over my mouth to muffle the sob. My fingers tremble. My breath comes in short gasps. I don’t understand it all. But I feel it. I feel everything.

I swing my legs over the bed, planting my feet onto the cold floor. The chill grounds me for a second. My body aches everywhere. My ribs pull tight when I move, but I force myself to lean forward, opening the side table drawer.

The little key sits inside, waiting for me.

My fingers curl around it. The cold metal presses into my palm like it’s mocking me. What do you open? I whisper silently. What are you hiding from me?

I stare at the key for a long second before gently placing it back inside. I shut the drawer slowly, the click echoing in thequiet room. The silence wraps around me like a noose. The walls seem closer now, pressing in on me, heavy, suffocating.

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