CHAPTER 158: THE PRICELESS TREASURES

Yes, people noticed.

People always noticed.

It spread quickly, like perfume in the air, lingering on every whisper and glance.

Ivan wasn’t at Lydia’s ball tonight.

The surprise wasn’t that he was absent from a celebration. The surprise was that he had always been there before. The last three balls, he was there. He didn’t dance. He didn’t mingle. He didn’t smile. But he was there. Standing quietly in the shadows, somewhere at the edge of the room, his eyes never leaving Lydia. He never said a word, yet his presence said enough. Everyone saw it. Everyone whispered about it.

But tonight, he wasn’t there.

And people noticed.

They gossiped while they sipped wine. They leaned close to one another with lowered voices. "Did you see? He’s not here tonight." "Strange, isn’t it?" "Perhaps there has been a quarrel." "Perhaps it’s over."

The gossip swirled and spun like the music in the ballroom.

But Lydia wasn’t thinking about them.

Her mind wasn’t on their gossip. Her mind was on his absence.

Ivan’s absence.

How dare he not come?

Her heart kept asking it again and again. How dare he? How could he stay away on a night like this? Tonight, when she had dressed to break his heart. Tonight, when she wanted his eyes on her, burning with regret. She wanted him to look at her and remember what he threw away. She wanted him to ache, to feel the sharp stab of loss, to know with every breath what he would never have again.

But he wasn’t there.

And that thought pricked her chest like a thousand pins.

The music in her ears grew louder and louder, as if the violins were piercing straight into her skull. The lights seemed too bright, the laughter too sharp, the roses too sweet. She couldn’t see clearly anymore. The walls blurred, the colors melted into one another.

She felt sick.

Her chest tightened. Her stomach twisted. Her throat burned.

She pressed her silk-gloved hand against her ribs, trying to breathe, trying to keep her composure as dozens of eyes continued to watch her. She forced a smile, brittle and empty, and excused herself softly to the people around her. Then she turned, her heels tapping against the polished floor, and walked quickly out of the ballroom.

The hallways were quiet compared to the music-filled chamber she had left. Her footsteps echoed softly, her breath uneven. She needed air. Just a little air. She moved toward the tall windows, her hands trembling slightly as she tried to steady herself.

And then she heard footsteps behind her.

She froze. Her heart jumped in her chest. For one fleeting second she thought—no, she hoped—it might be Ivan. That he had finally come, that he had followed her out, that he couldn’t stay away.

But it wasn’t him.

It was Damir.

He walked closer, his voice low, soft, almost cautious. "Are you okay?" he asked. "I just came in and you looked a little sixk. Do you want me to fetch the doctor?"

Lydia turned her head slightly, her face calm but her eyes cold. "I’m fine," she said quickly. "I’m just exhausted."

Damir’s brow furrowed as he studied her face. "Are you sure?"

"I am," Lydia answered, her tone stiff. Then her eyes narrowed as she asked, "Why are you here?"

"I wanted to talk to you," Damir said quietly.

"I don’t have time to talk," Lydia replied coldly. Her voice was sharp, but beneath it was exhaustion, the heaviness of her emotions spilling into her words.

Damir lowered his tone even more, almost like a secret. "I know. I just wanted to say... you don’t have to worry. Mother is okay. She knows you didn’t mean it."

Lydia blinked, her lips parting slightly. She turned fully to look at him, her eyes searching his.

"I just wanted you to know," Damir continued, "that she never abandoned you. Yes, mother may act cold, but she isn’t. She cares deeply for you." His voice shook faintly, carrying a sincerity that was impossible to miss. "She tried her best to take you in back then, but she couldn’t. She was very sick. The doctor even told her she might not live. She was terrified you would lose her too. She didn’t want you to see her like that. She didn’t want you to see her weak and dying."

Lydia’s voice cracked as she whispered, "Then why didn’t she tell me? Why did she let me believe all this time that she abandoned me? Why did she let me feel like that?"

Damir’s eyes softened. "Maybe she blamed herself for not being able to do anything then. Maybe she couldn’t forgive herself either. All I wanted to say is... not everything is the way it seems. Sometimes we do everything to protect the ones we love. Even if it means hurting ourselves."

For a moment, silence filled the hallway. Lydia stared at him, her eyes trembling with unspoken emotion.

Damir gave her a faint smile. He placed his hand gently on her shoulder, his touch steady and kind. "I got a house not too far from the church. Come visit soon. Patch things with mother. You know how much she loves you."

With that, he gave her a soft nod and walked away, leaving her standing alone.

Tears spilled from Lydia’s eyes.

They fell, one after another, heavy and hot. Not just because of what she had learned, but because of something deeper. Because Damir’s words stirred something inside her that she didn’t want to admit.

A tiny hope.

A fragile, foolish hope that maybe, just maybe, Ivan hadn’t abandoned her either.

Maybe, just maybe, there was a reason. Maybe he was protecting her in his own way. Maybe all the pain had meaning.

Her heart beat faster with that thought. Her tears flowed more heavily.

She turned and walked quickly, almost desperately, through the halls until she reached his room. Her chest rose and fell with ragged breaths as she pushed the door open.

Empty.

The room was empty.

Ivan wasn’t there.

Not even a trace of him.

Her heart dropped like stone. The tiny hope that had flickered inside her was crushed instantly. It burned to ashes.

Because the truth was clear. He wasn’t protecting her. He wasn’t coming.

She was being abandoned again.

Her mind raced backward. The past replayed itself cruelly, memories of loneliness and rejection flooding in like waves. She shook her head harshly, trying to escape it, but the more she fought, the harder it clung to her.

The tears turned violent. She wiped them away with her hands, almost angrily, as if they were poison. But they kept falling, unstoppable.

Her breaths turned into sobs.

Her fingers trembled as she pulled at her jewelry. She ripped the necklace from her neck, the pink diamonds clattering to the floor. She tugged at the gloves, yanking them until they fell from her wrists. She pulled the earrings from her ears, throwing them across the room. One by one, she stripped herself of every jewel, every sparkle, every sign of wealth, until they lay scattered on the floor like useless stones.

The dress was next. She tugged at the beautiful gown, tearing at its straps, pulling until it slipped from her shoulders. She didn’t care if it ripped, she didn’t care if it was ruined. To her, it was nothing. All of it was nothing.

Because what good were these priceless things if she still felt so empty? What good were they if she was still alone?

Katherine stood in the corner, silent, watching. Her face was calm, but her eyes betrayed worry. She wanted to step forward, to comfort, to say something. But she didn’t. She knew Lydia, and she knew that sometimes silence was the only thing you could give to someone breaking apart.

Meanwhile, Ivan sat alone in the lounge.

The palace was alive with music, but he sat still.

He could hear it faintly, the echoes of violins and laughter drifting through the walls. But he didn’t move. He was completely dressed. His black coat fit perfectly, his hair tied neatly, his shoes polished. He had prepared himself to go. He had wanted to go. He had imagined, just for a moment, stepping into the ballroom, looking at her, seeing her in her glory.

But then the thoughts came.

What right did he even have to look at her?

What right did he have to see her face, to see her shine? He had hurt her. He had broken her. He didn’t deserve even a glimpse.

So he decided to punish himself tonight.

For Lydia, the ball was meant to torment him. She had wanted him to see her, to look at what he had lost, to feel regret burn into his soul. That was her plan.

But Ivan was punishing himself already.

Because not seeing her was far worse than looking at her.

Not seeing her was the crueler punishment.

And he sat in silence, drowning in it.