CHAPTER 162: THE DEVIL’S STORM

Ivan sat stiffly in the library. The tall shelves surrounded him, but the books in front of him were just shapes and shadows. His hands rested on an open book, but he had not read a single word. His mind was blank. His chest felt heavy. The silence of the library pressed on him, but he did not move.

The world outside had already darkened. Shadows stretched across the room, covering every corner, but Ivan did not even notice until the sound of footsteps pulled him back.

Boris came in quietly. He carried a small lamp in one hand and a jug of oil in the other. Without saying a word, he set the lamp on a nearby table and began lighting the other lamps in the library, one by one. The flames flickered, pushing the darkness away.

When the room had grown brighter, Boris finally spoke. His voice was gentle, almost cautious. "You still have a habit of hiding in the library when you want to be alone."

Ivan did not answer. He kept staring down at the page in front of him, his eyes fixed but unfocused. He did not feel like speaking.

Boris sighed softly. He stood there for a moment, watching him, then walked closer. His tone grew a little firmer. "You are wrong, Your Highness."

Ivan’s head slowly lifted, his tired eyes meeting Boris’s. "What do you mean?" he asked quietly.

"No matter what," Boris said carefully, "you don’t deserve to be hurting like this. You are a good man. I know that. I believe you can fix things with her."

Ivan’s lips twisted bitterly. He shook his head. "You have no idea what you are saying. You have no idea what I did to her."

Boris frowned. Confusion filled his face. "What do you mean? What did you do to her?"

Ivan did not answer right away. His hands clenched into fists on the table. He lowered his eyes, and then the tears fell. They dropped silently onto the book in front of him. His voice broke as he muttered, "Because of me. Because of me."

Boris took a step closer, alarmed by the sudden tears. "Your Highness? What do you mean by that? What happened?"

But before Ivan could respond, the sky roared with a loud thunderclap. The whole room shook with the sound.

Ivan’s head snapped toward the window. His eyes widened when he finally noticed. Rain. Heavy rain. It was pouring down, beating against the glass like an angry hand. He had been so lost in his thoughts he had not even realized it had started.

He stood up suddenly, almost like a man possessed. His chair scraped harshly against the floor. His lips moved quickly, muttering the name that had clawed its way out of his chest.

"Lydia," he whispered. Then louder, frantic. "Lydia."

Boris called after him, still confused. "Ivan, wait. What are you saying? What do you mean?!"

But Ivan did not hear him anymore. He did not stop. All he could think of were the words Irina had told him that night. The dinner night after Lydia had insulted him. Her voice came back to him so clearly, echoing in his mind as if she stood right beside him.

"And one last thing, your highness. She is still affected by that day. She suffers every time it rains. Please don’t let her stay alone when it rains."

The words tore through him. Panic filled his chest as he rushed down the halls. He could hear the storm outside, could feel the cold wind through the cracks of the old windows, and every step felt too slow.

When he finally reached his chambers, the door slammed open under his hand.

The room was dark. The rain and wind had forced the windows wide, and the curtains whipped like restless spirits. The air was cold and damp. The bed was empty.

Ivan’s chest tightened. His eyes darted around in panic. "Lydia?"

He hurried to the windows first, slamming them shut against the storm. A flash of lightning lit up the room, bright and merciless.

And then he saw her.

She was sitting on the floor, her body curled by the corner of the room. Her robe clung to her small frame, her hair messy, her face wet with tears. She was trembling, crying, her arms wrapped tightly around herself as if trying to hold her heart in place.

Ivan’s breath caught in his throat. His heart nearly stopped.

"Lydia," he whispered, his voice breaking.

She lifted her head weakly. Her lips trembled, and in a broken whimper she said his name. "Ivan."

He rushed to her without thinking. He dropped to his knees and pulled her into his arms. She collapsed against him at once, her small hands gripping his clothes desperately, as though he were the only thing keeping her from drowning.

"I’m sorry," Ivan whispered, his voice shaking as much as his hands. He hugged her tightly, pressing her against his chest. "I’m so sorry."

She cried harder, her body trembling violently. Her voice cracked as she clung to him. "Ivan... our baby..."

The words stabbed into his chest like a knife. His whole body shuddered. He swallowed back the pain, his throat raw. "It’s okay. It’s okay, Lydia."

He helped her to her feet carefully, guiding her gently. Her body felt so weak in his arms, but he held her steady, carrying most of her weight. He led her to the bed and laid her down gently, then climbed in beside her without hesitation.

Her body shook as she buried her face against his chest. He wrapped his arms tightly around her, patting her back gently, stroking her hair. "I’m here. I’m here with you."

But the rain did not stop. It grew louder, heavier. Every thunderclap made her flinch. Her tears soaked his shirt, and she whispered again, her voice breaking with grief.

"He was fine. He was in my arms..." Her words stumbled. "And then all of a sudden... he wasn’t. He wasn’t."

Ivan’s arms tightened around her. His chest ached so much he could barely breathe. "I’m sorry, Lydia. I’m sorry."

She hugged him tighter, her sobs shaking her whole body.

He kept stroking her hair, his hand trembling but gentle. He whispered her name again and again, patting her softly, holding her until her breaths slowly began to slow.

Little by little, her tears lessened. Her trembling eased. Exhaustion took her, pulling her into sleep at last, though her body still clung to him even in her dreams.

Ivan lay there, holding her in his arms, staring at the ceiling in silence. Only then, when she could no longer hear, did his own tears finally fall.

They slipped quietly down his face. He bit his lip, trying to keep silent sobs from waking her. His chest rose and fell unevenly. His voice came out in a broken whisper.

"It’s all because of me. I did this to you."

His fingers curled against her hair as his tears kept falling. His throat burned.

"Don’t forgive me," he choked out softly. "Don’t forgive me. He died because of me."

The storm raged outside. The rain beat on the windows. But inside, there was only a man silently breaking, and the woman he held in his arms, who had already broken long before.