CHAPTER 233: THE DEVIL’S HANDWRITING PT4

It was sunrise. The sun rose beautifully in the spring light, painting the sky with soft gold and pink. The air outside was fresh, birds sang gently, and the world seemed full of promise. But inside Lydia’s room there was no beauty, only pain.

Her eyes were swollen and red from endless crying. Her cheeks were streaked with tears that had dried but still left marks on her pale skin. Her lips trembled from exhaustion. She had not slept at all. All night she had sat by the window, staring at the sunlight creeping through the curtains, waiting for morning but feeling nothing but heaviness in her chest.

On the small table beside her lay the letter and the music sheet. She had stared at them until her eyes burned. She had held them until her fingers felt numb. She had looked at them from every angle, every fold, every detail, as if the truth might reveal itself if she only stared hard enough. But the papers never changed. They remained the same, cruel and confusing.

Her heart kept whispering the same thought. The writing was not the same. She was sure of it. It looked similar, but to her it was not his. The strokes, the way the letters curved, the spaces between the words—something was different. She could feel it deep inside her. Which only meant one thing. Ivan did not write that letter. Someone forged it. Someone wanted her to believe he had written it.

That was the only explanation that made sense. The only explanation that was humanly possible. But if it was forged, then why? Why would someone do this? And if it was forged, why did he still leave? Why did he still walk away from her?

Her chest tightened as she thought these things. The questions circled endlessly in her head, but no answer came.

The door opened quietly. Katherine stepped inside, her hands full of excitement, ready to tell her that the decorations for the ball tonight were finally set. The maids had worked through the night, the chandeliers were polished, the flowers were arranged, and everything sparkled in preparation.

But as soon as Katherine entered, her face changed. She froze when she saw Lydia sitting at the edge of her bed like a ghost. Lydia was motionless, her hands resting lifelessly on her lap, her eyes red and empty. She looked less like a queen and more like a broken girl.

Katherine dropped everything and rushed to her side. "Are you okay, your highness?" she asked in a trembling voice.

Lydia looked at her, and her face crumpled. Tears spilled from her eyes again, unstoppable. She broke down, her shoulders shaking, her voice broken.

"It makes no sense, Katherine," she whispered through her sobs.

Katherine knelt beside her and took her cold hands in hers. "What is the matter?" she asked softly.

Lydia pointed at the papers on the table with a trembling hand. "He might not be the one who wrote this to me. Look... look at the handwriting. They are different. I know it sounds crazy, I know it, but it’s true." Her voice cracked as she sniffled. "If you look at it quickly, it looks the same. Almost the same. But if you really look at it, it’s not. It’s not the same. I don’t understand. I don’t know. What is this, Katherine?"

Her chest heaved as she cried harder. "I don’t know what to believe anymore. Maybe I’m losing my mind. Maybe I am. I don’t know. I don’t know anymore."

She pressed her palms against her forehead as if trying to keep her head from breaking apart. "Did he really write me this? Did he not? I don’t know. I’m losing my mind."

Katherine’s heart ached at the sight of her. She wrapped an arm around Lydia and said in a gentle, almost whispering voice, "I don’t know either, your highness. But I will look into it. I promise. I will find out the truth."

Lydia nodded weakly, but the tears did not stop.

Katherine brushed a lock of hair from Lydia’s damp face and said, "You don’t look well. You haven’t slept. Your eyes are swollen. Would you like me to cancel the ball tonight? You cannot host in this state."

But Lydia shook her head fiercely, wiping her face with her sleeve. "No. I can’t. Don’t cancel it."

"But your highness," Katherine said with worry, "you look so tired. If you continue like this, you will fall sick. You may get hurt. Please, at least consider resting—"

"I won’t," Lydia cut her off. Her voice was firm, though her body was trembling. "If I cancel it, people will talk. They’ll say things. Especially after that trial. They’ll think they got to me. They’ll think I am weak. I can’t have that, Katherine. I won’t have that."

She straightened her back and wiped the last of her tears with shaky fingers. "I will not give them that satisfaction."

Katherine sighed deeply, seeing the stubborn fire in her eyes. She lowered her head and whispered, "Yes, your highness."

She rose slowly and walked toward the door, glancing back one last time. Lydia sat rigid, her face pale, her eyes locked again on the two papers. She looked like a soldier preparing for battle, but one whose wounds were bleeding under the armor.

When Katherine left, silence fell again.

Lydia reached for the letter and the music sheet with trembling hands. She held them close to her chest for a moment, then placed them back on her lap and stared.

Her thoughts came crashing in like waves, one after the other.

"Maybe I’m delusional," she whispered to herself. "Because he still left you, Lydia. Stop trying to delude yourself. He left you. He walked away. That’s the truth."

She wiped her face again, angry at herself for hoping. "This changes nothing. Even if the handwriting is different. Even if it wasn’t him. He still left you."

Her throat tightened as she whispered, "Maybe it is still his writing. Maybe I am wrong. Maybe he just wanted to hurt me. Maybe he is trying to gaslight me."

But the words rang empty, even to her own ears. She could hear the hollowness in them. She knew they were lies she was telling herself to keep from drowning.

Her hands shook as she gripped the letter tighter. "But it makes no sense," she whispered again.

Her chest rose and fell with uneven breaths. She pressed the paper to her lips and closed her eyes, fighting the ache inside her heart. She wanted to believe he still loved her. She wanted to believe the sadness in his eyes meant something. She wanted to believe he was not the monster people painted him to be.

But the truth and the lies twisted together so tightly she could not separate them.

And so she sat there, broken between hope and despair, staring at the handwriting that would not change, waiting for an answer that would not come.