CHAPTER 235: THE DEVIL’S LOSS

Lydia kept staring at Ivan. Her eyes followed him like she had no control over herself. The ball, the people, the music, the laughter—none of it mattered. All she saw was him, standing across the room, his gaze locked onto hers.

She was lost. Completely lost. Her body felt weak, her chest too tight, as though she had forgotten how to breathe. Her lips trembled faintly. Her hands curled into fists against the skirt of her gown.

And then he moved.

Ivan stepped forward, slowly, deliberately. Each step made her chest tighten more and more until it felt unbearable. She wanted to look away, but she couldn’t. She wanted to run, but her feet stayed rooted to the floor. He was crossing the ballroom, and every step closer felt like the ground was trembling beneath her.

When he finally reached her, the world stopped.

The music played on, the couples kept dancing, but for Lydia it all faded into silence.

Her heart raced so fast it hurt. She was trembling inside, though her face remained still, as if carved in glass.

He stopped in front of her. His eyes were dark, deep, unreadable, but filled with something that pulled at her very soul.

He spoke softly, his voice steady but low, meant only for her. "Will you grant me anything I want?"

The words shocked her.

Her breath caught. For a moment she didn’t even understand. Why is he talking about the wish now? she thought in confusion. Her mind spun. The wish. The promise. They had spoken of it long ago, and she had never forgotten.

Why now, Ivan? Why here, in front of everyone?

She shook her head faintly, trying to clear the storm of questions in her chest. Then she whispered, almost as if afraid her voice would betray her, "Yes. What did you wish for? I’ll grant it... just as I promised. Tell me."

His eyes softened. His lips parted slowly, as if it pained him to speak the words. "Your happiness," he said.

Lydia blinked. Her voice faltered. "What?"

"I wish you happiness," Ivan repeated. His voice was firm, but there was sorrow beneath it, deep sorrow that bled into every syllable. "The happiness all the days of your life. Happy birthday, Lydia."

And in his mind, though he could not speak it aloud, he screamed silently, I wish you happiness—the one I could not give you. I hope you will heal from the pain I caused. I am so sorry. Do not forgive me. I don’t deserve it.

The words sank into her like daggers. Lydia stood frozen. Her hands trembled at her sides.

He wasn’t just wishing her happiness. He was apologizing. She could feel it. She could hear it behind his words. It was like he was saying, I am sorry for everything. I couldn’t protect you. I failed you. I ruined everything we had.

It was like he was crying on the inside, though his face showed no tears.

She wanted to speak, to say something, anything—but her lips wouldn’t move. Her throat burned with all the words she couldn’t say.

Ivan bowed his head slightly, then turned.

And just like that, he left.

He walked past the dancers, past the glittering nobles, past the stares of those who whispered at his presence. He exited the ballroom slowly, but with every step he took away from her, Lydia’s heart grew tighter and tighter until she thought it might burst.

Her chest hurt so much it felt like it was being squeezed by invisible hands. It was sharp, stabbing pain, like knives piercing through her heart again and again.

Her mind spun. I don’t think he was the one who wrote that letter. It’s obvious... but why? If he didn’t write it, then why did he leave me? Why did he hurt me?

Her eyes stung. She forced herself to blink back the tears, to hold them in, because she could not cry here, not in front of the whole of Svetlana. Not on her birthday.

She told herself, Hold it together, Lydia. Not here. Not in front of them. Not now.

An hour passed.

She stood through it, smiling faintly when spoken to, pretending, always pretending. She tried to stay calm, but her chest kept tightening, her throat burned, and tears threatened to fall with every breath. She swallowed them down, but they rose again, cruel and relentless.

Her whole body felt heavy, her hands cold. She wanted to scream, to run, to cry, but instead she stood tall, like a statue carved in red.

Don’t cry. Don’t break. Not in front of them. Not tonight.

But then her body betrayed her.

Her head grew light, the room spun faintly. She felt dizzy, as if the ground beneath her feet was moving. The voices of the nobles became distant, muffled. The music seemed far away, like it came from another world.

She pressed her hand against her chest. Everything was closing in on her, suffocating her. Her breaths grew shallow, trembling.

She thought desperately, Stay calm. Stay calm. Just leave the ballroom quietly. Just walk away. Don’t let them see.

She tried to step forward, to move toward the door, but her legs trembled. Her sight blurred. The chandeliers above her spun in circles. Her body grew weaker with every step she tried to take.

Her knees wobbled. Her lips parted, searching for air.

Her body could not hold on anymore.

Meanwhile, Ivan sat in his room. He had removed his coat and laid it on the bed. His hands rubbed against his face, tired and broken. His chest was heavy, his heart aching from the moment he walked away from her.

He told himself he had done the right thing. That she deserved better. That he had given her what little gift he could—his wish for her happiness.

But the truth clawed inside him. He had lied to himself again. He didn’t want to leave her. He wanted to run back, to hold her, to beg her for forgiveness, to tell her everything. His whole body screamed to go back.

His door burst open suddenly. Boris stood there, breathless.

"Your highness—her highness—she’s hurt—"

He didn’t finish.

Ivan’s heart stopped. His coat fell from his lap to the floor. Before Boris could say another word, Ivan had rushed out of the room, his footsteps echoing against the stone halls. His heart pounded wildly, painfully, every beat filled with fear.

Please let her be okay. Please let her be safe.

His body moved faster than his mind. All he could see was Lydia, her face pale, her body trembling, her eyes heavy with tears she refused to let fall. He could not lose her again. Not like this.