''I don't believe in love''

7

As Anastasia sat on her bed, the plane ride home a blur of emotions and exhaustion, the weight of it all finally crashed down on her. It was real. The love she had shared with Riccardo, the bond they thought was unbreakable, was being torn apart by forces neither of them could control. She thought about that last message she'd sent—Goodbye, Ric—and wondered if it would haunt her as much as it had hurt to type.

Tears welled up in her eyes as she replayed everything in her mind. She had tried to be strong, tried to accept that this was the path they were on, but the ache inside her felt unbearable. The bond was still there, even now. She could feel it—the hollow, aching emptiness that mirrored her own heart. It was his emptiness too. He might be far away, but she could still feel him. Riccardo. Her Ric.

Wiping her face, she opened her phone, needing a distraction. Something, anything, to pull her out of this spiral of pain. She wasn't sure why she did it, but curiosity got the better of her, and she found herself searching for the woman who had taken Riccardo away.

Valeria. The werewolf princess.

It didn't take long to find her. Anastasia's heart sank as Valeria's Instagram popped up on the screen. Valeria was one of the hottest models in the world—stunning, powerful, with a presence that dominated every photo. Her beauty was undeniable, but it wasn't just that. There was an edge to her, something dangerous that made it clear why she was chosen to be Riccardo's bride.

And then, Anastasia saw it—the wedding photos.

Her breath hitched as she clicked through the pictures, her heart pounding in her chest. Valeria in an exquisite gown, standing proudly beside Riccardo. Riccardo, the man Anastasia loved more than anything in this world, now someone else's husband.

But what struck Anastasia the most wasn't the ceremony or the grandeur of the event. It was Riccardo's face.

In every picture, he looked... miserable. His eyes, which once sparkled with warmth and love whenever he looked at her, now seemed distant, hollow. His expression was a mask of duty, not joy. He stood beside Valeria, but he wasn't there—he wasn't with her.

Anastasia's heart shattered all over again. The bond between them tugged painfully, making her feel the weight of his despair. She could sense it—his emptiness, the sadness he was carrying inside, even if he tried to hide it from the world.

"My Ric," she whispered, her voice breaking as tears spilled over. Her chest tightened as she stared at his face, his tortured expression haunting her.

She couldn't believe it had come to this. He looked like he was drowning, just like she was, caught in a situation neither of them could escape. But that didn't make it easier. It only made the pain sharper. Riccardo had chosen this path for his people, for his kingdom, and she understood that. But knowing he was suffering too didn't take away her own heartbreak.

Anastasia clutched her phone, sobbing uncontrollably, feeling both her grief and his. How was she supposed to move forward when every part of her still felt tethered to him? His eyes, his face, the way he looked at Valeria like he was trapped—she could feel all of it.

"I don't know how I'm going to do this," she whispered to herself, the tears flowing freely now. "How do I move forward when he's still a part of me?"

She buried her face in her hands, her body trembling with each sob. The bond that once brought her so much joy now felt like a curse, reminding her of what she had lost. No matter how much distance there was between them, Riccardo was still with her, etched into her soul. But now, instead of love, all she could feel was the emptiness that consumed them both.