Veiled in Rivalry | The Dark Tale of Passion and Power| [18+]

Chapter 55: Deal with the Devil

"In the abyss of vengeance, there is no mercy, only the echoes of the damned—lost souls traded for borrowed time."
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Lara Volkov Giovanni
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The fluorescent lights above flicker ominously, casting a pale, ghostly glow over Viktor's still form, his chest barely rising with each fragile breath. The ICU is deathly silent, the sterile scent of antiseptic clawing at my senses as I sit, gripping his cold hand with trembling fingers. His skin, once so warm, is now cool to the touch, as if life is slowly slipping away from him.

A single tear escapes, sliding down my cheek before I can stop it. “You can’t leave me. You can’t.” My voice is barely a whisper, lost in the mechanical hum of machines that keep him tethered to this world. I glance at the heart monitor—the jagged line too weak, too slow. Time is running out.

Ivan stands at the foot of the bed, his eyes shadowed with unspoken worry, arms folded across his chest as if holding himself together by sheer force of will. He doesn’t need to say anything. The fear in his eyes reflects my own.

"Ivan," my voice cracks under the weight of everything I can’t put into words. “Watch over him... I’ll be back."

He doesn’t question me, just nods once, the motion stiff, as if he’s carrying the same unbearable weight of dread. “I won’t let him out of my sight.”

I let go of Viktor’s hand, my chest tightening with every step away from him. The hospital doors close behind me with a soft hiss, and the night air hits me like a slap. It’s sharp and cold, cutting through the haze of grief and desperation, but it does nothing to numb the pain.

I stride toward the car, each step heavy with resolve. Dimitri lies unconscious in the trunk, bound, his fate sealed the moment he betrayed Viktor. The satisfaction that once burned inside me has now cooled into something darker, more dangerous. Tonight, the game will end. There will be no more mercy.

I slide into the driver's seat, Rafael’s eyes catching mine in the rearview mirror. His silence is steady, but I feel the storm that churns beneath his calm exterior.

“Where to?” he asks quietly.

“To the old castle,” I murmur, the words feeling like a death sentence. “Marian will know what to do.”

Rafael nods, no questions asked, his hands steady on the wheel as the engine roars to life. The night stretches out before us, a blur of shadows and distant headlights. As we drive, the weight of my decision presses down like iron shackles, each mile dragging me deeper into the abyss.

The castle looms ahead, a dark silhouette against the night sky. Its crumbling towers and jagged stones rise like the bones of the forgotten. There’s a chill in the air, sharper than before, as if the very ground here is haunted by the souls of the damned.

We park in front of the rusted iron gates, and Rafael pulls Dimitri’s limp body from the trunk, his feet dragging lifelessly against the gravel. I walk ahead, heart pounding, my thoughts a tangled mess of desperation and rage. The wind howls, a distant echo of the tormented souls that once wandered these halls, and tonight, it will claim another.

Marian waits inside, her silhouette barely visible against the dim candlelight flickering in the shadows. Her wild silver hair falls in unkempt waves around her shoulders, and her eyes—ice-blue, ancient, and knowing—meet mine with quiet judgment.

“You come again, child,” she rasps, her voice as worn and brittle as the pages of the spellbook she guards. “I warned you, there is always a cost.”

“I know,” I reply, stepping closer, my resolve hardening into something unbreakable. “But I’ll pay it. I don’t care what the price is.”

Her gaze sweeps over Dimitri’s unconscious form, Rafael standing guard like a silent shadow behind me. “You wish to summon him,” she murmurs, fingers tracing the edge of the altar’s stone. “For Viktor.”