part 3

“Please, Leo… promise me something.”

“Anything, Elara. You know I’d do anything.”

“Promise me you will never tell him.” Her fingers curled weakly into the sleeve of his coat. “Not about the cancer. Not about how bad it is. Not that I’m dying. Not any of it. If he knew… he might feel guilty. He might feel like he has to stay, to pretend, out of obligation. And I don’t want that. I don’t want his pity. I don’t want him to be nice to me just because he feels sorry for me. I want whatever is left of him—whatever little bit of attention, whatever moments we still have—to be real, even if it hurts. Even if it’s cold. Even if it’s nothing at all like what I’ve always dreamed of.”

She took a ragged breath, her chest rising and falling with effort, and a tear finally spilled over and ran down her cheek.

“I love him, Leo. Enough to bleed for him. Enough to let his heart stay hard, even if it breaks mine all over again every single day. Enough to die loving him, and never once make him carry the weight of it. So please… keep it our secret. Let me love him quietly, until I can’t love him anymore.”

Leo stared at her, his own tears falling freely now, his heart shattering into a thousand pieces for the girl who had given everything and received nothing but pain in return. He wanted to argue. He wanted to scream at her that love was not supposed to be this, that she was worth so much more, that Vincent Blackwood did not deserve even a single drop of what she was giving. But looking into her eyes—seeing that ancient, unshakable, all‑encompassing love there—he knew there was nothing he could say that would ever change her mind.

He squeezed her hand one last time, and bowed his head, his voice broken.

“I promise, Elara. I promise I won’t tell him. Not a word.”

Outside the door, completely unaware of the conversation happening just feet away, completely unaware that the woman he had married and destroyed was counting her final days in silence, Vincent Blackwood stood checking his watch, impatient and cold as ever, already wondering when Clara would need her next transfusion—and when Elara would be well enough, in his eyes, to give it.

And somewhere down the hall, in another private room, Clara Vance opened her eyes, a slow, satisfied smile spreading across her face, already planning exactly how much more she would take before she was done.

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(To be continued…)

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