Ren stepped into Stella's room without a pause.
She ran into his arms when she saw him, laughter bubbling between them.
"Ren! What a surprise. What brings you here?"
"I'm here to warn you," he said, his voice firm. "Guinevere is going to do something you won't like."
Stella pulled back slightly, her smile fading as her gaze flickered toward Guinevere.
"No. I won't allow it."
Her voice was sharp, final.
She folded her arms, her jaw tightening. "She can find love elsewhere for all I care. But his family carries the stain of my disgusting, dead ex-husband's bloodline."
A flicker of something—anger, pain—crossed her expression, but she buried it quickly. Whatever she felt about the past, it wasn't up for discussion.
Ren remained steady. "You heard her, Guinevere—she said no."
"Ignore her warning if you wish—it's your choice. You're immortal now. You'll see everything you love fade before you, again and again. It hurts."
He didn't soften his words; he spoke the truth.
"But you can see him in the afterlife if you choose. Or, you can ignore her warning and bring him back anyway. It's up to you."
The tension in the room thickened.
Stella lifted her chin, eyes flashing. "She has no choice, Ren. I will not allow that bloodline to live. There is no choice."
Heritage in Ashes
Ren's mother-in-law stepped forward, cutting through the thick tension with quiet authority.
"Calm down, Stella. Come now—this girl is mourning her husband."
Her voice was steady, firm, yet laced with an understanding that softened the edges of the conflict.
"I heard he was a kind emperor, a good man from the moment he was born. Ultimately, he saved Guinevere—not just because he loved her, but because when he discovered her true heritage, he had even more reason to protect her from the royal family of Ashen Abioen."
She let the weight of her words settle before continuing, choosing each syllable with purpose.
"He married her when they were young, and together they lived a long, peaceful life—182 years of marriage."
A quiet, aching pause.
Guinevere's breath hitched—sharp, unsteady. A strange pressure curled in her chest, like something fragile and buried rising without warning. Her fingers tightened ever so slightly, as if grasping for something unseen, something she could hold onto before it slipped away.
"What… did you say?"
Her voice was quiet at first, threading through the tension like silk. Then, the weight of the words pressed deeper, sharpening her tone.
She took a half-step back, the movement deliberate yet uncertain.
"My true heritage? What do you mean?"
A Game of Silence
Ren glanced at Cecillia, his mother-in-law. She was acting kind, but he knew better. She wasn't here to ease tensions—she was here to stir them, to watch the chaos unfold with quiet amusement.
She stepped closer, her smile unwavering, sweet yet calculated.
Softly, with a playful chiding tone, she whispered, "You've been ignoring me again, Ren. That hurts my feelings."
Her voice was light, but he knew better. It was just another game.
She tilted her head slightly, her gaze sharp beneath its softness. The contrast was deliberate—disarming, yet purposeful.
"You should show your sweet, loving mother-in-law some affection."
Ren remained still. He didn't react—not in the way she wanted.
He knew this dance well. Cecillia thrived on pulling the strings of those around her, keeping herself close enough to appear endearing but distant enough to remain unpredictable. She didn't need chaos—she liked knowing she could create it.
A breath passed between them, weighted and unspoken.
He met her gaze, unreadable.
"Affection?" His voice was as even as ever. "I thought I was giving you enough by standing in this room."
Marked by Blood, Bound by Fate
"My dear, you are the true heir to the Ashen Empire—the descendant of Viktor Lionheart."
The words carried weight, settling into the stillness of the room.
"Your husband kept this secret to protect you, to offer you the peaceful life he so desperately wished for. But now, the choice is yours—do you still seek to bring him back, or will you reach for him in the afterlife? Since Stella will not allow it, you must decide how far you will go."
She turned to Guinevere, her voice steady, yet weighted with unspoken significance.
Then, without missing a beat, she leaned close to Ren, a whisper curling through the charged air.
"You're so cruel to your mother-in-law."
Her tone was teasing, saccharine—but beneath it lay something sharper, something knowing.
"It wasn't that long ago that we slept together, yet I still crave you. So why not indulge her with a little affection?"
She didn't bother using telepathy—she didn't need to. Cecillia cared little for what the other two women thought. They already knew the truth about her and Ren.
Guinevere held his gaze.
"Is that why you spared me? Because you knew about my bloodline?"
Ren exhaled, slow, measured.
"That was one reason, yes. The other—I already told you." His tone was even, detached, as if the weight of that truth had long settled within him.
"You should get back. Talia's probably looking for you. Make your choice. And do it alone."
As Guinevere left, she cast one last glance at Ren before slipping away to attend to her duties as Talia's maid. The moment lingered—a fleeting connection, delicate yet undeniable.
Stella's voice cut through the silence, low and unwavering.
"Why did you turn her into an immortal?"
There was no anger in her words, no accusation. Just something searching, something teetering between understanding and disbelief.
"I don't understand you sometimes, Ren."
Ren remained unreadable. But Cecillia? She laughed softly, stepping forward with lazy amusement.
"Oh, Stella."
Cecillia purred, folding her arms as if settling in for an exceptionally entertaining act.
"Must you always try to understand him? Isn't it far more fun to watch and guess?"
She tilted her head toward Ren, gaze flickering with amusement.
"You do have a flair for making things complicated, don't you?"
Stella ignored Cecillia's bait, her eyes never leaving Ren. The weight of her question hung in the air, lingering, pressing.
Ren, as ever, did not offer an answer.
And Cecillia? She smiled, delighting in the tension like a spectator savouring a slow-burning drama.
Unravelling Power and Desire
Ren looked at Stella and smiled—slow, deliberate. There was no hesitation, no uncertainty, only the quiet confidence that turned resistance into irrelevance.
Then, without warning, he kissed her.
Claiming the moment, as if it had always belonged to him.
Stella didn't resist. She never did. There was something intoxicating about him—the certainty in his actions, the way he never asked, only took what was already his. It wasn't recklessness. It wasn't arrogance. It was simply Ren. And she had long since accepted that she existed in the gravity of his pull.
A dramatic sigh broke the silence.
"Oh, Ren," Cecillia mused, disappointedly tilting her head. "Ignoring your mother-in-law now? You know I crave affection just as much as she does."
Ren grinned—wicked, unapologetic.
"Then don't complain."
He scooped them both up without effort, ignoring Cecillia's laughter and Stella's sharp inhale. In one smooth motion, he carried them through the threshold and shut the door behind them, sealing them inside with whatever came next.
Silence.
Then, Cecillia's unmistakable amusement, low and knowing.
"Oh, Stella," she purred, stretching lazily, as if this had been her plan all along. "Tell me, does he always get away with everything?"
Stella exhaled, her gaze drifting to the closed door. The weight of the moment settled around them, thick with inevitability.
"Yes," she murmured, her voice quieter than before. "And I let him."
Cecillia's smile deepened, flashing with mischief, her gaze flickering between them, assessing, considering.
"Well then," she mused, shifting as if readying herself for something far more entertaining. "Let's see how far we can push him."
Ren remained where he stood—watching, waiting.
Unapologetic. Undeterred.
And utterly in control.