The Bride Of The Devil-Chapter 240: If Only

The morning was soft, pale light spilling gently through the curtains. Birds chirped outside, their songs delicate and sweet, but inside Lydia’s room, silence was heavy, almost oppressive. She stirred in the warmth of the bed, her hand brushing against Ivan’s chest. His breathing was even, calm, peaceful, and for a brief, fragile moment, she felt a strange warmth in her chest, a whisper of hope that perhaps everything could be different.

She smiled softly, almost absentmindedly. His skin was warm beneath her fingertips, taut yet gentle, a comforting solidity she had longed for. His hair fell slightly over his forehead, soft and fine, catching the light in a way that made him look almost ethereal. She could see the faint scar along his temple, a jagged mark, a reminder of the pain he had endured and survived. Her fingers traced it gently, almost reverently, as if touching it could somehow heal both him and herself.

But then reality crashed over her like a wave. She remembered the cruel letter, the music sheet he had sent, the long nights she had cried herself to sleep, and her son—the small life she had carried, lost in the shadows of betrayal and silence. Her stomach knotted. The sweetness of the moment vanished. Her hands stilled, her chest tightened, and a leaden weight settled over her heart.

Even if he had not written that cruel letter, he had still left her. He had abandoned both her and their son. He had left her utterly alone in the world. A sharp, twisting pain gripped her chest, making it hard to breathe. She had let herself be close to him, allowed him to touch her, allowed herself to feel safe for even a few hours—and now, she felt as if she had betrayed both herself and the memory of her child.

She stared at him, tears brimming in her eyes. Her voice trembled, weak and broken as she whispered, almost choking on the words:

"I still love you, Ivan. So much. But I hate you. I hate you so much. You hurt me. You left me. How could you do that to me? I needed you. I missed you so much. I will never forgive you... never, for what you did to me."

Her lips quivered. She tried to steady her breathing, but her body betrayed her. A wave of nausea struck her, sudden and fierce. Her stomach heaved violently. Her hands fumbled for the robe beside her, but her ankle, still swollen and sore from last night, gave way. She slipped. The world tilted, and she fell to the floor with a sharp, gasping breath, the cold of the wooden floor shocking against her skin.

Ivan was awake in an instant. His eyes snapped open, panic flaring. "Lydia?" he said, his voice thick with alarm. He was at her side in a heartbeat, supporting her, steadying her, the concern etched into every line of his face.

But she could not stop herself. She lurched forward toward a vase and vomited, her body wracked with spasms, her chest heaving uncontrollably. Ivan’s hands were steady on her back, rubbing in slow, soothing circles, murmuring softly, "It’s okay. You’re okay. It’s okay."

She pushed him away, snapping, her voice sharp, brittle with pain. "Don’t touch me!"

Ivan froze, hurt flickering across his face. "You look sick. Are you—are you okay?"

"I’m fine," she said coldly, almost harshly, turning her face away from him.

He swallowed, his throat tight. He opened his mouth to speak, to apologize, to explain, but she cut him off. Her voice, once soft, now sliced through the quiet room.

"Last night was a mistake. A terrible mistake. It should never have happened. It will never happen again."

"I—Lydia, please—" Ivan began. 𝙛𝒓𝓮𝒆𝔀𝒆𝙗𝓷𝒐𝙫𝒆𝙡.𝒄𝓸𝓶

But she snapped louder, trembling, her voice cracking under the weight of grief and rage. "This isn’t the first time we’ve slept together! There is nothing special here! Do not think it means anything! Do not look at me like that!" Tears streamed down her cheeks, unrelenting. "We are husband and wife. There is nothing romantic. There is nothing more here than fulfilling our duties. That is all! So just... leave!"

Ivan’s hands twitched, wanting to reach for her again, but he said nothing. His eyes, soft, pleading, and broken, searched her face, silently begging her to see him, to hear him, to forgive him. But he knew she would not. He slowly nodded, taking a step back, the weight of rejection heavy in his chest.

"You aren’t looking well," he said quietly, his voice almost a whisper. "I’ll get Katherine."

Before she could stop him, he turned and left the room. The click of the door echoed behind him, leaving a silence that was louder than any shout.

The moment he was gone, Lydia collapsed onto the floor, shaking, exhausted. Her tears fell freely now, grief spilling over in an unstoppable torrent. Her body felt heavy, her chest aching with the pressure of loss and longing. She curled up on the floor, hugging her knees, letting herself be small and broken, sobbing into the quiet room.

Her mind spun, a storm of confusion, sorrow, guilt, anger, and longing. Each feeling fought for dominance. She hated him. She loved him. She missed him. She wanted to punish him. She wanted to run into his arms. Every thought collided violently, leaving her raw, broken, desperate.

Her stomach churned again, reminding her of the secret she carried, the tiny life growing inside her. The pregnancy made everything worse. The moods, the emotions, the rage, the longing—they all crashed over her in waves she could not control. One moment, she hated him with every fiber of her being; the next, she wanted him to hold her, to never let go.

She whispered to the empty room, voice small and broken, "Why? Why did you leave me? Why didn’t you fight for me? Why?"

The words hung in the quiet morning, fragile and aching, almost like a prayer that would never be answered, a plea meant only for the walls and the light and the memory of what once was.