Cursed to follow

Part 2

Lydia POV 

The storm raged around me.

I was running—barefoot, breathless, soaked to the bone. Rain poured from the sky in violent sheets, blinding my eyes, slapping against my skin. My dress was torn, my hair stuck to my face, and my legs ached with every step. But I didn't stop.

I couldn't stop.

My heart pounded louder than the thunder.

I still couldn't believe it.

The man I loved. The one who once held my hand so gently, who smiled like the sun itself lived in his eyes—
He was terrifying.

What I saw tonight...
The blood. The blade. The way he spoke like life meant nothing.

It wasn't him. It couldn't be.

But it was.

And I had heard every word.

"I'll make her abort it. Myself, if I must."
"I'll make it look like a miscarriage."

I stumbled. My knees hit the ground. I gasped, clutching my chest.

This wasn't real.
It couldn't be.

But the truth was burning in my mind, and the storm wouldn't let me forget.

I pushed myself up and kept running.

Tears blurred my vision, mixing with the rain. My breaths came in short, sharp bursts, my body trembling. The man I married... was a monster.

And now I had to run.

Far away.
Before it was too late.

I stopped.

My chest was heaving, my body trembling from the cold and everything I had just witnessed. Rain streamed down my face, but I couldn't tell where the rain ended and my tears began.

I stood there in the middle of the storm, frozen, broken.

Slowly... my hand moved to my stomach.

I pressed it there—gently, protectively—like it was the only part of me still holding hope.

My fingers curled.

I choked on a sob, my lips trembling as I whispered,

"The most happiest day of our life... has turned into a nightmare."

My voice cracked.

The words burned in my throat.

And in that moment, I broke.

Tears fell harder. My shoulders shook. I clutched my stomach as if I could shield it from everything. From him. From the truth. From the fear.

But nothing could.

Nothing would ever be the same.

I held my stomach tighter, grounding myself through the storm, through the pain. My voice was shaking, but the words came from somewhere deeper than fear.

"I will protect you... no matter what."

A whisper. A promise. A vow sealed with everything left in me.

But even as I stood there—broken, drenched, alone—the past pulled me under.

Lysander.

His name still stung.

The first time we met, he had picked up a book I dropped in the palace library. I had expected silence, maybe indifference. But he smiled. He said my name like it meant something. I remember thinking his voice felt like sunlight.