The corridor outside Arya's room reverberated with the sound of shattering glass. Servants, at the door, pleading her to open but one after another the noise continue to echo. Ivan rushed towards the same direction, closely followed by Stefan and Alfred. Bang, "Arya open the door. Arya", panicked his trembled as it banged on the close door. "Madam", "my lady, please open the door", Alfred, Miya begged her to open the door. "Arya, dear, please open the door", Ivan's voice trembles, he was foreboding, as if after this moment he would lose her forever; that thought alone, price his soul.
Nonetheless no matter who or what they say Arya did not open the door, suddenly the breaking noises stoped, silence emarge. The people at the door got petrified by this stifling silance, "dear? Arya? Arya?" Ivan kept calling her name, his breath caught in his throat, "master, here's the key", Alfred handed him the separate key to her room. But before I am could use it, opening the door, Arya came out, she was in a messy state. No one said a word, there was this strange rage in her eyes that bought sheer fear to them, looking at Miya her expression was arctic, "attend to the chember." Ivan seeing her in disarray tried to approach but she stoped him, "I would like a moment alone, only Miya is enough."
"Yes, my lady", her head was bowed as she entered. "The rest, go attend matters at hand", Arya ordered them to leave. They were hesitant to leave but her gaze state clearly her spoken words. "Leave", Ivan says glancing at Stefan. All left yet he stands at the door, Arya's silent glance spoke volumes. She entered the room once again and shut the door, leaving Ivan shattered. Each moment felt like a relentless ache, his soul bleeding with every breath. Standing alone at the door, unable to move from where he stood, consumed by the haunting memory of her loathing gaze.
The preparation for the debut ball was progressing smoothly. Natasha excelled in her dance practice, and everyone was dedicated to their tasks. Madam Fredeca focused on creating the perfect dress for Natasha, as Arya had requested. Everything is going smoothly, invitations have been sent, flowers are arranged, ball room is being ornamated.and the dancefloor painted in oceanic hue. It was the last gift to Natasha from her, she wanted to make it worth it. While her heart cried in betrayal, the inch amount of trust she had in him has disappeared. Her heart shattered into a million pieces, each shard a painful reminder of the betrayal etched deep within her soul. In the depths of her heartbreak, she found herself lost in a sea of anguish, questioning every moment of their shared past, the loss of the friendship she once held so dear.
Ivan was devastated; he couldn't make sense of what had caused her so much heartache. The silent pain she bore seemed more melancholic than any scream of agony. Her anguish was buried before it reached her lips, before her eyes could shed tears, before it could be expressed. In realization, his hand halted, and the pen he was holding fell onto the papers, spreading ink across the pages, melding with the same color of the written letters. He knew something was wrong the moment her loathful gaze met his; he was the one—the culprit of her agony, the one who made her feel like that. Her eyes spoke, loud enough to be seen, yet how could he be so blind not to see her pain, not to feel the words of her gaze. The pain she suffered was spoken through her eyes, It seemed clear, yet he was the blind one, deaf to her anguish.
Abruptly got to his feet and made way to her office. He did not bother with knocking, in rush he stromed inside, surprising Arya and her attendants. "Wha… as a duke you should be aware that your actions affect the family honour. Please refrain from such behaviour, your grace", Arya spoke, her voice laced with annoyence and irritation. "We need to talk", ignoring her words, "leave us alone", he ordered. "Now what do you think you're doing? First you barged into my office, behave like an uncouth. And now you are ordering my people. Who are you to do so?" She snapped at him. "Fine, go ahead, yell at me, cruse me, do whatever you but please look at me, talk to me", his eyes were pleading more than his voice, his hand quiver in attpemt to hold hers, hasitate to take even a step forward, yet his entire being was pleading to her, begging for her forgiveness.
"Fine, let's talk. It's impossible to avoid forever since we live under one roof," she said, sitting down and gesturing for him to take the seat opposite her. Both settled into silence. Arya waited for him to speak, but he remained seated, his head bowed, hands clasped tightly together, as if gathering his thoughts, resembling a culprit awaiting the judge's final hearing. "So, what do you want to talk about?" Arya asked, growing tired of waiting.
"I know I did something to upset you. The way you looked at me that day, I couldn't shake off the image of it. I don't know what to do, I don't even know what my fault is in the first place. If you don't tell me, how am I to atone for it? Please, give me a chance. I won't inflict suffering on you ever again, I promise. With every fiber of my being, I will endeavor to ensure it. Just don't ever look away from me, it's torturous!" He finally looked up, only to see the vacant look on her face.
"You said what you wanted, now you may leave," she said, getting up to head back to her work. Grabbing her hand, he shouted, "Say it. What is it that causes you to wear that expression? What sin have I committed that makes you scour my very existence?" Turning to him, she uttered each word with gravity, "Even if I say, do you believe you have what it takes to own up to the offense?" Their eyes locked, Arya stand like a firm wall, refuse to back down this time. His heart was in pain, the silance between them is like a murderer killing him with each passing seconds, his grip tightening as he held her hand. After a moment, he let go, leaving reddish traces of his grip on her. "Perhaps you already deem yourself a true villain. What to do? It's always the guilty one who backs down first," Arya remarked spitefully. "If nothing else, I have work left to complete, Your Grace," she made a noblewoman's bow and left him alone in her office, his guilt eating away at him.
"So… bitter, my duchess, so bitter", the room carried the weight of Ivan's melancholy, the air thick with the scent of his Duchess, a bittersweet reminder of her absence. As he sank into the sofa, his sorrow spilled into his words, each syllable heavy with regret.
Alfred came knocking, seeing his master devasted like that, he spoke to encourage him, "A woman's heart is evident to the eyes if we can set our sight in that view. Loneliness isn't always a bad thing; sometimes, it is the greatest method of healing. Give madam that time; eventually, she will look at you." In the hushed exchange, Ivan's anguish painted a portrait of self-doubt and remorse. "Will there ever be a day when I can fill that void?" he asked dejectedly.
"Maybe we should try changing your perspective," Alfred suggested. "A shift in how you see things might be what you need right now." "I don't think that's going to work. I've hurt her more than I thought I was capable of. She's not going to forgive me," He was consumed by guilt, each memory of abandonment and dark wish weighing heavily. Seeing her as a mere tool, perhaps, as she claimed, "Maybe I am the villain in her story". The realization struck like a devastating wave, drowning him in regret and self-loathing.
"Then, Sire, love her so intensely that she comes to embrace that very villain. Fight for her, even if it means fighting against her," Alfred expressed his thoughts. "I have never once seen you give up on anything. And this, is a matter of the heart. So, won't give up." Hearing Alfred words somewhat comforted him, getting up Ivan appreciate his words, "thanks Alfred."
Arya on the other hand was discussing with Martha about how the upcoming ball should be a spectacular one. "Madam, that one is a dessert delicesy, this one is what will serve as the main dish", Arya seemed a bit scattered, "perhaps, a breath of fresh air might help you with claming you", Martha suggests her. "Very well, I will leave the rest to you than", As Arya glanced at the ballroom plans, "and tell the servants to switch to a larger chandelier. Oh! how about the one with the crystals?" Arya suggests. "It would be wonderful", with gentle smile Martha states.
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