Chapter 113. Last trap

Chapter 113. Last trap
The smell of smoke stuck to the wind as if the world itself was scorched. Vera stood in the ruins of Diana's last game, her chest was growing and falling, her dress was torn, her skin was streaked with blood and dust. She could still hear the echo of Diana's scream, the cold sound that suddenly ended when the trap she set for Vera moved ahead of her instead. One moment Diana was laughing, calling Vera weak, and the next ground gave way to her. Steel sharp snap, fire explosion - then silence.

Vera's hands trembled, not fear, but by the weight of all. Diana, who was like a shadow in her life, had gone away. Francis, who played his ruthless Games for a very long time, was pulled away by the authorities, his face turned with anger because the shining cameras captured his collapse. He shouted, he was cursed, he promised to take revenge, because his wrist was cut in handcuffs. The world finally saw what it was really.

But at that moment there was no matter to Vera.

Till he fell on Raymond, his eyes searched the chaos. He was on the ground, soaking blood through his shirt where Diana's blade pierced her. For a terrible moment, Vera thought he had gone. Leaving his knees as soon as he used to crawl her, pressing her hands against her wound.

"Stay with me," he whispered, dropping his face down. "Have you not dared to leave me, Raymond. Not now. Not everything."

His eyes opened, weak but stable, and her lips curved in a faint, painful smile. "I said before you, Vera," she mumbled, his voice, "You can't get rid of me easily."

His chest broke in a laugh, even fear on his chest. The ambulance siren landed in the distance, but whatever he could focus on was the rise and fall of his chest. As long as he was breathing, he expected.

Hours later, the city roared with the news. Francis Andress was exposed as a fraud and a criminal, the empire he tried to steal from the collapse in his hands. Diana's death spread through the media like wildfire, and whispering her as a tragic villain, a woman destroyed her hunger. Vera did not care about the headlines. She did not care about the endless calls of floods in her phone or business world, as she was staring at her as if she was the only column.

She only cared for the man lying in the hospital bed.

Raymond was yellow, his body became weak, but alive. He had survived again, although doctors warned that his recovery would be long and he can never fully gain his strength. His empire was always built on power and dominance, but now, broken and scared, he saw him with some softness. There is something that was alone.

"Do you regret it?" She asked one evening, her voice decreased because she was sitting near her, her fingers gently killing her hand.

"What is regret?" He asked.

"Choose me. Fight for me. I lost everything because of me."

She bowed closer, pressing her forehead. "I regret anything," he whispered. "You are alive, Raymond. I want all this. I want all this."

His eyes glowed, although he will never let tears fall. Instead, he kissed her hands, grabbed her tightly against her lips. For the first time in a long time, the silence between them was not filled with war, betrayal, or fear. This was peace.

Days turned in weeks. Vera stood before the board of directors, her presence was commanding. He was no longer doubtful to Raymond's wife or successor. She was the leader who survived storms, the woman who took the name Andres with her strength. Whatever word he spoke was fast, every decision firm. Even those who had whispered against him, they bowed their heads.

Francis was sentenced to death. On reading the verdict, Vera was standing in the court room. He got nervous towards him, hating his eyes to the very end. He did not win any victory, no satisfaction. Only one hollow pain. His death will not erase the marks that he left behind. But it was over. Finally, it was over.

That night, she returned to Raymond. He was waiting for him, his eyes followed him as he stepped into the room.

"It is done," he said softly.

"And Diana?"

"Gone," Vera whispered.

For a moment, they both sat in silence. Then Raymond reached for his hand, pulled him near. "Then we can last in the end, Vera. Not as prisoners of the past. But as we are."

His heart was swept away. For the first time, she believed in her.

A week later, the sun dropped the heat through the windows as Vera was standing in front of the mirror, his hand resting on his stomach. She felt strange for the days - Nusia, tiredness, a strange tenderness that she could not understand. She had taken the exam on that morning to the counter, the result was staring at her back in clear letters.

Positive.

As soon as his mouth was covered, his hand trembled, his heart was running. She drowned on the chair, tears filling her eyes, but these were not tears of fear. They were some deep tears - something she thought she was lost forever.

She used to think of a will, inheritance which was once used to chain her fate. He thought of all the whispers who said that he needs to bear a child to secure his place. But it was different. It was not for them. Not for the empire. Not for anyone else.

it was his.

The door opened quietly, and Raymond's voice filled the room. "Vera? Are you fine?"

He turned, his tears were now spreading independently, and crossed the room. He put his hand on his stomach, his voice was shaking with emotion.

"Raymond," he whispered, "We are going to be a child."

His eyes widened, his face was shocking, then something else. Some were so raw and loving that he felt that his knees had become weak. His hand trembled against his stomach because his lips participated, but no words came first.

When he finally spoke, his voice broke. "After everything ... we are finally lost ... Vera, you are giving me life again."

He pressed his forehead to him, gently splashing. "No, Raymond. We are giving life to each other. This time, it is on our terms. Nobody else."

He then kissed her, a kiss full of pain, all love, all hope that survived the storms. And as his arms were wrapped around him, Vera knew that it was not the end of his story. It was just a few more beginnings.

Because now, for the first time, they were independent.

And inside it, a new life increased - not as part of one's will, not as part of a sport, but as a symbol of all the things he fought.

The empire may grow or fall, the world can whisper and plan, but cannot take anything from them.

His hand once again pressed against her stomach, a terrible light in her eyes.

They survived.

They won.

And now, they will build their future together.