Chapter 19 - Shadows of Deception

The video started playing before I could fully brace myself. The screen flickered, and then Edward appeared, bound to a metal chair in a dimly lit room. His face was barely recognizable—swollen, bruised, streaked with blood. His eyes, however, remained defiant, glowing with a faint trace of something that resembled hope.

A woman’s voice echoed from offscreen, cold and deliberate. “Do you see him, Seraphina?”

My hands trembled as I gripped the edge of the desk, unable to look away. Lucian stood beside me, his jaw clenched, his expression unreadable.

“This is what happens when you play hero,” the voice continued. “When you think you can defy the shadows. Do you recognize my voice? You should. I was there the night everything changed for you.”

A sharp inhale escaped my lips.

Lucian placed a hand on my shoulder, firm but not comforting. “Don’t let her get inside your head,” he murmured, his voice low and steady.

But she was already there.

Isolde’s silhouette stepped into the frame, her movements as calculated as her words. She crouched beside Edward, gripping his hair and tilting his head up to face the camera. His lips parted, as if he were trying to speak, but no sound emerged.

“Do you think he remembers you, Seraphina?” Isolde taunted. “Do you think he clings to the thought of you to endure this?” Her smile was venomous. “Or does he regret ever crossing your path?”

A surge of guilt and anger surged through me, twisting like a dagger in my chest. I turned to Lucian, desperate for some form of reassurance, but his expression remained cold, calculated.

“She wants to break you,” he said. “Don’t let her.”

The video continued, each frame a new torment. Isolde didn’t just hurt Edward; she dismantled him piece by piece, her methods precise and cruel. She whispered things to him, things I couldn’t hear, but I could see the devastation in his eyes.

Then, her voice shifted, addressing me directly. “You must wonder why I hate him so much. But it’s not just him, Seraphina. It’s you. You, who survived when others didn’t. You, who became a pawn in Lucian’s game. You, who now dare to meddle in things beyond your comprehension.”

Lucian’s hand tightened on my shoulder. “Enough,” he said, reaching out to stop the video.

“No!” I snapped, shrugging him off. “I need to see this. I need to understand.”

His eyes darkened, but he relented.

The screen went black for a moment, and then the image changed. It was no longer Edward. Instead, it was a scene from years ago—a car crash, the aftermath of twisted metal and shattered glass.

“You remember this, don’t you?” Isolde’s voice asked, though she wasn’t in the frame. “The night everything was taken from me. The night you walked away unscathed while my sister died.”

My heart dropped. The accident.

“I lost Isabella that night,” Isolde said, her voice trembling with rage. “Lucian’s perfect little angel. And you—just a nobody—survived. Why?”

I stumbled back, the weight of her words crashing over me. The room felt suffocating, and I struggled to breathe. Memories I couldn’t place clawed at the edges of my mind, fragments of a night I had tried to forget.

“You didn’t even know her,” Isolde sneered. “But her blood is on your hands, just as much as his.”

“Stop,” I whispered, tears streaming down my face. “Please, stop.”

But the video didn’t stop. It showed more—a montage of Edward’s suffering interspersed with flashes of Isabella’s life, as if to compare their fates. Isolde’s narrative was relentless, a calculated assault on my psyche.

Lucian finally intervened, shutting off the monitor and pulling me to my feet.

“Get up,” he commanded, his tone sharper than before. “You’re letting her win.”

“She’s right,” I choked out. “I shouldn’t have survived. Edward—Isabella—they’re suffering because of me.”

Lucian’s grip tightened on my arms, forcing me to look at him. “No one survives by accident. You’re alive because you’re strong. Stronger than her. Stronger than this.”

His words cut through the haze of despair, but they didn’t erase it.

“She knows how to get to you,” he continued, his voice softening slightly. “But this is just a game to her. A distraction. We don’t have time to fall apart.”

I nodded, though the weight of guilt still pressed heavily on my chest.

“Focus,” Lucian said. “We’ll use this against her. She made a mistake by showing her hand.”

But all I could think about was Edward, broken and bleeding, and the ghost of a woman I’d never met, haunting me with her absence.

\---

Later that night, I found myself alone in my quarters, replaying the video in my mind. Every scream, every accusation, every moment of pain—it was all seared into my memory.

A knock at the door startled me, and before I could respond, Lucian entered.

“We need to talk,” he said, closing the door behind him.

“I can’t do this right now,” I murmured, turning away.

“You don’t have a choice.”

His words were harsh, but there was something else in his tone—an undercurrent of concern, hidden beneath his usual veneer of control.

“Isolde is trying to break you,” he said, stepping closer. “And she’s doing a damn good job. But if you let her succeed, Edward is as good as dead.”

“Do you think I don’t know that?” I snapped, spinning around to face him. “Do you think I don’t feel responsible for all of this?”

“Then stop wallowing in it,” he retorted. “Use it. Channel it.”

I stared at him, searching for some sign of empathy, but his eyes remained cold, unyielding.

“I don’t know if I can,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.

“You can,” he said firmly. “Because you have to.”

His words hung in the air, heavy with implication.

“Isolde thinks she knows you,” he continued. “But she doesn’t. She underestimates you. And that’s her biggest mistake.”

He reached out, brushing a strand of hair from my face, his touch surprisingly gentle.

“We’ll save him,” he said, his voice low. “But only if you’re willing to fight.”

I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat.

“I’ll fight,” I said, though my voice trembled. “For him.”

“For us,” Lucian corrected, his gaze piercing.

The room fell silent, the weight of his words lingering between us.

“Get some rest,” he said finally, turning to leave. “Tomorrow, we plan the next move.”

As the door closed behind him, I sank onto the bed, my mind racing. Isolde’s voice echoed in my ears, her accusations a constant reminder of the stakes. But beneath the fear and guilt, a flicker of determination began to take hold.

I couldn't despair... I couldn't succumb, my friend was waiting for me... but... this is...

"I need to go to my room to rest"... I said, unable to bear it any longer.