Chapter 65 Broken Bonds
CHAPTER SIXTY FIVE
valenticia's POV~
I stood, frozen, in the library of the Clawford family estate, Marcus’s picture wobbling in my grip. My Stefan was at a Seryne café with Natasha Anderson, his hand on top of hers on the table, their heads inclined in close company. My heart broke into pieces as if glass shattered on the pavement into a thousand sharp pieces—why did you lie to me? Where fear and fury met, my breaths coming raggedly, the antidote vial locked away in my box nothing but a whisper against this betrayal. His distant texts ever since our night in the rose garden, his Busy, talk soon, now felt toxic. My hands clenched around the photo, biting into its edges, the fear piking—is he with Galden? The library’s oak shelves towered above, Eleanor’s journals accusing the skin off my bones and I fell toward a chair, my sweater soaked with sweat, my mother’s lullaby — - Hush my star — a thin whisper I couldn’t latch on to. Determination flickered, a little flame among the ruins I will face him.
Stefan’s loft was the opposite of the grandeur of the estate, a stark place of high windows and industrial brick held beneath Seryne’s gray sky. I hammered on the door, fear thudding in my veins, and he came and opened it, his expression passing from astonishment to alarm. “Yes, Valenticia,” he said softly, but I thrust the photo at him, my voice breaking, “You betrayed me!” His words were a sob, rough and raw, and his eyes went wide, guilt flashing. “It’s not what you think,” he said, stepping back, his hands in the air, but I advanced with anger’s glow. “Not what I think? Your hand on Natasha’s—Galden’s snake? Why lie?” My chest hurt, with tears, and stinging, and he crossed toward me and I jerked back, with fear and pain. “I was looking into her,” he said harshly, “her Galden connections, for you. I didn’t tell you to protect you.” His secretiveness broke my trust, and I couldn’t repair it. “I wanted you,” I said in a cracked voice, “not lies.” His face crumpled, but my heart was stone, fear whispering: He’s been compromised?
I started, boots clomping on the hardwood, but Stefan caught my arm, his touch the phantom of our night together. “Valenticia, please,” he pleaded, “I love you.” Cutter’s words slashed at my exposed heart, but I batted him away, fear and bitterness smothering his words. “Don’t,” I snapped, getting up and walking out, the door slamming shut and the streets of Seryne all blurring together through my tears. My phone buzzed — Rosanna’s name a salvation line — and I picked up, my voice an empty chasm. “Grandmother?” The edges of her words were cutting, imperative, “Gregor’s been waging a splash war, — lies about you, the estate. Focus, don’t let him win.” Fear flared, an ice jolt—he’s attacking all over. “I’ll stop him,” I said, the resolve crystallizing, and hung up, submerging my pain, Stefan’s treachery a wound I’d treat later.
In the estate, locked away in the library, Patel’s antidote formula was arranged on the oak table in a chemist’s scrawl, the puzzle I’d solve. My fingers shook, the compounds the cruxing fear stabbing through,—is it Stefan? His cafe encounter with Natasha, and his suspicious activities, got under my skin, a portent cast over the promise of the formula. If he’s Galden’s, then what else is spoiled? I thought, my heart ragged, but made myself concentrate, comparing Patel’s notes with the lab on the coast’s warning—volatile, neural overload. The antidote was so near, Lena’s tweaks a step closer, but fear throbbed—what if it didn’t work? I wrote in revisions, my pen scratching, determining a fire against the pain that aimed to submerge me. For Mother, for Father, I swore, whistleblowers, martyrs, a guiding light.
From force of habit, I relinquished the book and listened instead, taking a deep breath, trying to starve off a growing panic—when I received a sudden knock, and a letter slid under the door, unsigned, sealed with wax that had left a clear “M.” My breath hitched and I grasped at my fear: Marrow? I ripped it apart, the paper was brittle, its message short: Lazareth’s endgame—locate me. My heart pounded, the words a cryptic riddle, an invocation to the abyss, and I gripped the letter, terror and defiance grappling in me. Lazareth was the key, I knew, Patel’s email — Natasha to Lazareth, serum shipment — burning in my head. I’d go on to confront Marrow myself, his betrayal a wound I’d bear, with my heart broken but no less whole.