Chapter 184: Chapter 184

Ivan’s eyes would not leave the letter. His hands trembled as he held it, the words burning into his mind. He could not tell if he was imagining it, if grief and longing had finally broken him. But the ink was real. The handwriting was hers. Lydia’s.

For a long moment, he could not breathe. The letters blurred through the tears filling his eyes. He blinked, and they only fell harder. The page shook in his grip.

He pressed it against his chest, his body curling over as sobs tore out of him. His voice broke in a whisper.

"Lydia... oh God... Lydia."

He didn’t wait even a second. He stood so quickly his chair scraped loudly against the floor. His hands scrambled for his coat, pulling it on with urgency. His mind had only one thought: go to her.

He rushed out of the study. His footsteps thundered across the marble floor.

"Your Highness," the servant called after him, his voice filled with confusion. "Where are you going?"

But Ivan did not stop. He didn’t even turn his head. The servant’s words were nothing compared to the storm inside his ears. For more chapters visit noⅴelfire.net

Only Lydia’s voice filled his head now. The words of the letter rang again and again, striking him like knives.

You said you want nothing to do with me. That you don’t believe you are the father of our baby. Do you really mean it? It’s not true, right? You are just angry, that’s why. You know I would never betray you. Please don’t do this.

Ivan stumbled as he ran, pressing his hand against the wall for balance. His heart felt like it was tearing itself apart.

I know you hate me. I know you don’t trust me. But still can’t you forgive me? Please, don’t leave me. Don’t leave our son. I have given birth, and it’s a boy. Ivan, I’m scared. I don’t know what to do without you.

His steps grew faster. He reached the palace doors, his breath ragged. The guards looked startled as he pushed past them.

Please, I’m waiting for you. Our son is too. I won’t give him a name yet. Not without you. Please, Ivan. Come to me. I’ll be waiting by the small cottage in Mirograd, just by the well in the town center.

"A son," he whispered in shock as he reached the courtyard. His legs nearly gave way. He gripped the letter tighter. "My son..."

The words twisted him into pieces. Lydia. His son. And the thought that she believed he had abandoned her, that he did not believe her, cut deeper than any blade could.

Without another thought, he rushed toward the stables. His boots splashed mud from last night’s rain as he ran. He barely felt his body anymore, only the fire in his chest.

He grabbed the reins of his horse himself, startling the stable hands. They tried to help, but he shoved them aside. His hands moved quickly, almost frantically, as he saddled the horse.

"Your Highness, wait—" one of them called.

But Ivan was already mounted, pulling the reins hard. He spurred the horse forward, leaving the palace behind.

The world blurred around him. The wind tore at his coat, stung his face, but he didn’t care. His horse raced through the roads, hooves striking the earth like thunder.

He rode like a man possessed. Like a man who had lost all reason. And perhaps he had. Because right now, his mind was spinning, his soul crying, his whole being pulled toward one place only.

Lydia. His son. Their son.

The thought of her, weak and waiting, holding their child with tears in her eyes, filled him with guilt so heavy it nearly crushed him. He pictured her reading his silence as rejection. He imagined her crying in the night, alone, while he stayed far away.

"God forgive me," he whispered hoarsely as the horse carried him across the fields. His vision blurred from more than just the speed. "God forgive me... Lydia, please... wait for me."

He pushed the horse harder. The beast breathed heavy, foam gathering at its mouth, but Ivan could not stop.

At last, the small town of Mirograd came into view. His heart pounded violently in his chest as he reached the town center. The streets were wet from the storm, the stones shining with puddles. People moved about, carrying baskets and water, but to Ivan they were shadows.

His eyes searched desperately. The letter’s words guided him. The small cottage by the well.

He saw the well. His heart leapt. And there, near it, stood the cottage.

He pulled the reins sharply, stopping before it. His hands shook as he jumped off the horse. He stumbled to the door and knocked, loud, desperate.

The door creaked open.

A servant stood there, her eyes wide at the sight of him. "Who are you? And how may I help you?"

But Ivan did not hear her. His eyes darted past her into the dim interior. His voice cracked, filled with panic and longing.

"Lydia," he breathed. Then louder, almost shouting. "Where is she? Where’s Lydia? Where’s my wife? Where’s my son?"

His words trembled, frantic. He brushed past the servant without waiting for an answer, his boots striking the wooden floor as he rushed inside.

A voice called out, soft but heavy with sorrow.

He turned sharply. It was Irina. She stood a few steps away, her face pale, her eyes red as if she had been crying for hours.

His gaze scanned the room wildly. And then he saw her.

Anastasia sat in the corner, holding something in her arms. A small bundle wrapped in cloth. She was sobbing quietly, rocking the bundle against her chest as if trying to bring it back to life.

Ivan’s heart stopped. His breath caught painfully.

He rushed toward her, his eyes locked on the small bundle. His voice broke as he reached out.

"Is that him?" His hands trembled as he tried to touch it. "My... my son?"

His fingers hovered, aching to hold his child. But then he noticed.

The baby did not move. The small body was limp, lifeless. The skin pale, the warmth gone.

Ivan’s voice cracked. "What’s wrong?" His eyes darted between them in panic. "Why is he so cold? Why doesn’t he move? Where’s Lydia? Where’s his mother?"

Irina stepped forward. Her lips trembled as she tried to speak. She held her composure for only a moment before her voice broke.

"The baby..." She swallowed hard, tears filling her eyes. "The baby is dead. He died last night."

The words struck Ivan like a sword to the heart. His knees weakened. His chest felt like it had shattered open.

He shook his head violently. "No... no, it can’t be. No!" His hands pressed against his hair, gripping it tightly. "Not my son! He can’t be gone... not him..."

His eyes burned as tears fell freely, his chest heaving with broken sobs.

"And Lydia?" he forced out, his voice desperate, shaking. "Where is she? Where’s Lydia? Where is my wife?"

Irina lowered her gaze. Her lips trembled as if she was fighting the words. Her hands shook by her sides.

"As for Lydia..." she whispered, her voice cracking. "As for her... she’s—"