"My final letters, were they read? Or were they written in vain?"
Although born in France, Juliette Villeneuve often spent her childhood summers in London. With the passing of each summer, her adoration for a certain Bridgerton boy grew. During thei...
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ANTHONY'S POINT OF VIEW
THE MOONLIGHT SEEPED THROUGH THE OPEN DRAPES, bathing his skin in a whitish glow. The moon hung high in the sky, a harrowing light against the inky black. That night, the stars didn't shine so bright anymore. Perhaps, the darkness resting within the confines of his heart had tainted the sky or perhaps it was due to the ticking clock, in which every second the hand inched closer to his downfall. For, not only did he love a woman he does not deserve, but his sister was defiled by the Duke.
As the moon inched towards the horizon, Anthony became closer and closer to two horrific outcomes:
Shoot the Duke.
Or, be shot.
Either way, blood was to be spilt as death was on the horizon.
Death.
Frankly, Anthony did not crave either. Nonetheless, he had a duty he must follow through. Disrespect had been placed against the Bridgerton name, and Anthony must protect not only Daphne but his entire family. He must protect their honour. It was his duty.
A duty 'till death.
How charming.
Anthony did not wish to die, yet he was willing. As morbid it may be, he had accepted it as a potential outcome. Although anxiety ate away at his gut and terror crawled up his spine in a ghostly chill, Anthony knew what had to be done.
And, he must do it with honour.
It was an affair of honour, after all?
After arriving at the Bridgerton house hours before, and after discussing affairs with Benedict and Colin, Anthony spent what may as well be his final hours at his desk, alone. He was haunted by the events of that evening, of what happened at the ball. Haunted by the shattered soul that rested behind the beautiful eyes of the one he loved most. Haunted by the image of his dear sister being defiled by the Duke. Anthony's eyes, which were typically a lively brown strung with intricate hues of golden honey, were now lifeless as fear scratched at his insides and sorrow gnawed at his heart.
The young man was in a frenzy, opening every desk drawer and rustling the documents inside as he searched for what he desired most, for what he needed. With every piece of paper he placed in a pile on his desk, the weight in his chest grew heavier.
As death's fist gripped at his neck, warning him of his upcoming doom, there was only one thing on Anthony's mind. Well, there was quite of bit whirring around in that head of his, but every thought circled back to one person:
Juliette.
His only regret in life was losing her.
Juliette Eléonore Villeneuve was the best thing that happened to him. She was supposed to be his past, present, and future. His life was supposed to be forever intertwined with hers.
