Nero - Revenge never tasted better

Chapter 24 - The phoenix

What was destiny, truly? Was it an inevitable course set in stone, guiding us toward a predetermined fate? Or was it merely a comforting tale we told ourselves to make sense of life's chaos?

I pondered these questions with a furrowed brow, my thoughts swirling like leaves caught in a tempest. Destiny, I concluded, was a tricky thing, weaving its influence through subtle whispers of intuition, nudging us toward certain choices while leaving others unexplored.

But what about my own destiny? Was Aiyden meant to be a pivotal part of it, or just a passing chapter in my story? Vladimir's words lingered in my mind, reminding me of the weighty burden I supposedly carried.

"You are the only one who can right the wrongs committed ... Only you can save Crimson Hollow. It is your destiny" The words reverberated within me, stirring a sense of duty and purpose that I could not ignore. My father's lust for power, newfound hatred and thirst for revenge had cast a dark shadow over our once-vibrant town, suffocating its inhabitants with fear, and oppression. So, if ever there was a destiny laid before me it was surely to make amends for my father's deeds.

But could I truly embrace such a responsibility? Perhaps it was wiser to let someone else play the hero, as I often did. Vladimir may have thought that I was the chosen one, but what did he really know? Clearly, he was mistaken! Saving the world? Not my scene, darling. My forte lied in saving it from fashion disasters. As for Crimson Hollow and the Gambino name, who needed them anyway? I was supposed to be six feet under, but here I was, ready to reinvent myself. The world was my playground, and the possibilities were endless.

Yet despite my attempts to convince myself of newfound liberation, a heavy weight settled in the pit of my stomach, dragging me into the depths of despair. Since that fateful day, since losing both the men I loved—my father and my baby—I had spiralled into a profound, dark depression from which escape seemed impossible.

Days bled into nights as I secluded myself in my chamber, enveloped in darkness that mirrored the shadows consuming my soul. Vladimir and Volka were forced to hunt for me, delivering fresh blood that I could scarcely stomach, despite my demands for the finest presentation. I refused their attempts to train me, to nourish me, to coax me from my seclusion.

Time blurred into a ceaseless cycle of anguish, each moment a haze of numbness and grief. I existed in limbo, neither truly alive nor dead, tethered to this world by the thinnest of threads.

I glanced down at the envelope that I had been clutching in my hands, its contents a mystery that had haunted me for far too long. Georges had entrusted me with it, telling me that when the time came, if I ever felt the need to know, the answers laid within it. It was the results of a paternity test. One Georges had ordered after becoming aware of my romantic involvements with both Aiyden and Thomas.

In the depths of my grief, I had cast it aside, unable to confront the truth lurking within its sealed confines. But now, with nothing left to lose, I found myself drawn to it with a magnetic pull. The envelope held the tantalizing promise of answers long evaded, a puzzle I dared to unravel.

With hesitant fingers, I traced the contours of the seal, its smooth surface a stark contrast to the turmoil raging within me. The weight of its contents pressed against my palm.

I held my breath as I tore it open, the sound of ripping paper reverberating around me. Its contents spilled onto my lap—a chaotic jumble of words and numbers that danced before my eyes in a dizzying blur.

But amidst the chaos, my focus remained razor-sharp, fixated on one thing alone: the name of the man who had fathered the child I had lost. And there it was, as if orchestrated by some cruel twist of fate—Aiyden Black. The man I had loved with every fibber of my being.