The Villianess story: A 100 ways to kill your husband Chapter 581: Farewell

"I will be returning to my mother’s homeland. There is no successor to the throne from the direct line," Alfonso stated abruptly.

Abrielle found herself taken aback by this unexpected announcement. "Congratulations, that is truly a surprise," she managed to blurt out.

Alfonso offered a nod. "I would have extended an invitation to the wedding, but I am aware your hands will be rather full," he added, leaving Abrielle even more astonished.

He let out a soft laugh. It was a union born not of love, but of sheer convenience. Alfonso recognized this as the most advantageous decision for himself.

"I do wish you a life filled with happiness, but why venture there to contend for the throne...?" she couldn't help but inquire. His gaze turned melancholic. Alfonso twirled her around in time with the music before they resumed their embrace.

"I am pleased that you and Cedric have finally found your footing. It feels right. The current king is gravely ill and lacks any heirs. My mother was his only sibling..." he explained, becoming somewhat lost in thought before continuing,

"I ought not to be saying this, but I cannot bear to watch, Abrielle... knowing that you are happy, and it is not with me...." he confessed at last. Her mind seemed to go blank; she had not anticipated such a declaration.

"I know I should not have fallen for my brother’s wife, but it happened... this is for the best," he concluded. The music faded to a close. Alfonso gently placed a kiss upon her hand...

"My carriage departs this evening. Farewell, Empress Abrielle," he whispered, his lips brushing against her skin, his fingers lingering with reluctance to let go.

"Alfonso," Cedric's voice cut through the air from behind Abrielle as he placed a hand around her waist. His gaze was piercing; he recognized the sentiment in Alfonso's eyes. "I was merely bidding farewell. I wish you a prosperous reign, brother," he stated finally before turning and walking away. His figure vanished into the milling crowd.

"Did something occur?" Cedric inquired of Abrielle. She simply shook her head. "Nothing," she replied swiftly. From the periphery of her vision, she noticed Silvanius engaged in conversation with Pierre and Rebecca.

It had become publicly known that Abrielle was the princess of Heliosa, yet the Nightshade would forever remain Abrielle’s first family.

Rebecca caught her glance and offered a warm smile. Abrielle returned the gesture before making her way toward them.

At another secluded area of the ballroom, Evelyn observed the festivities. She had remained distant from social circles for many years due to her status as an unrecognized illegitimate daughter, despite possessing noble lineage.

Everyone appeared joyous. Axel was conversing with Curtis, the third-in-command of the Shadow Knights, while surrounded by several other nobles.

Axel hailed from humble origins but had earned considerable merit as a knight. Evelyn, conversely, was viewed merely as a woman by many, her numerous battles overlooked. She had served as an assassin, not a knight.

She harbored no ill feelings toward her duties. However, a sense of loneliness pervaded, knowing that because her work was shrouded in darkness, her sacrifices would likely never be recognized. A soft chuckle nearby drew her attention, and her eyes instantly found Elias.

He was the son of a noble, and his striking appearance naturally captivated the ladies of high society. Her brow twitched slightly; Elias had been granted a title by Cedric for his contributions, which he had readily accepted.

He possessed numerous elder brothers, leaving him with little chance to inherit his father’s title. Evelyn, too, had been bestowed with a title and land, a rare honor for a woman. She was still contemplating this offer.

She let out a sigh and then made her way out of the ballroom. The night air was crisp and cold, as it was the middle of winter. Her blonde hair caught the wind, dancing freely as she listened to the quiet sounds of the night.

She ought to have felt happy, yet she couldn't fathom why a sense of heaviness resided within her. "The storm has finally passed," she murmured, gripping the balcony railing tightly.

"Then what is holding you back...?" she heard a voice inquire from behind her. Her head whipped around towards the entrance of the balcony.

"Elias," she gasped, her gaze locked onto his hazel eyes. "What are you doing here?" she exclaimed.

Elias approached her, his gaze remaining fixed upon her. "Why did you leave? Did you find it uncomfortable with me speaking to other ladies?" Elias asked directly. Evelyn was taken aback, unsure how to respond.

"What foolishness are you speaking of?" she managed to utter. Elias chuckled; she was truly a stubborn one.

"It is indeed foolishness... I merely wished to know," he paused, and Evelyn felt as though her breath had been caught in her throat. "What is it that stops us?" he questioned, and the world around them seemed to dissolve. She found herself unable to meet his intense gaze.

"Elias..." she whispered. He drew a steadying breath.

"I love you, Evelyn. You know this, and I know you harbor the same feelings. Why do you continue to run?" he asked. He had been observing her throughout the entire ball.

He couldn't simply stand by. Elias was facing an imminent arranged engagement; this was his final opportunity.

Evelyn was at a loss for words. Clutching her dress, she prepared to flee the balcony.

As Cassandra pulled her arm away, Elias pursued, calling out her name, "Cassandra, stop." He implored, "Are you not weary of remaining unseen? Let us cease this mutual hurt and these baseless justifications."

Shaking her head, she attempted to break free from his grasp, yet his hold only intensified. "Elias, I cannot say," she whimpered, unshed tears clouding her vision. "I am older than you..."

"I am aware. Evelyn, I knew before I fell for you," he reiterated. Then, he slowly dropped to one knee. Her heart began to pound; he wasn't seriously considering proposing, was he?

To her profound astonishment, Elias produced the velvet box he had previously offered. "The six-year age difference has never mattered to me. What difference does it make if you are older? It changes nothing..." he explained.

"You are the one I wish to spend my life with, Cassandra. Do me the honor of becoming my wife," he requested, his voice tender. Her heart ached, and tears began to stream down her face.

They were not lovers, nor even friends, yet they had known each other for a considerable time, navigating hardships side-by-side.

She had recognized her burgeoning feelings for him but had suppressed them. During their last perilous encounter, her greatest fear was losing him, but now, her timidity prevented her from accepting him.

"I... I don't know what to say," she confessed through her tears. Elias offered a gentle smile and reached for her hand, sliding the ring onto her finger. "Just say yes..." he coaxed.

Her knees gave way, and she collapsed into his embrace, weeping uncontrollably. The sheer happiness brought forth a torrent of tears. "Yes... Elias."

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***** Coming soon*****

Craved by the wrong Volkov

"For better or for worse, until death do us part." These were their wedding vows, a promise he shattered first.

He proposed an open marriage as the remedy for their childless union, asserting it was for her own protection. Yet, all Braelyn perceived was a cage constructed from guilt and deception.

One night, consumed by heartbreak, she sought solace in a karaoke bar, only to find herself in the arms of Lucien. He was a man enveloped in mystery, defiance, and peril. His very presence screamed for her to flee, yet paradoxically offered the comfort she so desperately craved.

She never imagined encountering him again after her hasty retreat, striving to forget his captivating existence. However, fate had a cruel sense of humor.

Lucien was no ordinary man; he possessed the power to dismantle everything she held dear. He was the man she was never meant to cross paths with – her husband's uncle.

The notorious black sheep of the Volkov lineage, a man whose desires threatened to be her undoing. Lucien knew she could never be his, but he was never one to adhere to societal conventions. He cared little for anything beyond her every sinful touch and tempting glance.

His sole ambition was to possess her, regardless of how transgressively it unfolded.