Giovanni's Perspective
My breathing grew ragged as waves of uncontrollable pain crashed over me, threatening to drown me. I could feel the Bond in my heart had completely snapped, the backlash not only weakening my wolf but also obliterating my grasp of the world around me.
Without her, my power felt hollow, and my life gradually lost its meaning.
But I still couldn't accept it.
My heart pounded wildly, and I closed my eyes, trying to calm it.
In that moment, I felt something—like a tug. A very gentle pull, as if a thin thread was drawing me from far away, urging me to follow. It told me the answers I sought were distant, beyond my reach.
It was such a strange sensation, an inexplicable feeling.
But I didn't linger on it.
I sat up in bed, drenched in sweat, my chest heaving. The world around me seemed blurry, unreal—more like a nightmare I couldn't wake from. Yet, even if it was a nightmare, I was trapped in it, unable to break free. Forcing myself to stand, I dressed, each step heavy as I followed my heart's pull toward the room she used to be in.
The moment I pushed open the door, her familiar scent hit me. It clung to the room like an invisible barrier, trapping me in her memory. I stepped inside and gently closed the door behind me, my eyes sweeping over every corner. The bed was perfectly made, the curtains swayed slightly in the breeze, as if she were still here, waiting for me to wake her.
I walked to the window. The forest outside was still, bathed in silvery moonlight. I remembered all the nights she stood right here, gazing into the distance, her expression deep and sorrowful. I had never asked her what she was thinking then, always assuming there'd be time later to understand her world. But now, it was too late.
Unable to bear the suffocating weight in my chest, I turned away. My gaze landed on the nightstand. There, lying quietly, was a book with her handwriting on the cover—simple and delicate.
A diary.
I hadn't expected to find this.
With trembling fingers, I picked it up, my heartbeat echoing unnaturally loud in my chest. The diary seemed to carry an unbearable weight, one that made it hard to breathe. I knew I shouldn't be invading her secrets, but the longing, the desperate need to feel close to her again, drove me to open it.
The first page was written in beautiful handwriting, marked by her usual composure.
"I never thought I would end up here, a 'captive' of him—the warm brother I once knew."
Her writing was calm and steady. I could almost see her face as she penned those words, her resilience holding back the pain and confusion. I kept turning the pages, each beat of my heart intensifying the ache deep in my bones.
"He's become so powerful, so cold, that I've wondered countless times if he's still the same person. Could this really be the 'brother' I used to know? I hate him now, but at the same time, I can't resist him. I've never met anyone like him—every move he makes, every glance he gives, feels like a blade piercing my soul."
She was writing about me.
I drew in a sharp breath, my eyes glued to the page as my mind reeled. I never realized I held such a deep place in her heart. These were things she'd never said to me—perhaps she never intended for me to know.
As I read on, her diary became more personal, more cryptic, filled with her struggles and helplessness.
"Every time he comes near, my heart races. I know it shouldn't. I shouldn't feel this way about him. But I can't stop it, even though I know it will lead to ruin."
The weight of the diary in my hands seemed to grow heavier.
Her pain, her struggles, her feelings for me... It was all real, and I had repaid her with suspicion and coldness.
"I was terrified. Terrified that he would learn the truth about me, that everything would unravel in that moment. But I was also terrified of losing him."
My grip tightened around the diary, my knuckles turning white. I never imagined she had been so conflicted, so tormented, while I remained oblivious. Her love for me, her fears, her hesitations—I had known none of it. Instead, I had cruelly wounded her over and over, until she finally ended it all with her own life.
The last few pages were scribbled hastily, filled with desperation and anguish.
"I know I won't make it... I just want to escape, to leave it all behind, but I can't leave him. I love him... This is my greatest mistake."
"I'm pregnant... It's our baby, but I'm afraid to tell him. Will he love our child? If it's a boy, I want to name him Arnold, and if it's a girl, I want to call her Mavis."
The words "I'm pregnant" echoed in my mind. I noticed dried tear stains on the page.
I stumbled back a few steps as the world spun around me. I could imagine Finn's helpless sobs as he wrote those words, but what the hell was I doing at that time?
I was getting back at her—giving her the cold shoulder, imprisoning her, even punishing her.
No wonder there had been a time when I noticed a change in her scent. But I damn well ignored it.
She was pregnant. She was really pregnant. We were going to have a child. And I had driven her to the edge with my suspicion, with my hatred.
If only I had known sooner...
I clutched the diary to my chest as if it were her last trace of warmth, the only thing that still connected me to her. But it was already too late. She was gone—gone from me forever. I would never touch her again, never have the chance to make amends for my mistakes.
"Why…?" I murmured, my voice hoarse. "Why didn't you tell me...?"
Only silence answered.
It felt like my body had been drained of all strength. I collapsed to my knees beside her bed, the diary slipping from my hands and landing on the floor with a dull thud. I wanted to cry. I wanted to scream, to release the pain choking me, but my throat was blocked. I couldn't make a sound.
The reality of losing her—and our child—cut through me like a sharp blade, shattering me completely. I had thought I was strong enough to control everything, but in this moment, I saw my weakness. I wasn't strong. I was just a broken man who had lost his lover and his child.