POV: Alexandro
The door to Father’s study closes behind me with a sound that feels final.
Not loud. Not dramatic. Just solid.
“Speak,” Father says without turning from the window.
I stand where I am, spine straight, hands clenched at my sides. The room smells like leather and ink and authority—things that never bend, only press.
“I’ve come to tell you something,” I say.
“I know,” he replies calmly. “You always do when you believe yourself brave.”
I swallow. “I love a woman. I intend to marry her.”
Silence stretches. He turns slowly, one brow lifting in mild curiosity.
“Her name,” he says.
“She’s a commoner,” I answer, refusing to retreat into half-truths.
The word lands like a spark.
“A peasant,” he corrects.
“She is a person,” I snap.
His hand moves faster than my thought. The blow catches my cheek, sharp and ringing. I stagger back a step but don’t fall.
“You will not correct me,” Father says evenly.
I straighten again, jaw burning. “I won’t deny her either.”
He studies me like a problem that has disappointed him. “You will.”
“No,” I say.
The room tightens. I can feel it—the way power gathers around him, coiled and ready.
“You mistake stubbornness for principle,” he says. “That girl has no place in this house.”
“She has a place with me.”
“You have a place here,” he roars suddenly, slamming his fist onto the desk. “And you will not disgrace it.”
“I am not disgracing anything,” I argue. “I’m choosing honestly.”
“Honesty is not freedom,” he snaps. “It is exposure.”
“I won’t live like a statue,” I say, my voice shaking now. “I won’t marry for alliances and pretend it’s virtue.”
“You will marry where I tell you,” he says coldly. “Or you will not marry at all.”
I laugh, breathless. “Then I won’t.”
His eyes narrow. “Repeat that.”
“I won’t,” I say. “I’d rather leave than live like this.”
The word leave echoes.
Father circles me slowly. “You believe you can abandon this house without consequence.”
“I believe love is worth it,” I reply.
He stops in front of me. “Love,” he says with disdain. “You mean infatuation. A girl who doesn’t even want you.”
My chest tightens. “You don’t know her.”
“I know you,” he replies. “And I know this ends with humiliation.”
“I don’t care.”
“You will,” he says. “When you are stripped of everything you think makes you special.”
“I don’t need the title,” I say. “I don’t need the land. I don’t need you.”
The silence that follows is worse than shouting.
Father’s voice drops, precise and lethal. “Then you will have what you ask for.”
I frown. “What does that mean?”
“It means,” he says, “that if you pursue this foolishness—if you marry a peasant, if you shame this family—you will be cut off.”
My breath catches. “You wouldn’t.”
“I would,” he replies. “No inheritance. No protection. No name.”
I steady myself. “Then I’ll survive without them.”
“And if you refuse to abandon this nonsense,” he continues, “you will be exiled.”
The word slams into me.
“Exiled?” I repeat.
“You will be erased,” he says. “You will no longer exist as my son.”
My hands tremble. “You’d throw me away?”
“I would preserve the house,” he answers.
I think of Evangeline. Of the way she looked at me in the corridor. Of the warning in her voice.
“You’re choosing reputation over your own blood,” I say hoarsely.
“I’m choosing legacy,” he snaps. “Something you clearly don’t understand.”
“I understand,” I say. “I just don’t worship it.”
His face darkens. “Then you are a fool.”
I step closer. “If I leave, it’s my choice.”
He smiles then, sharp and humorless. “No. It will be mine.”
I feel something break inside me—not loudly, not all at once. Just a quiet fracture, like stone under pressure.
“I’m not asking for permission,” I say. “I’m telling you.”
Father laughs. “You will do nothing without my consent.”
I turn toward the door.
“Stop,” he commands.
I don’t.
“You take one more step,” he says, voice shaking with fury, “and you will never return.”
I pause.
The room feels very far away from everything that ever mattered.
“I already won’t,” I say.
I open the door.
Guards snap to attention in the hall. Evangeline stands frozen near the far wall, pale, her hands clenched in her skirts.
“Alex,” she whispers.
Father’s voice follows me like a blade. “If you leave this palace tonight, you are no son of mine.”
I meet Evangeline’s eyes.
This is the moment.
The one she begged me not to reach.
“I’m sorry,” I say to her. “I have to do this.”
Her lips tremble. “Please don’t.”
I shake my head. “I can’t breathe here.”
Father steps into the doorway. “Go,” he snarls. “And don’t return.”
The guards shift uneasily.
I look at him one last time. “You taught me endurance,” I say. “You never taught me mercy.”
I turn and walk.
Evangeline grabs my arm. “Alex, wait—”
I stop, pulling her into a brief, fierce embrace. “I love you,” I whisper. “No matter what he says.”
She clutches my jacket. “Come back.”
“I will,” I promise, even as I know I don’t understand what that means.
I pull free before I lose the nerve.
The palace doors open.
The air outside feels too big, too loud, too alive.
I don’t look back.
Because if I do, I might see the truth too clearly—that love did not save me today.
It only gave me something to lose.