Chapter 67: 54 - Betrayal
Not long after, we quickly got ready and changed clothes.
There was going to be a grand banquet that morning.
Arturo, as usual, couldn’t keep his hands off me, his touch wandering over my body in that playful, flirtatious way he always did. I didn’t pay much attention to it at the time—maybe because I had grown used to it, or maybe because I didn’t want to ruin the surface-level serenity that blanketed us like a lie.
But that serenity was only the thinnest veil, hiding a storm ready to break.
Sergio Araujo Machiavelli—Arturo’s father—stood with overwhelming presence at the head of the long silk-draped table. A glass of red wine raised high in his hand, as if sealing this moment into the Machiavelli family’s history.
"Well then, before you all depart... on this joyous occasion, I have a very important announcement to make."
All eyes turned toward him with anticipation.
The room fell silent, with only the faint clinking of glass lingering in the air.
"In accordance with the will of the Etruria-Rassena Kingdom, Arturo Dali Machiavelli will be betrothed to Azalea Rosella Lovecraft!"
Thunderous applause erupted.
Cheers rang throughout the hall like a war cry I couldn’t dodge.
Everyone celebrated. Everyone—except me and Arturo.
I couldn’t pretend. My body froze, my lips wouldn’t move, but my eyes found his—sharp, unflinching, cutting deeper than the dagger that had just split open my chest.
I knew I had no right to claim anything. Not officially.
But that didn’t mean I couldn’t feel betrayed.
Arturo kept his head down, lips pressed in a tight line. His face showed no emotion, as though he had known this would happen all along... and simply chose not to tell me.
What kind of betrayal was this?
Now I understood why he had been so gentle last night.
Why he touched me like time itself was running out.
Because in a matter of hours, we would no longer belong to each other.
He hadn’t made love to me out of passion.
He had done it out of guilt.
Or worse—because he wanted to steal something from me before he was officially given away to someone else.
Something he should never have taken.
Something that would become a burden. A scar.
A curse—for both of us.
Even after the extravagant feast ended, the weight of that announcement still echoed in my mind. On the wide veranda of the Machiavelli Estate, the scent of exotic flower incense rose from marble columns reflecting the waning afternoon sun. Crystal chandeliers sparkled overhead, casting glimmers and dancing shadows across the ceiling. And yet, my heart was dark, immune to the luxury surrounding me.
That morning, beneath the dull skies of Etruria-Rassena, Sergio Araujo Machiavelli had declared devastating news: Arturo Dali Machiavelli—my secret fiancé—was to be engaged to Azalea Rosella Lovecraft, my sister!
The hall had roared in applause, but my chest nearly caved in, and I could only swallow the taste of betrayal.
Rage and regret churned in my head. How could something this important have been kept from me? The heat of fury burned in waves, though I restrained myself—noble etiquette demanded it.
My mind drifted back to the start of the banquet, when Arturo still traced my hips and arms with teasing fingers, eyes glimmering with promises. I used to think those touches were a flirtation, a fleeting thrill. But now I knew—it had all been theater.
He took what was mine without permission.
And I—like a fool—had given it to him willingly.
I leaned against the marble column, hiding my storm behind a porcelain mask.
Eventually, I turned toward Sergio Machiavelli, who was still basking in his smug pride. That wicked smile on his aging lips made it seem as if the world had bent to his will. My voice, low and laced with peppered sarcasm, cut through the room:
"Truly delightful, Mr. Machiavelli. A most surprising announcement—right over my head. Thank you for such a memorable celebration," I said with measured calm, locking eyes with his arrogant gaze.
His smile faltered. His eyes flicked away, his lips tightened as if holding back a scoff. I savored the flicker of hesitation.
Arturo stood frozen beside me. The same lips that once whispered sweet nothings now sealed shut. His face pale, jaw clenched in silent fury. His fingers gripped the marble railing tightly. His eyes were locked on the floor, stunned by what had just unfolded.
Once, I had melted under that gaze.
Now I saw through it.
He wasn’t the man I thought he was.
I looked at him—wretched—and felt a swirl of emotions: betrayal, disbelief... and something dangerously close to pity.
I stood in the corridor near the balcony, trying to steady my mind. But it was useless.
Only the clatter of cutlery and murmurs of gossiping guests remained.
I heard the hesitant steps behind me—soft leather shoes on polished stone. Arturo stopped just behind me.
"Helena," he called quietly.
I didn’t turn.
"Helena, I... I only found out this morning too. My father—he didn’t tell me anything beforehand. I swear, this wasn’t my choice," he said. His voice hoarse, barely audible.
I took a deep breath, then slowly turned to face him—my eyes cold and cutting.
"How strange," I said, voice sharp.
"You didn’t seem very surprised when the announcement was made. You didn’t protest. You said nothing. I saw it."
He lowered his head.
"I couldn’t object in front of everyone. You know what my father is like—he—"
"He what?" I snapped. "A tyrant? A liar? Then clearly, you’re his rightful heir!"
His face flinched as if my words struck a nerve.
But I was too broken to care.
"You know, last night... when you touched me, held me, whispered all those sweet words in my ear... I thought you truly loved me."
My voice trembled—not with grief, but fury.
"But it turns out, all of that was just a delay... before you betrayed me in front of everyone."
"No! I love you, Helena! I... I don’t want Azalea. I don’t want this engagement. I only want you."
But his silence earlier spoke louder than his confession now.
Minutes passed in tense silence.
One by one, the guests trickled out of the grand hall, their footsteps echoing along golden stairs leading to the palace garden. Though polite smiles remained on their faces, thin whispers of concern drifted in the air. The music had stopped. Only the faint clinking of glasses remained as servants cleared the tables. To them, this was theater.
But to me, the world had already changed.
I shivered—an unnatural chill crawling through the marble beneath my feet, like nature itself passing judgment on this sudden heartbreak.
Then, in the midst of the chaos in my mind, I felt a familiar warmth. Arturo had stepped through the bronze curtain and gently laid his hand on my shoulder.
His voice came soft and remorseful: "Helena..."
I turned with a frozen gaze, scanning him from head to toe.
He looked as if he had only now realized the gravity of what had happened.
"I know this all happened so fast. P-please..." he whispered, voice cracking beneath my stare.
I drew a long breath, taming the fire in my lungs.
Then I asked, voice coated in ice,
"Sorry, you said?"
His silence answered me.
"Sorry? When the announcement was made, all you gave me was a tight little smile. So what exactly are you apologizing for now?"
My voice sliced through the air.
"As usual, you come armed with sweet words. I wonder if it’s really love—or just part of your father’s grand design. I remember how you teased me last night, your hands on my hips—turns out it was all just a setup. A way to lull me into comfort like an innocent child while the king plotted our fate behind our backs."
Arturo inhaled sharply and lowered his head. "Please, Helena. Listen to me," he pleaded, voice breaking.
"This was all my father’s doing. I hate it. I never wanted to hurt you..."
"Do you even regret it?" I cut him off. "
All this time, I thought I meant something to you. But I was just a secret—a convenient escape, a shadow tucked away to keep your father’s approval intact. You took something real from me and used it without permission. And now, we both stand in the ruins of your deceit."
Rain began tapping against the glass. A sudden downpour—like the heavens weeping for the mess he made.
Arturo, overcome with emotion, wrapped his arms around me from behind. His body was warm, but my chest felt encased in steel.
He whispered into my ear, his breath shallow, "I love you, Helena. I always have. Only you."
His words poured softly into my ears, trying to mend what was already shattered.
But the hurt ran too deep. Lies don’t dissolve with whispers.
I gently peeled his arms away, turning my face toward the storm outside.
"I’d rather speak to my sky, Arturo," I said, voice quiet but resolute.
"Let the thunder answer you. And remember this: if you ever come back after all of this... don’t expect to find anything left."
My words were final. Cold. Certain.
Arturo clutched the edge of my hand, feeling the weight of the choice I had made.
Tears and raindrops fell together under that sorrowful night sky—marking the end of the tenderness between us.
I looked him in the eyes, deep and unflinching, searching for the truth.But even if he was telling it, I wasn’t sure I could ever trust him again.
I took a step back."Then what will you do, Arturo? Will you stand against your father for me? Will you defy the kingdom’s command in the name of this love you claim to have?"
My fists clenched."Or will you let me bleed and remain just another pawn in your father’s political game?"
Arturo said nothing.
And in that moment, his silence hurt more than a thousand betrayals.
I gave a slow nod, lips curling into a bitter smile.
"So that’s how it is," I murmured.
The sky began to weep—soft, quiet drops, like tears that had been held back for far too long.
I turned away and walked off, leaving him behind beneath the cold marble pillars.I never looked back.
And from that moment on, I knew:Love is not enough to fight the world.Not even enough to fight a father.
And me?
I would pay dearly for one foolish night I mistook for love.
