Valerie closed her eyes. Those words should have warmed her. Instead, the tightness in her chest only deepened.
"And Lady Ivanka?" she asked softly.
Demian did not answer immediately.
The silence was answer enough.
Valerie opened her eyes and smiled a fragile smile, almost like shattered glass. "I'm tired, Demian," she said. "Not just in my body. In my heart as well."
Demian stood. "Get some rest," he said, returning to the cold tone he usually wore. "I'll make sure you lack nothing."
He turned and left.
And when the door closed once more, Valerie understood one thing with painful clarity:
She could not remain between two bonds that were not yet ended.
She could not live as a tragic opera loving, yet never truly chosen.
Her hand returned to her stomach.
"I'm sorry," she whispered softly, to no one in particular.
