Ahicia's health had taken a small turn for the better. Her pale complexion had returned to a soft glow, and her icy blue lips now bore a healthy flush. The maids whispered among themselves about how much brighter she looked, but they couldn't ignore the eerie silence that lingered. Despite her physical improvement, she hadn't spoken a word since the day Damian returned with the medicine.
The family doctor had assured them repeatedly. "There is nothing physically wrong with her ability to speak," he explained during every visit. "This is not a condition of the body but the heart. She'll speak when she feels ready."
Damian wasn't satisfied with those words. Every time he saw her, curled up in bed, her once vibrant crimson eyes now distant, it felt like a blade slicing through him. She had isolated herself in her room, only interacting with the maids and Lysandra when absolutely necessary.
The quiet of the evening was shattered when Ahicia's door creaked open. She stepped out, her bare feet making no sound as they touched the cold marble floors. She wandered aimlessly, the hem of her nightgown brushing the floor, her crimson eyes glassy and unfocused.
The maids watched in shock as she walked toward the grand gates of the estate. They hesitated to stop her, unsure of what to do. Ahicia's frail figure appeared almost ghostly under the pale moonlight.
Suddenly, a piercing scream erupted from her lips, loud and raw, echoing across the estate grounds. She wailed uncontrollably, clutching the iron bars of the gate as if trying to break free.
The guards scrambled, one of them running inside to inform Damian.
"Sir!" the guard panted as he burst into Damian's office. "It's Ahicia! She's—she's screaming by the gate!"
Damian bolted from his chair, his heart hammering in his chest as he raced outside. When he reached the gate, his golden eyes widened at the sight before him. Ahicia stood trembling, her face wet with tears as she screamed into the void.
"Ahicia!" he called out, rushing to her side.
She didn't acknowledge him. Her crimson eyes stared blankly at the horizon, her lips quivering as incoherent words tumbled out between sobs. Damian reached for her, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Ahicia, it's me. What's wrong?"
But she didn't react. Instead, her body swayed, and her eyelids fluttered closed. Damian caught her just as she collapsed, her small frame limp in his arms. He cradled her against his chest, his heart pounding in fear.
"Ahicia?" he whispered, shaking her gently, but she didn't respond.
Her breathing was steady, and she seemed to be asleep, but her tears didn't stop. Soft, broken whispers escaped her lips—names that Damian didn't recognize, names spoken with such sorrow that it made his heart ache.
He carried her back to her room, laying her gently on the bed and covering her with a blanket. She curled into herself, her delicate hands clutching the fabric tightly. Even in sleep, her tears continued to fall, and her whispers didn't cease.
Damian called the family doctor once more, pacing the room as the man conducted his examination. After what felt like an eternity, the doctor sighed and shook his head.
"There's nothing physically wrong with her," he said, his voice heavy. "Her condition seems to be psychological. Whatever pain she's carrying inside her heart is manifesting in these episodes. All you can do is keep her comfortable and ensure she rests."
The doctor left shortly after, leaving Damian standing at the edge of Ahicia's bed. His golden eyes softened as he watched her trembling form. She looked so fragile, so unlike the strong-willed woman he had fallen in love with.
Hours later, Damian retreated to his office, his mind racing as he tried to think of a solution. He sat at his desk, staring blankly at the papers in front of him when the door suddenly swung open.
Grace entered, her figure wrapped in an alluring, revealing nightgown that left little to the imagination. She leaned against the doorway, a sly smile playing on her lips.
"Damian," she purred, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "Why do you insist on sleeping in a different room? It's unbecoming for a husband and wife."
Damian's golden eyes snapped to hers, his expression darkening instantly. "You dare to call yourself my wife?" he growled, his voice low and dangerous.
Grace faltered slightly but quickly regained her composure. "I'm just saying—"
"You're here because of your father's manipulations," Damian interrupted, rising from his chair. His towering form loomed over her as he approached. "If it weren't for his demands, Ahicia wouldn't be in this state. She's suffering because of your family's selfishness."
Grace's smile faded, replaced by a scowl. "I didn't make those demands, Damian. My father did!"
"That doesn't absolve you of your role in this," Damian snarled. "If you care at all about her condition, you'll stay out of the way and keep your mouth shut until she gets better."
Grace's face twisted in anger, but Damian's glare silenced any retort she might have had. Without another word, she spun on her heel and stormed out of the office, slamming the door behind her.
Left alone, Damian collapsed into his chair, burying his face in his hands. The weight of everything—the deal with Lucian, Grace's presence, Ahicia's suffering—pressed down on him like a crushing tide.
Meanwhile, Grace paced her room, her anger bubbling over into malicious intent. "Ahicia doesn't belong here," she muttered, her green eyes gleaming with hatred. "I'll make sure she's gone, one way or another."
Her mind began to formulate a plan, one that would ensure Ahicia's removal from the estate and Damian's life forever.