Marius couldn't take his eyes off her. Sonia stood near the entrance of the ballroom, greeting acquaintances with a smile that seemed brighter than the chandeliers overhead.
He couldn't believe it. After all these years, she was here—alive, well, and just as beautiful as he remembered. The room seemed to close in on him, drowning out the meaningless chatter and music. All he could see was Sonia.
For a long moment, he stood frozen, his heart pounding. But then he remembered himself—he was the Duke of Wittelsbach now. He couldn't afford to appear weak, not when everyone was watching.
Steeling himself, he approached a group of nobles, standing just close enough to catch snippets of conversation.
"...Yes, that's her. I heard she was terribly ill," a young lady whispered to her companion.
The man beside her nodded. "Indeed. Almost a decade without appearing at any gatherings. They say it was a rare affliction—something that affected her lungs. I heard that for years, she could barely leave her bed."
"Poor thing," the lady murmured. "But I suppose it makes sense. Even after her recovery, the Mitfords kept her secluded, not wanting to risk a relapse. Only recently did they let her return to society. It must be overwhelming for her."
Marius clenched his fist, nails digging into his palm. Hearing it confirmed—Sonia had truly been suffering all this time, just as the rumors had suggested years ago. Yet even now, he didn't know the full extent of what she had endured.
He cursed his own helplessness—not for lack of trying, but because even his extensive network of informants and connections had come up empty. He had poured resources into uncovering what had happened to Sonia, but the Mitford family guarded her situation with an impenetrable silence. It was maddening. For the first time, his influence had failed him.
He wanted to rush to her—tell her he was here, that he never stopped thinking of her. But he hesitated. Would she even remember him after all these years? Would she see him as the awkward boy from the garden—or had time and distance turned him into just another stranger?
He spent the rest of the evening keeping her within his line of sight, planning his approach. When he finally gathered enough courage, he found her standing alone, her previous conversation partners moving on.
With a breath to steady himself, he approached her.
"Lady Sonia," he greeted, his voice softer than he intended.
She turned to him, her eyes widening in mild surprise. "Ah, Your Grace." She gave a polite smile, inclining her head.
For a moment, he couldn't speak—just stared at her, overwhelmed. Sonia blinked, clearly unsure of why he was looking at her that way.
"I... I apologize," he managed. "It's just... I hadn't expected to see you here."
Sonia's smile softened. "It's my first time attending a ball in many years. I suppose I must seem like a stranger to most."
Her tone was light, almost self-deprecating. Marius struggled to maintain his composure.
"You look... well," he said carefully. "I heard you had been ill."
Sonia's gaze fell briefly. "Yes. It was... difficult. I wasn't allowed to leave home for a long time. My parents insisted on complete recovery before allowing me to attend social events again."
"I'm glad to see you better," he murmured, his voice almost tender.
Her cheeks colored faintly at his tone. Marius barely held back a smile.
"I don't think we've been properly introduced," Sonia said after a pause. "You seem familiar... but I can't quite place it."
A pang of disappointment hit him, but he swallowed it. Of course, she wouldn't remember—a single evening spent with a bruised boy couldn't have meant as much to her as it did to him.
"I'm Marius Wittelsbach," he said, offering a hand. "Duke of Wittelsbach."
Sonia accepted his hand, and as their fingers brushed, he felt a surge of warmth.
"It's an honor to meet you, Your Grace."
He wished he could say that they had met previously—that she had saved him from drowning in the dark once before. But he could not. So he simply smiled, hiding his frantic yearning behind a polite façade.
Marius was cautious over the course of the next few weeks. He contrived to encounter Sonia at other gatherings, always making his move discreet, humble. He would ask her to dance or to walk with him in the gardens, his conversations carefully chosen to be of interest to her.
When they could not see each other in person, he would write her considered letters—short at first, then longer and longer as she started to write back in return. Marius saved all the letters, committing every word to memory, folding them tenderly into a small wooden box secreted away from curious eyes.
Slowly, Sonia began to smile when she saw him. She would seek him out during parties, her hand lingering on his sleeve during conversation. Once, she even laughed at one of his awkward jokes—a soft, melodic sound that wrapped around his heart.
Eventually, one evening when they found themselves alone in the garden, he gathered his courage.
"Sonia," he began, his voice almost trembling. "Would you... write to me more often? Not just when we meet at these gatherings."
She looked surprised, then smiled. "Of course. I'd like that."
That night, Marius could hardly sleep. He stayed up, rereading her most recent letter, every line like a blessing.
Their letters became more frequent, filled with small details of their days, books they were reading, or thoughts they wanted to share. Marius was always careful—never too direct, never pushing. And slowly, Sonia began to open up, sharing stories of her recovery, her fear of never being well again.
After a few months, their conversations grew more intimate. One evening, when he walked her home from a small soiree, he stopped just before the gates.
"Sonia," he whispered, hesitating. "I... I've wanted to tell you something."
She looked at him expectantly, her cheeks flushed.
"I... I love you," he admitted, his voice almost a breath.
For a moment, she didn't respond. Then, a shy smile broke across her face.
"I... I think I love you too," she replied, her voice barely louder than his.
Relief flooded through him, and before he could stop himself, he pulled her into his arms. When she didn't pull away, he buried his face in her hair, his heart racing.
Marius became a constant presence in Sonia's life. The Mitfords grew fond of him, and before long, talk of engagement began. Sonia moved to his estate for a time, the Countess insisting that being close to Marius would aid her recovery and deepen their bond—especially with the engagement in mind.
Marius had never been so content. Having Sonia in his home felt like a dream realized—his once-empty halls echoing with her footsteps, his long, lonely nights eased by the simple knowledge that she was just down the hall.
But even the sweetest dream must end.
The memory receded like a dying echo, the last bright flicker before everything began to unravel. It was the happiest moment of his life—and the final one untouched by darkness.
His hand clenched around the handkerchief, knuckles whitening. A low, twisted heat bloomed in his chest, curling into something dangerous. His lips stretched into a smile that was too bitter to be fond, too sharp to be sane.
"Nia," he whispered, the name thick with longing—and possession. "You can't escape me. No matter where you run. No matter who helps you… I will find you."
His eyes darkened, the faint tremble of madness gleaming just beneath the surface.
"You're mine, Sonia. Forever."
To be continued