Chapter 8

The rope lowered again. Matteo's calves disappeared beneath the surface, the sea turning a deeper shade of red. He bit through his lip trying not to scream, but muffled groans still slipped out—each one slicing through Anastasia's chest like a blade.

Her pride, her strength, her dignity—all shattered.

Sobbing uncontrollably, she turned to Irene, grasping at the hem of her pants, her forehead hitting the ground again and again.

"It's my fault," she choked out. "I'll step aside. I won't ever appear before him again. Please... just spare my brother."

The hollow sound of her head striking the ground echoed across the cliffs.

Julius stood motionless. Only the wind and Matteo's faint moans filled the silence.

At last, Irene smiled slowly, satisfied. "Spare him? I suppose I could."

She sauntered to the back of the van, opened a cage, and pulled out a dog bowl. She set it on the ground before Anastasia and poured a handful of dry kibble inside.

Her grin was poison-sweet.

"Eat it," she said lightly. "Finish it all, and I'll forgive you. Then I'll let your brother go."

The wind howled. Waves slammed against the cliffs. Anastasia's ears rang with her brother's pained gasps and the rush of the sea.

Julius said nothing. His silence was permission.

Anastasia's body trembled as she lowered her head. Her fists clenched so tight her nails dug into her palms.

Just as she opened her mouth, ready to swallow the humiliation—a faint snap broke through the chaos, the frayed rope above her brother gave away.

Before the raging sea could swallow him, Matteo used the last of his strength to roar hoarsely, his voice shredded by pain and salt, "My sister will never kneel to anyone!"

The rope snapped completely.

"Stand up and avenge me!"

And then Matteo's body disappeared into the sea.

Matteo's voice still echoed in the air when Anastasia looked up.

All that remained on the churning sea was a trace of blood and a frayed rope, still stained with pieces of her younger brother's flesh.

"Brother!"

Her scream tore through the wind. Anastasia rushed to the edge of the cliff, her vision blurring as her blood seemed to freeze in her veins.

Her brother's final words still echoed in her ears.

Grief and fury consumed every trace of her rationality. With trembling hands, she drew the pistol from her waist and raised it without hesitation.

A few gunshots split the air.

Julius's subordinates—the same ones who had whipped Matteo, smeared him with fish food, released the rope, and laughed as he fell—were all killed in an instant.

Then, Anastasia turned the muzzle toward Irene's chest.

"I never wanted his life," Irene said softly, her voice eerie. "But I didn't expect him to be so weak... he couldn't even endure a little pain."

Irene tilted her head, feigning pity, her words dripping with venom.

"Madam Rios died too early. She never taught her son to be strong. You won't blame me for that, will you, Miss Rios?"

Before Anastasia could answer, Julius raised his gun and pointed it at her heart. His voice trembled with anger and disbelief.

"Are you insane, Anastasia? Your brother fell by himself—it has nothing to do with Irene!"

His words struck the deepest wound in Anastasia's heart. Blood trickled from the gash on her forehead, staining her vision scarlet. Through that haze, she raised her gun and pulled the trigger without hesitation.

Bang!

Only one shot rang out.

A searing pain exploded in her shoulder. Anastasia looked down in disbelief at the bloody hole blooming through her flesh.

The man she had loved for eight years—

He had not only shielded her brother's murderer...

He had shot her to protect that same woman.

Tears fell silently, washing away the last remnants of love and longing she held for Julius.

"Anastasia, I didn't mean to—I..."

Julius's face twisted with panic and grief. He dropped his weapon and rushed toward her, tearing open his expensive shirt to press against her wound.

He tried to lift her into his arms, but Anastasia stopped him. Her voice was hoarse, almost detached.

"Julius... do you remember what you said at our wedding?"

She unclasped the bullet pendant from her neck—the one he'd once given her as a token of love—and slid it into her gun's chamber.

Then she lifted the muzzle, pressing it against his chest.

He didn't even flinch. "Stop it, okay?" he murmured, almost gently. "Once your shoulder is treated, you can shoot me all you want."

He pushed the gun closer to his heart, utterly certain that she wouldn't do it.

Anastasia saw it—the faint flicker of confusion and irritation in his eyes.

Her tears fell harder. She shook her head.

"You said your heart beats only for me."

There were five bullets in the magazine. The last chamber was empty

If Julius had truly trusted her—if he hadn't shot her for Irene—then neither of them would be hurt.

"But you did," she whispered. "You pulled the trigger."

Bang!

A crimson bloom burst across Julius's chest. The pain drove him to his knees, yet his disbelieving eyes never left Anastasia's face.

"Does it hurt, Julius?"

He struggled to breathe, his blood spilling over his hands.

"It hurts," she said softly. "But it's still not even one ten-thousandth of the pain I've endured."

Her voice trembled, but her gaze was steady.

"You broke your promise. The bullets you once gave me... now I'm returning them to you."

Calmly, Anastasia met his fading eyes. Step by step, she retreated toward the cliff's edge.

As Julius's consciousness faded from blood loss, she smiled faintly—and let herself fall backward.

Plop.

The sound of her body hitting the waves was swallowed by the wind.

"Goodbye, Julius," she whispered in the silence of her descent.

"Goodbye... to the eight years of love I wasted on you."