Ricardo's body ached with every breath he took. The cold iron chains around his wrists and ankles felt heavier, day by day. The damp, dark cell reeked of dried blood and decay, and his once-proud stature had been reduced to nothing, a pitiful shell of a man.
He had endured countless nights of torment, his mind unable to rest as nightmares plagued him, visions of his failures, his betrayals, and the ghost of the woman he had forsaken. And yet, nothing compared to the sheer terror he felt when the doors to the dungeon creaked open once more.
She had come again. Fiorensia stepped into the chamber, her presence suffocating. Dressed in flowing black robes embroidered with crimson sigils, she looked like a goddess of vengeance, a being far beyond the woman he had once called his wife.
