The Bride Of The Devil-Chapter 54: Trapped In The Mind pt2

Ivan still stood by the door to Lydia’s chambers, his hand resting on the doorframe as he watched her. Her face was pale, almost too quiet, too still. His heart ached just looking at her. A part of him wanted nothing more than to stay there, right by her side, until she opened her eyes again. But his mind kept reminding him that he shouldn’t. That it wasn’t right. That he should walk away before he made things more complicated.

He took a deep breath and was just about to leave when a sharp gust of wind burst through the room, slamming open one of the windows with a loud bang. Cold winter air rushed in, carrying flurries of snow that danced across the wooden floor. Ivan’s eyes widened. Snowflakes landed on the sheets and her blanket, making the room even colder.

He didn’t think. His body moved on its own. He stepped fully into the room, rushed to the window, and pulled it shut with a firm push. The room had turned icy, and without hesitation, he turned to her bed and adjusted the blanket, pulling it up to cover her shoulders better. She was already too pale—he couldn’t let her catch a cold on top of everything.

Just then, she whimpered softly.

He froze.

Her face twisted a little, her eyes still closed, but her brows furrowed like she was in pain. A small, helpless sound escaped her lips. It sounded like a cry. Ivan reached out, almost unconsciously, and gently brushed her hair away from her forehead. His fingers trembled.

His heart thudded. What was he doing? He shouldn’t be here.

He took a step back, his eyes still on her sleeping form. This wasn’t right. He had to leave. Now.

But just as he turned, her hand reached out and caught his.

His eyes widened.

Her fingers were weak but warm around his wrist. Her eyes were still closed, but her body... it was like she was pleading with him not to go. Like even in her sleep, she could feel his presence. She looked so troubled, her face full of distress, like she was battling something deep inside.

Ivan turned slowly back to her, his heart squeezed tight. Everything in his head told him to walk away. That he shouldn’t stay. But his legs wouldn’t move. He couldn’t bring himself to leave her like this.

He slowly sat on the bed beside her, careful not to wake her. He reached out, brushing her hand gently, and then he lay down beside her, keeping just enough distance, but still close enough to feel her warmth. His hand rested gently on her back as he began to pat her softly, like calming a frightened child.

"Please wake up, Lydia," he whispered. "Please."

Her body slowly relaxed under his touch. She stopped whimpering, her breath evening out a little. But inside her mind, there was no peace. Her heart was trapped in a memory—a memory so painful she had tried to bury it forever.

---

She was eleven again.

The sky was clear and bright, and little Lydia was running with joy down the wooden docks. Her shoes clicked with every step as she called out loudly, her voice echoing across the water.

"Papa! Papa!" she cried.

Her father, Dmitry, stood near a large ship that had just docked, wearing his usual travel coat and tall boots. He turned at the sound of her voice, his face lighting up with a warm smile. Lydia ran straight into his arms, throwing herself at him without hesitation.

He caught her mid-air and spun her around playfully.

"Papa! How was your trip? Did you see a lot of treasures? Did you meet anyone new? Did you fight any pirates? Tell me, tell me!"

Dmitry chuckled, holding her close.

"Slow down, my little bird," he said with a laugh.

Behind them, Sophia, Lydia’s mother, stood watching with a soft smile. Her hands were folded neatly in front of her as she waited for the two to finish their reunion.

"Calm down, Lydia," Sophia said gently. "I’m sure your father has many incredible stories to tell. Let him catch his breath first."

Lydia giggled, hugging her father’s neck tightly as they began walking back together, all three of them heading toward their carriage. Her small hand held tightly onto her father’s while Sophia walked gracefully beside them.

They returned to the Andreyevna home, a quiet and grand manor surrounded by snow-covered trees. As they stepped into the entrance, they were suddenly met by a strange man.

He stood tall, dressed like a soldier, but something about him was wrong. He had a long, visible scar that ran from his cheek to his neck and disappeared beneath his collar. His uniform was rough and dusty, and the way he looked at them made Lydia’s stomach twist.

His eyes were cold, hollow. There was no kindness there.

Immediately, Dmitry turned sharply toward Sophia.

His voice was low, but urgent. "Take Lydia. Now."

Sophia didn’t question him. Her face turned serious as she knelt beside Lydia and took her hand.

"Come, darling," she said softly. "Let’s go finish your piano lesson."

Lydia obeyed, but as she walked away, her eyes stayed on the man. Something about him scared her. He looked like a shadow from a nightmare.

Back in the music room, Lydia sat at the piano, trying to focus. Her small fingers moved over the keys, playing a soft melody. But her mind wasn’t there. It kept drifting back to the scarred man. Why was her father acting so tense? Who was he?

She stopped playing.

The notes faded away into silence. She stood from the stool, took a deep breath, and walked quietly down the hall.

She reached the door to her father’s study.

She was just about to knock when she heard voices.

Angry voices.

She pressed her ear to the wood.

"I already told you, I’m not doing that," her father’s voice was firm.

Another voice—deeper and rough—spoke next. "I didn’t come to ask for your will. This is a command."

Lydia’s heart pounded. She didn’t understand everything, but she understood the tone. It was threatening. Her father sounded angry, but also... afraid. There was something they were arguing about. Something important. She bent down and peeped through the keyhole.

The scarred man stood close to her father, too close. He slammed something on the desk. Her father’s hands were clenched. He looked like he wanted to shout, but was holding himself back.

They were talking about shipping something. Or not shipping it. Her father said no. The man didn’t care. Lydia didn’t understand the details, but the way the man talked—it was like he was used to getting his way. Like he thought he had power over her father.

She stepped back from the door, her heart racing.

What was happening?

What was her father involved in?

---

Back in the present, Lydia stirred in her sleep. Her face twisted again, the memory tightening her chest. Ivan could feel her trembling. He pulled her a little closer, holding her gently.

"It’s okay," he whispered. "You’re safe now." fɾeeweɓnѳveɭ.com

He didn’t know what she was dreaming about, but he could feel the pain pouring out of her.

He rested his head beside hers, his lips barely an inch from her forehead. For a moment, he closed his eyes and breathed her in. Her scent was still faintly there, soft and familiar.

His heart was full of things he couldn’t say out loud.

She had become someone he couldn’t walk away from—even if he tried.

And in that cold room, with only the sound of her breathing and the quiet beat of his heart beside hers, Ivan knew something had changed forever.

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