When Shadows Fall in Love

The ballroom was chaos. Smoke danced in the broken moonlight streaming through shattered windows. The scent of blood clung to the air like a curse. Lucien dropped to his knees, arms trembling as he held his parents—his pillars, his pain—both gone in a heartbeat. Their once vibrant eyes were closed now. Silent. Still. Their hands, forever clasped in a final vow of love.

"Asher, y-you..." Lucien's voice cracked as he looked up, the name curling off his tongue like venom fused with sorrow—venom he was ready to spit at Asher.

Asher stood still, a ghost beneath the cloak, his jaw clenched, but his eyes shimmering. "Lucien... I—I didn't mean for this," he said hoarsely.

"JUST SHUT UP!"

That was when Asher's rage spilled over. He whirled around, aimed at the two silent men still watching from behind, and pulled the trigger.

CRACK. CRACK.

Two perfect, fatal shots. The men crumpled like puppets with cut strings.

He let the gun fall and slid it across the marble floor until it hit the far wall. Then he stepped toward Lucien, arms slightly raised.

"I'm unarmed now," he said lowly. "Hit me. Vent every ounce of your rage. I deserve it, after all."

Without warning, Lucien rose like a storm, his fist striking Asher square in the jaw—power erupting from him like a dam finally broken. He was no longer the mafia. He was the wrath of a betrayed beast.

Once.

Twice.

Thrice.

Asher didn't fight back. Not once. He let it all land until his knees gave way.

Lucien struck, not just with his hands, but with the agony of losing everything in one night. His heart shattered with every blow to the man he once thought of as family. His punch landed like thunder—controlled, calculated, merciless—on Asher's jade-like cheeks, now dyed red.

"You bastard! How? How dare you shoot the people who fed you, who gave you life? How dare you shoot my parents?!"

Lucien—the name whispered in fear, the shadowed vampire known as untouchable, heartless—was now on his knees, trembling, broken, and pleading for the return of the only ones who had ever loved him. Begging fate to undo what could never be undone. His heart, cold to strangers, burned fiercely for the few he held dear.

"I need my parents. Asher, you worthless piece of shit! Why are you so silent now? After all they did for you, you killed them with your own hands? Are you proud? TELL ME! ARE YOU HAPPY NOW THAT YOU'VE TAKEN TWO LIVES? ARE YOU SATISFIED?" Tears now streaked down his face. "You brought this. You aimed your damn gun at me on my wedding day! You threatened to take her like she was your possession—as if you didn't know who I was!"

"You think I didn't fight myself before walking in here? But why don't you believe me?" Asher snapped, voice suddenly raw. "I didn't tell them to shoot. It was—it was something…" he then muttered something unintelligible.

Lucien spoke calmly again. "But what of my father and mother now? Even if I believe you… they're still dead."

"You think I wanted to lose the only parents I ever had? The only ones who ever cared about me?" Asher's voice shook. "I tried to keep my distance when I realized she was my sister… thinking it would keep you away from her, but you—"

"—Played me!" Lucien shoved him hard in the chest. "You knew the second you saw her that she was broken and silently suffering. You knew and didn't say a damn thing or do anything!"

"I was waiting for the right moment!" Asher's voice cracked. "The moment I could protect her. The moment they let her go—like I failed to do when I was nineteen—"

Lucien's stare darkened. "Don't—don't pretend this is about love. You abandoned your sister. You let your parents raise her to break. She was their servant. She thought she didn't deserve to be alive."He held out a hand to silence Asher. "I have proof. I read her journals. No human deserves that."

Lucien helped Asher up and patted him on the back.

"Why didn't you stop them… when they abandoned you?" Lucien whispered.

Asher's voice was barely audible. "Because I thought if I was gone, they'd love her better. If I had stayed, she might've followed my dream of architecture, and they would've crushed hers too."

That broke something deeper in Lucien.

"But they did anyway. It's not your fault."

They didn't speak after that. They just cried. Both feared by many, kings of two worlds, reduced to shattered sons at the feet of love lost too soon.

Days later, the marble floor was cleaned. The bodies were not forgotten.

A private funeral was held in the Vade family cemetery—hidden deep behind the mansion grounds, under the cypress trees. Rain tapped gently on the umbrellas of the few gathered. Seraphine stood between her grandmother and Zacchary, holding herself as if afraid she'd shatter, eyes fixed on Lucien, who—dressed in a long black coat—lowered the casket slowly with Zacchary and two others. His mother and father were placed side by side in a single grave, hands still clasped—just as in their final moment. No priest. Just silence. Only the wind whispered prayers.

Asher stood at the edge, face bruised, one eye swollen. He watched them descend into the earth with a stillness unnatural for someone usually loud with emotion. Lucien placed a single white lily atop the casket and whispered something only the earth would hear.

"You were never saints. But you loved each other… and maybe that's enough."

The caskets disappeared into the dark soil.

Asher stepped forward, his back toward his sister—who knew nothing of her long-lost brother. With trembling hands, he dropped an old, torn paper sketch—one Seraphine had drawn as a child. It was of a house. A dream. A future.

A few days later…

The hallway was dark, lined with portraits of Castellano ancestors. Thunder rumbled outside. Lucien and Asher faced each other beneath the chandelier—each man in black, shadows dancing across their sharp features.

Lucien raised his hand slowly.

Asher didn't hesitate. Their palms slapped together in a firm, controlled handshake—a grip, twist, and shoulder tap.

"I still don't like how you threatened me," Lucien muttered, eyes narrowed but soft.

"And I still think you're a reckless bastard," Asher replied, half-smirking through a healing lip.

They walked toward the study together.

Asher shoved his hands into his pockets and added casually, "But… she's my sister. Now your wife. If you ever hurt her... I'll break both your legs. And make Zacchary help me."

Lucien chuckled softly. "Fair enough."

Asher paused, looking toward the glow of the library lights. "Lucien?"

"Yeah?"

"You've changed. She made you better."

Lucien turned, a rare gentleness in his eyes. "No. She made me real."

They stopped at the door.

Asher leaned against the frame. "Treat her like a queen."

Lucien opened the door and stepped inside. "She already is."

And as the door shut, the storm outside began to quiet—just a little. As if even the heavens had mourned long enough.

There inside sat none other than one person.

Seraphine.