Chapter 54: The Mate (3)

Gabriel maintained Anya's gaze, his expression unshaken despite the venom in her words. He could feel the tension in the air rise, and the nobles watched with growing interest. The ballroom, which had previously been filled with polite conversation and laughter, had become quiet. Even the music felt distant.

From the corner of his eye, he noticed his family approaching—Alexandra's expression unreadable, Charles and Theo moving cautiously. Nicolas and Felix stood close together, providing a silent shield.

"Your Highness speaks of things I do not remember," Gabriel finally said, his tone almost bored but calculated. "It appears that we both carry burdens from the past, but I do not believe this is the place to unravel them."

Anya's fingers twitched; her expression barely changed, but Gabriel noticed how her breath faltered—only slightly. She was angry. Maybe even desperate.

She took a step closer, lowering her voice, but not enough that those around them couldn't hear. "Do you know what it's like to be left behind?" Her breath trembled, but her posture remained rigid as if she were trying to maintain control. "I was supposed to be his wife. I was supposed to be by his side, but Olivier—" She swallowed, her hands curling into fists. "Olivier loved you."

The words landed like a blade between them. A gasp from one of the nearby nobles broke the hush, but Anya didn't care. Her anger had taken hold.

Gabriel felt as if a black abyss was waiting for him to fall. He expected accusations and reproaches, but the revelation that Olivier loved him hit him even harder. 

'Alexandra knows. She knows about this.' He remembered her reluctance to discuss his relationship with Olivier before. He sighed. 

'Why won't they tell me?' He wondered, but the pain in his chest gave him an answer he ignored. Gabriel did something painful. 

"And what did you do?" she continued, eyes burning. "You betrayed him. You killed him." Her voice cracked, raw and accusing. "I was the one who remained loyal. I did everything I was supposed to. I waited, I obeyed, and I suffered—" Her breath hitched as she clenched her fists harder. "So, what was my reward? To be used repeatedly as a pawn in someone else's game.

Gabriel felt his fingers tighten at his sides, but his expression remained carefully composed. "Olivier is a traitor; I advise your Highness to be cautious about what you say," he said calmly. 

He paused to look at the proud woman, who was upset about his neutral tone, but he was simply stating facts. If her words would reach Damian's ears, she would be sent home in the best-case scenario; at worst, she would be killed, and her country would be at war with the Agaron Empire. 

'Shiet. Why can she forget him?' He wondered.

"As rumors say, I have no memories of him or what happened until five years ago." 

Anya's expression twisted in disbelief. "You don't remember?" Her voice lowered to a dangerous whisper, and her entire body trembled with emotion. "How convenient for you, Gabriel."

Her hands clenched at her sides, her nails digging into her palms as she took a step closer. The weight of her words pressed against him, the raw betrayal in her gaze almost suffocating.

"You stole everything from me," she seethed. "And now you stand there, indifferent? As if none of it matters?"

Gabriel didn't flinch. His dark eyes remained steady, but something beneath his composed exterior wavered. He didn't know if it was the truth in her words or the way she spoke, as though she had suffered as much as he had.

"I do not remember," he repeated, measured and calm. He wasn't sure if he was trying to convince her or himself.

Gabriel remained motionless, even though his heartbeat was audible in his ears. He could feel the weight of every stare on them, the tension suffocating. His family was close now—Alexandra's expression was unreadable, Charles was watching closely, and Theo frowned as if ready to intervene. But no one spoke. No one dared to interrupt.

Anya exhaled sharply. "He died believing in you," she whispered, her voice almost breaking. "Believing that you would stand with him. And yet here you are, alive, untouched, protected. How ironic."

Gabriel's jaw tightened, but he did not react. He couldn't. The memories she mentioned—memories he should have, ones that could explain why his chest felt tight and her words made something in him ache—were lost on him.

He observed her for a long time before saying, his voice steady, "What would you like me to do, Your Highness? Should I apologize for something I can not remember? Accept responsibility for a past that I cannot change?"

"Should I tell everyone present here that the actual Emperor is a mistake? Don't be silly. That would be treason. Olivier was bound to fail sooner or later, and you knew it. That is why you fled to the Paisian Kingdom." Gabriel had no idea if it was like he said, but he gambled on her reactions and words until now. 

Her lips parted, but no words came. Frustration flickered in her eyes as if she wanted to strike him, to tear through his composure and force him to feel what she felt.

"Nothing will bring Olivier back," he continued, quieter now. "Nothing will change what happened. If I am to be your enemy, then so be it. But I will not mourn a ghost I do not remember."

Gabriel refused to feel anything towards the man that bound him to an imperial contract, taking his entire life away.

A sharp intake of breath. Then silence.

Anya stared at him, her expression twisting into something unreadable—grief, anger, something deeper. She was trembling, her breath uneven, as if she finally reached her breaking point. "How can you be so cruel?" she murmured, her voice and her pale blue eyes filled with tears. 

"Don't mock me. You were the only one who knew him well enough to know his weaknesses. If he fell, it was because of you." 

Gabriel tilted his head slightly, studying her. "You sound so sure."

"Because I am," she blurted out. Anya's fury was boiling over, and her breath came in shallow, uneven bursts. Her fingers twitched at her sides before she raised her hand, swift and unwavering, aiming to strike him in the face.