Chapter 23:Gilded Cage
After the attack, Stella paced the lavish hallways of her mansion, her mind racing. The images of the mobsters and their attempt to harm her family still burned fresh in her memory. She had to do something to protect her husband and daughter. And she knew just the group that could help.
Stella reached for her phone, her sharp talon-like nails tapping out a message as she sent a summons to a familiar name. Blitzø.
--
At IMP headquarters, the team was busy with their usual antics Verosika planning her comeback, Barb Sharpening her torture tools, Moxxie trying on New clothes and Millie giggling at him, when suddenly Blitzø's phone buzzed. He glanced at it, recognizing the number immediately. "Huh. Stella?" Blitzø muttered, scratching his head. His eyes flickered with curiosity as he opened the message, his expression changing from playful to serious in a heartbeat.
Verosika, sitting across from him and sipping a cocktail, raised an eyebrow. "What's with the face, Blitzy?" she asked, a slight smirk tugging at her lips.
Blitzø's jaw tightened as he read Stella's plea for help. "Stolas' wife wants a meeting. Says it's urgent—something about a guy named Mr. Raven going after Octavia. She's asking for all of us." His voice dropped, serious for once.
Verosika's smirk disappeared. "Wait, Octavia? That sweet little owlette?" Her protective instincts flared at the thought of someone targeting a child. She shared a glance with Blitzø, both of them immediately on the same page.
Loona, who had been lounging nearby, perked up at the mention of Via. "What? Someone's after Via?" Her tail bristled, a low growl escaping her throat. "No one touches my best friend," she muttered darkly, her fangs flashing.
Millie and Moxxie, who had been in the middle of their usual bickering about his outfits, also stopped in their tracks.
"Who's this Mr. Raven?" Millie asked, her eyes narrowing with determination.
Moxxie, however, paled slightly at the name. "Mr. Raven… He's connected to the Crimson Crime Family," he said, his voice quiet. "Back when I was forced to work with them by my dad, we took on some shady jobs for him, but I never thought they'd stoop this low…" Moxxie's fists clenched, guilt flickering in his eyes. "I was once tasked with helping capture Octavia, and I regret it every single day. I'll do whatever it takes to make sure no one hurts her."
Verosika looked over at Moxxie, her usual cocky demeanor softened. "Mox, we've all done things we regret, but now's your chance to make it right," she said, her tone unusually sincere. "We're all in this together kiddo."
Loona snarled, her protective streak for Octavia clear. "I don't care who this Mr. Raven is. If he thinks he can hurt Via, he's got another thing coming." She stood up, cracking her knuckles. "Let's go. I'm not letting anyone lay a hand on my tiny bestie."
--
Later that evening, Stella arrived at IMP headquarters, dressed impeccably as usual. Her face was calm, but her eyes held a worry that even her royal demeanor couldn't hide. Blitzø greeted her at the door, an unusual air of professionalism about him as he led her inside.
Stella sat down with the IMP team, recounting the events of the day in a low, steady voice. She explained the mysterious Mr. Raven, the Crimson Crime Family, and their relentless pursuit of Octavia.
Blitzø leaned back in his chair, arms crossed as he listened. "This Raven guy… sounds like a real piece of work. But don't worry, Stella, we'll take care of this. No one messes with my best friend or his family," he said, casting a glance at Stolas, who had joined them.
Stolas gave Blitzø a small smile, remembering their childhood together. Despite everything, he trusted Blitzø and his team to get the job done.
"I'm sorry to put this burden on you," Stolas said, his voice tinged with gratitude. "But Octavia… she means everything to me. I'll do whatever it takes to keep her safe, but I can't do it alone."
Verosika leaned forward, her eyes softening as she looked at Stella and Stolas. "I get it," she said quietly. "I've got a daughter too. Loona means the world to me. When you're a parent, you'll do anything to protect your kid."
Stella nodded, a rare vulnerability showing through. "I never imagined someone would go this far. But Mr. Raven… he's a threat we can't ignore. I need your help to keep my family safe."
Moxxie, still haunted by his past involvement with the Crimson Crime Family, spoke up. "I'll do whatever I can, Stella," he vowed. "I know those bastards all too well. I won't let them anywhere near Via again."
Blitzø clapped his hands, his usual cocky grin returning. "Alright, team, you heard the lady. We've got a job to do. Let's make sure this Raven creep and his goons regret ever messing with the Goetia family."
As they planned their next move, Loona paced restlessly, her tail swishing behind her. Her protective instincts for Octavia were kicking into high gear, and she wasn't going to let anyone get near her best friend.
"I'll tear them apart if they even look at Via the wrong way," she muttered under her breath.
--
The night stretched on as Stella, Stolas, and the IMP team prepared for what was to come. The stakes were high, and the danger was real, but with Blitzø and his crew at their side, the Goetia family had hope.
Stolas looked down at his grimoire, his mind whirling with spells and protections, while Stella kept a close eye on Octavia, ensuring her daughter stayed safe and unaware of the true threat lurking just beyond their sight.
But one thing was clear: Mr. Raven had made a grave mistake targeting the Goetia family. With IMP in their corner, they would make sure this mysterious adversary learned the true meaning of fear.
The I.M.P team went with Stolas and Stella back to their manor, Stella tucking Via in, Loona curled up to her tiny bestie protectively to the unaware Via though it was just a sleepover and Loona was like the softest stuffed animal cradling Via.
Stella sadly smiling, a tad teary eyed at seeing her wonderful little Owlette sleeping soundly, she lamented however that Stolas had to save her, that even being the legendary *Demon in White* meant little to Mr.Raven.
Stella sat by the window, her gaze fixed on the stars twinkling above the night-shrouded landscape. The faint murmur of voices carried over from where Stolas spoke with Blitzø and the others, their conversation focused on protective charms, barrier spells, and the arcane safeguards they planned to implement. Stolas, ever the master of magic, was explaining the intricacies of giving them access keys to the wards he would place over the estate. But Stella wasn't listening. She felt like a guest in her own home, an outsider among those who understood the complexities of power—both political and magical.
The glass of wine in her hand felt cool against her talons, but it did little to soothe the turmoil stirring inside her. The stars, once symbols of elegance and serenity, now seemed distant and indifferent, their beauty mocking her insignificance. As she sat there, lost in her thoughts, Verosika stepped over, offering her a bottle.
"Wine? Sorry if it's not the fancy shit you like," Verosika said, her usual teasing edge softened by the weight of the situation, though there was still a slight edge to her voice, but not the cruel kind—more curious than anything.
Stella took the glass without hesitation, bringing it to her beak and taking a few sips. "It's fine," she muttered, her voice distant, eyes still lost in the abyss of the night sky.
Verosika, noticing the tension in the air, nudged Stella's arm. "So, how come you're not talking tactics and magic with Stolas and Blitzo, huh, Mrs. Goetia?" she teased lightly, trying to stir some life into the usually sharp-tongued noblewoman. "Mrs. Goetia too good for that kinda thing?" There was a playful nudge to her words, but it carried a note of genuine curiosity, maybe even disbelief.
Stella gave a humorless chuckle. "I don't bother with that," she said, her tone hollow. "I've never been much of a deep thinker, and I don't possess any magic at all. That's all Stolas. I don't even have my own title—just a pretty face to be married off, as it were."
Verosika blinked, genuinely surprised by the raw honesty in Stella's words. The "Demon in White of House Stolas," the "Goetian Lady Bird of Prey," had a reputation in protection services as being a formidable presence—one who could command respect without lifting a talon and shred the most dangerous foe to ribbons, she had built a picture of a fierce, cunning warrior—someone who was cold, calculating, and dangerous. Hearing this vulnerable confession, this quiet resignation, wasn't what she expected.
Verosika had always assumed Stella possessed some magical abilities or held some fancy title, given her family's notoriety. But here she was, sounding more like a woman trapped in a gilded cage than the feared noble she was rumored to be.
"You don't have any magic?" Verosika asked, still processing the admission. "But… I thought—"
Stella cut her off with a bitter laugh. "No magic, no title, no power. My brother, Andrelphus, holds all the cards in the family. He's the marquis, thanks to his wheeling and dealing. We were originally low nobility, you know? That's why I was married off to Stolas as part of some arrangement. It was never about me." Her words were filled with venom, but the target of her ire seemed to be her own life, her own fate. She chugged the entire glass of wine and held out her hand for the bottle, motioning for more.
As Verosika refilled her glass, Stella's thoughts drifted back to her past, to the day her life had been mapped out for her by her cold, calculating family. The day her future as a pawn was sealed.
--
~13 Years Ago
A young Stella stood in her family's grand parlor, her feather-like hair tied into tight pigtails with pink bows, wearing an elaborate pink, white, and black gown that restricted her every movement. Her talons, still coated in the blood of one of the family's pet quieves, her face likewise smudged as she trembled slightly as she was ushered in front of her mother and brother. She had just strangled the quieve in a fit of impulsive rage after her brother, Andrelphus, had fed one of her favorite dolls to the creature. She had been caught red-handed—literally.
"Mother, it's not my fault!" Stella pleaded, her voice shaking. "Andy fed Mrs. Pourquoi to Iggy, and I simply had no choice but to—"
Her mother raised a hand, cutting Stella off before she could finish her sentence. "I don't care about that, honestly. I can barely tell those little whelps apart," she said dismissively. Her tone was cold, her eyes bored. "This is far more important, Cruela."
Stella blinked. "It's… Stella, Mother," she corrected, feeling a familiar pang of hurt at how easily her own name was forgotten.
"Right, right, Della, whatever," her mother continued, waving her hand as if Stella's name was of no consequence. "The point is, your darling brother has finally secured an engagement for you. And a simple-minded, powerless brute like you has hit the jackpot. It's one of Paimon's spawn—a real brass ring."
Her mother Elsa, tall and imposing, handed a photograph to Andrealphus, who smirked as he approached Stella. "Here you go, darling sister," he said, thrusting the image into her hands. It was a portrait of a young Stolas, standing stiffly beside his father, Paimon.
"That's him," Andrealphus continued. "Your future husband."
Stella's heart sank as she stared down at it. A solemn, serious-looking young Stolas stood next to his father, both dressed in black. Stolas looked absolutely detached, his eyes vacant, his expression utterly miserable and seeming entirely uninterested in the world around him.
"Um… he seems nice, I suppose?" Stella said hesitantly, tilting her head as she tried to make sense of the lifeless boy in the photo.
"That's irrelevant," her mother snapped. "You are to marry him and sire an heir as soon as you're of marrying age. It is your duty to this family—the only way a worthless, dimwitted little cow like you can be of any use, Sheila."Her voice was sharp, cutting Stella down like she was nothing more than an object.
Stella's mouth went dry. "It's Stella," she whispered again, but the words were swallowed by the void of indifference around her.
Andrelphus chuckled darkly. "Yes, dear sister. Do try to make a good first impression. He will be visiting this weekend, and you'd best clean your room yourself this time. You'll need to get used to cooking and cleaning so you have something to offer the prince beyond your cretinous wit." He patted her head mockingly, a sinister glint in his eye. "And do ask the maids which side of the scrub brush to use. We wouldn't want you embarrassing the family further, Best get used to it—remember you'll need to know how to cook, clean and sew if you want to offer him anything worthwhile beyond that empty head of yours." Andrealphus reiterating his belittling as if she was too slow to get it the first time.
Stella stood there, humiliated and defeated, as her brother and mother walked away. She was left holding the photograph of the boy she was to marry—a boy who, like her, seemed to be trapped in a life he had no control over.
--
Back in the present, Stella downed another glass of wine, the bitter liquid burning down her throat. She could still feel the weight of her family's expectations bearing down on her, the constant reminder that she was nothing more than a pawn—an ornament to be used for political gain.
Verosika watched her closely, uncharacteristically quiet. She had poked fun at Stella earlier, but now she saw something deeper—an ache, a desperation hidden beneath layers of bitterness and aristocratic pride.
"You've never had a choice, have you?" Verosika asked, her voice softer than Stella had ever heard it.
Stella looked at her, eyes glazed with both alcohol and the pain of her memories. "No," she said, her voice cracking. "I've never had a choice. I've always been trapped… a bird in a gilded cage."
Verosika nodded slowly. "But you're still here, fighting for your family," she said, offering a small, rare gesture of comfort. "That counts for something, doesn't it?"
Stella looked away, her heart heavy. She didn't know if it did. All she knew was that, for the first time in a long while, she felt utterly powerless. Not even the stars could guide her tonight.
Stella stared blankly out of the window as the murmur of conversation floated behind her. Stolas, Blitz, and the others were still deep in discussion, talking tactics, protection spells, and barrier charms. Their words faded into white noise as she lost herself in the stars, letting the cool silence of the night sky calm the storm in her chest.
Stella glanced at the glass for a moment before accepting more. She put it to her beak and took a slow sip. The bitter taste of the drink matched her mood, filling the void but doing little to dull the ache. "It's fine," she replied, her voice soft, almost distant.
Stella drained the glass and held it out, motioning for the bottle. Verosika poured more without hesitation, sensing something raw and painful being unearthed.
"I remember it like it was yesterday," Stella muttered, her eyes glazing over as the past crept into her mind.
The memories flooded back as Stella sat there, still staring at the stars. "I hated that time," she muttered, more to herself than to Verosika. "I felt like a failure. They always made me feel like I wasn't good enough. That I wasn't smart enough. That I didn't belong."
Verosika looked at her, unsure of what to say. There was a depth to Stella that she hadn't expected—a kind of quiet, hidden pain beneath the cold, regal mask she wore so well.
"And then, when I finally met Stolas..." Stella trailed off, lost again in her memories.
--
13 years ago, The First Meeting
The sun had barely risen when young Stolas arrived at the Goetia estate. He looked as dapper as any prince, dressed in dark formal attire, clutching a book under his arm. His eyes, however, were distant, like he was already wishing to be somewhere else.
Stella scowled as she scrubbed furiously at the grease-stained stove in the family kitchen, her feathers covered in soot. Her "bridal training" was a farce. She knew it, and everyone else knew it too. But her mother insisted. You must be a perfect little doll, Stella, her mother's words echoed in her head as she scrubbed. You're only as good as the role you fulfill for this family.
Stella had no interest in being anyone's doll, least of all Stolas's. She hadn't even met the boy, and already she resented him for the role he represented in her life. An arranged marriage? To some royal brat she didn't even know? It was absurd.
Her mother's voice cut through the air. "Stella! You're wanted in the grand hall!" Elsa's tone was sharp, impatient.
Stella dropped the cloth and ran to the hall, not bothering to clean the grease from her face or straighten her crooked gown. She was already in a foul mood.
Stella rushed downstairs, her gown crooked and smudged with grease from the kitchen. She had been up all night, forced into "bridal training." Cooking, cleaning, sewing, even balancing a book on her head—it was all a disaster. She was terrible at each task, her temper flaring with every mistake.
She stumbled into the hall, her heart pounding with anxiety. Stolas stared at her, his eyes wide with shock at the sight of this disheveled girl. Was this the noblewoman he was supposed to marry? A sloppy mess?
"This is Bella," her mother said dismissively. "Despite appearances, she is... dutiful."
Stella mumbled under her breath, "It's Stella."
Stella's face flushed red with irritation. It's Stella, she thought, but knew better than to correct her mother every time. She curtsied awkwardly, her eyes darting to Stolas. He looked at her for a brief moment, his eyes wide with uncertainty. He clearly wasn't expecting the disheveled girl standing before him.
"Er, yes... um, hello," Stolas mumbled, bowing slightly. He was trying to be polite, but the mess on Stella's face, the crooked gown, and the overall chaos of her appearance made him... uncomfortable.
Stella could sense his discomfort immediately, and it made her blood boil. What? Does he think he's better than me? Just because he's a prince? Her feathers ruffled with irritation.
She awkwardly smiled as she to curtsy again, but Andrealphus gave her a shove, sending her tumbling into Stolas.
"Oh, such a clumsy girl," Andrealphus sneered. "Why don't you show the prince your nice clean room? Maybe bake him something tasty?" His mockery hung in the air like a bad joke, and Stella felt her face burn with humiliation.
--
Present Day
Stella sighed, her talons tapping the rim of her glass. "I was a mess back then," she whispered. "I felt so small, so useless. But now... now I want to be something more for him."
Verosika raised an eyebrow. "For Stolas?"
Stella nodded, a new kind of determination hardening her voice. "I want to be the dagger that pierces his enemies and the shield that protects his back. I love him, despite everything. I just... I want to make things right."
Verosika took a long sip of her wine, staring at Stella for a moment before nodding. "Well, shit. Guess there's more to you than I thought, bird lady."
Stella allowed herself a small smile, but her gaze remained on the stars. She wasn't done fighting—not for Stolas, not for herself.
Stella's grip on the empty wine bottle tightened as she finished the last drop, setting it down with a heavy clink on the table. She stared at the bottle, a frown creeping onto her face. She wasn't drunk—not yet—but the dull warmth creeping through her body did nothing to soothe the frustration and emptiness swirling inside her.
"Got another one?" she asked, glancing at Verosika, who looked both impressed and slightly concerned.
"Damn, you put that away quick," Verosika replied, eyes wide with surprise as she handed Stella another bottle from the rack. "I thought you prissy nobles sipped your drinks, not guzzled them like water."
Stella snorted, not in the mood to be dignified. "If you spent as much time in my head as I do, you'd need to guzzle, too."
Verosika handed her the fresh bottle but stayed silent this time, leaning against the window sill. There was a glint of curiosity in her eyes as she watched Stella uncork it and take another hearty swig.
Across the room, Stolas glanced up from the meeting. His eyes flickered with concern as he watched his wife. Stella was never particularly subtle when something was bothering her. The way her feathers ruffled, the way she kept her distance from the group—it was like watching a storm cloud hover just outside the window, threatening to break at any moment, another obvious sign was the drinking. He hated seeing her drink. She was a depressing drunk. He wanted to go to her, wanted to pull her into his arms, ask her what was wrong. But the discussion around him continued, pulling him back to reality.
He would talk to her later. Right now, the tactical meeting was crucial.
But Stella... she was already drifting, lost again in the bitter memories of her childhood.
--
13 years ago, deep in the Elsa manor
Stella glared at her brother but forced a smile, turning to Stolas. "Fine. Let me show you around."
--
The tour through the mansion was nothing short of disastrous.
"These are my horse figurines," Stella said proudly, gesturing to the collection on her shelf. "I collect them. Aren't they pretty?" Stella's eyes wide in joy, stars practically shining as she picked one up doing *neighs*.
Stolas blinked, staring at the small horses, unsure how to respond. He wasn't interested in horses. He wasn't interested in any of this. He had been taught to study the arcane arts, stars, the magic of the cosmos, and the intricacies of botany, not trivial things like toys or tea sets. He smiled weakly, trying to be polite, but the awkward silence hung between them like a heavy fog.
Stella narrowed her eyes, mistaking his disinterest for judgment. He thinks I'm stupid. He thinks this is all beneath him.
She dragged him from room to room, showing off her doll collection, her self made paintings, and even her special tea sets and rare teas, trying to impress him, but Stolas barely said a word. He wasn't sure how to respond. The whole situation was overwhelming.
Finally, they sat down in the parlor, the tension between them thick.
"You must think you're so important, huh?" Stella blurted out suddenly, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Prince of a high Goetia house. Too good for dolls and horse figurines?"
Stolas blinked, startled by her sudden outburst. "I-I didn't say that," he stammered, clutching his book tighter.
"You didn't have to," Stella muttered under her breath, crossing her arms. She was defensive, her temper flaring. She was always quick to anger, especially when she felt looked down upon.
Stolas shifted uncomfortably in his seat, unsure how to navigate the situation. He didn't understand why she was so angry. He didn't mean to upset her—he was just... scared. Everything about this marriage arrangement frightened him, and Stella's fiery personality only added to his anxiety.
--
Present Day
Stella swallowed another mouthful of wine, feeling the heat of embarrassment rising in her chest as she thought back to how foolish she had been. She'd seen Stolas as some spoiled prince back then, too detached to care about anyone but himself. But now? She knew better.
"Funny, isn't it?" she muttered to Verosika, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. "I used to think he was so stuck up. Turns out, he was just scared. Just like me."
Verosika arched an eyebrow. "Scared? Stolas? Come on."
Stella shook her head. "You don't know him like I do. He's... soft. He always was. I thought it made him weak. But now I see it's just... who he is." She glanced over at Stolas, her heart aching. "He's strong in ways I'll never be."
Verosika took a swig from her own bottle, watching as Stella's gaze softened. "You love him," she said, more a statement than a question.
Stella nodded, her voice barely above a whisper. "I do. But I can't protect him. Not the way I want to. I feel... useless."
"You don't seem useless to me," Verosika replied, her voice surprisingly gentle.
Stella chuckled darkly. "I want to be more than just a pretty face. I want to be the one person he can rely on, the one who makes all his and Via's troubles go *poof*." She looked down at her hands, the talons that had never quite learned how to sew or cook or clean, but could wield weapons with terrifying precision. "But all I've ever been is a disaster."
Stolas, still glancing at Stella from across the room, felt the weight of their past hanging between them. He wanted to go to her, wanted to hold her, to tell her that she was more than she thought she was. But right now, the meeting held him captive. There would be time later—there had to be.
For now, Stella chugged more wine, the bitterness of the drink matching the ache in her chest as she waited, hoping that somehow, she could become the protector she longed to be.
Stella's grip tightened around the wine bottle as she felt the burn of the alcohol hit her throat, her thoughts spiraling deeper into the past and her tangled emotions about Stolas. She couldn't help but think about all the moments she had misunderstood him, how she'd spent so many years resenting him for things that weren't even his fault. It seemed so childish now, looking back on it.
She remembered how she used to think of him as weak—soft. Yet as time passed, she realized his quiet, thoughtful nature wasn't weakness. Stolas was patient, kind, and yes, sometimes timid, but he had a strength of spirit that she'd come to admire, even love. And that scared her more than anything. She wasn't built like that. She was violent, impulsive, and angry. Always angry.
Her fingers absentmindedly traced the rim of her glass as she let her thoughts continue to spiral.
"You know, I used to hate him," Stella confessed, her voice low. Verosika leaned in, intrigued by the sudden vulnerability. "Hated him for how perfect he always seemed. For how... well put together he was. Like he never had to try how he was better than me in every way." She scoffed. "Meanwhile, I was this... this disaster. Always getting yelled at by my mother. Always failing at the stupid 'housewife' things they wanted me to do."
Verosika raised an eyebrow. "You? A housewife? Yeah, I'm having trouble seeing it," she teased, though her tone wasn't harsh.
Stella let out a bitter laugh. "Exactly. I was never meant for that life. Never meant to be the pretty little housewife they tried to mold me into. I'm... I'm not built that way. But Stolas... he always made me feel like that was all I could be."
She swirled the wine in her glass, the liquid reflecting the dim lights of the room. "But now... gods, now I just want to protect him. I want to be the one thing in his life that isn't fragile. Something strong. Something that can save him when the time comes." Her voice wavered, betraying the frustration bubbling just beneath the surface. "But all I've ever been is... this. A mess."
Verosika studied her for a moment before replying. "You know, we all feel like that sometimes. Like we're not enough. But Stolas—" She glanced over to where he was sitting, deep in conversation with the others at the meeting. "—I think he needs you in ways you don't even realize. You're his chaos. His fire. You think that's a bad thing?"
Stella's eyes flicked up, meeting Verosika's gaze. She hadn't thought of it like that before. But still, the doubt gnawed at her. "I don't know if I'm enough," she muttered, mostly to herself. "Not for him. Not for Octavia."
Verosika shrugged, downing the rest of her own drink. "Maybe not in the way you think, but you're not supposed to be some perfect wife, Stella. You're a fighter. And I bet, if you ask Stolas, he'd say that's exactly what he needs."
--
Across the room, Stolas couldn't focus. His eyes kept drifting back to Stella, the concern in his chest growing stronger with each passing minute. He could see the way she held herself, how her shoulders sagged just slightly, and the way her eyes, even from this distance, seemed clouded with something heavy.
He knew her well enough to recognize when something was wrong, and right now, she looked like she was drowning. His heart ached for her, for the years of miscommunication, the misunderstandings, the bitterness that had piled up between them like an unscalable wall.
Maybe I've failed her, Stolas thought bitterly. He had always been gentle, always tried to avoid conflict, but maybe that had only driven them further apart. He loved her—he always had. But it was complicated now, tangled with years of hurt neither of them fully knew how to unravel.
As the meeting dragged on, Stolas' mind kept wandering. He thought back to that first meeting when they were children, the awkwardness, the confusion, and the way Stella had looked at him like he was some spoiled brat.
Maybe I was, he admitted to himself. Maybe I didn't try hard enough to understand her back then.
But that was the past, and right now, all he wanted was to reach across the room, pull her into his arms, and tell her that she wasn't alone. That she didn't have to be perfect, didn't have to fit into some mold her mother had crafted for her.
He needed her. Needed her fire, her strength, her passion. She had been his partner through every storm, and even when they didn't understand each other, she had never left his side. And now? Now, he was afraid he'd failed her by not being the husband she needed.
But there would be time to talk later. There had to be.
--
Stella took another long drink, the wine barely dulling the ache in her chest. She knew Stolas was watching her. She could feel his eyes on her, filled with that quiet concern he always had. And it pissed her off.
Not because she didn't want him to care—she did. But because no matter how much he cared, she couldn't shake the feeling that she was always falling short. That she was never quite enough for him, or for Octavia.
"I hate this," she muttered, setting the wine bottle down with a sharp clang. "I hate feeling like I'm always one step behind. Like I'm not doing enough."
Verosika sighed, tilting her head in thought. "Maybe it's not about what you can do for him," she said softly. "Maybe it's about who you are."
Stella frowned, not fully understanding. "What do you mean?"
"Stolas doesn't need you to be perfect," Verosika said. "He needs you to be you. The wild, reckless, angry you. That's what makes you strong, Stella. And if you're always trying to fit into some box someone else made for you, you're never gonna feel like you're enough."
Stella opened her mouth to argue but stopped. Verosika's words cut deeper than she wanted to admit. Maybe she's right, she thought, her fingers drumming against the table. Maybe it wasn't about being perfect. Maybe it was about accepting who she was and realizing that Stolas loved her not despite her flaws, but because of them.
But still, the doubt lingered.
Stolas, across the room, stood up as the meeting drew to a close. His eyes met Stella's for a brief, heart-stopping moment. There was something unspoken in his gaze, something tender and full of unvoiced emotion.
Coming love, he mouthed to her. His long legs striding towards her.
Stella nodded, her heart pounding in her chest.
Stolas gently cradled Stella in his arms, her head resting against his shoulder. The warmth of his feathers and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat offered a comforting solace to her frayed nerves. Stella, in her inebriated state, tried to fight back the tears, but the alcohol and the weight of her emotions made it difficult. Her hiccups came in short bursts, each one a testament to her fragile state of vulnerability.
"I love you so much, Stolas," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. Her eyes, though glazed with tears, looked up at him with a deep, unguarded affection. The admission was raw, unfiltered, and it broke through the walls she had so carefully built around herself.
Stolas, ever the supportive partner, sighed contentedly. His large hands stroked her back soothingly. "There, there, my lovebird," he murmured softly, his voice a gentle caress. "My sweet bird of prey, my fiery partner." He smiled as he continued to cradle her, holding her close against his chest. "This is why you shouldn't drink too much, you know. It makes you a mess... but a lively mess, nonetheless."
With tender care, he adjusted his hold, lifting her slightly to carry her more comfortably. "Let's get you back to our room," he said gently. "If Via woke up and saw her mummy acting this silly, she'd never let you live it down."
Stella's eyes fluttered closed as she rested against him, her body relaxing into the embrace. Her thoughts drifted back to another night, years earlier, one of the many moments that had shaped her feelings for Stolas.
The memory was vivid, as if it had happened only yesterday.
They were teenagers at the Hell Chasm Range of Wrath, a majestic expanse of jagged rock formations and tumultuous skies. Stella had been determined to impress Stolas, to show him that she was more than just a pretty face. She had taken on horseback riding across the treacherous terrain, a challenge she had underestimated in her eagerness to prove herself.
The ride had started well enough, with Stella trying to maintain a dignified air as she guided the horse across the rugged landscape jumping over obstacles and striding gallantly Stella dressed in a white and red Equestrian outfit. But as the horse reared and bucked, Stella's grip faltered. She was thrown violently, landing awkwardly against the harsh ground with a sharp, stinging pain shooting through her leg.
The pain was intense, and she lay there, helpless and disoriented. Her pride and self-worth felt as shattered as her leg. As she struggled to sit up, tears streaming down her face, Stolas had appeared—his face a mixture of concern and determination having finally caught up to her.
Without hesitation, he had dismounted and rushed to her side. His hands, though gentle, were firm and sure as he assessed her injuries. "Hold still," he instructed softly, his voice a calm anchor amidst her storm of pain and embarrassment.
Using his knowledge of medicinal plants and herbs, Stolas had expertly fashioned a splint for her broken leg. He had then lifted her with surprising ease, his strength and care evident in every move he made. Stella had leaned heavily on him, her arm draped over his shoulder as he carried her back to the villa.
The journey had been long, but Stolas's unwavering presence and gentle reassurances had eased her fears. He had treated her injuries with the utmost care, using all his botanical knowledge to craft medicines and staying by her side through the long nights of recovery. His kindness and dedication had struck a deep chord within her—a realization of the depth of his compassion and the strength of his character.
In that vulnerable, pain-filled moment, Stella had fallen in love with Stolas. It was his kindness, his unwavering support, and the way he had cared for her without judgment or hesitation. It was then that she had decided to become strong, not just for herself, but for him. She wanted to be his shield, to stand by his side and protect him as he had protected her.
As the memory faded, Stella's gaze softened, her thoughts returning to the present. She looked up at Stolas, her heart swelling with the same deep affection she had felt that day.
"You know," she mumbled, her voice still a bit slurred but filled with sincerity, "I never really got to thank you for that. For everything."
Stolas smiled down at her, his eyes warm and filled with love. "You don't have to thank me for anything," he said softly. "I would do it all over again, a thousand times, just to see you safe and happy."
He carried her with the same care and devotion that had marked that long-ago night, moving slowly and steadily as he made his way toward their room. Stella nestled against him, feeling the steady beat of his heart and the warmth of his feathers.
In his embrace, she found solace and a renewed sense of purpose. She knew that no matter how uncertain or inadequate she felt, Stolas saw her for who she truly was. And that was enough. For now, she allowed herself to lean on him, to be the clumsy, messy, imperfect soul she was.
As they reached their room, Stolas gently set her down on the bed, covering her with a soft blanket. He sat beside her, his hand still holding hers, a comforting presence in the quiet of the night.
"Get some rest," he whispered, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "We have a lot to face ahead, but we'll face it together."
Stella's eyes fluttered closed, the weight of the day lifting from her shoulders. In Stolas's embrace, she felt a peace she hadn't known in years. She allowed herself to drift into sleep, knowing that with him by her side, she could face whatever challenges lay ahead.
To be continued…..