When Deep Love Becomes a Funeral Song

I caught my fiancé cheating with his ex in our bedroom—twins on the nightstand proved it had been going on for a year.

The alchemy vial slipped from my trembling fingers, shattering against the stone floor. There they were: Kaelen, the youngest Archmage on the continent, tangled in silk sheets with Lyra Elessar, the high-elf noble he'd supposedly rejected for me.

But it was the glowing parchment on the nightstand that destroyed me completely—a bloodline registry declaring him father to one-year-old twins.

I'd sacrificed my magic core to save his life three years ago, becoming powerless while he used that second chance to build a secret family. Every "council meeting," every "emergency" had been a lie to visit them.

When Lyra saw me, she didn't even flinch. She just smiled and said, "Looks like we're caught."

The humiliation burned hotter than heartbreak. I fled to the black market that very night, seeking the Death Merchant's ultimate service—complete disappearance. 

"Seven days to prepare the ritual," he told me.

Seven days until I could vanish forever. Seven days to decide what the naive girl who'd loved him deserved as her final gift to herself.

...

My alchemy experiment finished three hours early. I wiped the soot from my cheek, gripping the newly stabilized mana vial in my hand, and hurried up the spiral stairs of the Mage Tower. I wanted to surprise Kaelen.

I pushed open the heavy oak door to our master bedroom.

The glass vial slipped from my fingers. It shattered against the cold stone floor, spilling glowing blue liquid across the rug.

They didn't even stop. Kaelen, my perfect fiancé, the youngest Archmage in the continent, was pinned to our soul-bond bed. Tangled in the silk sheets with him was Lyra Elessar, the high-elf noble.

My eyes darted to the nightstand. A glowing parchment rested next to Kaelen’s wand—a magical bloodline registry. The golden runes burned into my retinas.

Twins. Father: Kaelen Thorne. Age: One year.

One year. He had been a father for a whole year.

Lyra shifted, resting her chin on Kaelen’s bare chest. She didn't bother pulling the sheets up. She looked at me, her pointed ears twitching with amusement. Her lips curled into a slow, lazy smirk.

"Looks like we're caught," she whispered.

Kaelen snapped his head toward the door. The color instantly drained from his face. He shoved Lyra aside and scrambled off the bed, frantically grabbing for his trousers.

"Elara!" he choked out, his voice cracking with panic. "Wait!"

I didn't wait. The air in the room suddenly suffocated me. I spun around and ran.

My breath tore out of my throat in ragged gasps. I hit the grand staircase too fast. My foot caught the edge of the marble runner. I tumbled down the last five steps, hitting the landing hard.

Flesh tore. My knees slammed into the sharp stone, splitting the skin wide open. Warm blood immediately soaked through the fabric of my dress.

I looked up. Half a dozen servants stood in the grand foyer. The head butler, the maids, the armed guards. They stared at me on the floor, then quickly looked away, their faces burning with awkward pity.

They knew. They all knew.

The humiliation burned hotter than the open wounds on my knees. I scrambled to my feet, ignoring the stinging pain, and shoved past them. I burst through the heavy iron doors into the fading daylight.

The evening air hit my face, but it did nothing to cool the fire in my chest. I stumbled into the back garden and collapsed onto the wooden swing under the silver-leaf tree. The very swing Kaelen built for me the day he proposed.

The ropes creaked violently under my weight. I gripped them until my knuckles turned white, and finally, the tears spilled over.

I sobbed. Hot, furious, desperate tears that clawed at my throat.

My chest throbbed with a sickening phantom pain. Three years ago, I ripped my own magic core out of my body to save him from a dark curse. I gave up my magic. I became a mundane, a worthless cripple in this power-obsessed world, all so his heart would keep beating.

And he used that beating heart to father children with an elf.

A soft rustle of grass broke the silence. A young maid stood a few feet away, holding a silver tray with a healing potion and some bread.

She looked at my bloody knees, her voice trembling. "Madam? Do you need us to do anything for you?"

I wiped my face with the back of my hand, smearing dirt and tears across my cheeks. "Nothing."

She set the tray down on a stone bench and scurried away, eager to escape the heavy gravity of my grief.

I sat there as the sun died. The garden plunged into complete darkness.

Gravel crunched under heavy boots. Kaelen stopped in front of the swing. He looked frantic, his hair a mess, his shirt improperly buttoned. He reached out to touch my shoulder.

I flinched away violently.

"Elara, please," he begged. "It’s not what you think. I can explain everything."

I looked up at him. The man I destroyed myself for.

"I saw exactly what it is," I said. My voice shook, but the words cut through the dark like glass. "You don't need to explain."

He didn't know what to do with my bluntness. He hovered in the dark, stammering out half-truths and desperate apologies until the cold night air forced him to carry me inside to a guest room. He locked the door, sat in the armchair beside the bed, and eventually fell into an exhausted sleep.

I didn't sleep. The moment his breathing evened out, I grabbed a dark cloak from the wardrobe.

I slipped out the window, sliding down the stone trellis into the shadows.

The Undercity black market reeked of sulfur and rotting magic. I pulled my hood low, but the magical street lanterns illuminated my face as I approached the inner gates.

Two armored guards crossed their halberds, blocking my path. One leaned in, his eyes widening in recognition.

"The Archmage's wife?" he sneered, though confusion laced his harsh tone. "What are you doing down in the grime, Madam?"

I didn't speak. I pulled a solid gold ingot from my pocket and tossed it at his chest. He caught it, his sneer vanishing instantly, and stepped aside.

I walked into the damp alley and found the unmarked iron door. The Death Merchant sat behind a rotting wooden counter, surrounded by jars of preserved organs and cursed artifacts.

I slammed my hands on the counter. "I want to disappear. Completely. No one finds me."

The merchant leaned forward. The magical firelight caught his scarred face. He stared at my red, swollen eyes, the dried blood on my skirt, and the violent trembling of my hands.

"Looks like a massive mess," he grunted, tapping a long nail against the wood. "A total soul-severing and physical wipe? That takes time. Seven days to prep the ritual."

"Seven days," I muttered.

I stared at the cursed flames in the corner of the shop. The sharp, agonizing sting of betrayal still tore at my chest, but something else began to take root beneath the pain.

If I had to wait seven days... I wasn't just going to sit in that guest room and cry while he lied to my face.

I looked down at my scarred hands. I gave up everything for him. I wasn't going to let my final week be a pathetic, silent retreat. I wanted to do something for myself. Not for revenge. But to honor the brilliant girl who once had a magic core, and the woman who was about to take her life back.