𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐢𝐧𝐯𝐨𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐝
IANSA SERENITY
SERENA'S MATERNAL GRANDMOTHER, AND THE FOUNDER OF THE SERENITY HOTEL.


The air shifted the moment Lady Iansa crossed the threshold. The soft click of her heels echoed with an authority that needed no introduction. She didn't walk into a room; she claimed it.
"Really, the two of you," she sighed, waving her gloved hand as though brushing away invisible dust. "Every time I visit, it feels as though I've stepped into a snowstorm. Must Serenity's heirs always glare at each other like dueling knights?"
Eiser's jaw tightened, his polite composure returning with mechanical precision. "Mother." The word came out clipped, respectful but laced with exhaustion.
I inclined my head, the trained smile of a dutiful daughter-in-law curving my lips. "Lady Iansa. It's… an unexpected pleasure."
Her eyes darted between us—his cold restraint, my restrained defiance. She saw more than either of us said aloud; she always did.
"Unexpected, yes. But I fear I must intrude," she said, her tone deceptively light. "Word travels fast in this family, and I hear my dear son has decided to… prune the Honorary Committee?"
Eiser's silence was confirmation enough.
Lady Iansa's fan snapped open with a soft click, the jeweled edge catching the light like a blade. "So," she murmured, "you've undone what your grandmother built, and your wife signed it, no less."
My pulse quickened. She knew.
Her gaze turned to me, unreadable. "Tell me, my dear, was this your idea—or merely your compliance?"
Her words sliced through the pretense of civility. I felt the question's weight; she wasn't merely inquiring about a business decision. She was testing my loyalty—to Serenity, to the family, and perhaps even to my role as the woman beside her son.
I met her piercing stare. "It was a decision made for Serenity's survival," I replied evenly. "Tradition is precious, but not if it leads to decay."
For a heartbeat, silence reigned. Then, to my surprise, Lady Iansa smiled—a slow, sharp smile that revealed nothing but intent.
"Hmm. You sound more like a Serenity than I expected."
Her words weren't praise—they were warning and acknowledgment in one breath.
Eiser's gaze flickered briefly toward me, a mix of surprise and caution in his eyes. It was rare for his mother to offer even that much approval.
Lady Iansa folded her fan, her tone turning deceptively pleasant. "Then I suppose I should stay a few days," she announced. "It seems I've arrived just in time to witness whether Serenity will rise anew—or eat itself alive."
And just like that, the next storm had begun.
I couldn't stand it anymore. Watching them walk together — her hand on his arm — felt like watching history rewrite itself in real time, only this version painted me as the silent, ungrateful heir.
Before I could stop myself, I stepped forward.
"Grandmother."
Both turned. Lady Iansa's smile froze mid-sentence; Eiser's expression flickered with controlled surprise.
"Forgive me for not greeting you sooner," I said, bowing slightly, the formality razor-sharp. "But I wasn't expecting you to arrive on the very day Serenity's oldest tradition was dismantled."
The words landed like a challenge wrapped in silk.
Eiser's jaw tightened, but Lady Iansa's eyes gleamed with quiet amusement.
"Oh, my dear," she purred, "so you did sign that document. I was hoping to hear that from your lips, not the gossiping corridors."
Her tone was light, but her gaze was a test — one that demanded I prove I hadn't simply been handled by her grandson-in-law.
I met her gaze, refusing to flinch. "I signed it because Serenity's survival is more important than sentiment. Even you taught me that, Grandmother."
For a heartbeat, silence.
Then, softly, she smiled.
"Well," she murmured, her eyes flicking toward Eiser. "Perhaps this marriage has made you stronger than I imagined."
But there was something else behind that smile — curiosity, calculation, and a dangerous spark of approval.
The butler closed the heavy doors behind them, shutting me out.
From the hallway, I could hear the faint murmur of their voices — Eiser's low, steady tone, and Lady Iansa's rich, velvety calm.
"She's headstrong," I heard him say. "But she still sees this place through sentiment."
My fingers tightened on the railing outside.
"And you?" Lady Iansa asked, her voice a blend of curiosity and command. "Do you see it through profit?"
Silence. Then his voice again, quieter this time. "I see it as something that must endure. Even if it means cutting away what's rotting."
"Good," she said. "Then perhaps you're not the villain my granddaughter believes you are."
I froze. My heart hammered at the sound of my own name, of her subtle approval of him — the man I swore she'd never trust.
Whatever my grandmother had brought, whatever she had come to "give" him — it wasn't just a token of affection. It was an invitation.
An alliance.
Eiser led Lady Iansa Serenity away, their figures receding into the opulent depths of the receiving hall. They looked like the perfect pair of allies — a tableau of elegance and composure that felt like a deliberate insult. Every step they took together burned in my chest like an open flame.
From the balcony above, I stood motionless, my hands gripping the rail so tightly that my knuckles whitened. The silk of my purple gown shimmered under the golden chandeliers, catching the faint tremor in my fingers. The dress had once made me feel invincible — a symbol of composure and control — but now it felt like a thin veil over the storm raging inside me.
Eiser's composure, his immaculate restraint, infuriated me. He was too calm — the way men are when they believe the world already belongs to them.
He just had to hand me the most ridiculous document ever.
The memory replayed in a vicious loop: Eiser, with that signature smile that never reached his eyes, sliding the contract across my desk. His voice had been silk wrapped around a dagger — polite, logical, and utterly merciless.
"A strategic revision," he had called it.
But I knew better. It wasn't strategy. It was sabotage.
"He said he would cut off all the privileges that we're offering to the Eight Families," I whispered, my own words catching against the hollow ache in my chest. "That man is trying to get rid of the tradition that you and Mother tried so hard to keep."
The Serenity Hotel wasn't just a business — it was the last citadel of legacy. The place where handshakes were stronger than contracts, where loyalty was inherited, not negotiated. Generations had kept those ties intact — fragile, yes, but sacred. Eiser was unraveling it all, thread by thread, like it was nothing more than an outdated custom that got in the way of quarterly profit.
"I suppose he can't see down the road," I muttered bitterly, my gaze locked on him from above. "Because he's too focused on the losses that come every year."
The losses he spoke of weren't losses — they were investments in power, influence, and stability. But to Eiser, everything had a price tag. He was blind to everything that couldn't be measured in currency.
My eyes narrowed. From the balcony, I could see him guiding Lady Iansa with careful respect, his tone perfectly measured, his body language deferential. A calculated performance.
He knew exactly who she was — and exactly how dangerous it would be to underestimate her.
"You've made a huge mistake by meddling with the Eight Families," I whispered, though he couldn't hear me. My voice trembled not with fear, but with resolve.
Because now, I had something he didn't.
My grandmother.
Lady Iansa Serenity — the matriarch of our dynasty, the architect of every alliance the family had ever made — had returned after years of silence. And if there was one thing she despised more than weakness, it was disloyalty to tradition.
She would never forgive Eiser for this.
Do you still think it was a good idea to leave Serenity in his hands? I wondered darkly, the thought almost tasting like vengeance.
The air below suddenly changed — a hush so sharp it silenced even the servants' murmurs. I looked down.
Lady Iansa had stopped walking.
Eiser's hand, once steady at her side, now hung uncertainly in the air. My grandmother's posture was regal, but her expression — calm, sharp, and devastating — carried the unmistakable weight of judgment.
She turned her head slightly, her silver hair glinting under the chandelier's light. Her eyes — the same piercing storm-gray I had inherited — locked onto Eiser with such precision that even from the balcony, I could feel the impact.
The room held its breath.
And then, softly, almost like a prayer that condemned rather than forgave, she spoke:
"Tell me, Eiser," she said, her voice calm but edged with frost, "did I hear correctly? You intend to dismantle the Eight Families' privileges?"
The question fell like a hammer wrapped in velvet.
Eiser did not flinch — but the slightest twitch in his jaw betrayed him.
He met her gaze, and for a moment, the silence stretched between them like a drawn blade. Then he inclined his head with polite arrogance, the faintest smile ghosting his lips.
"Yes, Lady Iansa," he replied evenly. "I believe the time has come to modernize our operations. Sentimentality has no place in business."
The audacity of his words sent a chill down my spine.
He admitted it.
Openly. Before the matriarch herself.
The sheer arrogance of the man — to stand in front of the woman who built this empire and declare her life's work obsolete — was staggering.
From where I stood, the scene felt like a trial. Eiser was the defendant, my grandmother the judge, and I — the silent witness — already knew the verdict.
The battle for the Serenity legacy had begun, and it would not be fought in boardrooms or balance sheets, but in the warzone of loyalty, memory, and pride.
And this time, I wouldn't just be watching from the balcony.
Lady Iansa Serenity turned, her movement graceful yet deliberate, like a curtain drawn to signal the next act. The weight of her question lingered in the air long after her voice had fallen silent. Every eye in the hall watched her — even Eiser's steady composure flickered, if only for a fraction of a second.
"The Eight Families..." she repeated, almost as if tasting the name. Then, unexpectedly, she laughed — a soft, elegant chuckle that was neither mocking nor amused. It was the kind of laugh she used when she'd already decided how the game would end.
"When it comes to them," she mused, her tone dipping into that low, melodic register that once silenced entire boardrooms, "things are so complicated that I didn't even know where to start."
She lifted her gaze to Eiser, her eyes narrowing slightly — not in anger, but in calculation.
"It looks like you've decided to deal with that problem," she said, every word enunciated with chilling precision.
Eiser stood his ground, hands clasped neatly behind his back, the embodiment of corporate civility. "Certainly, Lady Iansa," he replied smoothly, his tone respectful but unwavering. "It was a necessary measure."
Necessary.
The word slashed through me. Necessary, as if centuries of heritage and unspoken alliances could be reduced to a spreadsheet entry.
My grandmother's expression did not waver — and then, just as the air reached breaking point, she smiled.
A single, measured smile.
"Good," she said. The word landed like a verdict, her voice calm, steady, unshaken. "It was something that needed to be done."
For a second, the entire hall seemed to tilt.
Good?
My fingers gripped the balcony railing. The sound of my own heartbeat drowned out the world below.
Good?
The same woman who had once scolded my mother for even suggesting a merger outside the Family Circle? The woman who said loyalty was the only currency that never depreciated?
She had just approved the very act that threatened to erase the Serenity lineage from within.

"…What?"
The whisper escaped before I could stop it. My throat tightened, the word trembling against the stunned silence.
Down below, Eiser inclined his head slightly, his lips curving with polite restraint — but I saw it. That faint spark of triumph. He knew what her approval meant. A blessing from the matriarch herself — a royal seal against all opposition, including me.
Lady Iansa, unaware — or perhaps entirely aware — of my disbelief, adjusted the silk wrap draped over her shoulders. "If we cling to the old ways, we'll only invite decay," she said, almost idly, as if reciting a lesson she'd long since accepted. "Sometimes, to preserve the essence of something, you must destroy what keeps it from changing."
The words struck me harder than any insult could have.
Change. That was Eiser's language, not hers.
Eis

er's hand, steady and rehearsed, came to rest lightly at her back. "Shall we continue this discussion inside?" he suggested gently, steering her toward the archway leading into the inner chambers. His tone was careful, deferential — but I could feel the quiet satisfaction radiating from him.
I could almost hear his thought: Checkmate.
I was still trying to process the betrayal when a sound tore through the tension.
A clear, bright voice — high and joyous.
"GRANDMA!!"
It was a sound so unexpected, so entirely human, that the chill in the hall evaporated in an instant.
A small figure darted through the double doors — a little girl, no older than eight, her dark curls bouncing wildly as she ran across the marble floor. The crimson of her dress glowed like a living flame against the sterile elegance of the hall.
Lady Iansa's transformation was instantaneous. The steel melted from her face; the matriarch vanished, replaced by warmth so uncharacteristic it nearly unmade me.
"My goodness," she exclaimed softly, bending down, her hands opening to receive the child as if the world itself had lightened. "My little ribbon princess. How was ballet today?"
"It's over!" the girl giggled, breathless and shining, clutching a tiny pair of worn slippers in her small hands. "Miss Clara said I did the best twirl!"
I watched, transfixed. The woman who had just dismissed centuries of legacy now smiled as if nothing existed but this small child.
The girl peered curiously at the documents in Lady Iansa's hand. "What's this? Are you studying too, Grandma?"
The innocence in her voice sliced through the tension like sunlight cutting fog.
For a moment, I forgot to breathe. The entire confrontation — the betrayal, the shock, the silent war — all of it seemed to dissolve beneath the sound of childish laughter.
Even Eiser's expression softened, just a fraction. His eyes lingered on the child — and then flicked upward, almost instinctively, toward the balcony where I stood. He knew I was still watching. And I could tell by that faint, knowing glance that he was already thinking how to use this — how to bend even this innocent interruption into a weapon.
Because in the Serenity mansion, even love could be political capital.
I straightened slowly, my mind spinning between disbelief and dread. Whoever that child was — whether kin, guest, or pawn — her arrival had just altered the entire board.
And I could feel it in my bones: the next move would determine everything.
I watched from the balcony as the little girl—my daughter—ran straight into Iansa Serenity's arms. The grand hall, moments ago a stage for high-stakes corporate warfare, was instantly filled with the saccharine scent of domestic bliss.
Iansa Serenity, completely abandoning the discussion with Eiser, scooped up my daughter and settled into a nearby armchair. The child, oblivious to the storm raging around us, pointed to the papers my grandmother held.
"What is this? Are you studying too, Grandma?"
"Why don't you take a look?" Iansa offered, gesturing to the papers on the table. "See what I was doing."
The child peered at the document. "The Hotel... Anniversary... Guest... LIST!!"
Iansa's smile was warm and genuine, completely unlike the calculated expression she wore for Eiser. "It's a very important day, so I was making sure your mother did a good job, sweetie."
"You remember, don't you? That's the day when our family has fun with the guests at our hotel, once a year."
My daughter's eyes lit up. "Yes!! A lot of my friends come that day! That's right. I'm inviting my friends to the hotel too."
I stood above them, leaning heavily on the railing, my knuckles white as I clenched the polished wood. The words echoed my own memory—a memory of the one tradition I had fought hardest to keep, the one thing that still connected me to the family Iansa had helped create. The annual Anniversary party at the Serenity Hotel, where my daughter was always the "ribbon princess" and the only time I truly felt connected to my mother's legacy.
"Ha...! She's definitely gone senile," I seethed, the realization hitting me like a physical blow.
Her approval of Eiser's plan to dismantle the Eight Families, the very families who frequented that event, suddenly made a dreadful kind of sense. She wasn't senile; she was playing a long, cold game.
My voice, fueled by a torrent of frustration and resentment that had been building for years, broke the stillness. I didn't care if Eiser heard. I didn't care if the staff heard. The child's presence was the only thing that gave me pause, but the betrayal was too great to contain.
"EVER SINCE SHE FORCED ME TO MARRY THAT MAN AND LET HIM RUN THE HOUSE AND HOTEL!"
The accusation, loud and raw, exploded in the hall. The air crackled, not just with my rage, but with the sudden burst of thunder and lightning outside.
Eiser, who had been standing near the archway, turned sharply. Lady Iansa, however, did not flinch. She simply looked up at me with an unnervingly calm expression.
I couldn't stand it anymore. I turned and ran.
I pushed open the heavy wooden doors and plunged into the corridor, my long dress swirling around my legs. BURST!
"Frederick! Frederick!!" I screamed, a desperate, warning cry escaping my lips.
The sound of my heels striking the marble faded as I ran toward the rear of the house. Outside, the storm was escalating—lightning flashed, illuminating Eiser sitting alone in a chair by a tall window, a glass of wine resting on a small table.
RUMBLE! POUR!
He was watching the storm, his face a mask of detached contemplation. He knew I was furious. He knew I was broken. But he also knew I had nowhere to run that he wouldn't eventually follow.
I was outside, out in the deluge, the cold rain a shock against my skin, my heart pounding a rhythm of fury and fear. The ground beneath me shook with the thunder. RUMBLE!
I ran until my lungs burned, the sound of my shout—"Frederick!"—still ringing in my ears. The world outside the mansion was dark, illuminated only by the frantic flashes of lightning. I was soaked almost instantly, the thin purple fabric of my dress offering no protection from the rain that was now POURING down.
I didn't stop until I reached the dimly lit annex—the small study I often retreated to, away from the opulence of the main house and the constant presence of Eiser. I threw open the door with a BURST, not caring if I woke the entire wing of the staff.
Frederick, a man with dark, thoughtful eyes and an aura of quiet strength, was already there. He was sitting at the worn wooden desk, the light of a single lamp reflecting in his steady gaze. He saw my drenched, trembling form and rose instantly.
His chair scraped back with a sound like a gasp. He strode toward me. STRIDE. STRIDE.
"I," he said, using my name, his voice low and concerned. "Did something happen—"
I didn't wait for him to finish. I threw myself into his arms, clinging to him desperately. His arms wrapped around me in a powerful, immediate HUG. The warmth of his body was a fragile refuge against the cold rage consuming me.
My whole body was shaking. He didn't ask again; he felt the truth of it in the rapid beat of my heart and the violent TREMBLE that ran through me.
He held me tighter, one hand resting protectively on my back. His concern was gentle, but focused.
"She's trembling," he murmured, his gaze resting on my face. "...Did something happen in the office?"
I pushed my face into his shoulder, the accumulated despair and fury finding voice.
"He's changed everything," I choked out, the words muffled. "Our house, our hotel, and even Grandma."
The final betrayal hurt the most. "I feel like I don't even know my grandmother anymore."
Frederick stroked my hair soothingly, waiting. He knew better than anyone the precariousness of my position. I lost everything when I was forced to marry Eiser, and the Serenity Hotel—the legacy of my mother and grandmother—was all I had left.
"Serenity is all I have," I whispered, the rain beating against the window pane a brutal percussion to my grief. "I lost everything and Serenity is all that I have left. So why... why...!"
My grip tightened on his shirt. "I wish he would die, that man."
The raw violence of the thought was shocking, even to me, but it was born from genuine fear. Eiser didn't just want the hotel; he wanted to eradicate every trace of my influence and the Serenity traditions.
"Why did he have to come out of nowhere... and take everything from me?" I whimpered, the TREMBLE returning. "That's not fair."
Frederick held me silently, his jaw tight. He understood. Eiser didn't just steal a corporation; he stole my entire existence and replaced it with a gilded cage, making me feel "like my very existence is useless."
𝐅 ederick's eyes, dark and unwavering, met mine. The storm outside seemed to echo the storm in my heart, but he did not flinch. Instead, he let my trembling body cling to him for a long, tense moment, absorbing the weight of my fury and despair. Then, slowly, deliberately, he pulled back just enough to look at me face-to-face.
"You are not powerless," he said, his voice low but fierce, carrying the same authority I had always known beneath his calm exterior. "Eiser may think he can rewrite the rules, erase the Eight Families, and bend Serenity to his will—but he underestimates you. He underestimates all of us."
I shivered, partly from the cold rain still dripping from my hair, partly from the force of his words. "But he… he even has Grandma," I whispered, my voice barely audible. "If she's truly supporting him… what chance do I have?"
Frederick stepped closer, placing both hands firmly on my shoulders. His eyes were unwavering, a steady anchor against the chaos. "Grandma isn't lost. She sees more than you realize. Perhaps she is playing a longer game than either of us. And you? You still have your allies—the Eight Families, the staff, your own willpower. And me."
I looked at him, the storm reflected in his eyes as though the world itself had bent to his resolve. "And what can we do?" I asked, my voice raw, trembling but hungry for action. "If he's already making these moves…"
He drew a deep breath, the kind that carries the weight of certainty. "First, we secure the loyalty of those who matter—the Eight Families. They respect tradition, and they respect you. Eiser may control the office and the ledgers, but he cannot command hearts the way you can. We remind them of their place in the Serenity legacy. We remind them that Serenity is not just a hotel—it's a family, and you are its rightful guardian."
I nodded slowly, the clarity of his plan cutting through my panic like lightning through the night sky. "And if he resists? If he tries to force them to comply with his reforms?"
Frederick's lips pressed into a firm line. "Then we fight with the only weapons he cannot touch—trust, history, and loyalty. If necessary, we expose his moves to the very families he wants to control, showing them the truth of his ambition. He may have power, but he has underestimated how deeply this hotel's roots run—and how fiercely its heir can defend them."
I clenched my fists, feeling the trembling in my body ease slightly, replaced by a hot surge of determination. "Then we do it," I whispered, voice low but unyielding. "We reclaim what is ours. We protect the legacy… whatever it takes."
Frederick smiled faintly, a shadow of relief passing over his features. "Good. Then we start immediately. First, the Eight Families. And then… we deal with Eiser."
The storm outside roared again, thunder cracking above like a drum signaling the beginning of a battle. But for the first time in hours, I felt a flicker of control, a spark of hope—and a plan forming in the depths of my fury.
I took Frederick's hand, letting the warmth of his presence steady the whirlwind inside me. The storm outside had not yet abated, but in this small annex, I felt a fragile sense of control returning.
"You're right," I whispered, my voice raw but resolute. "The anniversary… it's more than a party. It's a symbol. If we can turn it into a statement, we show everyone that Serenity isn't just Eiser's numbers and his ruthless plans—it's us, it's tradition, it's legacy."
Frederick nodded, his grip firm. "Exactly. Eiser may have the authority to sign papers, but he cannot touch the loyalty of the families, the staff, or the guests who cherish the hotel's heart. Your influence is stronger than he realizes—stronger than even Lady Iansa realizes, perhaps."
I shivered slightly, wet from the rain, but the fire in my chest flared higher. "Then we do it. We secure every family on the guest list, every sponsor, every ally. We make the anniversary untouchable. We show him—" My jaw tightened. "—that you cannot erase what has been built over generations with spreadsheets and cold logic."
Frederick smiled faintly, a flash of grim satisfaction in his dark eyes. "That's the spirit, Lady I. Tonight, you rest. Tomorrow, we move. Every detail will be prepared, every ally accounted for. And I'll be by your side every step of the way."
I leaned back, letting exhaustion and determination mix into a sharp, focused resolve. The betrayal of Lady Iansa still burned like a low, constant ember, but I pushed it to the side for now. The anniversary would be our battlefield, and Eiser would see that tradition and loyalty are forces that cannot be dismissed.
Outside, the storm raged on, but inside, I felt the first quiet stirrings of a plan taking shape. Frederick had anchored me, and together, we would prepare for the fight that would define Serenity's future.


chapter 3 end
Story Art Ina
Tip's
THE SERENITY HOTEL IS LOCATED IN THE CENTER OF WELLENBERG, THE CAPITAL OF THE MEURACEVIA KINGDOM, AND THE SERENITY FAMILY MANOR IS LOCATED AT THE OUTSKIRTS OF WELLENBERG. IANSA IS STAYING AT HER MANSION IN A NEIGHBORING CITY WHICH SHE OBTAINED FOR THE PURPOSE OF NURTURING HER HEALTH.