The silence that had once blanketed the Glass Garden fractured like fragile glass.
Serena's soft gasp cut through the air as she stumbled against a stone pillar—her gloved hand scraping across its rough surface.
"Ow!"
A small bead of crimson bloomed on her fingertip, vivid against her pale skin. The sting barely registered before a sudden shadow loomed, enveloping her completely.
In a blur, Eiser moved—his movements sharp, instinctive, almost feral. One strong arm slid behind her knees, the other at her back, lifting her effortlessly into his arms.
"E-Eiser—!" she started, startled by the sudden closeness, her voice faltering.
His eyes, usually cold as tempered steel, now flickered with something far more dangerous—a turbulent mixture of anger, fear, and possessive instinct.
"What... were you thinking?" he muttered, his tone low, trembling between rage and something unspoken.
Before Serena could respond, another voice cut through the humid air of the garden—sharp, commanding, and full of emotion.
"What's going on here?"
The voice belonged to a woman—her black gown trailing elegantly behind her as she stepped into the dappled light. The jewels around her neck glittered like accusations, and her expression burned with raw fury.
Serena instinctively pressed her face against Eiser's shoulder, her voice muffled.
"It's fine… please, let it go."
But the woman's fury only deepened, her tone cracking as she shouted, "Why are you two together? What is this?!"
Her words echoed through the glass walls—her disbelief almost tangible.
Eiser's jaw tightened. His glare—sharp enough to freeze the air—met the woman's gaze. His protective hold around Serena only tightened further, a silent declaration of something he refused to explain.
Then, without another word, he turned—his boots making a decisive STEP against the marble path as he carried Serena away.
The woman remained standing there, her hand clutching the pillar where Serena had stumbled. Her chest rose and fell with ragged breaths, the ache in her palm unnoticed as she whispered to herself, voice trembling with jealousy and confusion:
"What did you two talk about…? Why were the two of you together?"
The words lingered in the air long after they were gone,
a haunting echo of a truth yet to be uncovered.

He carried me gently up the grand staircase, each step echoing faintly through the marble hall. His grip was steady, his expression unreadable, but the silence between us was suffocating—thick with everything we couldn't say.
The air was still heavy from the confrontation in the Glass Garden, the sharp voices, the cold glares, the smell of earth and blood faint in my memory. I let out a quiet breath, more to steady myself than to break the silence.
"...I want to lie down," I murmured. My voice sounded small, weary, like the whisper of a fading candle.
He didn't answer. His eyes were forward, but I could feel the tension in his arms—taut, restrained, as if he were holding back more than just my weight.
Finally, I spoke again, the words leaving my mouth before I could reconsider.
"What is... Sir Eiser like?"
He stopped walking.
For a brief moment, his composure cracked; I could feel it in the way his muscles went rigid beneath his coat, in the sudden stillness that enveloped us. Slowly, he turned his head, eyes sharp with disbelief.
"What? Why would you ask me that?"
I looked up at him, unflinching. "I can barely comprehend who he is myself. I would split his head open and take a look inside if I could." The words came out with a brittle laugh, laced with bitterness. "It's just that… we're staying under the same roof. I wasn't interested until now, but I thought I might as well learn a few things about him."
The echo of my own voice lingered. I could tell he was weighing something behind his cold exterior—whether to tell me what he knew, or to protect me from it.
He finally exhaled and continued walking, his tone measured. "You've probably heard of the Grayan family before. The family that owns the largest construction business in the Kingdom."
"Yes… I've heard of them," I replied softly. "The Grayans—their name is practically a foundation of the capital itself."
He gave a slight nod, eyes clouding with something darker. "His full name is Eiser Leinz Grayan. He's the second son. A man raised to build empires out of stone and blood."
There was something venomous in his tone—resentment, maybe fear. It made me shiver.
And then, unbidden, another voice echoed through my memory—the voice of the other man, the real Sir Eiser.
> "Bear in mind that I'm the one who calls the shots, not you."
His cold words struck like a blade, cutting through the fragile quiet of my mind.
> "Or you'll never know just when and how I might let out that secret you've been hiding so well."
That threat had sunk into my skin like ice. Even now, I could hear it clearly—his voice smooth, cruel, amused by my fear.
I felt a chill trace down my spine. My secret. The truth I had buried so carefully beneath titles and illusions.
I looked up at the man carrying me—his expression shadowed by candlelight. My heart ached at the thought. Do you really believe I know nothing about you?
The two Eisers. Two men bearing the same name, the same cold eyes… yet utterly different in how they wielded power. One bound to me by a contract, the other by something far more dangerous.
"I don't think that was an empty threat," I whispered to myself, the words trembling against the silence.
He glanced down at me, confusion flickering in his gaze. But I said nothing more.
The truth was simple and terrifying:
Both men held pieces of my fate in their hands—
and sooner or later, one of them would crush me with it.
"...Yes. He was the second son amongst his brothers of the Grayan family."
He gently eased me onto the bed, the linens whispering beneath me — slide, hush, sigh — the sounds seeming to echo in the stillness of the room. My pulse drummed unevenly as I tried to keep my voice from trembling.
"Though I believe he's estranged from his family now," I ventured cautiously, searching his expression.
"Estranged?" His brows furrowed, and his voice dipped low. "Why?"
He hesitated, his eyes flickering briefly toward the curtained window, where the moonlight trembled like liquid glass. "I don't know the details either," he murmured finally. "But it's the Grayan family. I think that says enough."
A faint smile curved on my lips — a poor attempt to mask the unease growing inside me. My fingers instinctively reached for the diamond necklace resting on my collarbone. The gems jangled softly, the sound sharp in the silence, as if the jewels themselves were whispering secrets I had no right to know.
"I see... Come to think of it..." I said under my breath, half to myself. Rumors I had once dismissed as idle gossip began to take shape again — darker, heavier, more believable now.
He leaned forward, his gaze like a shadow piercing through candlelight. "The Grayans are dangerous."
The words fell between us like shards of glass. I froze.
"They will do anything for money, fame, or power," he continued. His voice grew colder, quieter. "They put up a pristine front, but behind it... they're linked to groups that thrive on corruption. Blackmail. Extortion. Violence. They build their empire on other people's ruins."
I felt my throat tighten. "...You're saying... they've killed people?"
He didn't answer. He didn't need to. His silence confirmed more than any word could.
The air thickened, heavy with unspoken horror. My hands clenched over the bed sheets as a gruesome image flickered behind my eyes — a crimson-stained window, a lifeless body sprawled across marble floors. A reflection of the same scarlet line I'd seen earlier in the Glass Garden.
Then, in a low, almost pitying tone, he said,
"Eiser's mother took her own life... after it was revealed that she had killed someone."
My breath caught. "...What are you saying?"
He met my gaze evenly. "They say she murdered anyone who stood in the way of her business. And when her crimes were exposed, she said she'd pay for them—with her life. They found her that same night."
A chill rippled through me. The words painted the scene vividly in my mind — a proud woman in fine silks, standing before her reflection one last time, a blade in her trembling hand. Blood blooming like a final, tragic signature.
For a long moment, I couldn't speak. The bedchamber felt colder, as though the shadows themselves recoiled from the story.
So this was the truth behind the name Grayan — wealth built on bodies, legacy stained in red. And I… I had married into that.
He looked down at me with quiet concern, but his voice remained detached, as if he were describing something inevitable.
"That's the family your husband came from."
I swallowed hard, my thoughts spiraling. A dynasty that kills to survive. A man who wears its name like armor.
And somewhere inside that darkness... was the secret I couldn't let him — or anyone — discover.
"The Grayan family is full of criminals," I said flatly, my voice trembling despite my effort to sound composed. The word criminals felt dirty on my tongue — too soft to describe the monstrosities Frederick had just described. "I want nothing to do with them!" My chest heaved with disgust. "So wouldn't it mean that Eiser is estranged from his family... either because he was pushed out by his brother, or because he's lost their trust?"
I rubbed my arm absentmindedly, the scrape from the stone pillar in the Glass Garden burning faintly. A reminder of how fragile I still was in this cold, glittering world. "Ugh, this stings," I muttered. "This better not leave a scar."
Frederick's gaze softened, but there was pity in it — and something darker, too. "They're a cold-blooded family," he said quietly. "They'll abandon anyone who shows weakness, even if it's one of their own."
His words struck like frost against my skin.
He straightened slightly, his tone growing sharper as if compelled by grim memory. "After taking so many lives, it only brought them more fame."
The image came unbidden: faceless men with bloodstained hands exchanging red scraps of paper, the color of old debts and newer sins. The scraps fluttered through my mind like cursed confetti — a grotesque celebration of the Grayan fortune.
"It's ridiculous," Frederick hissed, bitterness leaking into his voice. "After that, they started a charity — a grand act of penance, they claimed. But it wasn't penance. It was a mask. Not only did it scrub their reputation clean, it made them richer."
I stared at him, disbelief twisting in my chest. "A... charity?"
He nodded slowly, his voice dropping to a whisper. "They used their power to extort their subcontractors. They forced donations, raised false ledgers, and made the poor pay for their own ruin — all under the Grayan emblem of benevolence."
A hollow laugh escaped me before I realized it. "They turned guilt into profit."
I sank back into the pillow, staring at the ceiling. The chandelier above me swayed faintly, casting fractured light across the room — gold, white, red — like blood glinting under glass. Every flicker seemed to whisper the same thing: The Grayans are untouchable.
"The charity, the smiles, the donations…" I muttered numbly. "It's all a lie."
"That's why it's harder for me to understand what Grandma did," I whispered after a long pause, my throat tightening. "The peace and harmony of our family was what mattered to her most. She always said that power without compassion was meaningless."
My voice wavered. "So why, of all people, did she choose a Grayan man — when they are the exact opposite of everything she stood for?"
Frederick's silence stretched, heavy with unspoken truths. His shadow flickered across the candlelight, sharp and uncertain — like the edge of a blade waiting to fall.
And as the night deepened around us, I couldn't shake the feeling that I had stumbled into something far greater — and far more dangerous — than just my husband's family.
Authors pov
Meanwhile, elsewhere in the sprawling Grayan mansion, Eiser Leinz Grayan — head of the household, and Serena's enigmatic husband — sat in the solitude of his private study.
The room was silent save for the faint, rhythmic tap... tap... tap... of his pen against parchment. A single candle burned low beside him, its flame flickering in the polished surface of the mahogany desk, painting his expression in strokes of gold and shadow.
His assistant, a young man in neatly pressed attire and thin-framed glasses, stood a cautious distance away. "He's been like this for a while," the assistant thought nervously, eyes darting to the discarded broken quill beside a stack of unfinished documents. The ink from it had bled into the paper — a dark, spreading stain, like a wound that refused to close.
Another pen would soon share the same fate.
Eiser's eyes lifted briefly from the page — a fleeting glance, sharp enough to still the air. His jaw was set, his expression unreadable, but his thoughts were far from calm. The firelight reflected off his silver cufflinks, each glint as precise as his movements.
For a moment, his gaze flickered toward the curtained window — toward the distant part of the mansion where Serena was resting. A muscle in his temple tightened, and the pen froze mid-stroke. Then, with quiet deliberation, he resumed writing.
The tension that had briefly surfaced vanished, buried beneath the same cold efficiency that had built the Grayan legacy.
He may have been estranged from his family — a man who had stepped away from their corrupt empire — but he carried within him that same ruthless, calculating mind that made the Grayans feared across the kingdom.
Every plan, every move, every silence was deliberate.
Whatever had happened in the Glass Garden earlier that day... had already been accounted for.
Excellent — this scene now reads like a pivotal confrontation, perfectly capturing the Serena webtoon's mix of restrained elegance and emotional volatility. Here's a refined, extended version that deepens tone, atmosphere, and subtext — keeping your authorial narration while enhancing pacing and emotional contrast between the three characters:
👑 The Unforeseen Disturbance
The mansion was silent, its corridors veiled in the muted glow of candlelight. Behind the heavy oak doors of his study, Eiser Leinz Grayan sat surrounded by the scent of parchment, ink, and old power.
The steady TAP, TAP, TAP of his pen marked time against the silence — sharp, deliberate strokes filling the air like the ticking of a clock.
His assistant, a thin young man with wire-framed spectacles, lingered nervously near the edge of the desk, clutching a stack of reports. "He's been like this for hours," he muttered under his breath, eyeing the fractured remains of a broken quill that bled ink into a blotter. "At this rate, the entire ink set will be gone before morning…"
The SNAP of another pen made him flinch.
But Eiser said nothing. His expression was carved from ice — lips set in a straight line, brow barely creased — only the faint tightening of his grip betrayed the irritation simmering beneath the surface.
He leaned back slightly, eyes half-shadowed beneath the dim lamplight. His thoughts, sharp and methodical, drifted far from the page.
And then, without a word, he stood.
The assistant straightened in alarm. "My Lord? You're leaving?"
Eiser's gaze flicked toward the door, cold and purposeful. He offered no reply — only the sound of his measured STEP... STEP... STEP... echoed through the polished floor as he departed, the rhythm as precise as the man himself.
The young man's voice trailed helplessly after him. "S-Sir Eiser...?"
The door closed with a soft THUD, leaving the assistant alone with the restless flutter of papers and the fading scent of ink.
It's tiresome to deal with Serena myself, Eiser thought grimly as he strode through the hall, his expression unreadable in the flickering light. Yet, despite his irritation, something—some quiet disquiet—had driven him from his solitude.
🚪 An Uninvited Guest
In her chambers, Serena sat at the edge of her bed, her delicate wrist resting in Frederick's hands as he carefully wrapped a fresh bandage around the scrape she had received in the garden.
The room was peaceful — or as peaceful as it could be, given the tension that still hung in the air since the confrontation earlier that afternoon.
Then came a firm KNOCK. KNOCK.
"Come in," Serena said absently, assuming it was Miss Sui or one of the maids.
The door opened.
And the calm shattered.
Standing there, framed in the doorway, was Eiser Leinz Grayan.
Serena froze. Her eyes widened, a flush creeping into her pale cheeks. "...Eiser?" Her voice wavered between disbelief and confusion.
Frederick's hands stilled. The cloth in his grasp slipped slightly as he glanced up — eyes narrowing, jaw.
The soft crackle of the fireplace barely masked the weight of Frederick's words.
Serena lay half-reclined on the bed, her freshly bandaged arm resting lightly against her lap. The air in the chamber was thick with unease, her mind still spinning with the revelation of the Grayan family's corruption—murder, extortion, false charity, and suicide.
Her chest felt heavy, the quiet betrayal of her grandmother's decision to bind their noble, peace-loving lineage to such a monstrous bloodline gnawing at her.
Then came a sharp KNOCK. KNOCK.
"Come in," Serena called, distractedly, without looking up. She assumed it was Miss Sui with tea—or perhaps the assistant with documents.
But when the door opened, the atmosphere shifted instantly.
The man who stepped through was Eiser Leinz Grayan himself.
His imposing frame filled the doorway, his posture perfect, his dark attire immaculate. The STEP... STEP of his polished shoes echoed against the marble floor, each step deliberate, measured.
Serena froze, her breath catching in her throat.
"...Eiser?" she managed to whisper, disbelief and apprehension colliding in her voice. He had never come to her room before—not once since their contractual marriage began.
Frederick's head turned sharply toward the door. He remained seated at her bedside, still holding the roll of linen he had been using to dress her wound. The tableau—the two of them in quiet proximity—was damningly intimate.
Eiser's gaze swept the room, cool and assessing, lingering a second too long on the space between them.
Serena's face flushed with sudden fury. "I told you to come in because I thought you were Sui!" she snapped. "If I'd known it was you, I wouldn't have even answered. Get out of my room!"
Her voice cracked through the silence like the shatter of glass.
Eiser didn't move. He stood in the same spot, his expression unreadable, his eyes an icy mirror that reflected every ounce of her anger—but gave nothing back.
"Do you hear me?!" Serena cried, rising abruptly. "I told you to leave!"
When he finally spoke, his voice was low, steady, and merciless.
"You're pathetic. Fragile. Weak. Always trembling at shadows you can't control. You can't seem to do anything on your own."
The words hit her like a physical blow. Serena's temple throbbed, her heart pounding wildly. She wanted to laugh—to deflect the pain with scorn—but the sting was too real.
He didn't come to apologize. He came to wound me.
Her lips curled in bitter amusement. "Ha! I was a fool to think you were here for anything else." She glared at him, her tone sharp enough to cut. "Did you come all the way here just to tell me that?"
Eiser didn't flinch. His eyes darkened slightly as his thoughts turned inward.
Even after all this time, she hasn't changed...
He folded his hands behind his back, the faintest trace of impatience flickering across his otherwise composed face. If nothing has changed, then perhaps it's time I do.
There was something dangerous about his calm—a stillness that hinted at restrained force.
I can't sit back and watch her destroy herself any longer, he admitted silently, though he would never allow the words to leave his mouth. If she won't listen through reason... then she will learn through pressure.
At last, he spoke again—his tone not angry, but cuttingly direct, the weight of authority behind every syllable.
"What did you two talk about? Why were the two of you together?"
The question was less about curiosity and more about control. It was a reminder of his dominion, his unyielding power over the household—and her.
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Frederick's gaze hardened. Serena's chest rose with quiet defiance.
Between them, the air pulsed with an unspoken truth:
this was no longer a marriage.
It was a battlefield.
The air thickened the longer he stood there. Dimitri's silence was its own kind of weapon — elegant, deliberate, suffocating. I could almost hear the faint ticking of the antique clock across the room, each second slicing through the quiet like a countdown.
My pulse betrayed me, thudding against my ribs as if to warn me of the storm behind those amber eyes.
"Change your methods?" I repeated, my voice steadier than I felt. "And what exactly does that mean?"
His gaze didn't waver. "It means," he began slowly, "that what I've been doing so far… hasn't worked."
A gloved hand reached up, fingers brushing along the golden cufflinks at his wrist — a casual gesture that somehow felt more dangerous than a blade.
"I've tried leaving you to learn through defiance," he continued, each word unhurried, deliberate. "I've tried patience. Observation. Even silence. But none of that seems to reach you."
His tone softened, but the softness was worse than anger. It was the tone of a man who had already decided something — something irreversible.
"So," he said, stepping closer. "I'll have to teach you directly."
My breath caught. The words weren't a threat, not in the traditional sense — but something colder, more binding. His definition of teaching was nothing like learning; it was possession disguised as guidance.
"You think I'm one of your subordinates?" I demanded, my voice rising despite the tremor beneath it. "I don't belong to you, Dimitri."
A quiet laugh — soft, disbelieving. "No," he murmured, his lips curving just slightly. "You don't belong to anyone. That's the problem."
He circled me slowly, his steps deliberate, the faint scent of bergamot and smoke trailing behind him. I felt the warmth of his proximity at my back before I ever saw him move. My heart stumbled in my chest.
"Don't look so frightened," he whispered near my ear, the words both tender and cruel. "I don't hurt what I value."
I turned sharply, meeting his gaze. "And what do you value, exactly?"
His expression didn't change — only his eyes deepened, a glimmer of something unreadable stirring beneath their calm surface.
"You," he said simply. "You're… inconvenient. Reckless. But rare."
The admission made the room feel smaller, tighter, as if even the air itself bent toward him.
He leaned down slightly, his breath brushing my temple.
> "I'm not asking for your obedience," he murmured. "I'll teach it."
And with that, he stepped back — as if releasing a spell — leaving me standing in the center of the lavish chamber, my pulse still echoing the rhythm of his words.
The chandelier's crystals shimmered faintly, scattering fractured light across the walls. In their reflections, I saw the truth of his threat.
It wasn't just that he intended to change his methods.
It was that he intended to change me.
chapter 7 end
Story Art Ina
Tip's
THE KINGDOM OF MEURACEVIA IS A MONARCHY, BUT THE SOCIAL CLASS SYSTEM DIVIDING THE NOBLES AND COMMONERS IS ALMOST GONE AT THIS POINT. HOWEVER, TITLES SUCH AS "MASTER" AND OTHER REMNANTS OF THE CLASS SYSTEM STILL EXIST IN PARTS OF THE SOCIETY.