Authors pov
The early evening sun poured through the colossal arched windows of The Serenity Hotel, a molten tide of amber and rose spilling across the marble floors. Every column, every gilded accent caught the light, refracting it into shards of brilliance that danced across the polished surfaces. The grand lobby seemed to breathe with its own history, as though the walls themselves were attuned to the weight of power that often passed beneath them. It was not a space for mere hospitality; it was a stage for influence, a room where kingdoms—political and financial—negotiated their future.
Jackerson, President of Gurson Motors, moved through the lobby with a measured confidence. Broad-shouldered and immaculately groomed, he exuded the sort of authority that came from decades of deals struck and fortunes made. His mustache, perfectly styled, twitched ever so slightly as he inhaled the mixture of polished wood, fragrant flowers, and the faint tang of expensive perfume. Every step he took across the marble floor echoed softly, a reminder of the gravity he carried.
"I've visited this hotel many times, but it never fails to impress me," he said, his voice a low, approving rumble. It resonated against the high ceilings, carrying a weight that demanded attention. He spoke to the man opposite him, the proprietor of this magnificent edifice, and in his eyes, one could see a mind already calculating potential gains. "As expected, its beauty and elegance certainly make it an asset to our kingdom."
The proprietor, Lovis, remained perfectly still, a figure carved from the same marble as the columns around him. His jaw was sharp, hair dark and immaculate, his posture rigid as though the weight of his responsibilities was a physical burden. His suit was severe, tailored to precision, giving the impression of someone who carried the calm control of a general overseeing his battlefield.
"Yes, Mr. Lovis," Jackerson continued, attempting to bridge the measured formality of their meeting with a hint of eagerness. "As you said, you would consider our proposal positively, and I truly hope we can work together. Nevertheless, it is an honor to speak with you directly today—it has been some time."
Lovis's response was polite but calculated, each word deliberate. "Not at all. Thank you for meeting us on such short notice. It is an honor to have you here in person." The faintest shadow passed over his features as his eyes briefly flicked toward the setting sun, long beams spilling across the courtyard and cutting the room into halves of gold and shadow.
The air grew heavier as the moment of decision approached. Jackerson, sensing the shift, leaned forward slightly, allowing the conversation to become intimate, yet still measured. "I'm sure my wife will be delighted to hear the news as well," he said, testing the waters.
Lovis's gaze flicked—just briefly—to the side, acknowledging the subtle power dynamic in play. "I'll contact you with a decision after I consult my wife and the hotel's board of directors," he replied, measured, cool, a firm reminder that ultimate authority rested elsewhere.
Jackerson's eyes widened almost imperceptibly. His mind raced. His wife… Serena. The mention of her name softened his carefully constructed composure, and a knowing smirk crossed his face. "Oh, you mean Serena. I've met her a few times at the anniversary events when she was younger. She must be a remarkable young lady now… Of course, married, yes. It has been some time since I last saw her, haha."
He leaned subtly closer, lowering his voice as though confiding a secret meant only for the proprietor. This was where the real negotiation began—behind the veneer of civility, with a silent nod to influence and persuasion. "Since you are consulting her, please mention us in a favorable light to Serena," he said, emphasizing each word with the deliberate gesture of a gloved hand, as if conducting a symphony of future profits.
Jackerson gestured broadly to the world outside the hotel, a carefully choreographed display of ambition. "In five to seven years, automobiles will outnumber carriages. Their rise will secure the future of our company. We are not just investing in vehicles; we are shaping the kingdom's mobility, its trade, its very infrastructure."
Then, his tone shifted, slightly condescending, assuming Serena's perspective would need to be persuaded: "She may not know much about automobiles or management, so if you can tell her—"
Lovis interrupted him, sharp and controlled, a blade of authority in his measured tone. "Mr. Jackerson," he said, the air cooling between them, "you need not explain to me how to speak to my wife." The subtle reprimand reasserted his control; the power rested firmly with his family.
Jackerson chuckled, a full-bodied, strategic laugh, smoothing over the tension as he recognized the invisible boundaries. The meeting, for him, was over.
As he and his companion made their way toward the exit, the finality of the proprietor's words hung in the air, formal and polite: a dismissal as measured as it was definitive.
An attendant bowed low, head almost grazing the marble floor, as Jackerson passed. "Have a safe trip back, Mr. Jackerson," he intoned, voice soft, carrying a sense of ceremony.
Jackerson's mind raced even as he strode across the courtyard. The deal was not yet sealed, and his thoughts were fixated on the name that had been mentioned again and again: Serena. The true decision-maker, the silent force behind the Serenity Hotel, and the one he would need to convince. His eyes narrowed slightly, imagination already working—how to paint the picture, how to show a future where Gurson Motors and the Serenity Hotel shaped the kingdom together.
And in that golden hour, as the sun dipped lower behind the horizon, Jackerson knew that the negotiation was not yet over. The real challenge, the real power, waited quietly behind the name of Serena.
---
The golden light of the lobby, once warm and inviting, now seemed almost accusatory, highlighting the stiff lines of Jackerson's suit and the twitch of unease in his hands. Sir Eiser's eyes remained fixed on the retreating industrialist, each measured step of Jackerson and his companion echoing faintly against the marble floor. Their forced laughter, meant to mask embarrassment, grated sharply against the solemnity of the room.
Sir Eiser straightened, a faint exhale escaping him as he turned to Raul, who stood silently a few paces behind, attentive and tense. "Raul, prepare to head back to the manor," he said, his voice calm but edged with the authority of someone who had just set a boundary that would not be crossed.
"Yes, Sir Eiser," Raul replied, his tone formal, though his eyes flickered briefly toward the grand windows where the industrialists were disappearing into the evening haze.
Sir Eiser's gaze returned to the emptying lobby, his mind already calculating the next move. Jackerson had made a mistake—a costly one, though perhaps unknowingly. He had underestimated Serena, dismissed her knowledge and capability, and presumed that familiarity from her youth granted him license to speak casually of her as if she were still a student. That presumption had been met with a controlled, but unmistakable, rebuke.
Sir Eiser allowed himself a small, satisfied tilt of his head. The message had been delivered without a word directed at her—yet it carried the full weight of their shared authority. Serena was not merely his wife; she was a partner, a co-governor of their family empire. Anyone seeking to negotiate with the Serenity Hotel—or its associated interests—would now have to account for her intellect, her judgment, and her presence.
He glanced at Raul again, the young assistant standing ready like a sentinel. "Make sure everything is prepared for her return. She must know nothing yet, until the moment we decide how best to present this information. It will be her decision how Jackerson's misstep is handled… and whether it will affect our terms."
The words lingered in the air, a reminder of the subtle but absolute power of timing and perception. Sir Eiser allowed his mind to drift briefly to Serena—her composure, her intelligence, the sharpness in her eyes that could unsettle even the most confident industrialist. He knew that when she learned of Jackerson's condescension, the young woman would not merely react; she would calculate, strategize, and decide exactly how the partnership would proceed.
Outside, the last rays of the sun painted the courtyard in fire and shadow. Inside, the lobby seemed to pulse with the silent promise of accountability. Sir Eiser turned from the empty windows, straightening his cravat and smoothing the crease in his sleeve. He had ensured that the first move had been made, and the rest—Serena's reckoning—would come swiftly.
The balance of power had shifted. The industrialists had left with their forced smiles, but the real force of authority remained—quiet, deliberate, and unmistakably clear. Serena was not a figure of the past; she was the axis upon which the Serenity Hotel's future would turn. And Jackerson would learn, when the time came, that the decision had never truly been his to influence.
The sedan hummed over the uneven cobblestones, the rhythmic vibration a minor echo of the turbulence in Eiser's mind. Outside, the city seemed oblivious to the storm within its most elite households: carriages rattling, shop shutters closing, gas lamps flickering on as twilight approached. Yet inside, the car felt like a capsule of solitude, a temporary haven for the thoughts he could not speak aloud elsewhere.
His associate, still clutching the briefcase as if it were a lifeline, shifted uneasily in the leather seat. "S-Sir Eiser… do you… think Serena will—"
Eiser's gaze remained fixed on the city passing by, the amber glow of the streetlamps reflecting faintly in the dark window. He did not turn, did not immediately respond. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet, almost brittle, carrying the weight of years no one else had seen.
"Serena… never received the chance to command her own path," he murmured. "Even under Iansa's supervision after her family's death, she was still a child. By the time she could have learned, life had already demanded she surrender autonomy—legally, ceremonially… irrevocably."
He clenched his fists lightly in his lap, the leather of the car seat creaking under the movement. "I became her reality. Her circumstance. The one who ran the hotel, the manor… the one who overshadowed her because of law and expectation. She sees me, I think, as an intruder, a usurper, a shadow where she should have been free."
His eyes flicked to the reflection of Serena he could imagine in his mind—the defiance etched in her delicate features, the suspicion she carried like armor. He recalled the library, the sunlight filtering through the high windows, illuminating her small frame reaching for books too tall for her height. Even then, she had fought, not with weapons, but with sheer will.
"She resisted," he said softly, the words barely audible. "Every step I took, every decision I made… she tried to push back. And I… I had to be the man she feared, the one who kept the world from consuming her. Yet by protecting her, I imprisoned her."
A bitter, hollow smile crossed his lips, though it never touched his eyes. "And now, the world sees only me. The rooms filled with glittering guests, the banquet tables, the orchestras… all of it, and she is a ghost behind my back. Beautiful, luminous, unnoticed. The world does not know her as she should be known, as she is. And I… I am the reason she hasn't been seen."
The cityscape blurred in the reflection of the glass. He exhaled slowly, a silent confession to the empty space beside him. "When I spoke to Jackerson, when I defended her, it was not pride, not ego… it was desperation. A plea for the world to recognize her as more than a memory of a student, more than the wife of a man who intervened in her life. She is the co-governor, the true steward, and she must be acknowledged as such."
His hands tightened once more around the steering wheel, knuckles white beneath the dark leather gloves. "For any of this—any partnership, any negotiation, any trust—the first step is simple: they must see her, not through the lens of her past, but through the authority she was denied. And I… I will make sure they do."
The car sped on, the clatter of the cobblestones fading into the distance as twilight deepened, and Sir Eiser's mind remained with Serena—not as the girl who had once reached for unreachable books, but as the woman who deserved to command every room she entered. The weight of legacy, love, and duty pressed down, heavier than the leather seat beneath him, yet sharper than any blade of consequence in the world outside.
The black sedan's tires hummed steadily over the road, but within the cabin, time seemed suspended. Sir Eiser's eyes never left the blurred cityscape outside, yet every word he spoke carved a deeper chasm between the image the world had of Serena and the reality of her potential.
"Insignificant…" The word lingered, heavier than any physical weight. Eiser's knuckles whitened around the leather straps of the briefcase, but the tension was not about his own pride—it was about hers. Every polite nod, every carefully arranged seating, every whispered greeting that bypassed her… it was a dagger, invisible but precise, aimed at the very essence of her capability.
His associate shifted uneasily, understanding the gravity but unable to fully grasp the decades of societal inertia stacked against Serena. "S-Sir Eiser… can she… truly recover from that perception?" he asked cautiously.
Eiser's jaw tightened. He didn't answer immediately. Instead, his gaze wandered to the reflection in the darkened glass—a woman, slender, composed, yet boxed in by expectation and oversight, moving gracefully but unheard in a room filled with chatter and ambition. Serena's hands, delicate yet firm, had gestured at plans, menus, and strategies. And every time, her words had been ignored, redirected, or softened into inconsequence.
"She can," he finally said, his voice low, tempered by both determination and sorrow. "But the world must see her as I see her… as the rightful steward of this legacy. Not a girl who inherited a name, but a woman who earned it, through intellect, through judgment, through force of will that no one has yet acknowledged."
A pause, weighted with the memory of countless soirées, boardroom meetings, and whispered schemes. "Every alliance I forge, every partnership I consider… I must account for the perception of her. Because if she is dismissed, underestimated, or overlooked, then the power I wield is meaningless. All of it falls apart."
His associate swallowed, shivering slightly at the intensity radiating from Eiser, and nodded. "Then… every detail matters. Every introduction, every briefing… it must reinforce her presence."
Eiser's gaze sharpened, the amber glow of the streetlights reflecting off the edges of the briefcase. "Yes. And one day… she will sit at every table, sign every contract, command every room without me standing as the intermediary. But until then…" He exhaled slowly, the weight of responsibility pressing down, not just for the hotel, but for the woman who had been forced to live in the shadows of her own inheritance.
The car slowed as they approached the manor gates. Eiser's eyes lingered on the looming silhouette of the estate. Within those walls, Serena moved unseen yet inexorably toward reclaiming what was hers. And he, the one who had unwittingly been both her guardian and her cage, would do everything in his power to ensure the world finally recognized her.
Even if it meant confronting the arrogance of men like Jackerson, rewriting expectations, and challenging every assumption about her place in the legacy.
The word insignificant would not define her—not as long as he drew breath.
The black sedan moved steadily through the empty streets, but in the cabin, time had thickened, suspended between guilt and determination. Sir Eiser's hands, resting lightly on his knees, clenched into fists as the memory of Serena's isolation replayed in vivid detail.
"...She ran wild," he muttered again, the words almost tasting bitter on his tongue. Not in rebellion for its own sake, but because she had been forced to navigate a world that refused to see her. "And I—her husband, her protector—did nothing. I let the world shape her into their perception, not hers."
Raul, sitting quietly beside him, knew better than to interrupt. Silence was the proper acknowledgment of Eiser's thought process.
"But now," Eiser continued, his voice low and sharpened with the edge of resolve, "everything changes. Serenity is restored. The hotel thrives, the accounts are in order, the legacy is secure. And she… she must reclaim what was hers from the very beginning."
His gaze hardened as the thought crystallized. This wasn't about controlling Serena—it never had been—but about asserting the truth to the world: her intelligence, her judgment, her rightful authority.
He turned slightly to Raul, the shadows of the passing streetlamps tracing the angular lines of his face. "We must make sure nobody underestimates her ever again. Not Jackerson, not the board, not anyone. Her reputation is our reputation, and her presence must command the room without question."
Eiser exhaled slowly, the weight of years of neglect and societal dismissal lifting just enough to reveal a clear path forward. "She may have looked like an abandoned kitten before, but that ends now. She will be seen, and they will recognize the Lady of Serenity."
The words were not empty rhetoric—they were a declaration of war against condescension, a promise to rewrite perception. Every meeting, every introduction, every decision from this day onward would serve the singular purpose of restoring Serena's authority.
The sedan slowed as the gates of the manor appeared ahead, the ironwork gleaming faintly in the early night. Eiser's posture remained rigid, but the storm inside him had settled into a precise, unyielding determination. He would not fail her. He would not allow the world to erase her existence again.
Tonight, the Lady of Serenity would begin to reclaim her throne.
The study was silent except for the occasional tapping of a fountain pen against the polished wood. Iser sat rigidly at the desk, impeccably dressed as always, fingers drumming lightly on a thick document. His eyes were fixed on the paper, but his posture betrayed a controlled impatience.
A subordinate had just returned with news:
"She's been there ever since you left for the hotel today… so we brought her dinner over there too."
I leaned against the doorway, absorbing the information, piecing it together in my mind. My lips curved into a small, knowing smile.
"Oh!" I exclaimed, the realization striking me like a flash. "So it was Lady Serena who took all the records that were here! Phew… I was worried they were gone."
I glanced away, letting my gaze wander to the towering shelves of the study, imagining her carefully carrying each tome and ledger, seeking the corner of the manor she found most comforting. The thought softened the edges of her usual defiance.
"Hmm… so she took all those books and went to the place where she felt the most comfortable, after all," I mused aloud, finally looking back at Iser.
"The Annex?" I asked, letting the single word hang in the air, almost as if it were a question I didn't expect an answer to.
Raul, standing stiffly nearby, adjusted his glasses nervously. I could see the slight tension in his shoulders—the quiet awe and disbelief that accompanied watching Serena in action.
"Anyway," I continued, ignoring Raul's hesitation, "you gave her all those records to memorize? That's… a huge amount."
Raul's protest came quickly, almost instinctively. "Isn't that a bit harsh, Iser?"
Iser's gaze didn't waver. He remained calm, measured.
"You know that's impossible," I interjected, thinking back to my own experiences with learning and memory. "It took me quite a while to learn all that, and I have a pretty good memory." My tone was casual, but tinged with genuine respect.
Raul shifted uncomfortably. "You're right," I admitted, nodding slowly. "No matter how bright you are, it's physically impossible to memorize that much in a few hours."
I paused, tapping my chin lightly, the gears of realization turning. "Hmm… then he gave her the task while knowing that…?" The thought trailed off.
Iser didn't look at me. He turned slightly, gaze fixed on a distant point beyond the study, calm and confident as ever.
"But if there's someone who can do it," he said finally, his voice low, unwavering, "it's Serena."
I watched him, silent, taking in the weight of that simple assertion. It wasn't just trust—it was belief in a skill, a will, a hidden fire he had seen in her and no one else.
My attention was then caught by a small, jarring detail. A sharp crack echoed softly in the room.
"Huh?" I muttered, my gaze dropping to the chair I had leaned against. "A leg… on my chair… is broken… Oh, boy."
Even in a moment of awe and respect, reality had a way of sneaking in—a tiny, grounding reminder that the world never paused, not even for legends in the making.
The study was quiet, save for the faint rustle of paper as Eiser tapped the topmost document with a deliberate finger. His gaze, sharp and calculating, lingered over the spreadsheets, guest lists, and notes laid out across the polished desk. Raul, standing nearby, watched silently, aware that this was more than routine discussion—it was revelation.
"Raul," Eiser began, his tone measured, precise. He tapped the document again, drawing attention. "Place… all of this… in context. We were new here. Naturally, it took us a while to learn about this place."
He lifted his eyes, intense and unwavering, fixing them on Raul. There was a weight in his expression that demanded comprehension. "But for her… her whole life, Serena grew up surrounded by the things written in those books."
A memory flickered behind Eiser's eyes—soft, almost ethereal. Serena, a young girl, dressed in delicate lace, clutching a large tome far too heavy for her small frame. The image was tender, fragile, yet it spoke of an unspoken familiarity.
"She probably doesn't realize it now…" he continued, voice low, tinged with awe. The thought hung in the air, a quiet acknowledgment of a hidden truth.
The scene shifted, as if the world itself bowed to the memory. Moonlight spilled through the large windows of the Annex, illuminating Serena as she sat comfortably among the shadows, a book open on her lap. Beside her, a small table bore the remnants of a simple dinner, undisturbed in her solitude. She read with a serenity, a deep absorption that suggested more than mere comprehension—it was instinctual, woven into the very fiber of her being.
Eiser's voice softened, almost to a whisper. "But Serena… she already knows everything in them."
The camera of his mind zoomed closer. Serena's small hands traced the pages, fingertips pausing over lines of text with the ease of someone touching familiar terrain. Her eyes absorbed every word, connecting ideas and histories that others would take years to learn. This was no forced study; this was life absorbed naturally, silently, until she embodied it without realizing.
Raul, still standing at attention, nodded slightly. He could feel the weight of Eiser's revelation: this was more than intelligence; it was innate mastery, a connection to the very foundation of Serenity Manor itself.

I watched silently as Raul shifted uneasily beside the desk, papers clutched in his hands like a shield. The news had come in minutes ago—Serena had retreated to the Annex, carrying the records with her. Dinner had been sent along, a courtesy the staff assumed she would accept.
I exhaled slowly, leaning back in my chair, my fingers tapping lightly on the polished wood. My mind, as always, was already racing ahead.
Of course… I thought, eyes narrowing slightly. She wouldn't stay here in the main house. She'd go to the place that feels like hers. The Annex. The quiet. The light. The room she's always claimed as a refuge.
Raul's hesitant voice broke the silence. "She… she's memorizing all of those records, Sir. That's—"
I cut him off with a faint, almost imperceptible shake of my head. "Impossible? Yes. It would be impossible for most. For anyone without years of constant immersion." I paused, letting my gaze drift to the document in front of me, but my thoughts were already with her.
"She grew up surrounded by these things," I continued, voice low, reflective. "While the world treated them as formalities, as mere words on a page, she absorbed them. Day after day. Night after night. Even when I was learning, when Raul here was still trying to grasp the basics, she was living it."
I imagined her now, in the soft moonlight streaming through the tall Annex window, curled up with the books stacked beside her, a small table holding the remnants of a simple dinner. She looked so… at ease. So absorbed. The room belonged to her in a way the manor never had.
"And she probably doesn't even realize it yet," I murmured, almost to myself. The truth was simple, yet staggering: she already knew it all. The intricacies of management, the subtle diplomacy, the flow of wealth, the etiquette of high society—it had been her life, whether she acknowledged it or not. She was ready. She had always been ready.
I leaned forward, tapping a single point on the document in front of me. "Raul… take note. Do not underestimate her. Not ever. The moment we treat her as inexperienced, we undo everything she's capable of accomplishing. Everything I've failed to protect her from until now—she can overcome, if only the world will stop trying to hold her back."
I glanced toward the hallway leading to the Annex. Part of me wanted to walk over immediately, to remind her that she had power, that her name carried weight—but I resisted. No. Let her prove it on her own first. The lesson, the confidence, had to come from her, not me. I was merely the catalyst, the observer of her awakening.
A soft clatter from behind me drew my attention. A chair leg, broken somewhere in the turmoil of documents and movement. I frowned briefly, but the thought was fleeting. She'll fix that too. She always does.
I sank back into my chair, the low hum of the manor settling around me. The Serenity Manor, the main house, the Annex—it was all hers as much as mine. And for the first time in years, I allowed myself the rare, quiet satisfaction of knowing she would soon step into her rightful place—not as a shadow beside me, but as the force she was born to be.
She already knows it all. She just needs the world to finally recognize it.




Chapter 11 end