The room fell into a grave silence after my final words, each man now acutely aware of the subtle battlefield we were standing on—one made not of swords and armies, but of numbers, pride, and desperation.
The older gentleman's mustache twitched as he exhaled slowly.
"You mean… they're provoking us? Trying to gauge how far we'll bend?"
I tilted my glass, letting the wine swirl like liquid dusk.
"Not provoking," I corrected gently. "Observing. Measuring."
My eyes flicked toward the window—toward the distant mountains where the abandoned mine lay hidden beneath snow and neglect.
"They know we need the stone. They're waiting to see how desperately."
The man in spectacles pushed them up his nose, his brow creasing.
"If they're sizing us up…" he murmured, "Lady Serena, perhaps we should reconsider. Their intentions may not be benign."
A soft laugh escaped me—not mocking, but amused, almost pitying.
"Oh, their intentions are never benign."
I placed the wine glass down with a delicate clink that felt louder than thunder.
"But weakness makes people clumsy. And the Dorothea family…" I paused, savoring the tension coiling through the room,
"…has been clumsy for a while now."
The brown-suited gentleman stiffened.
"You believe they're in trouble."
"I know they are."
I leaned forward, elbows resting on the armrest, my expression sharpening like a drawn blade.
"Their mine is nearly tapped out. Their debts are rising. Their last shipments were inconsistent. And—"
I let my voice drop lower, a whisper made of velvet and threat—
"they can't afford to keep refusing buyers much longer."
A thick, weighted silence followed.
The older man's voice trembled slightly with excitement.
"Then… if we press at the right moment—"
"We won't press."
I stood suddenly, my gown rustling like storm-touched silk.
"We let them think they're in control."
Then I turned, a faint smile tugging at my lips.
"Right until the moment they realize they've already lost."
The gentleman in the brown suit rose as well.
"What is your plan, Lady Serena? How will you negotiate?"
I walked toward the door, the soft glow of chandeliers casting warm gold along my silhouette.
"Oh," I said lightly, looking over my shoulder,
"I'll let them size me up…"
A heartbeat.
"…and then I'll show them what a mistake that was."
And with that, the room's air shifted—not with fear, but with the electrifying promise of a predator preparing to hunt.
I leaned back in the velvet chair as the murmurs of my allies filled the dimly lit chamber. The heavy curtains muted the sounds of the mansion beyond us, leaving only the crackling fireplace and the faint scent of wine.
"So," one of the men said, his dark brows drawn together, "their debts are that severe?"
I nodded once.
"Severe enough that Lady Dorothea complains about them at a public masquerade," I replied dryly. "The mine is empty. The stones in their vaults are becoming useless. And they fear the factories more than they fear us."
The man in spectacles tapped the table with a gloved finger.
"If that's true, then their inflated price isn't negotiation—it's desperation."
"Exactly."
I intertwined my fingers, a small, cool smile curving my lips.
"And desperate people… make predictable mistakes."
The youngest of my allies, hot-tempered but loyal, slammed his palm lightly on the table.
"They thought we were ignorant! They took advantage because they assumed we couldn't verify the value ourselves!"
A soft laugh slipped from me.
"Oh, they verified it for us tonight," I answered. "Quite enthusiastically."
My cloak still lay draped over a chair, the faint scent of wine and roses lingering on the dark fabric. I had taken off my mask earlier—the painted feathers, the glittering edges—now resting on the table like a silent witness to everything I had overheard.
I reached for my wine glass, swirling the crimson liquid.
"Lady Dorothea is so tired of her husband's sighing," I murmured, mimicking her nasally tone to the amusement of the room. "They're drowning in stones they can't sell. They keep the price high because if it falls now, they lose everything. Their last hope…"
I let the wine swirl.
"…is convincing someone like us to buy at their inflated rate."
The brown-haired man clicked his tongue.
"So they were buying time. Pretending their stones were rare."
"They were rare," I corrected calmly. "Until the technology advanced and factories found cheaper substitutes. Now?"
I set the glass down.
"They're glorified paperweights."
The room fell silent at that.
My allies exchanged glances—part outrage, part admiration, part giddy relief at the fortune we had just avoided losing.
"So what will you do, my lady?" one whispered.
I stood, smoothing my gown as I approached the map spread across the table. The Dorothea territory was inked in faded gold. A once-proud land with a hollowed mine and a crumbling legacy.
"I will visit them," I said simply.
The men straightened, stunned.
"Y-You'll negotiate in person?"
"That family is known to be… complicated…"
"Lady Serena, is that safe?"
Safe.
The word meant little to someone like me.
"I am not going to threaten them," I clarified. "I intend to offer them something far more terrifying."
I traced a finger along the Dorothea border.
"A deal they cannot refuse—because they'll think it saves them."
I turned, meeting each of their gazes.
"And when they realize the true cost…"
I picked up my mask, letting its sharp, jeweled edge glint under the lamp.
"…I'll already be walking away with what we need."
A hush fell across the room—respectful, charged, almost fearful.
The masquerade had given me information.
Now I would turn it into power.
---
Now that they agreed the Dorothea family was desperate, the atmosphere in the drawing-room shifted. It became colder… sharper. A place where strategy, not anger, mattered.
The older gentleman finally exhaled, the fury in his expression cooling into something far more lethal: calculation.
"…You're right," he admitted gruffly. "With that much debt… they'll eventually break."
The younger associate crossed his arms, brow furrowing as he thought aloud.
"They can't keep storing useless stones forever. Every day that passes drains them further."
I folded my hands on the table, feeling the balance of power settle firmly on our side.
"Exactly."
My voice was calm, steady, confident.
"We don't have to push them immediately. We just need to wait long enough for them to realize they have no other buyers. Then…" My lips curved into a small, deliberate smile. "…we make our offer."
The older gentleman let out a short, cold laugh.
"So the price will drop naturally… because desperation will do the work for us."
"Precisely," I confirmed.
The younger man tapped lightly on the table—TAP TAP—his eyes gleaming as the understanding settled in.
"Once they panic, anything we propose will feel reasonable."
I leaned back in my chair, allowing myself a quiet breath of satisfaction.
My mask from the masquerade still lay on the table beside me—a silent reminder of how easily truth had slipped into my hands.
"They've trapped themselves," I said softly. "Their mine is empty. Their stockpile is a financial burden. And their pride won't protect them from interest rates or storage costs."
The older man nodded.
"It may take a few days… but at this rate, Lady Dorothea will come crawling to us on her own."
A spark of amusement flickered in me.
"She may even try to act offended while doing it."
All three of us shared a dry, knowing laugh.
Then, the younger associate asked quietly:
"…And when they come with their 'new' asking price, what will you do?"
I let my smile return—this time sharper, more dangerous.
"I'll offer half."
The room went dead silent.
The older gentleman inhaled sharply.
"Half?! That's—"
"Still generous," I finished for him. "For stones no one else wants."
The younger man's lips parted in awe.
"You're going to corner them completely."
I closed my eyes for a moment, imagining Lady Dorothea's expression when she realized her last bargaining chip had turned into a liability.
"No," I murmured, opening my eyes with quiet certainty.
"I'm going to give them a way out… that they'll think they begged me for."
The fire crackled.
Someone swallowed.
And the tension in the room shifted—no longer outrage, but a fierce, cold admiration.
I stood slowly, adjusting my gloves.
"Prepare the team," I instructed. "And tell them to stall for two days. That's all the time the Dorotheas need to start panicking."
As the men bowed their heads in acknowledgment, I felt it—
A small thrill of victory.
The masquerade had given me their secrets.
Now, I would use those secrets to decide their future.
Raul swiftly gathered his notes, already preparing to send discreet inquiries. His efficiency was something I had grown used to—but never took for granted.
"Then I'll begin the investigation at once," he said. "If the Dorothea family truly cannot maintain the mine, it will show up in their reported expenses."
"Good," I replied softly. "Find out everything—the tax records, the maintenance costs, even the number of workers left on their payroll."
Sir Eiser gave a low whistle. "If the mine is as abandoned as we think… they're cornered far more than they've let on."
I crossed one leg over the other, my gaze drifting to the wide windows where the sunlight spilled over the Serenity estate's gardens.
"Exactly. The moment we confirm their situation, we control the negotiation."
Raul raised his head. "I'll also check if the power plant investors are still looking urgently."
"They are," I said immediately. "When I met them, they mentioned wanting a ready site. An unused mine—especially one that's already leveled—would be irresistible."
Sir Eiser chuckled, the deep, satisfied sound of a man who enjoyed well-crafted strategy.
"So the Dorotheas won't just fear losing their stone deal…"
He tapped the folder with a deliberate thunk.
"…they'll fear losing the mine itself."
I allowed myself a small smile.
"Yes. And if another buyer—one offering a large, immediate payout—shows interest, they will rush back to us, begging for any reasonable offer."
Raul's eyes gleamed with respect. "In that case… postponing the negotiation will pressure them naturally."
"Exactly," I agreed. "No threats. No accusations. Just silence. Because silence is terrifying when you're drowning in debt."
I could already imagine Lady Dorothea pacing her marble foyer, wondering why our side hadn't contacted her yet—wondering if she had pushed too far.
She had.
And now the consequences would arrive quietly, elegantly, inescapably.
As Raul prepared the official delays, I added:
"Also inform the Marquis of Wellenberg's office that we need more time to review the material specifications. Use formal language. No hint of urgency."
"Yes, sir."
Sir Eiser tapped his chin. "And if the Dorotheas ask for updates…?"
I waved a hand slightly. "Tell them we're 'reviewing internal budgets.' That usually scares suppliers."
Sir Eiser laughed. "You sound exactly like Lady Iansa right now."
That made my heart flip for a moment.
Grandmother would have been proud.
She always said: 'Winning without humiliation is what makes our house the Serenity.'
I straightened my gloves. "We follow her teachings."
"One more thing," I said.
Both men looked at me.
"Let word slip—in an accidental way—that a major industrial investor is looking at the northern outskirts."
Raul's eyes widened. "The power plant?"
"No names," I clarified. "Just… enough for Dorothea's people to hear the hint and panic."
Sir Eiser grinned, impressed.
"A subtle rumor is far more effective than a threat."
I matched his smile.
"Especially when the rumor is true."
Raul bowed slightly. "I'll begin right away."
I nodded. "Good. And remember—we do nothing aggressive. We merely wait."
Sir Eiser closed his notebook with a soft snap.
"If all goes well, Lady Dorothea will contact us herself within a week."
"Oh, she will," I murmured.
Because she would soon realize:
her overpriced stones had no market
her mine could be bought out from under her
and Serenity was no longer responding
Pressure creates clarity.
And desperation creates compliance.
I stood, smoothing my skirt.
"Let the Dorotheas come to us," I said.
"And when they do—we decide the price."
The first steps of the plan were now fully in motion.
As soon as I stepped out of the drawing-room, the heavy door closing behind me with a soft click, I allowed myself a tiny, almost invisible exhale.
That shoe was killing me.
The polished hallway stretched ahead, elegant but suddenly feeling like a runway of torture. Every step was a battle between pride and pain.
Do NOT limp.
Even if it feels like your foot is being stabbed with every step, you will NOT limp.
I kept my chin high, my posture perfectly poised, gliding forward like nothing was wrong. If anyone saw me struggle, I would simply evaporate out of shame.
Raul walked slightly ahead, oblivious to my inner suffering, flipping through his notes as he reviewed the action points.
"Sir," he said, tone brisk. "I'll begin contacting the necessary departments the moment we return."
"Good," I answered, voice smooth despite the throb, throb, throb under my heel. "We'll delay the Dorothea negotiations until their situation worsens."
He nodded firmly. "Yes. I'll make the postponement seem like a standard internal review."
"Perfect."
We reached the main staircase—the grand marble one that looked beautiful in the morning light but now seemed like an obstacle crafted specifically to destroy my ankle.
I hesitated for half a second.
A fatal mistake.
Raul glanced back. "Sir?"
"Oh—nothing," I said quickly, stepping onto the stair with absolute control.
Do not wince.
Do. Not. Wince.
Of course, fate decided this was the perfect moment for Sir Eiser to reappear at the top of the staircase.
"Oh!" he called cheerfully. "You haven't left yet?"
I summoned every last shred of dignity in my soul.
"I was just on my way," I replied, smiling like my foot wasn't turning into molten agony.
He descended toward us, his pace easy and confident. "Walk safely! The paths outside are slippery today."
Fantastic.
Slippery paths.
As if the stairs weren't bad enough.
"Thank you," I said sweetly.
Step. THROB. Step. THROB.
Eiser walked with us for a few steps, oblivious to the small death happening inside my shoe.
"You know," he added, "your strategy with the Dorotheas—truly impressive. Lady Iansa would be proud."
I froze internally.
Externally, I offered a gentle nod, hiding the sudden ache that had nothing to do with my ankle.
"…I hope so."
Eiser gave a warm smile. "Get some rest. You've earned it."
He peeled off toward the west corridor, leaving Raul and me to walk toward the main entrance.
The moment we turned a corner—finally out of sight—I quietly allowed myself a tiny, whispered gasp.
"Ah—!"
Raul immediately turned, alarmed. "Sir?!"
"I'm… fine," I insisted, straightening myself. "Just a minor inconvenience."
He blinked. "Your ankle?"
I stiffened, my pride flaring. "What ankle?"
That was answer enough.
Raul exhaled and offered, in an unusually gentle tone, "There's a carriage waiting. Please rest on the way back."
I didn't trust myself to speak for a moment. Pride and pain were at war.
"...Thank you, Raul."
As I finally stepped into the carriage and sank into the seat, I removed the offending shoe in a silent act of triumph.
The pain began to ease.
Outside the windows, the estate rolled past slowly, sunlight reflecting off winter-dusted hedges.
The meeting had been a success.
The Dorotheas had been exposed.
The strategy was in motion.
And, finally, I could breathe.
Sometimes, the cost of power was a pair of beautiful, murderous shoes.
The door shut behind me with a soft THUMP, sealing me inside the cool, quiet space of the carriage. For the first time since morning, I allowed my shoulders to relax. The soft cushions welcomed me like a private sigh.
Outside, Sir Eiser and his people stood with the formal dignity expected of their station, but inside the carriage… it was just me, my throbbing ankle, and the lingering warmth of unexpected consideration.
The gift bag rested on my lap, its ribbon brushing against my fingers every time the carriage swayed. I didn't open it—not yet. A part of me wanted to savor the mystery a little longer, to replay the subtle intent behind it.
Sir Eiser had not needed to send anything.
He had not needed to send his aide running out of breath.
He had not needed to personally walk me back inside, showing me the master room like some delicate courtesy only I was entitled to.
But he did.
Not out of extravagance… but out of strategy. Or out of respect. Or—dangerously—out of something that hovered in the space between.
My ankle pulsed again. THROB. I winced, but even the pain couldn't take away the small, amused exhale that escaped me.
"Honestly… what a day."
The carriage rolled forward, wheels humming over the stone road.
I leaned back, closing my eyes briefly. The meeting had ended on a brilliant note—the power plant proposal set as a pressure point against the Dorotheas. Not hostile, not blatant, but sharp enough to make them bend.
They would have no choice but to accept.
And behind that polished victory, Sir Eiser's small gestures replayed in my mind:
the prepared room, the quiet thoughtfulness, his voice softened just a little when he said "because you were coming today."
A tiny, traitorous warmth flickered across my chest.
"…Ridiculous," I muttered to myself, though there was no one to witness the faint smile tugging at my lips.
Strategy was strategy.
Allies were allies.
And kindness—well, kindness was just another tool in high society.
Still… it had been a long time since someone had considered my comfort without an ulterior motive plastered boldly across their face.
I straightened, opening my eyes as the city came into view.
The anniversary event awaited me. My responsibilities awaited me. The plan was in motion, and I had no intention of letting the Dorotheas slip free from the perfect trap we had laid.
But for just a moment, gazing at the unopened gift resting in my hands, I allowed myself a quiet realization:
Today, I didn't just win a negotiation.
I gained an ally who understood the value of subtlety—in war, in politics, and perhaps… in something far more dangerous.
The silence that followed my outburst was suffocating.
Every staff member in the room froze like startled deer. Their hands hovered mid-air, their mouths half-open, breaths caught. No one dared move. No one dared speak.
And me?
I stood there—back straight, chin high, fury burning so hot it felt cold.
The bag lay on the polished floor where I had thrown it.
A harmless thing.
A thoughtful gift, if one were generous.
A humiliation, if one knew what it meant.
And I knew exactly what it meant.
"Lady… Serena…?" someone whispered again, this time like they feared even the air might shatter.
I clamped my jaw tightly.
No.
No weakness.
Not here.
Not in front of them.
But the words swirled inside me like a curse:
He knew.
Eiser had noticed. In that brief moment—my slight limp, my tightened breath, the way I avoided putting weight on my heel—he had known. And worse, he acted on it. Quietly. Efficiently. Without asking.
As if my body, my pain, my secrets… were readable.
As if I were transparent to him.
A flash of heat surged through me again. I turned sharply toward the window, refusing to let them see the storm on my face.
Why?
Why does he keep seeing the things I fight so hard to hide?
I thought of Frederick for a fleeting second—Frederick, whose reactions were simple, whose empathy was surface-level, whose intentions were visible from a mile away. A man I could predict, manipulate, or ignore.
But Eiser…
Eiser was a cipher.
Everything about him was controlled.
Measured.
Unfathomably calm.
And that calmness—
That damn, infuriating calmness—
Let him pick apart every tiny crack in my armor without even touching me.
A soft, hesitant step approached.
"Lady Serena… shall I… pick up the—"
"Don't," I snapped.
The assistant reeled back instantly.
The anger wasn't truly for them.
It was for myself.
Because deep down, beneath the pride, beneath the sharp tongue and sharper intellect… there was a tiny, humiliating truth:
My heart had tripped the moment I heard "worried about your feet."
I hated that it mattered.
I hated that the warmth of it made me feel seen.
And then—
I hated even more that it exposed me, that he had known I wasn't as invincible as I pretended to be.
That he had acted on it before I could stop him.
It was a battle of psychological warfare, and in that moment, Eiser wasn't just winning—
He was playing on a field I didn't even know I had stepped onto.
I stared down at the bag on the floor, its corners slightly crushed.
Those shoes were not an insult.
Not a mockery.
Not even a pity gift.
And somehow that made it worse.
Because they were a gesture of concern.
A gesture of… care.
A gesture meant for me.
I swallowed hard, the heat behind my ribs turning into something tight, twisting, unfamiliar.
Why can't I hide my weaknesses from him?
Why does he always see?
The realization hit me with a quiet, devastating clarity:
This wasn't about shoes.
This wasn't about pain.
This was about power.
And Sir Eiser—without a single word—
had just rewritten the rules of our war.
My nails dug crescents into my palms.
CLENCH.
My jaw locked so tight it ached.
I hated this feeling — this humiliating, powerless, cornered feeling — more than anything in the world.
I am Lady Serena. I don't falter. I don't break.
But right now… I was breaking.
"HURRY ON… …TO THE MANOR."
The words tore out of me, sharp and brittle.
The driver flinched, nearly shrinking into his seat.
"I—I TOLD YOU TO GET GOING!" I snapped again, the anger spilling over, hotter than I intended.
VROOOOM.
The carriage lurched forward.
The shoes — his shoes — lay on the ground like a discarded insult, shrinking into the distance. I wanted them crushed, ruined, obliterated. I wanted the ground to swallow them whole so I'd never have to see that quiet mockery again.
Except—
A low, smooth sound rippled through the air behind us.
"CHUCKLE."
My breath stopped.
He was still there.
Eiser.
Standing tall, unmoved, watching me go as if my fury were nothing but an amusing breeze brushing past him.
He bent down.
Picked up the shoes.
And with a deliberate, leisurely ease, he said:
"…My gift."
The words curled like smoke, like something intimate spoken against my skin.
I felt myself burning — not with anger alone, but with humiliation so sharp it stole my breath.
"CHUCKLE."
"You must have really liked…" he murmured, tilting the bag slightly, "…to react that strongly."
Liked?
I felt the sting like a slap.
The carriage windows blurred. My heart raced wildly, painfully, traitorously. The image of his smirk seared itself into my mind — knowing, unbothered, maddeningly composed.
My temples throbbed.
THROB. THROB.
My vision went hazy at the edges, as if the world itself were shrinking away from me.
"I… I suddenly feel so tense and dizzy," I whispered to no one, pressing a hand to my forehead.
"Oh, yes, ma'am!" the driver stammered, panicked by the sight of me trembling.
But he didn't understand.
No one understood.
Because the storm tearing through me wasn't from anger alone.
It was from being seen.
From being known.
By him.
…
"Frederick…"
His name escaped me like a prayer.
A plea.
A lifeline thrown across a chasm I was slipping into.
Frederick.
Stable, predictable, uncomplicated Frederick.
The man who never made my heart race against my will.
The man who never cornered me with a single look.
"I need… to get back to Frederick…"
My voice cracked.
A tremor ran through me, like the shudder before a collapse.
And then—
SNAP.
The sound echoed inside my mind — not real, yet more real than anything.
A thread breaking.
A defense shattering.
A mask falling.
My composure dissolved like ash.
All I could do was squeeze my eyes shut, drowning in the dizziness, in the heat of humiliation, in the weight of Eiser's gaze that felt like it was still on me even now.
"I need him…"
My fingers trembled.
"…I need Frederick…"
Because he was the only one who had never made me feel like this.
Like a trapped animal.
Like an exposed nerve.
Like a woman trembling between fury and something far more dangerous.
.
The revolver sat cold and heavy in my hand — a perfect metaphor for the weight settling in my chest.
Not fear.
Not hesitation.
Resolve.
A new, cut‑throat clarity pulsed through me with every beat of my heart.
That SNAP in my mind wasn't a breakdown.
It was a rebirth.
For years, I had allowed myself to drift into Frederick's warmth, lulled by the safety of his presence. A man who always soothed my trembling thoughts, who let me sink into him whenever the world felt too sharp.
But safety is not power.
And power is what I needed.
I opened the cylinder of the revolver.
CLICK.
The sound echoed across the empty room, taut and metallic — the sound of a decision.
"I'll get a divorce."
The words tasted bitter, but clean.
A surgical cut, necessary and merciless.
My heels CLACKED across the floor as I returned the revolver to the drawer, sliding it shut with a controlled shhhk. My reflection in the glass cabinet caught my eye — hair slightly disheveled from the dizziness, cheeks flushed from rage, my expression carved into stone.
So this is what resolve looks like.
No Frederick.
No crutch.
No one to hide behind.
Just me.
I paused at the doorway, the maid still frozen from my earlier commands.
Poor woman.
She had no idea her mistress had just declared war.
"L-Lady Serena… should I inform Mr. Frederick you'll be in the annex tonight?"
A flicker of something — guilt, maybe — passed through me.
Four years with him. Four years leaning on him. Four years letting him be my escape.
And now…
Now he was an obstacle.
"No."
My voice was soft. Deadly quiet.
"Do not tell him anything."
She bowed, visibly shaken.
I turned away, not trusting myself to look back. If I saw even a trace of Frederick's kindness lingering in this house, I might falter. And I couldn't afford that.
Not now.
Not with Eiser moving his pieces across the board.
Inside the annex, I sat at the writing desk the staff hadn't yet cleared. Dust motes danced in the slanted afternoon light, settling on half-forgotten notebooks and unused stationery.
I touched the surface.
Cold.
Everything in this room felt untouched — like the version of myself I'd abandoned long ago.
"I need financial ledgers," I murmured.
"And Serenity's past four-year revenue reports. Raul's summaries. Contracts. Debt records. The Dorothea situation…"
The maid hurried off, obeying without question now.
This was good.
I needed obedience right now — not questions, not concern, not Frederick's soft eyes searching my face for answers I wasn't ready to give.
I needed focus.
I needed weapons.
And in the world of business, knowledge was the sharpest blade.
I closed my eyes.
And of course — Eiser's face appeared behind my eyelids, cold, unreadable.
That faint smirk curving his lips as he picked up the shoes I had thrown away.
He hadn't said much.
But he didn't need to.
His silence had cornered me more effectively than any threat.
His presence alone had exposed me.
That was his real weapon — not wealth, not connections, not the Grayan name.
But the way he saw me.
As though I were a puzzle.
Here is the continuation, picking up directly from your final line — deep, dark, poised, and fully aligned with the emotional gravity and psychological tone of your villainess transformation.
This flows as a clean next scene, not a replacement.
🥀 The Price of Betrayal
The words hung in the air like smoke.
…I'll betray you, Eiser.
A whisper, yes — but a whisper can ignite a kingdom when spoken by the right lips.
I lowered the revolver at last, setting it onto the velvet-lined drawer with a soft THUD that felt more final than any shouted declaration. When I closed the drawer, it was like sealing away the last remnants of the Serena who flinched at his comments, who blushed at his compliments, who trembled at the idea of disappointing him.
She was gone.
Buried.
Replaced.
I straightened slowly, feeling the shift in myself like the slow, deliberate click of a lock turning.
I wasn't afraid of Eiser anymore.
I was preparing to defeat him.
The annex was quiet, the kind of quiet that made every thought sound louder. My silhouette stretched against the wall—tall, sharp, unfamiliar.
It suited me.
For the first time, I could see the truth clearly:
Eiser wasn't trying to destroy me out of spite or cruelty.
He was testing me.
Prodding at the cracks.
Pressing on the unhealed wounds.
Watching which direction I broke.
And I had broken—just not the way he expected.
He thought revealing my weaknesses would make me cling to him.
Depend on him.
Let him lead the dance.
But he had misjudged me.
I wasn't a pawn.
I wasn't a wife to be pitied.
I wasn't a fragile noblewoman whose emotions could be bent at his convenience.
I was something far worse.
I was a woman with nothing left to lose.
A soft breeze drifted through the cracked open window, carrying with it the faintest scent of the garden—lavender and early roses.
Once, the scent would have reminded me of Frederick.
His gentle smile.
The way he held me when the world felt unbearably cruel.
The warmth that made the shadows feel less suffocating.
But now…
Even those memories felt like chains.
"Frederick…" I breathed, but not with longing.
Pity.
Regret.
And something close to bitterness.
He was comfort, yes.
But comfort is the enemy of transformation.
If I ran to him now, I would lose everything I've gained in the past hour.
Every ounce of resolve.
Every spark of anger.
Every fragment of ambition Eiser had unintentionally resurrected in me.
I could not—would not—be the woman who hides behind another man's back.
Not anymore.
I crossed the room and opened the curtains. The manor below stretched like a kingdom waiting to be claimed—the annex, the gardens, the main estate, all bathed in cold light.
This land would be mine.
My legacy.
My Serenity.
And if Eiser thought he could stroll back into my life and take it from me—take anything from me—he would learn exactly how dangerous a cornered woman can be.
The curtains fluttered behind me like wings as I stepped forward, and my shadow grew across the floor, long and lethal.
My voice was calm now.
Dead calm.
Like the moment before a storm breaks.
"Eiser…"
My lips curved again—colder, sharper, sure.
"You should have never taught me business."
I turned away from the window, the outline of my plan taking shape like a blade being drawn from its sheath.
"You gave me the tools to destroy you."
And for the first time, saying it out loud felt like freedom.
I walked toward my new office-to-be, heels clicking like distant gunshots.
Every step was a countdown.
Every breath a declaration.
Every heartbeat a drum of war.
I will divorce you.
I will surpass you.
And when you finally lower your guard…
My smile was nothing short of cruel.
I will betray you, Eiser.