The handbook felt heavier than it looked—thick, rigid, and steeped in decades of ruthless tradition. The Grayan crest gleamed in the low light, a reminder of the dynasty I had married into… and the war I had been too blind to see.
I traced a finger along the embossed emblem, the cold metal almost biting. I have read every line. Every rule. Every loophole. These weren't mere pages. They were weapons. And for years, I had been too naïve to realize it.
"They say members of the Grayan family are good at manipulating people because they're meticulous and sly." I whispered it like a confession. Or perhaps an accusation. "And they're good at business because of how intelligent they are."
My voice was steady, but inside, something trembled—not fear anymore, but awakening.
Up until now, I had been nothing more than a passive shadow in his powerful orbit. In Eiser's eyes, I had been the impatient, emotional, foolish wife. The one who reacted instead of strategized. The one who loved too loudly and thought too softly.
But that woman… she was gone.
A slow breath filled my lungs with a new fire. Things will be different from now on.
The plan I'd crafted in the quietest corners of my desperation dug into my mind like anchors. "He'll lose his authority as the head of the family if I divorce him," I reminded myself. Saying it aloud made it real. "Then he won't be able to touch Serenity."
My daughter's name tasted like a vow on my tongue.
I looked toward the window, the faint glow of dawn brushing the curtains with pale gold. My reflection stared back—tired, sleepless, but fiercely alive. "I can't let last night happen again." My hand curled around the windowsill, knuckles turning white. "If I get tired, I'll splash water on my face. I'll stay awake."
I will.
No matter what it costs.
Knock. Knock.
The sharp sound jolted me from my thoughts. A maid's voice flowed gently through the door. "I've brought the bowl of water you asked for, Lady Serena."
They entered quietly, pushing a polished trolley. The silver bowl glimmered, filled to the brim—clear, cold resolve.
Another maid whispered to her companion, unable to hide her curiosity. "Where is she going to use it? Lady Serena… splashing water on her face? After that hotel incident? It doesn't sound like her."
They were right.
It wasn't like the old me.
The me standing before them now was carved from last night's pain and this morning's fear. My gaze lifted to the maid who brought the bowl, and the moment her eyes met mine, her breath caught.
"I see," she murmured softly, as if she finally understood the gravity pressing in on me. "I'll set up the temporary office and phone line you asked for immediately." Her hands moved swiftly, efficiently, placing items beside me with quiet respect. "Here is your favorite cashmere throw blanket, slippers, and some comfortable clothes."
The items were soft, warm, familiar—things meant to soothe.
But comfort was a luxury I could no longer afford.
Still, I accepted them with a slight nod. Not because I planned to rest, but because keeping up appearances was part of the battlefield.
As the door closed behind the maids, the silence settled again—thick, determined, electric.
I looked at the bowl of water. The surface trembled faintly, reflecting my tired eyes… and the woman I was forcing myself to become.
For Serenity.
For myself.
The first battle had already begun. And I would not lose.
"And I brought you some snacks in case you were hungry. So promise me you'll take a bite, promise me you will!" the maid insisted, pushing forward a tray filled with warm pastries, sliced fruits, and delicate cookies dusted with sugar. The soft smell of butter and honey drifted up, almost overwhelming in its sweetness.
Despite the storm inside me, I managed a small, reassuring smile. "ALRIGHT, I WILL."
The maid finally relaxed, shoulders dropping slightly. "VERY WELL, I'LL SEE MYSELF OUT NOW. CALL ME IF YOU NEED ANYTHING."
Her voice echoed faintly as the door clicked shut. For a moment, the room was still again—too still. The kind of stillness where a person either breaks… or transforms.
Toss, flop.
The heavy silk of my daytime dress slid to the floor like the shedding of a skin. I stepped out of it and into the lavender nightgown, soft against my exhausted body. Cashmere slippers hugged my feet, the warmth grounding me. I wrapped the blanket around my shoulders like armor—comfortable, yes, but it felt more like a protective cloak.
Step. Step.
The room no longer felt like a bedroom. It felt like a command center. Or a bunker.
(DETERMINED) READY FOR BATTLE.
My equipment was laid out deliberately:
– The soft blanket
– Comfortable clothes
– Slippers to keep me steady
– The bowl of cold water
Each item had a purpose. Each one a tool ensuring I would not falter.
And then… the final piece.
Snatch.
My hand curled around the small plushie—a pink rabbit with a yellow bow. Its fur was worn in a few places, evidence of how many nights it had been pressed against my chest. A symbol of safety in a house where safety had become a foreign concept.
"COME STAY WITH ME," I whispered, pulling the rabbit close. The plushie wasn't childish. It was a reminder that even in this battlefield, I wasn't alone. Serenity loved it too. It smelled faintly of her.
My eyes went to the bedside table.
A towering stack of business records waited like a dark mountain—thick, black-bound tomes full of numbers, patterns, and family history.
"The first thing I need to do is successfully host the hotel anniversary event," I murmured, fingers brushing the top spine. "And to do that… I should finish this dreadful pile of records first."
Step. Step.
I stood tall. The soft lavender fabric floated around me like a quiet contradiction—a peaceful garment worn by a woman preparing for war.
They thought I was soft. Clueless. Decorative.
"I'll show you that I can be as perfect as my grandmother and mother," I said, eyes burning with resolve. "Just watch and see."
Outside, the mansion lay draped in endless night—deep blues, cold purples, a moonless sky that pressed down on the old stone walls. Only faint lamplight burned through the corridors, flickering like distant stars.
Inside my room, the only sound was the steady scratch, scratch of my pen. Notes filled the margins. Names were underlined. Mistakes were circled. The Grayan business records unfolded under my hands like a long-forgotten battlefield map.
Hours passed. I didn't notice.
Until—
VROOOOM.
A powerful engine cut through the silence, its rumble slicing into the still night like a blade. My heart jumped.
He was home.
I pushed the plushie closer to my chest, instinctive. Protective.
Down the long gravel path, the dark car slowed under the lanterns of the manor courtyard.
Inside, my husband sat with Raul—his assistant, his right hand, his keeper of secrets.
"Raul, the list?" his voice asked, low and decisive, even muffled through the thick glass.
Raul nodded immediately. "The list of guests we'll exclude from the hotel anniversary event? I finished it yesterday. I'll bring it to your office once we arrive at the manor."
"Good. Just hand it to me and you're excused for the night since it's late."
"YES, SIR!"
Raul's tone was sharp—almost eager to please. My husband demanded nothing less.
He was working late for the same event I was preparing for. His mind was already making moves, calculating every variable, eliminating every threat.
But tonight, he wasn't the only one strategizing.
Tonight, the "unskilled wife" was preparing her counterattack.
Quietly.
Diligently.
Armed with cold water, warm slippers, and a mountain of business records.
He had no idea that the woman he dismissed was about to become the most dangerous opponent he'd ever faced—because she had nothing to lose… and someone precious to protect.
And he wasn't ready.
The mahogany echoed under the slam, a sound too loud and deliberately theatrical for the hushed study. He looked up slowly, eyes registering me the way a hunter sizes up a new threat—curiosity first, then calculation.
"Serena," he said again, this time his tone threaded with something like amusement. "You look… tired."
"Tired and victorious," I shot back, the words sharp as glass. I stepped so the lamplight hit the margins of the black-bound volume, letting him see the cramped notes I'd scribbled across the pages. "I finished every single one of these. Every ledger, every board minute, every contract clause. I even cross-checked the subsidiaries' filings."
His smirk returned, slow and confident. "Two days, is it? That's… ambitious. You do know business doesn't bend to sentiment, Serena. Experience matters."
Experience. He used it like an armor, like a barricade designed to keep me outside the room where decisions were made. My jaw clenched. Inside me, something hot and sharp uncoiled.
"Experience doesn't excuse your mistakes," I said, flicking a page toward him like a gauntlet. "Look at this—Guest exclusions for the anniversary event. You've blacklisted three families without considering their sponsorship contracts. Cutting them now will void hospitality clauses worth more than the projected profit from the gala."
He blinked, the first honest shift in his face. Raul had been careful—he always was—but he wasn't omniscient. "Show me," he murmured, almost involuntarily, and the word sounded like a crack in his composure.
I moved closer, flipping to a page I'd underlined in red. "Clause seventeen—Grayan Hotels Agreement, page 214. Termination within a fiscal quarter triggers automatic reimbursement equal to two years' sponsorship. If you remove them now, we owe them back, and the media will smell blood. They'll spin it as a family feud, not a strategic culling. The board will—"
"You read legal clauses too?" He narrowed his eyes, less amused now, more offended, as if I'd trespassed into a private sanctum.
"I read everything," I replied. "Because I have to protect Serenity. Because I will not let our name become a weapon used on our daughter's future."
The room shifted. For a heartbeat his face was unreadable—then something colder arrived: a quick, controlled anger that didn't scream but promised consequence.
"You're holding my decisions up to public scrutiny now," he said, voice low. "You think that shows strength? Or weakness disguised as righteousness?"
"My concern isn't for appearances," I said, steady and unwavering. "It's for outcomes. You cut those families and you force bad press, contractual breaches, and panic among our partners. It's sloppy. And sloppiness costs people—employees, vendors, our reputation. You taught me to read these records, Eiser. You taught me by leaving them lying around."
He took a breath. The lamplight caught the edge of his jaw; for a moment I saw the man who could charm a boardroom into submission. But tonight his charm was a tool I intended to dismantle.
"So what do you want me to do?" he asked, the question deceptively casual.
I let my hand rest on the volume at the center of the desk—the proof of my nights. "We're hosting the anniversary properly. No burned bridges, no reckless exclusions. I will handle the guest list review. You can have the final sign-off, but you will listen. And if you refuse to listen—"
My voice dropped, cold and small, carrying more weight than any loud threat. I didn't name divorce yet; I didn't need to. The implication sat between us like a blade.
He smiled then—a slow, dangerous smile that could be mistaken for victory. "Very well," he said. "Do your worst, Serena. Show me what you've learned."
It was not a surrender. It was a challenge.
I smiled back, but it was all teeth and strategy. "Oh, I will," I said. "And when the anniversary opens, you'll see I've learned everything."
He stood, the study's authority pressing in around him like a suit of armor. "Then don't fail me," he murmured.
I met his gaze without flinching. "I don't plan to fail anyone," I answered. "Especially not my daughter."
Behind his composed mask something unreadable flickered—interest, perhaps, or the first hint of respect. The war lines had shifted. The first skirmish was over, but the campaign had only just begun.

The sound of the book striking my desk reverberated through the study, sharp enough to bounce off the wood-paneled walls. Her chest rose and fell, breath ragged, eyes burning with a mix of indignation, exhaustion, and something dangerously close to pride.
"IT TOOK ME LESS THAN 24 HOURS, TO BE PRECISE," she shouted, voice trembling with righteous fury. "IF ANYTHING, YOU SHOULD BE AMAZED THAT I FINISHED THIS AMOUNT IN SUCH A SHORT TIME! DO YOU THINK IT'S SOMETHING JUST ANYONE CAN DO?"
Her voice cracked against the usual stillness of my office. I let the silence settle for a beat before calmly adjusting my cuff.
Jangle.
The chain of my watch chimed softly, the sound deliberate, controlled—everything she currently wasn't.
"INDIFFERENT. ALRIGHT. GOOD WORK," I said, tone even, unbothered. "YOU'RE EXCUSED."
The silence that followed was thick, palpable. She froze, her mouth half-open, her anger stalling mid-breath.
Why that…!
Her thoughts all but screamed across her face.
(GRIT)
Of course she wanted praise. She wanted surprise—wanted to prove something to me. She wanted to see me rattled.
She wouldn't. Not yet.
I studied her without lifting my head. The pride wasn't offensive; it was just… loud. The important thing was the result, not her theatrics.
"I'LL TRUST YOU KNOW THAT UNDERSTANDING THE MATERIAL IS MORE IMPORTANT THAN QUICKLY SKIMMING THROUGH IT," I said, voice low.
She snapped back immediately, almost tripping over her own defense.
"OF COURSE I DO! THE OUTLINE OF EVERY EVENT IS SIMILAR ANYWAY! THE POINT IS TO UNDERSTAND HOW EVERY YEAR, THE ORGANIZATION AND THE DIRECTION OF THE EVENT WAS AFFECTED BY THE EVER-CHANGING POLITICAL SITUATION."
Good.
Very good.
My fingers tapped the desk. Tap. "I GUESS SHE WAS PAYING ATTENTION, AFTER ALL."
This was the real purpose behind giving her the records—not to torture her, but to show her how decisions evolved under political pressure. How alliances were severed. How new ones were forged. How Serenity, as our daughter, was carefully threaded through those power structures.
My voice stayed cool, clinical. "IT'S TO UNDERSTAND HOW WE CUT OFF OR LINKED CERTAIN PEOPLE, AND HOW SERENITY BENEFITED FROM ALL OF IT."
Her eyes flashed—determination and desperation tangled together.
"DOES HE NOT BELIEVE ME? I COULD READ MUCH QUICKER ONCE I UNDERSTOOD THE PATTERN! AND I ALREADY KNEW MUCH OF IT. I FIGURED OUT WHAT TO DO NOW, SO HAVEN'T I ACHIEVED THE GOAL OF THIS TASK?"
She wanted validation. She wanted acknowledgment. She thought finishing the volumes was the entire task.
My gaze fixed on her, steady, cold, unmoved. "IF YOU KNOW NOW, THEN I HOPE YOU PREPARE FOR IT WELL."
Then I let my eyes drop—slowly—taking in her nightgown, the slippers, the overworked trembling of her fingers still gripping the edge of the book.
"But…"
(Glance)
"…YOU MUST HAVE BEEN IN A HURRY AFTER…"
I let the unspoken words hang.
After last night.
After the hotel.
After the argument.
After she decided she had something to prove.
She stiffened instantly.
Her effort was real—impressive, even. Her strategy showed potential. But the presentation? Storming in like a frenzied warrior wrapped in a blanket?
Sloppy.
Raw.
Not Grayan.
She had taken the first step, yes. But she was far from mastering the path she had chosen to walk. And she needed to understand that mastery wasn't about finishing quickly. It wasn't about shouting. And it wasn't about emotion.
It was about composure.
Control.
Precision.
And she wasn't there yet.
Not even close.
But for the first time… I felt the faintest spark of intrigue.
She wasn't running away.
She was stepping into my world—whether she knew the rules or not.
I let the words spill with calculated softness, the kind that cuts deeper precisely because it isn't sharp.
"…YOU MUST HAVE BEEN IN A HURRY AFTER FINISHING THE LAST VOLUME."
The implication was obvious. And intentional.
Her eyes widened. She froze. For a moment, she seemed unable to decipher why I had said it—until she glanced down.
A soft, confused "?" flickered over her expression.
Then—
GLANCE.
A clearer look.
And reality hit her with the force of a blow.
She was standing in the center of my private study—the most formal, intimidating room in the entire manor—wearing:
A light blue cotton nightgown that brushed the floor.
Her soft, worn slippers that whispered on the carpet instead of clicking like her usual heels.
Sleeves slightly crumpled.
Hair loosely tied.
A blanket still draped over one shoulder.
Her eyes went wide.
"DAMN! WHAT WAS I THINKING?!"
"I CAME ALL THE WAY TO HIS OFFICE IN THIS…?!"
Spin.
She whipped around so fast her blanket fluttered, as if physically shielding herself from my gaze. Embarrassment radiated from her like heat—flushed cheeks, stiff shoulders, the tiny tremble of mortified realization.
Her shame was almost palpable.
And I watched every second of it.
Not to humiliate her—no.
It was to measure her.
Because this was not the Serena I knew.
The Serena I knew was composed to the point of stubbornness.
Perfect hair.
Flawless poise.
Clothes selected to project wealth and distance.
Clack, clack—her heels always announced her before she even entered a room.
She never appeared before me looking anything less than untouchable.
But tonight?
Barefoot softness in the form of slippers.
A nightgown meant for comfort, not power.
Eyes raw from lack of sleep.
And a determination that overrode her carefully crafted persona.
"So this is how serious she is…"
I leaned back slightly, my gaze tracing the line of her shoulders.
"It was enough to make her run here without realizing what she was wearing."
Not to impress me. She never cared to.
Not to appear endearing. That wasn't her.
"It's because she never wants to look at ease or vulnerable in front of me."
Yes.
Serena was the type of woman who would hide a twisted ankle for hours, walking as if fine, just to prevent me from knowing she was hurt—out of dignity, pride, and a quiet defiance of my authority.
And yet tonight, the mask slipped.
Her pajamas were proof—not of carelessness, but of effort.
Real, desperate effort.
The kind that was never for show.
I tapped the crest on the leather cover of the book she had slammed down earlier, my finger tracing the embossed lines absently.
"I thought it would be a bothersome and tedious task to train her…" I murmured.
But she had done her part.
More than that—she had thrown herself into it.
"…but she's pretty determined."
And then, to my own irritation, something tugged at the corner of my mouth.
A small, involuntary smile.
A rare one, even for me.
"In addition to that…"
My eyes followed the rigid line of her back, still turned away, still desperately trying to hide her nightgown-clad form.
"…she's quite fun to tease."
Her shoulders quivered—anger, embarrassment, or stubbornness, I couldn't tell. Probably all three.
She hadn't won.
She hadn't laid claim to victory or mastery.
But—
She had walked into my domain, unguarded.
She had shown resolve I didn't expect.
And she had proven something far more important:
She wasn't simply reacting anymore.
She was entering the arena.
And for the first time…
I found myself genuinely curious to see how far she planned to go.

I stood rigid, my back to him, shame burning hotter than any fire I'd ever felt. My skin prickled with humiliation the moment I realized what I was wearing—this flimsy, sky-blue nightgown, the soft cotton brushing against my shins, and those ridiculous house slippers. My hair was unbrushed, falling around my shoulders in a messy wave. My eyes probably looked swollen from