The memory clung to me like humidity before a storm—unseen, but suffocating.
The hotel staff still buzzed like bees preparing their hive for an illustrious guest, blissfully unaware that the lady of the house had already slipped away. If Sir Eiser was their sun, shining benevolently on their efforts, then I… I was the shadow that moved quietly behind him, leaving only rumors in my wake.
They never questioned my absence—not aloud, at least.
My heels clicked sharply as I stepped out of the taxi and into the serene morning air.
LA TASSAINT ACADEMY OF ARTS looked almost sacred in the golden light. So deceptive. Nothing sacred had ever happened here—not for me. Not for the girl I used to be.
The pristine white of my attire glowed like purity itself. That was the irony. I wore it purposely—white from head to toe, like an angel descending on holy ground. When in truth, I had come here as an omen. A reminder.
A ghost.
Students drifted around the campus, arms full of canvases, portfolios, and coffee cups. Their laughter was soft, fleeting. A luxury I no longer had.
I stood before the darkened window. My reflection stared back—calm, elegant, composed.
A lie.
Behind me, a soft breeze stirred the leaves and brushed past my hat, but I didn't move. My feet were rooted where they were the day everything went wrong.
"Just for a minute," I whispered to myself.
Just for a minute… and then I would return to being Lady Serena, the refined mistress of the Serenity Hotel. Sir Eiser's partner in power. The woman the staff whispered about.
But here?
Here, I was just the girl who survived.
My eyes drifted to a section of the window that looked no different from the rest. Smooth. Dark. Clean.
Too clean.
"It was wiped clean long ago…" I murmured, fingertips brushing the cold surface.
"…yet I can still see it."
The blood.
My blood.
Splattered like a broken watercolor, dripping down the glass as I'd stared—terrified, cornered, helpless. The memory wasn't blurred by time. It was crystalline. Every drop, every gasp, every scream.
In the reflection, I could almost see the girl I used to be—eyes wide with panic, hair matted, a trembling hand raised in useless defense.
And behind her…
Him.
The man with the long scar cutting across his mouth—a grotesque smile permanently carved into his flesh. The one who haunted my nightmares.
"Eiser's older brother…" I whispered, the words tasting bitter. "A monster wearing their family name."
And the worst part?
At the celebration today, everyone would praise the Serenity family. They would bow, smile, drink expensive champagne, and celebrate their legacy.
An empire built on elegance.
And blood.
My gloved hand curled slowly, painfully into a fist.
"I didn't want anything to do with that family ever again…"
My voice shook—barely, but enough for me to feel it vibrate through my bones.
But vengeance wasn't something you could walk away from. Not once it had set its claws in your heart.
And today—while everyone prepared for anniversaries and celebrations—I returned to the place where my first debt in this world had been written.
In blood.
On glass.
And I had come to collect.
The echo of the past still clawed at the back of my mind.
That scar… that twisted smile…
No matter how many years passed, it never dulled.
I hadn't even realized my fingers had curled so tightly around the windowsill until the pressure numbed my knuckles beneath the gloves. CLENCH. I forced myself to breathe—slow, steady. I needed composure, not trembling.
Then—
"OH MY! LADY SERENA!!!"
The shout burst into the quiet corridor like a stone through glass.
I blinked, pulled abruptly back into the present. A small woman—the academy's director—came skidding towards me, clutching a stack of folders that nearly toppled from her arms. RUSH.
Her face was pale with horror, as though catching me standing alone in a hallway was somehow a catastrophe.
"You could have waited in the Director's office!" she scolded, breathless.
I offered her a cool smile. Polite, distant. The kind nobles practiced like a second language.
"Sorry," I said lightly. "I was checking some things in the kitchen."
Her eyes widened in terror at my choice of room—she understood the implications instantly. Kitchens were where standards slipped. Where I might find flaws.
"Oh dear… I-if there was a problem with the monthly report—"
"There wasn't," I interrupted gently.
Relief flooded her posture so fast I nearly felt sorry. "I just thought I'd swing by today," I added. "You don't need to accompany me. I won't be long."
"A-ah! Of course, my lady!"
Behind us, GIGGLE. GIGGLE.
A cluster of young voices muffled behind a door.
I turned toward the sound.
The director stiffened.
KNOCK.
The giggles cut off immediately.
I pushed the door open. CREAK.
Inside, the warm, lively chatter evaporated into stunned silence.
A handful of young women—ballet students—stood mid-motion in pastel pink practice dresses. Ponytails, ribbons, bare feet. The scent of hairspray and lavender soap lingered in the air.
They looked like a scene from a painting… frozen the moment I stepped in.
One girl dropped the water bottle she'd been holding.
CRASH.
Their eyes locked onto my white hat, my tailored coat, my gloves—then onto me.
Not Serena, the student they once knew.
Lady Serena.
The patron.
The woman whose name carried weight heavy enough to crumble their calm.
A few mouths hung open.
One face, however, flickered between shock and joy—the girl with tied-back hair.
"WHAAAT?!" she squeaked. "S-Serena?! HELLO!!"
Her voice cracked in half, as if her brain was struggling to reconcile old memories with my current appearance.
Her name surfaced instantly.
Jamie.
A soft smile formed on my lips. "Oh. Hi, Jamie. It's lovely to see you again."
Behind her—
"G-GREETINGS, LADY SERENA!!!"
The rest of the students practically dove into bows. Deep, frantic, synchronized ones. Their heads snapped down so quickly I feared someone would faint.
One girl, in her panic, tripped on a slipper. DROP. "ACK!"
I blinked.
This was… a lot.
My past trauma had followed me here like a shadow. Yet my present reputation struck fear in people like a thunderclap.
Two worlds I never intended to have—crashing together in the most ridiculous collision.
The tension of moments earlier dissolved into the bizarre spectacle of young dancers treating me like a visiting dignitary rather than someone who used to sit beside them during class.
I stood quietly in the doorway, letting the surreal contrast settle in my chest.
It seemed… even in places where blood once stained the windows,
my presence had power now.
Power I hadn't asked for—
but one I could use.
If revenge demanded it.
The stunned stillness that had seized the locker room dissolved into frantic motion—shuffling feet, nervous bows, pink skirts swaying as the girls scrambled to pick up what they'd dropped.
Round, white snacks lay scattered across the polished wooden floor like guilty confessions. A whole basket's worth.
Ah.
Of course.
This hadn't changed at all.
Jamie knelt down to gather the treats, her cheeks turning pink with embarrassment. "O-oh… um… W-we're sorry," she whimpered, voice cracking under the weight of all eyes in the room. "We were only going to eat five each… honest!"
Her earnest panic tugged at something soft inside me. And for the first time that morning, I felt my lips threaten a tiny smile.
A secret indulgence in the locker room, hidden behind laughter and closed doors.
Just like us, once.
I let out a quiet breath that almost became a CHUCKLE. Almost.
Jamie, unable to withstand the silence, extended the basket toward me with shaking hands. "W-would you like to try one?" she managed to whisper, tears shimmering at her lashes.
She truly believed I might punish them.
I looked down at the little white snacks, then at Jamie's trembling fingers.
My face remained composed, but my voice was mild—almost gentle.
"You should lock the door first," I advised, ignoring the offering entirely. "So you don't get caught."
"OH! Right!!" Jamie yelped, nearly tripping over herself as she dashed to the door.
CLICK.
The lock slid into place.
The other girls exhaled in relief, deflating all at once. A few tried to straighten their skirts or smooth their hair, still looking like startled ducklings.
As the girls tried to compose themselves, my attention drifted across the row of metal lockers—old, slightly dented, still painted that same dull shade of blue-gray.
My steps slowed in front of one.
The name tag read:
Jamie
I stared at it for a little too long.
"Is this your locker, Jamie?" I asked without turning my head.
She perked up, still holding the basket. "Yes! It is!"
I stepped closer. My gloved fingertips brushed the cool metal, and a familiar heaviness filled my chest—not sadness, not fear… something more complicated. More broken.
"This was Lise's locker," I murmured softly.
Jamie blinked. "Huh?"
A ghost of a smile touched the corner of my lips. "What a coincidence."
Lise.
The best ballerina of our year.
The brightest star in the academy.
The girl whose future everyone whispered about.
The girl whose life had unraveled the same year mine was torn apart.
Memories flickered—dressing rooms, competitions, late-night practices, whispered secrets…
And the day everything changed.
"She was the top ballerina when I attended La Tassaint," I told Jamie, finally looking at her. "Just like you, she wanted to be the best in the kingdom."
Jamie's eyes widened in admiration. "She must've been amazing…"
"She was," I said.
But the words tasted bittersweet.
I lifted one of the stray snacks between my fingers—not to eat, but simply to give my drifting thoughts something to anchor to. The tiny white treat looked harmless, innocent. Exactly like the memories this locker held…
But innocence never lasted long at La Tassaint.
Not for me.
Not for Lise.
The room was quiet, the girls watching me with wide, uncertain eyes. They sensed it—the shift in my mood, the shadow that had crept in.
My visit here was supposed to be brief. A simple stop.
But the past had its own agenda.
And the memories stirred here would follow me—
out of the Academy,
through the anniversary celebration,
and straight into the heart of the "important engagement" awaiting me.
One way or another…
everything was connected.
Jamie listened to every word with rapt attention, her eyes shimmering—not with fear now, but with admiration. It was such a familiar look… the kind we used to give the seniors we idolized.
"Due to circumstances, she wasn't able to fulfill her dream…" I said quietly. The words felt heavier than I intended. "But had she continued, she would've become the most famous ballerina in Meuracevia by now."
The room fell into a reverent hush.
Jamie's breath hitched, and instead of sorrow, determination sparked in her gaze. "WOW…" Her voice trembled with excitement. "How lucky I am to have her locker! I'll work even harder to get better."
It was strange—how easily the younger generation could turn tragedy into motivation, as though pain transformed naturally into inspiration.
If only it were that simple.
"Which locker was yours, Serena?" she asked, eager and innocent.
I lifted a gloved hand and pointed. "I used the one immediately to the right."
Her reaction was immediate—sparkling, frantic enthusiasm. "Can I share that with the girl who uses it now?!"
A small chuckle nearly escaped me. "Of course."
Symbolism was harmless.
Memories were not.
I gave the room one last sweeping glance—pink dresses, hopeful youth, the lingering sweetness of forbidden snacks, and lockers that held more secrets than they ever should have.
Then I turned away.
The past was done with me—at least for now.
The future, however… was waiting.
The moment I stepped out of the taxi, the world shifted again.
The serenity of the academy vanished, replaced by the golden grandeur of the Serenity Hotel's entrance. The building towered above me like a monument carved in polished stone and ambition. Every line, every detail reminded me of the power it represented.
"Oh, Lady Serena! Welcome back."
A bow, a hurried step, a nervous smile. The staff always moved like finely tuned machinery whenever I appeared.
"The event will be starting soon," the head maid announced, approaching briskly. "Would you like to change into your dress now?"
"Yeah," I replied, already scanning the lobby.
The aroma of fresh flowers hit me first—sweet, overwhelming, impossible to ignore. The entire hall bloomed with bursts of yellow, bright enough to rival the chandeliers above.
I turned to Logan.
"By the way, Uncle Logan, who sent the flowers displayed in the center of the lobby? They're… excessive."
He exchanged a glance with the manager, prompting him forward.
"Those are from President Harold and his wife," the manager said with a laugh. "They were remarkably generous. Practically all the flowers here are from them."
He added, as though giving a gentle reminder of status, "It's customary for invited guests to send yellow flowers for the anniversary—decorations for the entrance. They sent a card too. It's in the master suite."
"Ah… I see."
But inside, a different voice stirred.
He wasn't invited.
He can't even travel far.
And yet… he sent this much?
Generosity was rarely just generosity.
My gaze lingered on the mountain of blossoms—sunlit yellow, soft petals, countless stems.
"I didn't even send President Harold an invitation…"
My gloved fingertips brushed one of the petals.
"…yet he still sent flowers."
Too generous.
Suspiciously generous.
The Serenity Hotel was a battlefield dressed in splendor. Every gesture—every card, flower, dress—was a move in a political dance far older than I cared to admit.
CLACK.
CLACK.
Footsteps echoed across the marble as staff escorted us toward the private elevator.
"Since you have that wound on your hand," the maid said with gentle concern, "it would be best to wear gloves today. Though it may get a bit hot."
"I know."
The wound throbbed beneath the leather, a discreet reminder of violence—past and upcoming.
"I've prepared three dresses," she continued, her voice practiced. "Your main dress, an evening gown, and a spare just in case."
Just in case.
Anything could happen today.
The elevator doors slid open with a soft CHIME.
As I stepped inside, I caught one last glimpse of the yellow flowers filling the lobby.
Beautiful from afar.
But up close… suffocating.
Today's party was a performance.
But the true engagement—the real confrontation—waited beneath the surface like a blade under silk.
I was ready.
---
The golden doors leading down to the celebration hall loomed before me like gates to another battlefield. My gloved fingers tightened around the railing as I descended the stairs slowly, deliberately—each step measured, each sound a soft CLACK… CLACK… echoing my resolve rather than fragility.
The staff stationed along the staircase bowed deeply.
"Lady Serenity."
Their voices were polite, respectful… but there was something else beneath it.
Uncertainty. Caution.
The whispers had already begun: She's changed. She's different. She's… dangerous.
Good.
Let them whisper.
My gown—sleek, elegant, far less frilled than what I used to wear—flowed behind me like a quiet shadow. The low-heeled shoes made my steps silent and sure, not the unsteady tottering they expected from the old Serenity. The gloves hid the wound; the controlled expression hid everything else.
The chandeliers reflected in my dark eyes like fragments of stars.
The hall shifted the moment I stepped through the archway.
Conversations paused.
Heads turned.
Some eyes widened—men who remembered a meek, smiling, decorative Serenity. Women who once pitied me for my dependence. Investors who assumed I was a gentle figurehead with no real power.
Tonight, they faced someone they had never met.
And someone they could no longer ignore.
A slow wave of murmurs rippled through the room.
"Is that… Lady Serenity?"
"She looks… very different."
"More mature… more commanding."
Their awe was not my goal—their recalibration was.
Across the hall, amidst a circle of influential men, Eiser paused mid-sentence.
His eyes—sharp, calculating—lifted and locked onto me instantly.
I watched the subtle shift in his expression:
Interest.
Recognition.
And then, unmistakably… a quiet, dangerous approval.
He excused himself from the men with a polite nod.
They barely noticed—every one of them was busy trying to figure me out.
Eiser moved through the crowd unaffected by their chatter, the yellow corsage on his chest catching the warm lights. His presence was unmistakable, the kind that made people instinctively step aside.
He didn't smile.
But something in his gaze said:
So this is the version of you I've been waiting to see.
I stopped at the center of the hall, directly beneath the chandelier's golden bloom. The light hit me like a coronation.
This was no longer a debutante's timid arrival.
This was an announcement.
"I am Serenity," I murmured under my breath, feeling the weight of the name settle across my shoulders like a new crown.
"But not the one you remember."
The orchestra shifted into a new movement, as if the room itself sensed the shift in power.
Eiser approached, stopping just close enough to challenge me without touching.
"You're late," he murmured low enough that only I could hear. His tone wasn't reprimanding—it was testing.
I lifted my chin slightly, my voice calm and regal.
"I arrived exactly when I meant to."
For a moment, he simply looked at me—truly looked—like he was reassessing everything he thought he understood.
His eyes flicked to my gloves, my dress, the calm steel in my posture.
"…You're different today."
"I've decided to stop hiding," I answered, letting the words fall like velvet-wrapped blades.
A faint, dangerous smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.
"Good," he murmured. "The world should finally see who you really are."
Conversations resumed. Photographers lifted their cameras. Investors drew closer. Rivals stiffened. Allies watched silently.
The spotlight—literal and figurative—fell directly on me.
Tonight was not just an anniversary.
Tonight was an unveiling.
I stepped forward into the room, my voice echoing softly in my mind:
This is my hotel. My empire. My beginning.
Let the world adjust to the woman I've become.
---
The applause, the music, the glittering chandeliers—all of it dissolved into a distant hum as I drifted away from the main current of the ballroom. I had played my role flawlessly: poised, elegant, unshakably composed.
But now…
Now the act paused.
I slipped between clusters of guests, each step controlled, each breath even. My white gloves gleamed under the chandeliers, concealing the envelope like a guilty secret.
Yellow flowers—massive, extravagant arrangements—filled the corners of the hall. I chose one such corner, where shadows softened the edges of the celebration and the windows stretched upward like towering mirrors of the night.
Here, I could breathe.
Here, no one watched too closely.
I exhaled quietly, fingers tightening around the concealed note.
Everything had been under control—my attire, my expressions, my performance as the new Lady Serenity. I mastered every greeting, every measured smile.
This event was my battlefield, and I had already conquered the opening ground.
But Louis had changed the terrain the moment he slipped that piece of paper into my hand.
The warmth of his grip lingered faintly on my glove… but the cold significance of the envelope had already overtaken it.
A direct message from Eiser.
It had weight.
It had intent.
It had consequences.
My heartbeat steadied into a sharper rhythm.
I was prepared for this. I had spent the entire afternoon preparing for exactly this.
The "important engagement" that required meticulous planning, subtle movements, and relentless focus…
It wasn't a meeting.
It wasn't a negotiation.
It was this.
The moment when Eiser would make his move—and I would have to counter with precision.
Wind brushed softly against the tall windows, stirring the curtains like whispers of something inevitable. The laughter from the crowd behind me sounded distant now, almost unreal.
My gaze lowered to my gloved hand.
The envelope was barely visible beneath the silk. A rectangle of ivory paper—thin, elegant, but unmistakably deliberate.
Eiser did nothing without intention.
My pulse gave a small, traitorous jump.
I ignored it.
Steadying myself, I slid the envelope fully into view. Its edges were crisp. The light caught the faint embossed seal—simple, but carrying the weight of his presence.
This is it.
The next phase.
The true test behind tonight's glitter and gold.
Everything I'd built up to this moment—the carefully crafted image, the silent messages delivered through clothing, posture, tone—was merely the prologue.
Now the real game began.
I drew in a slow breath, lifting the envelope with a controlled motion.
The tip of my finger traced the seal.
One pull, and the contents would no longer be speculation—they would shape my next moves, my next words, my next risks.
No turning back.
Here, shielded by flowers and dim golden light…
Here, away from the expectant eyes…
Here, in the calm before the inevitable clash…
I delicately broke the seal and began to unfold Eiser's letter.
---
A new kind of radiance filled the grand hall of the Eiser estate that night.
Golden light poured from the chandeliers, scattering across polished marble like liquid sunlight. The crystal ornaments overhead chimed softly whenever the air stirred—delicate, ceremonial music that felt almost like an omen.
This wasn't just another gala.
This wasn't even just an anniversary celebration.
Tonight was the first time I, Lady Serena, presided over the ceremony alone.
No longer standing beside Eiser as a polite ornament.
No longer a silent shadow.
Tonight, I stood at the center.
I adjusted the intricate yellow lace of my gown—a color reserved for those who stood at the top of Meuracevia's social ladder. The hue was striking, unmistakable, shimmering with every careful movement.
"Since this speech is going to be recorded in full," I reminded myself, breathing steadily, "I need to get every word just right."
The cameras were positioned discreetly around the room, their red lights glowing faintly. A thousand eyes—human and digital—waited for me to shape the tone of this era.
I stepped up to the dais.
My voice, calm and clear, carried through the vast hall.
Every phrase had weight.
Every sentence built a bridge between obligation, ambition, and identity.
And when I concluded, the applause was overwhelming. Not polite. Not obligatory.
Real.
I descended the steps with a confidence that felt unfamiliar… but right.
---
The moment I reached the floor, the world surged toward me—business magnates, old nobility, politicians disguised in velvet charm. I wove through them gracefully, greeting each with the warmth they expected and the calculation they didn't notice.
I learned about investments.
I shared selective details about my own ventures.
I hinted at opportunities.
And with a few key guests, I slipped in certain topics the way a maestro adds a hidden note to guide a melody. I steered conversations gently but firmly:
nudging one partnership here, dissolving an obstacle there, weaving two guests together as though it were natural fate rather than carefully crafted strategy.
It was exhausting—performing charm like a weapon, smiling while navigating egos sharper than blades—but it was also exhilarating.
Because every time a conversation shifted exactly the way I needed it to…
a small, proud laugh bubbled up inside me.
"I guess running a business really is in my blood," I thought with an inward grin.
Hehe… (PROUD)
Tonight, I wasn't just playing the role.
I was the role.
---
Then, as I turned after introducing a baroness to a trade mogul she'd been avoiding, my gaze collided with Eiser's across the hall.
He stood near a tall floral arrangement, his black suit immaculate, posture relaxed yet unmistakably alert. Even in a crowd of powerhouses, he drew eyes without effort.
But right now… his eyes were fixed solely on me.
We held each other's stare for a long, unbroken moment.
Not tense.
Not cold, as it once had been.
Something warm flickered between us—acknowledgment, admiration, and something softer that neither of us dared define aloud.
My breath caught, just slightly.
His lips quirked, almost imperceptibly.
A silent exchange.
A private language only we could understand amid the noise of the hall.
---
On the balcony overlooking the ballroom, Lord Theon stood observing the festivities. A habitual spectator, always analyzing, always cataloguing details others missed.
He paused mid-sip of his champagne.
"Hm?" He adjusted his monocle, leaning slightly forward. "Perhaps I'm reading too much into things… but it seems like Lady Serena and Sir Eiser are gazing at each other much more warmly than before."
He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, a slow smile creeping across his face.
"Well, well… how interesting."
His voice and observation dissolved into the buzz of conversation below.
But his intuition was not wrong.
Tonight… something between us had shifted.
---
The muffled hum of the gala drifted through the walls like a distant tide—music, laughter, the soft clinking of glasses. All of it felt far away from the small private dressing room where I'd finally stolen a moment of peace.
I slumped into the vanity chair, my shoulders sinking as the exhaustion finally punched through the rigid composure I'd held all night.
Ugh… I'm starting to get tired.
(SLUMP)
The golden glow from the wall sconces bathed the room in soft warmth, but even that felt heavy on my eyes.
Now I understand why Mother always went on vacation right after the anniversary event…
The thought drifted lazily through my mind as I massaged my temples.
The first part of the gala—flawless.
The second part—smooth, controlled.
And now, all that was left was the evening party.
Just one dress change.
One last performance.
Then freedom.
I allowed my eyes to close for a brief moment—
RUSTLE.
My eyelids snapped open.
That wasn't a sound the empty room should've made.
I straightened, heart rate rising.
This room was private.
Staff didn't enter without knocking.
No guest had permission to be here.
CLACK.
A single, deliberate footstep echoed across the marble.
The light in the room dipped sharply toward shadow on the left side, and from within that darkness, a figure shifted—subtle, like a predator adjusting its stance.
Before I could speak, a voice slithered into the quiet, deep and unmistakably familiar.
"…It's been a while."
My breath hitched.
No.
Not here.
Not tonight.
I turned sharply, my heartbeat thudding like a warning drum in my ears. The shadows seemed to cling to him, bending around his tall frame, as though recoiling from the coldness he carried.
He stepped closer, the dim light finally brushing the edge of his face.
And then—
"Hello, darling."
The way he said it—sweetened, dripping with affection—felt all wrong.
Like poison coated in honey.
A chill crawled up my arms.
My exhaustion evaporated in an instant, replaced by a sharp, instinctive wariness.
This wasn't supposed to happen tonight.
Not during my moment of triumph.
Not here, behind closed doors.
But his presence meant only one thing:
A new complication had arrived.
And it wasn't the type that could be subtly managed with a smile on the ballroom floor.
The evening party suddenly felt a very long way off.
---