The sunlight streamed through the grand, gilded windows of the office, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air like tiny golden sparks. I sat behind my massive marble-topped desk, feeling the familiar weight of responsibility settle on my shoulders. The year was winding down, and the hotel, always a living organism in its own right, was entering its busiest season. Staff scurried past in the corridors outside, their footsteps muffled by the thick carpets, and the faint hum of preparations seeped through the polished wood walls.
"Here are the sales reports and the proposal for our year-end event," said the manager, laying a few binders carefully on the desk as though placing precious artifacts rather than documents. "I also brought the manual on the hotel's membership tiers and the list of customers, which you requested separately."
I nodded, already flipping through the initial pages. Numbers sprawled across the paper in neat, confident columns. "So far, the sales numbers look great. We exceeded our target," I said, a brief flicker of satisfaction warming my chest. That was good news—one less thing to weigh down my mind. But I couldn't linger on it.
The proposal for the Christmas event caught my attention, and my brow furrowed. "But as for the Christmas event… I find this proposal somewhat lackluster, especially given that you've been working on it since spring. It seems entirely too similar to last year's event." My words were measured, but my thoughts carried sharper edges. It wouldn't be as enjoyable for our guests if they encountered the same spectacle every year. Repetition breeds boredom, and complacency is a luxury the hotel could never afford.
I resisted the urge to sigh and let my gaze wander momentarily to the view beyond the windows: the city's skyline glinting under the late-morning sun, bustling yet distant. As always, the end of the year was a storm of activity—bookings, events, holiday promotions—but I thrived in this controlled chaos. Our Christmas display, I reminded myself, wasn't just decoration—it was a statement. A promise of experience, an anchor for the hotel's brand and reputation.
"Just keep your head down and do your job, Serena," I muttered quietly to myself, redirecting my attention back to the documents. "I'd like something more unique this year. Hmm… how about this? We'll use yellow, our hotel's signature color, and stuffed toys of our popular mascot…"
The manager's eyes widened, and I could see the cogs turning in his mind as he processed the suggestion. "Oh, that's an excellent idea. I will speak to the Public Relations team…"
I cut him off before he could get too carried away, shifting my attention to the next matter. "Also… thanks to the military officers, membership of our sports club has increased as of late… and the white tier, a secret membership tier that was essentially limited to the eight founding families, is effectively nonexistent now. In light of that, I'd like to make some sweeping changes to our membership system, as well as amend some of the terms."
I felt the weight of responsibility settle deeper into my spine. The task ahead would be heavy, but necessary for the long-term health of the hotel. This was what I was here for—to make decisions that would ripple through months and years to come. And now, standing amidst the swirl of papers, reports, and projections, my thoughts were firmly rooted in work. Eiser, for the moment, receded into the background, replaced by memos and strategies.
"On that note, I have something to ask the concierges who are in charge of our VIP clients. Could you call them, please?" I said, tapping a finger on the polished surface of my desk, a subtle signal of command.
"Of course, Lady Serena," the manager replied smoothly, already reaching for the phone.
"Then… I'll review everything in regards to the points you mentioned today and submit an updated report," he continued, gathering his things with the precision of a man trained to anticipate every move. "I believe you said you had somewhere to be after this?"
"That's right. What is it? Was there something else?" I asked, a slight impatience creeping into my tone. The day had its rhythm, and I was already several steps ahead in my mind.
"No, it's just that… the restaurant staff heard you'd be working at the hotel today, and they're very much looking forward to having you dine here… Apparently, we received a shipment of very fresh scallops this morning! Haha!" A short, cheerful man appeared suddenly at the door, interrupting our meeting with the kind of exuberance that was impossible to ignore.
I felt a small smile touch my lips despite myself. For a fleeting moment, the spreadsheets and proposals receded into the background. Work could wait a few more minutes.
---
The morning sun hit the gilded façade of the building, making it shimmer with an impossible, almost surreal light. Its rays bounced off the ornate carvings and golden accents, turning the stone into something ethereal, as if the entire structure were alive. The drive was immaculate, polished to perfection, the cobblestones gleaming beneath the soles of my heels. The sound of our cars arriving was perfectly synchronized—the sharp CLACK of door latches followed by another, then the soft crunch of expensive shoes on stone. Even the air seemed to pause in recognition of the ritual, and the usual small crowd of staff and onlookers parted instinctively as I stepped out.
"I barely got any sleep last night... Ugh, I'm tired," I muttered into the phone I held to my ear, adjusting the wide brim of my black hat that shielded my face from the prying eyes of the world. My assistant's voice, normally a comforting murmur in the morning chaos, ended swiftly, leaving me alone with the familiar weight of my own thoughts. I lowered the phone, letting it rest in my lap for a moment, and took in the scene with a detached air.
Across the drive, his car had also arrived, smooth and understated, yet impossible to miss. And there he was—standing tall, impeccably groomed, every detail about him exuding control, confidence, and a quiet magnetism. He was heading to a business meeting, undoubtedly calculating, planning, commanding—just as I was about to take over the hotel, my domain, for another busy day.
For a brief, agonizing moment, our eyes met across the short distance. The world seemed to shrink, the noise of engines and footfalls fading to a muted hum. My chest tightened, a flicker of warmth and something far more insidious crawling up from deep within me.
Hmph, please.
I immediately averted my gaze, turning my back to him with a motion sharp and decisive. I refused to acknowledge the flutter, the absurd pull that had nothing to do with propriety, reason, or common sense.
Me? In love? With you?
The thought burned in my mind, ridiculous and unwelcome, echoing like an argument I hadn't agreed to have. No, I must be mistaken. There was no room for such foolishness—not here, not now, not ever.
"Let's go," I commanded my driver, my voice clipped, professional, leaving no space for hesitation or pity.
I slid into the backseat of my car, the door shutting behind me with a decisive SLAM that seemed to reverberate against the grand walls of the drive. I pulled the wide brim of my hat further down, letting the darkness swallow my expression, hiding every flicker of emotion that had dared to escape. A wave of anger and disbelief washed over me, hot and unbidden, chasing away even the remnants of embarrassment.
"It's ridiculous..." I whispered to myself, the word barely more than a breath, a private admission to no one but the wind outside the tinted window.
Yes, patently ridiculous.
The engine revved, a low, powerful VROOM that resonated in my chest, and the car pulled away from the golden architecture and the other man standing just beyond my reach. Every second that distanced me from him felt like reclaiming a piece of myself.
Meanwhile, in his own car, he watched my hasty departure, the faint crease between his brows betraying confusion beneath the perfection of his features.
"...? What's she upset about now?" he wondered aloud, a question suspended in the early morning air, his mind already spinning through every possible offense he might have committed. Then, a slow realization dawned, unsettling in its clarity.
YES… A MISTAKE.
A mistake in judgment, a mistake in assumption, or perhaps simply a mistake in proximity—whatever the cause, the thought of being consumed by him, of being swept away by love, was intolerable. I had a hotel to run, responsibilities to uphold, and no time—no space—for such an inconvenient, irrational, and frankly ridiculous feeling.
This expansion deepens the sensory details of the scene, emphasizes Serena's internal struggle, and highlights the tension between her professional duties and personal emotions, without moving past the moment you specified.
faithful to your original passage:
"That's right. What is it? Was there something else?" I asked the manager, who hesitated for a fraction of a second before taking a step back, as if choosing his words carefully.
Before he could respond, the cheerful little man from the restaurant staff, small in stature but brimming with energy, piped up again, his wide grin practically splitting his face. "NO, IT'S JUST THAT… THE RESTAURANT STAFF HEARD YOU'D BE WORKING AT THE HOTEL TODAY, AND THEY'RE VERY MUCH LOOKING FORWARD TO HAVING YOU DINE AT THE HOTEL… APPARENTLY, WE RECEIVED A SHIPMENT OF VERY FRESH SCALLOPS THIS MORNING! HAHA!"
"They had a great vacation and are excited to be back to work!" the manager added, his smile warm, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
"That's a relief," I conceded, feeling a flicker of warmth despite the usual weight of my responsibilities. Their excitement was genuine, almost contagious. "I unfortunately must be going as I have a pressing matter to attend to, but I will definitely stay for a meal next time." I pushed my chair back slowly, the polished legs scraping the marble floor, and began to rise, smoothing the folds of my outfit with deliberate care.
"AH, ONE MOMENT PLEASE. I THOUGHT YOU MIGHT SAY AS MUCH, SO…"
The manager hurried forward, gesturing toward a small table near the desk. "?…" My eyes widened slightly. There, placed with care and precision, was a gorgeous miniature chocolate cake. It was topped with a single, perfect red rose and accompanied by an arrangement of lemon candies that gleamed like tiny golden suns. Inscribed in delicate icing were the words, "We Love S."
How sweet…
"They made both this morning especially for you, Lady Serena," the small man chirped, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. "If you could at least try a bite before you go, they would be over the moon."
I studied the tiny, intricately decorated cake for a long moment. The gesture was undeniably touching—small yet heartfelt, a reminder that even amidst the endless responsibilities, people cared. Slowly, I picked up the small golden fork, letting its weight settle in my fingers. I gave the rose a gentle POKE, careful not to disturb its perfection, before bringing a piece of the rich chocolate to my lips. NOM.
The taste was indulgent, almost sinful in its decadence. A fleeting smile tugged at my lips despite myself, a brief moment of escape from the constant calculations and obligations of my life.
"I unfortunately must be going as I have a pressing matter to attend to, but I will definitely stay for a meal next time," I repeated, standing fully now. My chair rolled back with a quiet SLIDE across the marble floor, punctuating my words with the finality of departure.
Then, as if reading my mind and sensing the need for something lighter, the manager's smile broadened, and he shifted the conversation entirely. "OH, AND… IT'S ABOUT TIME FOR YOUR VACATION, LADY SERENA. WHEN WOULD YOU LIKE TO DEPART?"
I paused, the fork still hovering halfway to the plate. "Pardon? ME? GO ON A VACATION?"
The manager looked completely earnest, spreading his hands in a gentle gesture. "It's customary. After the hotel's anniversary celebration, the hotel staff are given a vacation, followed by the owner's." His eyes held a quiet insistence, kind but firm. "Things are quiet at the hotel, so leave everything to us and take some time off."
I met his gaze, a slight smile brushing my lips. A vacation. The thought was foreign, almost alien—an interruption to the carefully orchestrated chaos of my days—but strangely tempting after the relentless pace of the year.
"I'LL… GIVE THE MATTER SOME THOUGHT," I finally responded, setting the fork down with a soft CLINK. There was still so much to do, systems to overhaul, plans to review—but the image of fresh scallops, the tiny chocolate cake, and the earnest enthusiasm of the staff lingered in my mind. Perhaps, just perhaps, I was due for a break.
A vacation… The thought lingered in my mind like the sweet, lingering taste of the chocolate cake from earlier. But such indulgences would have to wait. The "pressing matter" I'd referred to was already calling me away from the bright, warm, and reassuring energy of the hotel into a dimmer, far more serious setting.
The drive was long, silent except for the low hum of the engine and the occasional crunch of gravel as we neared my destination. By the time the sun began its slow descent behind the mountains, painting the sky in a dramatic blaze of orange and red, my thoughts had already shifted entirely to the task ahead. My car glided to a stop before a grand, neoclassical building, its pillars reaching upward like sentinels guarding some forbidden treasure. The air felt heavier here, laden with history, power, and secrets. The silence around the building was almost oppressive, broken only by the sharp CLACK of my car door shutting behind me.
This was the Slitswan Auction House.
I ascended the imposing stone steps with deliberate poise, each movement calculated, my expression shielded beneath the wide brim of my hat. The crisp lines of my tailored suit amplified my professional detachment. In moments like this, the world outside—the bright sunlight, the distant city, the hotel staff's excitement—faded completely. Only the matter at hand mattered.
You must be joking! The thought flared in my mind, unbidden. The idea of maintaining yet another charade, one requiring endless patience and the careful management of appearances, was exasperating. And yet, it was necessary. I reminded myself: discretion was a currency far more valuable than gold in this realm.
Inside, past the grand main hall echoing with the faint murmur of refined footsteps and whispered bids, I made my way toward a secluded reception area, richly adorned with intricate woodwork and gilded accents. The muted tones of the walls and carpets seemed designed to absorb attention, leaving only what mattered to be noticed.
"Ah, Lady Sera. You're here to bid on Item A-68, Moon Halo, correct?" one of the attendants asked, his tone respectful yet curious.
"Yes, and…?" I replied, my voice smooth, cool, and formal, leaving no space for surprise or familiarity.
The two attendants exchanged a glance, subtle yet charged with unspoken questions. One leaned in slightly, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "You're not the same Lady Sera who was here last time, are you? Are you… here on her behalf? Or perhaps you're the real Lady—"
I cut him off, my gaze fixed on his face, though the shadow of my hat concealed my eyes. "This is the private reception desk, is it not?" My words were calm, but carried an unyielding edge that left no room for further speculation.
The attendant flushed instantly, his posture collapsing from confident to flustered in a heartbeat. "I—I apologize. We checked the bid application form in advance, and everything looks good! HAHA!"
Another attendant, cheerful in appearance yet clearly uneasy, nudged his colleague as if to signal restraint. A tiny, panicked SQUEEZE punctuated the gesture—an almost comic contrast to the formality of the space.
The quiet hiss of a WHISPER followed, carrying the authority of someone used to maintaining order: "Shut your trap, you fool. There were always two different women who come to submit bids under the name of Sera. This woman simply happens to come less often. She's a notoriously private person, so don't say anything to upset her."
"S-sorry…" the chastened man muttered, eyes wide, his earlier confidence thoroughly dismantled.
I observed the exchange with deliberate detachment, unmoved. It was true. I had carefully orchestrated my attendance at these secret, high-profile auctions to maintain a separation between my life as hotel owner and my activities here. Today, however, my disguise was slightly less effective—perhaps because it had been some time since my last visit, and because the subtle rhythms of the attendants' routines were now unfamiliar to me.
The attendant who first addressed me continued to study me, a thoughtful frown creasing his brow. I've never seen her face since she always keeps it covered… but today, she seems like an entirely different person.
He was mistaken, of course. I was the same person. Always. Only… tired, as I often was in this world of masks and shadows.
I pulled my gloved hand free, raising the bid card with the number 7. "I'd like to bid privately."
The attendants snapped back to attention, professionalism restored in an instant.
"O-of course! Let me escort you to a private room! Please come this way," the first attendant said, stepping aside with renewed diligence.
As they ushered me down the velvet-carpeted hall, I let out a silent sigh, though my expression remained composed. TSK… It had always been fun participating and winning bids, but today might very well be my last chance. The risks were escalating, and my visibility in these circles was growing.
I would need to find someone else to handle Sera's duties—perhaps an older gentleman, less conspicuous than I or Sui, someone who could blend into these affairs without drawing undue attention.
With a final glance at the darkening sky outside, the deepening orange bleeding into twilight, I allowed myself to follow them into the seclusion of the private bidding room, every sense alert, prepared to secure the Moon Halo.
The auction house was silent, the ornate private room feeling less like a vault and more like a cage. Every polished surface, every gilded edge, seemed to mock the time and effort I had invested, the precision with which I had orchestrated my visit now rendered meaningless.
My driver opened the car door with a quiet CLACK, and I stepped onto the cobblestones. The rich red glow of the late sunset reflected off the uneven stones, painting them with fleeting warmth, a cruel contrast to the storm brewing inside me.
"YOU MUST BE JOKING!" The fury rose in my throat, bitter and tight, a rare, uncharacteristic display of emotion that I could not suppress.
One of the paintings in the series I had been carefully collecting for years was to be auctioned tonight. I had come all this way, taking time from the hotel's operations, from meetings and decisions only I could make, to bid on it myself… only for the auction to be abruptly canceled just moments before it was scheduled to begin. The attendant's meek apology, offered with downcast eyes and hesitant words about "unforeseen circumstances," did nothing to soothe the gnawing irritation inside me.
This was not merely a professional setback; it was a profound waste of my limited, valuable time. UNBELIEVABLE! HMPH…
The anger vibrated in the tight silence around me as I walked a few steps, each footfall measured yet loaded with frustration. With a sharp, frustrated TOSS, I flung my wide-brimmed hat onto the back seat of the car. The door shut with a heavy SHUT that seemed to echo my displeasure throughout the empty cobblestone courtyard.
The engine roared to life with a deep, resonating VROOM, and we pulled away from the Slitswan Auction House. I settled into the leather seat, arms crossed, my gaze fixed out the window at the receding city blocks. The red sky gradually surrendered to the deepening violet of twilight.
"I was so looking forward to it… but this has been nothing but a waste of time." Each passing minute felt stolen from my responsibilities at the hotel, from the careful orchestration of operations I had spent months refining.
I glanced at my watch. THE SUN'S ALREADY SETTING.
We should have been heading back toward the downtown manor by now, the familiar streets and landmarks a comforting sight after a long day. Yet outside the window, the city lights thinned and disappeared, replaced by the shadows of strange, untamed landscapes.
"How much further is it to the manor? We should have arrived by now." My voice, imperious at first, sharpened with disbelief.
WHY IS THE CAR HEADING TO THE OUTSKIRTS OF THE CITY?
The scenery became increasingly alien—jagged rock formations rising like silent sentinels, dark, imposing trees casting long, skeletal shadows across the winding road. The fading purple light of the sunset made everything appear unreal, as if the world had shifted overnight.
BUT… DID THE WAY TO THE MANOR ALWAYS LOOK LIKE THIS?
The unease settled in my chest like a stone. It felt wrong. Utterly alien. Every instinct I had honed over years of navigating the city screamed that something was amiss.
I leaned forward sharply, my tone turning from imperious to dangerously sharp, each word edged with command.
"Caesar, where are we going? THIS ISN'T THE WAY TO THE MANOR."
The driver's silence was the most damning answer of all.
The situation had taken a sudden and alarming…
The silence from the driver was a physical weight, pressing against the luxurious upholstery of the car. Every tick of the dashboard clock, every subtle vibration from the tires over the rough road, seemed magnified in the stillness. The darkness outside was total, a thick, impenetrable blanket broken only by the faint, clinical glow of the dashboard lights.
I turned fully, my gaze narrowing to icy slits, my voice cutting through the tight space between us like shattered glass. "Caesar, didn't you hear what I just said?"
Silence. No hesitation, no response—only the firm grip of hands on the wheel, guiding the vehicle deeper into the wilderness. The familiar rhythm of Caesar's presence, the subtle gestures and ease of his movements, were entirely absent.
"WHERE ARE WE—?" I started, the words catching in my throat as a terrible, cold realization swept over me. My mind went back, reconstructing every detail from the moment I had stepped into the car outside the auction house: the familiar click of the door latch, the weight of the seat beneath me, the unremarkable hum of the engine.
And now… my eyes traced the outline of the driver's dark cap, the wide, square set of his shoulders. A chilling certainty clamped down on my chest.
That man… he's not Caesar.
My heart gave a heavy, uneven THUMP, followed immediately by another, its rhythm matching the growing panic rising in my chest. I stared at the back of the driver's head, my mind racing through every possibility, every risk I had dismissed while carefully playing the role of 'Sera' at these secret auctions.
"What…" I whispered, my fingers darting instinctively to my bow-tied collar, covering the diamond pins that rested there like fragile secrets. "WHO ARE YOU?"
The man didn't answer. He didn't flinch. Instead, he pulled the car to a smooth stop along the desolate roadside, the tires barely making a sound against the gravel. The weight of the moment sank deeper.
The final, horrifying truth hit me like a hammer. Every carefully maintained boundary, every precaution, every invisible cord of safety I had relied on—all of it had just been ripped apart.
Back at the manor, far from the isolated wilderness I was now trapped in, the tranquility of the drawing room was shattered by the urgent ringing of the old-fashioned telephone. My maid, her expression taut with concern, lifted the receiver with trembling hands.
"Caesar! Why haven't you returned yet? Why are you calling? It's quite late, so I was starting to get worried..."
The voice on the other end delivered news that struck like a blow to the chest. The maid's face drained of color as she struggled to comprehend the words.
"WHAT?! WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY?" The sound reverberated through the empty house, DU DUN, a sudden, alarming thrum across the quiet, polished floors.
Her hand shook as she held the receiver, eyes wide, darting toward the empty grand staircase as if expecting me to appear, safe and unharmed.
"K-kidnapped?"
Meanwhile, I was already far away, trapped in the back of a car with a stranger. A pawn in a game I hadn't even realized existed. My brief moment of indulgence after the failed auction—the distraction of chocolate cake, the fleeting taste of a minor victory—had led me directly into a meticulously laid trap, one that now threatened to undo every carefully constructed piece of my life.
This expansion heightens the tension, Serena's panic, and the contrast between her isolated vulnerability and the manor's unaware household, maintaining the suspense and immediacy of the original passage.
The study was dim, lit only by the last vestiges of twilight struggling through the heavy, velvet curtains. Shadows pooled in the corners of the room, swallowing familiar shapes and making the space feel far larger and colder than it actually was. I clutched the antique brass phone receiver, my knuckles white, heart hammering a chaotic rhythm against my ribs: THUMP… THUMP…
"Caesar! Why haven't you returned yet? Why are you calling?" I managed, my voice tight, quivering with unease. "It's quite late, so I was starting to get worried…"
The line crackled, static buzzing like distant insects. Then a low, unfamiliar voice cut through the haze of tension.
"He's not Caesar."
A sickening jolt tore through me. My chest constricted, and my eyes went wide as I stared blankly at the ornate wallpaper, as if the very walls could offer an explanation. The words echoed inside my skull. WHAT?!
"What did you just say?" I whispered, my voice trembling, brittle as glass.
The sound effect DU DUN seemed to reverberate through the quiet study, bouncing off the high ceiling and gilded frames, each note hammering at my panic. It was too late to hang up, too late to think rationally.
THUMP… THUMP…
My breath hitched, caught in my throat. The voice on the other end was calm, deliberate, devoid of warmth, and chillingly close—like it could reach through the line and grip me by the shoulders.
"WHO ARE YOU?" I barely squeaked, fingers trembling against the receiver.
And then the thought—the terrifying suggestion—finally pieced itself together in my mind. The receiver felt impossibly cold and heavy in my hand.
K-kidnapped?
The word was a frozen blade. I dropped the phone onto the velvet ottoman. The world seemed to tilt, the edges of the study blurring as adrenaline surged through me. I had to move. I had to act. I had to think.
I lifted the hem of my long, dark dress, the fabric brushing my legs like a shadow, and ran. The marble floor was icy beneath my shoes, sending a shiver up my spine, but I ignored it. PANICKED, I sped down the long, empty hall, past the imposing statues and thick columns that had always felt like silent witnesses. I had to find someone. Anyone.
I found him moments later—Eiser. He was in the salon, his presence cutting through the dim light like a blade. His gaze was intense, sharp, a storm barely contained in the calm of his expression.
"Miss Sui?" he asked, voice steady, though the concern at the edges betrayed him. "Are you all right? What's the matter?"
I gasped, forcing words out between ragged breaths, tears threatening to blur my vision. "I—I received a call from Caesar…" My voice cracked, the memory of the man in uniform flashing vividly in my mind. "I must speak to Eiser at once."
I steadied myself, desperate to maintain composure, yet the urgency tumbled out like a torrent. "Lady Serena was…"
Eiser's eyes, the color of a stormy sea, widened, and the controlled calm that usually masked his every emotion finally shattered.
"WHAT?" he demanded, voice rising with alarm. "WHAT HAPPENED TO LADY SERENA?!"
Eiser's fierce gaze bore into mine, each second stretching unbearably as if daring me to speak. "WHAT HAPPENED TO LADY SERENA?!" His voice cut through the dim salon like a blade, sharp, commanding, yet threaded with raw concern.
I swallowed hard, forcing a shaky breath through my trembling chest. Adrenaline made my limbs tremble, my thoughts scattering, but I willed myself to speak clearly. "I—I received a call from Caesar… I must speak to Eiser at once. Lady Serena was…" I hesitated, the word choking me. Gone… kidnapped… The image of her trapped, vulnerable, rose unbidden in my mind, and I could not say it aloud.
Eiser's eyes narrowed, a flash of steel cutting through his usual calm. "Caesar… the driver?"
"Y-yes," I stammered, gesturing wildly as I tried to recreate the scene in my mind, still PANICKED from my dash across the marble hall. "He was waiting for Lady Serena at the rear of the auction house when he was suddenly attacked by a group of unfamiliar men. They came from nowhere… he barely managed to escape with his life…"
I saw the horrifying realization dawn on Eiser's face, his stormy eyes darkening as comprehension set in.
"It seems Lady Serena got on the car, none the wiser… What do we do?" My voice was thick with guilt and fear, the words sticking in my throat as I relived the scene over and over.
Eiser's sharp gaze cut through the panic, his voice slicing through the tension. "What about her bodyguards? They always accompany her when she goes to an auction."
I wrung my hands, the weight of responsibility crushing me as I relayed the grim details. "According to the bodyguards, their car suddenly stopped after a short distance… It seems someone tampered with the wheels. They were incapacitated long enough for the attackers to take advantage."
I could feel my shoulders tighten, the gravity of the disaster settling like a stone in my chest. "They ran into Caesar, who was belatedly chasing after the car, and he realized what was happening too late to stop it."
I let my arms fall to my sides, my body sagging with helplessness. "Oh… this is all my fault."
Eiser's eyes did not waver; he continued to study me, reading the panic and remorse etched across my face. "You should have gone instead of her," I admitted, my voice almost a whisper, laden with desperation. "I should've gone. What do we do?"
Eiser's expression hardened, his jaw tense, his focus unwavering. "Did you not pass on my warning to Lady Serena—not to do anything in person as Sera?"
I opened my mouth, intending to defend her. "She… she was already fatigued, Eiser. She's been working from morning till night yesterday, and today… she insisted on going to the auction house herself on her way home from work."
The memory of her exhausted face flashed vividly in my mind, her delicate features drawn tight with the strain of duty. I trailed off, the words dying in my throat. No matter the reasoning, the terrifying truth remained stark and undeniable: Lady Serena was gone.
We had the who—Lady Serena. The what—kidnapped after a car ambush. The where—leaving the auction house.
And now, all that remained was to figure out how to get her back.
I buried my face in my hands, the guilt a suffocating blanket, pressing down on my chest until it was hard to breathe. "I-I'm sorry," I choked out, my voice breaking, raw with desperation. "It was a painting she wanted dearly. Also, the auction… it was supposed to take place in a private room, and she had her bodyguards… I didn't think anything would happen to her…"
Eiser stood still for a moment, his tall, commanding frame rigid. His handsome features, usually so composed and unreadable, hardened with a profound sense of self-reproach. It wasn't directed at me—no, it was directed inward, at a failure he refused to forgive himself for. His silence was loud, every line of his jaw, every tense movement speaking volumes.
This is why it's always best to warn the party involved directly… I shouldn't have turned around and walked away that night.
The memory seemed to wash over him, an unbidden flash of a different time: an image of a woman—presumably Serena—leaning into him, fragile, tentative, followed by him walking away. His chest tightened at the recollection.
I shouldn't have backed down… even if Lady Serena was avoiding me.
Without a word, he began to walk, his footsteps echoing sharply across the marble floors, reverberating like distant gunshots in the quiet hall.
I scrambled after him, my own shoes clicking frantically on the stone. "WH-WHERE ARE YOU GOING?!" I cried out, panic spiking through my chest. TURN! STEP! STEP! My breath came in short, desperate gasps, my mind spinning with fear for her.
Eiser didn't stop. His voice, calm now but carrying the weight of unwavering focus, cut through my frantic thoughts. "Although I'm not entirely certain, I have a hunch as to where they took her."
He reached the grand, ornamental doors and pushed them open, the heavy wood swinging wide with a deep, resonating CREAK. As he stepped through, the scene shifted dramatically—like the world had split in two.
Across town, in a room suffused with soft lamplight, a different story was unfolding. The space was luxurious, but the careful arrangement, the quiet order of everything, made it clear that privacy here was absolute. A man with striking blue eyes sat at an ornate desk, the fine lines of his face focused, precise. His hand moved with deliberate care, signing a document with a fine-tipped pen.
Then… his hand paused. PAUSE. A subtle shift in the air seemed to draw his attention elsewhere. His eyes lifted slowly from the paper, scanning the room, sensing a disturbance that wasn't visible but was impossible to ignore.
It was as if the wind itself carried a message, a silent echo reaching across the city. A low, internal voice whispered the horrifying truth: "SERENA WAS…"
The man at the desk, deadly serious, allowed a flicker of recognition to cross his expression—or perhaps it was preparation. A subtle tightening of his jaw, a shift in posture, as if he had been waiting for this precise moment.
"…WHAT?"
The implication was clear. Eiser was already moving, already acting on instinct and information, and the people responsible for Lady Serena's disappearance—wherever they were—were either poised to strike further or about to be interrupted. The tension hung thick, a palpable cord stretching across the city, linking mansion, pursuers, and victims in a dangerous, invisible web.