Eiser always hunted like a predator in the dark. It wasn't just a skill; it was a part of him, etched into his bones from the earliest days when he learned the rules of survival under our father's watchful, unforgiving eye. Business, family, friendship—everything was a matter of utility, of weakness versus strength. And he measured everyone, including me, with the same cold, calculating gaze.
Except for when he was very young, no matter how much he despised me, he never made his feelings overt, never lashed out in anger. Violence was never his first tool; it was a last resort, reserved for moments when patience had matured into perfect timing. Mostly, he ignored those who failed to impress him or provoke his interest. To be unseen by Eiser was both a relief and a subtle terror.
Yet, if anyone—me, another sibling, a careless associate—crossed an invisible line he drew, he would wait. Always. He would linger at the edge of perception, unseen, silent, until a moment presented itself. And then, without fanfare or warning, he struck. The devastation was swift, efficient, and almost intimate, like a shadow consuming the candlelight.
That same quiet precision marked his departure from the family. He didn't storm out in rage or leave behind a trail of grievances. He simply receded, slipping into the background as if he had never been there at all. At first, I welcomed it. The absence of his relentless, calculating scrutiny felt like freedom. For the first time in years, the house seemed quieter, less oppressive. I allowed myself a deceptive peace, a fragile sense of relief.
But relief was naïve. I understood too well the nature of Eiser's departures. He never truly left. He repositioned. He vanished only to emerge where he could operate with greater effectiveness, with sharper precision, and with fewer constraints. The predator's mind never rests; it merely hunts under another moon, in another forest, where its blue, luminous eyes glint through the darkness, watching, learning, waiting.
And for anyone foolish enough to believe that absence equaled safety, that relief meant the end, Eiser's quiet exit was only the prelude. Every shadow held a memory of him, every silence whispered of his presence. The predator does not apologize, does not linger in sentiment, and never forgets. He simply waits.
---
Afterwards, while it made me uneasy—an edge of anxiety gnawing at me not to hear a peep from him—I allowed myself to believe I had been freed from Eiser's presence. Since he left with nothing but the clothes on his back, no matter how capable he was, I didn't imagine he could pose any serious threat to the Grayan family. My thoughts drifted elsewhere; I allowed myself the comfort of disbelief, the naive assurance that his departure marked the end of his influence.
Any lingering interest in him—or fear, or curiosity—vanished completely when I first heard the bizarre news: he had married a girl from the Serenity family, a house in rapid decline, teetering on the brink of ruin.
"What, he got married?" I asked, unable to hide my disbelief.
"Yes. Well… he didn't hold a wedding ceremony," came the reply, almost dismissively.
For a moment, I couldn't decide if he had lost his mind or simply abandoned any concern for life itself. Either way, I reasoned, he would live quietly, removed from my world, invisible, and harmless. I convinced myself that the Serenity family's slow recovery didn't matter to me; their businesses barely intersected with ours in Wellenberg, and I allowed myself a small, smug relief.
But later…
Later, I realized how wrong I had been. I hadn't considered the full scope of Eiser's patience, the methodical nature of his mind. He didn't disappear because he had given up. He vanished to plan, to wait, to build a weapon in the shadows. He reemerged not to celebrate, not to reconcile, but to quietly assert that the sense of security I had felt was nothing but an illusion.
He had been laying the groundwork for his revenge. Slowly, relentlessly, he was maneuvering me into a corner. Every move he made was deliberate, each step calculated. And the stage for the trap he had set was Artiazen—our primary place of business, where the majority of our capital and influence were concentrated.
"Sir Victor, this is no laughing matter," my advisor said, the tension in his voice barely contained. "If we're no longer able to start the new business… the Grayan family will be bankrupt as well."
I felt the cold weight of disbelief pressing down on me. How on earth had he thought to use the Serenity family—once a dying house—as a blade, sharp enough to pierce directly through the heart of the Grayans? A man who seemed to have nothing, who had married into a failing family, had somehow forged that weakness into a weapon aimed squarely at us.
Tenacious son of a b*****.
However…
Yes. This should suffice.
I remembered the dark gleam in his eye, the subtle curve of his lips when he had last been in the family home, the quiet patience that had always unnerved me. Eiser had not merely left the family. He had spent years building a quiet, intricate mechanism of destruction, each cog perfectly aligned for this very moment. And now, he was ready to strike. The real game, the final hunt, had begun.
---
Eiser is currently the head of the Serenity family. Given how intimately he knows our inner workings—our strengths, our blind spots, our unspoken rules—it was a major headache, watching him deliberately interfere with my business ventures. Every move he made was intentional, crafted with a surgeon's precision, designed to inflict maximum disruption with minimal effort.
I sat back in the ancestral chair, the heavy carved wood grounding me in generations of power. In my hand, the paper crinkled softly, a tangible reminder of the fresh sting of failure. Yet, as the familiar weight of authority settled over me, the room steadied. They thought I was cornered. They thought a man who inherited a failing dynasty could dismantle the Grayan empire. A naïve assumption. Dangerous, but naïve.
"Yes, there is a solution to everything," I said, my voice calm—almost serene. Rage was beneath me. Panic was beneath me. Even betrayal was beneath me. "Summon all of our solicitors four days from today."
A subordinate—the older gentleman with round spectacles and the posture of someone permanently braced for bad news—stepped forward. "Have you found a solution?"
I gave him a look that cut off any further questions. "I am going to frame him. Claim that he stole important internal documents when he left this family… and that he used that information to sabotage our businesses."
"Ah." His eyes widened, the faintest crack in his carefully maintained composure.
"Tell them to prepare all the materials they possibly can," I continued, each word falling with the weight of inevitability. "We will demand a very exorbitant amount in damages… an amount he cannot escape from, not for as long as he remains the head of the Serenity family."
"Understood."
I leaned forward, placing both hands on the desk—our family's command post for generations. "If we can use Eiser to seize the Serenity family's assets, we will be able to move forward with our development project immediately. And we will have a clean, indisputable excuse to calm down those irate investors who are currently foaming at the mouth."
The subordinate hesitated before raising a cautious point. "Oh! Indeed. But… will the damages be enough to fill that gap? It won't be easy to receive damages in the first place. And even if we succeed, I don't believe it would be nearly sufficient to proceed with the project…"
He wasn't wrong. But he was thinking far too small.
The legal battle was only the beginning—merely the lever, the pressure point I needed. The real prize was the Serenity family itself. Eiser had turned their once-withered house into a polished, lethal instrument. Fine. Then I would simply ensure that instrument was confiscated the moment it cut too deeply.
It was a vicious move. Cruel. Unforgiving.
But against a predator like Eiser… only a bigger predator survives.
I am Victor Grayan.
He may have been a thorn—sharp, inconvenient, and cunning.
But I am the root.
And the root always wins.
"Oh! Indeed. But... will the damages be enough to fill that gap?" The solicitor's question was reasonable, if painfully short‑sighted. "It won't be easy to receive damages in the first place, and even if we succeed, I don't think it'd be nearly enough to proceed with the project. As you know, the investors are quite angry, saying this is a violation of the terms of the contract..."
I chuckled—a low, controlled sound that rippled through the luxurious study like a serpent dragging its scales along polished marble. It was the laugh of someone who saw far beyond the surface. "Of course not. Which is why..." I let the silence stretch, savoring the tension that tightened the man's shoulders. "That's only the beginning."
My fingers curled around the document in hand, the edges digging into my palm. Paper—fragile, flammable, and yet, in the right circumstances, powerful enough to topple entire dynasties.
My ambition stretched far beyond a mere lawsuit. Far beyond petty compensation.
I plan to swallow the Serenity family whole.
Not simply drag them into court. Not merely bruise their reputation.
No—I intended to consume them. To pull every thread from their tapestry until the entire thing collapsed into my hands.
The Serenity family owned a wealth of assets: estates, properties, the hotel, and—most lucratively—the art collection. Serena's pieces, hidden behind her alias, were worth fortunes upon fortunes. Many didn't even know they existed. I did. And more importantly, I knew how to weaponize them.
If I transferred that art to the De Laurent Gallery, it would not only stabilize the gallery's precarious standing but turn it into a powerhouse under my patronage. A perfectly orchestrated power sweep. Everyone wins, except the Serenity family.
By stripping them of everything—public wealth, private holdings, hidden treasures—I wouldn't just stabilize my finances. I would unshackle myself completely.
No more loan sharks clawing at my door.
No more banks breathing down my neck.
No more investors treating me like a cornered animal.
Yes. If I succeeded, I would accomplish something my father never could:
I would take a kingdom. Entirely. And make it kneel.
And…
A distant, muffled sound pierced the quiet of the night—a sharp, percussive impact followed by a strangled cry.
"POW!"
"AAAHHH!"
"POW!"
The noise echoed from the grounds of the Serenity Estate—Dalincour residence—carrying across the cold air like the first tolls of a funeral bell. Down in the courtyard, where moonlight carved thin silver lines along the stone, shadows lunged and staggered around the statue of a praying woman. Each impact drew another broken sound from the darkness.
"ACK!"
Eiser might be the head of the family, but even the stoutest walls could tremble. And tonight, they were shaking—visibly, audibly, beautifully. He had chosen to play the predator, stalking from the shadows with silent precision.
But he had forgotten the truth he should have remembered better than anyone.
The Grayans command the bigger pack.
The brutal symphony below—shattering, groaning, the crunch of impact meeting flesh—was music to my ears. Evidence that the foundations of Serenity were cracking, splintering, collapsing exactly as I intended.
My trap was sprung, and whether through courtrooms or crushed bones, through legal pressure or brute force, the Serenity kingdom would soon be mine.
It seems there is a physical confrontation happening at Dalincour.
"VICTOR!!! STOP IT! YOU'RE GOING TO ACTUALLY KILL HIM AT THIS RATE!"
Di'ah's voice cracked through the night like a snapped bowstring—thin, frightened, desperate. It barely held its own against the sound of my ragged breathing and the dull, wet thud of another blow landing moments earlier.
The boy on the cobblestones writhed weakly, his breath hitching through broken sobs. Blood seeped between the cracks in the stone, a dark, gleaming smear under the academy's lantern light. My knuckles pulsed with a sharp sting, my fists coated in warm streaks of someone else's life. The front of my crisp white shirt was freckled with red.
"Ha!" I barked, turning toward the ring of students who had gathered but refused to intervene. Like shadows caught spying, they recoiled, silent and useless. "Why is everyone keeping their mouths shut?" I spread my arms theatrically, challenging them. "All they need to do is go to a teacher or the headmaster and say I beat them up."
Not one voice answered. Fear sealed their lips. Cowardice glued their feet to the ground.
I pivoted toward Di'ah, letting her see the intensity in my eyes—the chilling, electric blue of a predator mid‑kill. My heart wasn't pounding from the fight. It was pounding from victory. From the perfection of the moment I had engineered.
"What a frustrating bunch of cowards," I said, my tone razor‑sharp. "Wouldn't you agree, Di'ah?"
Her usually composed face twisted in horror as she took in the boy, the crimson spreading beneath him, the trembling witnesses refusing to act. "Is that why you made me a witness to this?" she demanded. "You want me to go tell somebody what you did?"
The boy made another pathetic attempt to rise. I didn't spare him a glance. He wasn't the point. None of them were. They were props—necessary collateral to craft the story I needed.
Everyone I beat clammed up afterwards, too terrified to speak, and if I marched myself to the headmaster's office, it would be painfully obvious that I wanted to get expelled. But wreck someone in front of a crowd, leave them bloody, trembling, and in plain sight of half the academy… that would spread like wildfire. Rumors always filled the gaps facts never could.
I stepped closer to her, my boots clicking softly against the stones. "Then what would Father think of me, hmm?" My voice dropped to a deliberately measured cadence. "Plus, it'd be more believable if there was a witness, don't you think?"
Her breath hitched.
I leaned in slightly. "A student with more than two counts of physical violence—regardless of the reason—is expelled."
The rule lingered in the air like a judge's hammer waiting to fall.
"Is that what you want?" she whispered, disbelief trembling in every syllable.
My lips curled into a slow, confident smile—the kind that signaled a checkmate. "You want to be expelled? Yes, precisely. It's the fastest and surest way of being expelled."
I stepped closer still, closing the remaining distance until she had no choice but to look directly at the monster I was willing to be.
"I'd like to leave this school as quickly and quietly as possible." My voice dropped, almost intimate. Manipulative by design. "You're a smart girl…" I paused, letting the weight of the moment hang between us. "So I trust you'll come up with a feasible scenario and do as I ask."
Her eyes widened—as if she was only now realizing the scale of the machinery I'd set in motion. The fight, the witnesses, her presence… none of it was accidental.
"Oh…" she breathed, horror blending with dawning comprehension.
She understood.
Finally.
The boy wasn't the target.
The violence wasn't the crime.
My life here was the sacrifice.
And she was the key.
The violence seems to have been a calculated move by Eiser (referring to the character using 'I' in the narrative) to get expelled.
"What do you mean my husband-to-be?"
Di'ah's confusion hit instantly, washing away her fear just long enough for bewilderment to rise in its place. Her brows knit, her breath catching as she tried to reconcile the brutality she had witnessed with the casual, almost domestic tone of my words.
I kept my hands on her shoulders, thumbs brushing the tight muscles at the base of her neck. The courtyard still rang faintly with echoes of my staged violence—the groans of the beaten boy, the gasps of onlookers, the heavy thud of my fists. Behind us lay the carnage of my escape route. Ahead of us lay her dawning comprehension.
"It's only natural, given the close business relationship between our families," I murmured, voice smooth, coaxing. The lie was effortless. My tone warm, the intent cold. This was not romance. This was acquisition. Consolidation. Strategy. She wasn't a bride; she was an asset. A witness turned collaborator. A shield turned leverage.
SQUEEZE.
My fingers tightened—not harshly, but with purpose. A reminder of where the power settled. A subtle promise that compliance would be rewarded, and resistance… decidedly not.
"It's better for me to make your family mine and expand my business," I continued, letting my words unfurl like a velvet ribbon wrapped around steel. "And as for you… you can rely on my family's capital and do whatever you want without risk."
This time, I allowed a genuine smile to touch my lips. Not kindness—honesty. Because this, unlike my prior statements, was true:
"I'll even pay off all of your family's debts."
There it was—a spark in her eyes. Surprise giving way to cautious hope. Then to calculation. Then resignation. A girl cornered not by fists, but by opportunity she could not afford to reject.
"But don't worry," I added softly, reassuringly, "even if I'm expelled, I won't have any difficulty supporting your family as your husband-to-be."
A gentle pat to her shoulder sealed the moment, though nothing about it was gentle in intent. I watched her process it all—the influence, the future, the cost of refusing.
"So… let's get along and work together from now on, all right?"
Her nod—small, hesitant—was enough. She was now woven into the machinery of my escape, a necessary thread in the larger tapestry.
But Di'ah was only the first piece.
The real war was still against Victor.
Victor, always the elder, always the heir, always perched above me like a judge waiting for the opportunity to swing the gavel. He had spent years reading my nature, studying my habits with a paranoid fascination: how I never lashed out unless provoked, how I stalked rather than struck, how I preferred the long game over flashy displays.
He knew I was dangerous.
He just didn't understand how dangerous.
To think he was slowly and steadily backing me into a corner… setting a trap in Artiazen, the locus of Grayan power. Using another family—one I had married into—to wage war against me.
He had reacted to my calculated retreat with outright desperation.
He planned to frame me for theft.
To drag me through court.
To choke the Serenity family financially until I surrendered everything just to breathe.
I am going to frame him, claim that he stole important internal documents…
I knew.
I knew every step he intended to take.
Every solicitor he intended to summon.
Every inflated, punitive damage claim he thought would cripple me.
That he can't escape from, not for as long as he remains the head of the Serenity family.
Victor believed he was trapping me.
But he was wrong.
My expulsion—the very event he would gloat over—was precisely the freedom I needed. The means to sever myself from the last threads of Grayan oversight. The catalyst for a plan vast enough to make his schemes look like childish tantrums.
Now, with Di'ah reluctantly at my side, I had secured my exit, my proof, my alibi, and a convenient bridge to Serenity's wealth.
The expulsion would be approved.
The engagement arranged.
The Serenity assets secured.
And Victor?
He would be signing his own family's death warrant, four days from today.
L
The clock was ticking.
Four days.
That was all the time Victor believed he needed to tighten the noose, gather his mercenary solicitors, and polish the fraudulent claims he had spent months preparing in secret. Four days until he would walk into the courthouse with the arrogance of a man convinced he had already won. Four days until he would attempt to tear the Serenity family apart and seize their assets under the guise of "justice."
He didn't realize that I had already slipped out from beneath his boot.
My expulsion—violent, messy, and perfectly orchestrated hours prior—had severed my last formal tie to the Grayan family while giving me the freedom to act without scrutiny. My engagement with Di'ah, tenuous but binding, solidified the financial base Victor thought he could steal.
He had been so busy crafting the trap he wanted me to fall into that he hadn't noticed I'd repositioned the ground entirely.
Planning the Collapse
The Serenity residence was silent at this hour, its wide halls and arched windows washed in the amber glow of late evening. I sat alone in the study—a room Victor likely considered nothing more than the soon-to-be trophy of his legal campaign—surrounded by papers, financial projections, and internal Grayan reports I was never supposed to see.
I read them calmly, almost idly, as if reviewing them for leisure.
Every figure, every graph, every footnote was a weapon.
The Set-Up: Victor planned to accuse me of stealing confidential Grayan documents when I left the family, fabricating a narrative that I used them to sabotage investment infrastructure in Artiazen.
The Goal: The lawsuit was merely a vessel. His true aim was simple and brutish: seize the Serenity family's fortune to shore up the catastrophic deficit in his pet development project. He wanted to "swallow the Serenity family whole," as one of his private notes so elegantly phrased it.
My Counter: Victor assumed I was cornered—desperate to protect the Serenity assets, desperate to keep my image intact. A helpless, reactive opponent.
But I had already slipped beyond the reach of the Grayan family's social scaffolding. Expelled, untethered, and quietly allied with the Serenity name, I was no longer the prey in Victor's narrative.
I was the quiet catastrophe approaching him from behind.
I flipped through the latest quarterly reports. The Grayan foundation looked firm only at first glance—well-polished marble hiding the cracks beneath. In truth, the entire family's stability was perched on a massive, unstable investment in Artiazen, a portfolio as bloated as it was fragile. Their liquidity was thin; their lenders anxious. Even the slightest tremor would cause a landslide.
Victor was oblivious to the extent of his own vulnerability. A fatal flaw he shared with Father: a belief that wealth and confidence alone made them invincible.
"The lawsuit will be filed on the fifth day," I murmured, tapping a line of projected losses with a fingertip, "but the damage will be done before the sun sets on the fourth."
I didn't need to beat Victor in court.
I only needed to make sure he never made it there intact.
Victor's Illusion of Control
He still believed he owned the board.
He thought the Serenity family was desperate—a fragile, wounded house barely clinging to relevance. Something he could pry open with a few legal threats and a falsified claim. Something he could devour whole to hide his own catastrophic deficit.
The irony tasted sweet.
Victor was maneuvering to seize assets I had already shielded, redistributed, or prepared to liquidate before his hands could even reach for them. He believed he was preparing for a decisive victory.
He didn't see that I had removed the floor beneath him.
I wasn't simply trying to survive the lawsuit; I was collapsing the entire financial structure he was leaning on. By the time he and his solicitors gathered in that courtroom, they wouldn't find a defendant.
They would find a financial grave.
A crater where the Grayan empire once stood.
I leaned back in the old Serenity chair, letting the quiet hum of the study settle around me. A slow smile curled across my lips—cool, satisfied, inevitable.
I am Eiser.
I learned from predators far more fearsome than Victor.
He thought he had backed me into a corner.
He didn't see that I had built a trap around him instead.
I plan to accomplish something far greater than my father ever did.
Victor's attempt to destroy me wasn't an obstacle.
It was the perfect invitation to execute the ultimate hostile takeover.
The atmosphere in the Serenity study was suffocating—so thick and heavy it felt as though the walls themselves were holding their breath.
Di'ah stood across from me, her knuckles white where she clutched the hem of her sleeve. Her beauty, delicate as glass, seemed painfully fragile under the weight of the decision she had just made. She wasn't trembling, but the stillness in her posture carried the same desperate tension as a held scream.
A woman caught between ruin and salvation.
A woman who understood exactly what it meant to choose the lesser monster.
"You're not going to regret this, are you?" I asked quietly. My voice was level—stripped of warmth, stripped of reassurance. A final pressure on the scales.
Her breath hitched. Her gaze dropped, then rose again with brittle resolve.
"No. I won't." A pause. "I… I trust you."
It was not devotion.
Not affection.
Not even respect.
It was surrender to the only path that kept her family from collapsing under the weight of its debts. A trust born of desperation—but trust nonetheless.
And that was enough.
"Good," I said simply.
The Artiazen Offensive
The next three days moved like shadows—fast, quiet, precise.
Victor was still polishing his grand strike, meticulously preparing his lawsuit to accuse me of stealing Grayan documents. He was sharpening his blade, convinced he would cut me down in a single, glorious swing.
While he labored over his illusion of control, I was already dismantling the foundation he stood on.
Artiazen.
The jewel of the Grayan portfolio.
The heart of their investment empire.
The pit of quicksand Victor didn't realize he was sinking into.
I stood with my solicitor in the dim glow of the study's lamplight, the documents spread out like a battlefield map.
"The Artiazen land acquisition contracts," I began, tapping the binding clauses. "They're structured with a phased payment system. Each phase depends entirely on the completion of the one before it, correct?"
"Yes, Sir," he confirmed. "Failure to meet a scheduled payment gives the original landowners the right to trigger the default clause. The Grayan family would lose every prior investment."
"And the next payment date," I said slowly, "is exactly four days from now."
He nodded.
A cold, predatory smile cut across my face.
Victor had always believed I meddled in his affairs blindly. He had no idea I had dissected the entire Artiazen framework years ago—mapped its arteries, catalogued every vulnerability, studied every structural flaw.
He thought he was playing against a wolf.
He had never realized I was the one holding the scalpel.
For months, I had been buying up the land adjacent to the Artiazen development zones—small parcels, forgotten slivers, legally insignificant on paper but essential for the illusion of seamless expansion. The investors, desperate for signs of progress, relied on those parcels to believe the Grayan project was stable.
And now?
"Begin liquidating the adjacent assets," I ordered. "Quietly. Quickly. Move everything through an offshore holding company no one can trace back to us. Dry up the market."
My solicitor hesitated. "Sir… without those parcels, the investors will panic. The Artiazen valuation will plummet overnight."
"Exactly," I murmured.
I leaned back in my chair, eyes half-lidded with calculation.
"And on the morning of the fourth day, deliver a formal notice to Victor. Inform him the Serenity family is withdrawing all collateral and bridging loans tied to Artiazen. Immediate effect."
His eyes widened in alarm.
"Sir—that will cause an instant liquidity crisis. The Grayan family will be unable to make the phase-four payment that afternoon. The default clause will be triggered—"
"And they will lose everything they've poured into Artiazen," I finished for him, voice soft and razor-sharp. "Every cent. Along with any investor confidence they had left."
The silence in the room vibrated with the force of the blow I had just set in motion.
Victor thought he would seize Serenity assets on day five.
But I was going to detonate Artiazen on day four.
He had spent years trying to eliminate me—slowly tightening the cage, pushing, cornering, probing for weaknesses.
He never realized that when I walked away from the Grayan family, I didn't flee.
I built the perfect weapon.
And today, I finally pulled the trigger.
The old solicitor's sigh drifted through the chamber like dust stirred in a mausoleum.
"Also, the Serenity Family's solicitors are all elites," he muttered, flipping another page as though fearing the ink might bite him. "Practically everyone in Meuracevia knows their names…"
I didn't need to hear the rest. I could already picture them—those smug Serenity attorneys with their polished shoes and self-satisfied smiles. They believed their reputation would shield them.
Foolish.
I nodded slowly, deliberately, letting a small smirk curl at the corner of my lip. "No doubt," I said, voice low. "But even elites bleed when cut."
And I had found the perfect blade.
A single sheet lay before me. Innocent-looking. Almost banal. Yet the weight of it was titanic. Every line of ink carved from weeks—months—of careful, silent digging.
A list.
Eight names.
Eight families.
Each one once tied to the Serenity house.
Each one discarded.
Each one nursing a wound that had never healed.
"I managed to get my hands on an incredible piece of information," I murmured, my thumb brushing the parchment as though handling a relic.
The solicitor cleared his throat. "I found there were some people who had been cut off from the Serenity family until recently, which they protested vociferously." His voice dipped lower, cautious. "If persuaded, I believe they would be more than willing to lend their support."
Persuaded.
Such a weak word.
They didn't need persuasion.
They needed direction.
A leader.
A cause.
And I was offering them both.
My smile sharpened.
These eight families would be my artillery—the silent pressure crushing Serenity from the outside while my legal trap gutted them from within. Let Eiser play his little games in the shadows. Let him whisper and scurry and scheme.
I wasn't hiding.
I was assembling an army.
"Covertly contact the heads of these families…" I said, each syllable firm as iron. "Tell them Victor Grayan wishes to meet privately…" I paused, savoring it. "…and is courteously extending them an invitation."
The solicitor swallowed. He heard the truth behind the polite wording.
It wasn't an invitation.
It was a summons.
💀 A New Dawn for Grayan
I turned away from him, from the documents, from the flickering candlelight dancing across polished marble. The chamber behind me was magnificent—lined with the legacy of Grayan power, every artifact a reminder of what I stood to lose.
And what I intended to reclaim.
My reflection glimmered faintly in the tall window, night swallowing the world beyond. The cold glass whispered back my resolve.
The battle with Eiser Serenity had cost me dearly. A brother who had grown sharper than expected, more venomous than anticipated, more reckless than any Grayan had the right to be.
But it was not over.
Not close.
This was merely the fracture before the avalanche.
Just you wait, Eiser.
He thought he could tear down the Grayan house. Thought he could leave, adopt another family's name, and then undermine me from afar.
He thought he was the predator.
He had forgotten who raised him.
"No matter how much you try to destroy the Grayan family," I breathed, the darkness thickening around my shoulders like a mantle, "I won't die that easily."
I had been molded by pressure. Tempered by expectation. Hardened by betrayal.
He may have ambition.
But I had inheritance.
And I had fury.
"Perhaps this time," I whispered to the empty room, "you'll be the one to fall."
My victory would not merely be a triumph. It would be obliteration. A cleansing. A purging of all the rot he carried away with him.
Once again, you'll lose everything.
My fingers tightened into a fist.
See how I… crush you underfoot.
A creak broke the silence.
My eyes lifted.
The door was opening—quietly, carefully—allowing a wash of warm light to spill into the chamber. A silhouette stepped through. Soft curves, poised grace, eyes shimmering with something unspoken.
A woman.
Another piece shifting into place. Another thread tightening in my web.
My rise would be Eiser's ruin.
And the final act was approaching.
The hinges gave a faint groan, the kind that should've been insignificant—yet the moment the door opened, it sliced through my concentration like a blade. My grip on the parchment tightened. I turned sharply.
Of course it was her.
The woman stepped inside with that same infuriating calm, the soft sweep of her dress whispering against the floor as if she had every right to intrude.
"You!" I snapped, the word erupting from my throat before I could temper it. "I thought I told you to stop poking around my office."
My voice ricocheted off the marble, sharp enough to draw blood. She didn't even flinch. Instead, she stepped closer, as though daring me to say it again.
"Must you go that far?" she asked, her features arranged into a mask of pained disapproval. Her tone grated on me—too soft, too naive, too much like someone who didn't understand the battlefield she'd walked into. "He was so sick of his own family that he abandoned everything and left."
Her voice trembled, but it wasn't fear. It was indignation. And that—*that*—was intolerable.
"He gave up on his family, his wealth, even his own name," she pressed on, stepping still closer, her gaze locked onto mine as though she expected something human beneath it. "You've been free to do everything you wanted up until now, so quit harassing the man and leave him alone."
Leave him alone.
The words echoed in my skull like a taunt.
She didn't—couldn't—understand.
My jaw locked, the muscle twitching under my skin. The study's golden light flickered against my clenched fists.
"Leave him alone?" I repeated, my voice low, vibrating with contained violence.
She stopped moving. Good. She was finally listening.
I let the silence stretch, let the weight of my fury sink in before continuing.
"If you've been eavesdropping like a little rat," I hissed, each word deliberate and razor-edged, "you must know that Eiser didn't just quietly leave the family."
A hot, acidic breath escaped me. My eyes darkened.
"Don't you know he's been preparing for years to destroy the Grayan family," I continued, stepping forward so she had to tilt her head back to keep my gaze, "and is just now revealing his true colors?"
She wavered. Her lips parted, but she said nothing.
Good. Let the truth sink in.
I drew in a long breath, forcing the red haze behind my eyes to simmer rather than boil over. When I spoke again, my voice had dropped to a deadly whisper—quieter, but infinitely more dangerous.
"At this point," I said, the air between us tightening like a noose, "either he dies or I die. This won't end until one of us is irrevocably ruined."
Her breath caught.
"But…" I exhaled slowly, purposefully, letting the calculation settle over my rage like a blade sheathing itself.
"But I've already begun my move."
My gaze drifted past her, toward the closed door behind her—toward the vast network of alliances I had begun weaving.
"I won't stop now."
In my mind, the eight names glowed like embers. Families with old grudges. Fractured loyalties. Perfect leverage.
*Just you wait, Eiser.*
My thoughts sharpened, cold and crystalline.
*No matter how much you try to destroy the Grayan family, I won't die that easily.*
The solicitor's words resurfaced in my memory.
*Tell them that Victor Grayan wishes to meet with them privately… and is courteously extending them an invitation.*
An invitation that was anything but courteous.
*Perhaps this time, you may be the one to fall.*
My blood thrummed with certainty.
*Once again, you'll lose everything.*
I stepped back, letting the shadows coil behind me like a crown.
*See how I... crush you underfoot.*
---
How infuriating.
Of all people—*her*. With everything else, she obeys me without question, no matter how much she despises the commands I give her. She swallows her pride, buries her anger, and complies. Always.
Except when it comes to him.
When it involves Eiser, she suddenly finds her voice. She argues, challenges, resists—as if her spine only exists in the shadow of his name.
A pulse of irritation shot through me.
I stepped toward her, the click of my shoes on the polished floor cutting through the thickened air. Her face was painted with worry—worry not for herself, but for him. The sight of it made my jaw clench.
"Are you really in a position to worry about anyone else?" I snapped, my tone slicing away whatever moral high ground she thought she had.
Before she could react, I seized her—swift, decisive. My hands clamped around her upper arms, dragging her closer until her breath mingled with mine. The fabric of her dress folded beneath my tightening grip. Her eyes widened, caught somewhere between fear and defiance, the soft lines of her expression framing the volatility between us.
Perfect.
I wanted her attention. All of it.
"Do you still have lingering feelings for him? Huh?" I hissed, watching her carefully, searching for the slightest betrayal in her gaze. "Do you regret what you've done?"
She didn't answer. Her silence was damning.
I leaned nearer, my voice dropping to a razor whisper.
"...That you stayed with me when he left home, instead of following him?"
The truth was cruel, and I delivered it mercilessly.
"If you'd done that, it'd be the De Laurent family, not the Serenity family, seeing a return to its former glory."
The words landed, heavy and ugly, and she absorbed them without flinching—though her fingers trembled ever so slightly. A flicker. Barely there, but unmistakable.
My grip tightened. She winced, briefly, before mastering her expression again.
Then a thought struck me—cold, sudden, cutting.
I tilted my head, studying her with renewed scrutiny.
My voice lowered, threading venom into each syllable.
"Is that why you went after and harassed that Serenity girl once you returned to Meuracevia? Because you were jealous of her? Hmm?"
Her entire body stiffened.
Her eyes widened just enough—just enough to tell me I had struck the exact wound she didn't want exposed. Whether it was jealousy, fear, or something else entirely, I didn't care.
I didn't need her answers.
I needed her obedience.
"Don't waste time worrying about anybody else and look after yourself, Diah," I murmured, pulling her in and capturing her mouth in a forceful, possessive kiss. A kiss meant not for affection, but for dominance. For correction.
When I drew back, my eyes were ice.
"Eiser may have thrown away his name willingly. But if your performance continues to be this dismal, you'll be forced to give up yours."
Her breath caught—quiet, subtle, but there.
I relished it.
"I'll sell off the gallery and theaters you love so dearly."
A slow, deliberate pause. I wanted her to feel every ounce of the threat underlying my words.
"Potential buyers are lining up out the door, but I'm still holding onto them as a favor to you, for old time's sake. Got that?"
My fingers squeezed once more, marking the final point of my warning before I released her. She stared at me, her expression blank—too blank. A mask. A defense.
Good.
She understood.
She was mine to control, and the smallest misstep involving Eiser would cost her everything she valued.
The tension between us stretched, thick and suffocating, neither of us breaking the silence that followed.
---
The cold touch of his hand remained imprinted on my shoulder long after he withdrew it. Even the air where he had stood seemed to hold the shape of him — a looming, suffocating presence pressing down on my ribs. His ultimatum echoed inside my skull, every word a polished iron shackle.
"…If you become my wife, I'll keep the opera and gallery running, even if you don't turn a profit… so do reconsider our marriage as well."
Marriage.
As if the word itself were a verdict.
He said it so quietly, so gently, as if it were an offer rather than the tightening of a noose. Then came the soft pat, pat on my shoulder — condescending, final. The kind of gesture one gives to a loyal dog, or a tired servant who has finally stopped resisting.
I remained still. My eyes were wide, unfocused, fixed somewhere past the room, past the walls, past the life I had chosen — or thought I had chosen. The shock sat in my veins like ice, numbing everything except the knowledge that the terms were no longer negotiable.
He turned from me without waiting for a response.
He didn't need one.
Step.
Step.
The sound of his heels against the marble floor struck sharply in the quiet, each step telling me more plainly than words: It's done. You will comply.
I inhaled slowly, feeling the tight fabric of my black dress constrict around my ribs like a corset pulled one notch too far. The dress had felt elegant when I left the house this morning. Now it felt like ceremonial attire for my own sentencing.
My heart thudded—slow, deliberate, hollow. There was no room for anger anymore. No room for argument. Only the cold arithmetic of survival.
Marry him.
Preserve the opera house.
Preserve the gallery.
Preserve everything I had built my entire life around.
Those were the equations. There was no alternative answer that didn't end in ruin.
Victor Grayan was a storm wearing a human shape. Eiser had fled his own storm years ago, running from the Serenity family, from expectations, from all of us. But his departure had left cracks — cracks Victor had learned to exploit. And now I was caught between the wreckage of one man's rebellion and the ambitions of another.
I stepped forward, the motion automatic, mechanical. My shoes clicked once against the floor, a brittle sound in the pale blue glow of the room's cold lighting. I did not look toward Victor. I did not speak. I simply stood, breathing shallowly, feeling the world tilt ever so slightly as my future realigned itself around a single choice.
My eyes slid closed for a moment. Just a moment.
When I opened them again, I was calm.
Empty.
Resolved.
I would marry him.
I would save my theaters.
And in the process, I would forsake whatever fragments of freedom I still had left.
This was the price. And I would pay it.
The marriage proposal had been made under duress — and accepted in silence. Now, with my fate sealed, the battlefield would shift back into Victor's hands, and his attention would turn to the heads of the eight families.