I had just returned, and thankfully, everything at the manor and the hotel had been fine in my absence. Yet, as soon as I stepped inside, my lady-in-waiting rushed toward me, her arms wrapping around me in a desperate hug.
"Lady Serena! Did you have a restful time while you were away? I was so worried. Are you feeling unwell at all?" she fretted, her voice thick with relief and anxiety.
"No, I'm fine," I assured her, gently patting her back. "I'm actually feeling great after getting all that rest."
A moment of peace settled over us, but it was quickly broken. "Except for one thing…" she trailed off, her expression turning somber.
A chill ran through me. "What do you mean, Frederick disappeared?"
I sat on the edge of my opulent bed as she explained. "After he left the manor to look for you, he never returned. We haven't heard from him at all either. I hope he's all right…" she murmured, her gaze worried.
She then held up the small, unnamed kitten in her arms. The little creature looked "droopy" and lifeless. "And the kitten has been quite weak and listless too. I suppose it's because she was particularly attached to Frederick, but she was mewling for days, looking for him."
I barely registered the kitten's distress; Frederick's absence was a shock. But then, a voice from behind me, cold and certain, cut through my rising panic.
"There is something I think I should let you know," the new speaker said. It was the woman with the striking, dark hair and piercing eyes—the one who had been so instrumental in finding me.
"Frederick was the one who gave me the information that proved most crucial in finding you."
She continued, a serious, almost reverent tone entering her voice. She looked away, recalling the events that led to my rescue. "After eliminating all other possibilities, I was debating between the two remaining possible locations you could be at, and it was thanks to his phone call that I could get to you more quickly."
She turned to face me fully, her gaze intense.
"He was the first to act upon learning of your kidnapping, he discovered your precise location all on his own… and even though he no doubt wanted to go find you himself, he instead gave me a call and asked me to go instead."
The weight of her words settled heavily upon me. Frederick… the simple, kind-hearted man who had seemed like little more than a resourceful but naive assistant.
She didn't stop there. "Come to think of it, Frederick was also the one who found the suspicious paintings and money… as well as the first person to predict that something like might happen and warned me that I was potentially in danger."
I looked up at her, my mind racing. Every single major turn of events, every clue, every critical warning had come from Frederick. He wasn't just my aide; he was my guardian angel. A highly competent, utterly mysterious guardian angel who was now missing.
My head spun with the magnitude of his actions, his foresight, and his ultimate sacrifice of self-interest for my safety.
Frederick, I have no idea what you're thinking.
Who are you, really?
I didn't think you and I would ever have anything in common or come to an understanding of any kind. From the moment of our marriage, your obsession with your family name at times... it reminded me of my own father. Although I soon came to realize that your fixation with your family was of an entirely different kind from my father's.
While it's true that I never hated you, at first, I found it difficult to treat you with respect. I had no intention of ever engaging you in any meaningful conversation... or ever peeling back the layers of my own guarded heart. We continued with minimal communication between us, so I continued my indifference and neglect.
But now that we've peeled back the layers, it's staggering just how similar we are in some ways. I realized that you were the only person in the world... who completely understood me.
Little did I know that once I began teaching you the business and we started working together, you'd hit me again and again with the force of a tidal wave, the ensuing sea spray dampening my skin... until I found myself drowning in you.
Come to think of it... I sighed, running a hand through my hair. What Lovis said—that my knack for reading people and figuring out what they're thinking—it truly did come back to bite me. I was so convinced I knew you, and yet, I knew nothing at all.
🖼️ Director's Room, De Laurent Gallery
"Leinz and I still haven't returned to our manor? Where on earth are they?!"
I snapped back to the present, the memory of our moments together dissolving like sea foam. The stern, panicked voice of my mother, the Director of the De Laurent Gallery, cut through the air.
I sat stiffly at the opulent table, the light from the tall windows harsh and unforgiving. Across from me, an aide was trying to speak, their voice laced with apology and worry.
"We weren't able to find out their current—"
My gaze hardened. I knew this reaction. They were looking for us because they wanted to control us, not because they cared. But what they didn't understand was that I was Leinz's current location, and he was mine. We were exactly where we were meant to be.
The woman's words echoed in the silence of the room: Frederick was the one who had orchestrated my rescue. He was the one who had uncovered the suspicious paintings and money, and the one who had first predicted the danger I was in.
I looked up at the woman, whose expression was now one of focused intensity, as if she were waiting for my judgment.
Frederick, I have no idea what you're thinking.
Who are you, really?
My mind flashed through the simple, earnest man I had come to know, and the competent, almost superhuman figure she described. He was a puzzle I had been too careless to solve.
The woman continued, revealing her own history with him. I felt very unsettled after I heard Eiser's story from Lovis that morning.
It was shocking and distressing for me simply to hear about it... but to actually have to endure all that is unimaginable. Accurate as the tale may be, it was told to me secondhand, so there must be some bits and pieces missing… but I still have some idea of how Eiser would have felt back then.
I realized she was talking about a past life, a past pain, which Frederick—or perhaps "Eiser"—had suffered through. Never could I have imagined this perennially calm, stoic man had lived through such tragic experiences.
Given all that, he must have resented me for thinking he was in league with the other members of the Grayan family… but if he did, remarkably, he showed no outward sign of it whatsoever.
Her story wove a complex tapestry of suffering, resilience, and hidden motives. It explained why he would act with such incredible foresight and self-sacrifice, but it didn't lessen the sting of his secrecy. He had been close enough to trust, yet far enough to hide a lifetime of tragedy.
My hands, lying on the soft quilt of my bed, clenched into tight fists. This wasn't just about a missing employee anymore; it was about the man who had protected me while enduring his own silent war.
The woman waited for my command, her eyes expectant. I knew what I had to do. He may have made his own decision to leave, perhaps believing he had fulfilled his duty and was no longer needed, but that was a decision I refused to accept.
"But whatever your motive was for coming here," I stated, my voice firm and unwavering, "I'm the one who chose to keep you at my side."
The woman's eyes widened slightly, acknowledging the shift in my posture—a shift from a rescued lady to a sovereign making a decree.
"So I'll be the one to decide what to do with you."
I took a deep breath, the name I now understood to be his true self ringing in my head, yet I used the name I knew him by.
"Find him. Find him and bring him to me, no matter what."
Frederick had saved me. Now, it was my turn to save him. I would not allow the person who had given me the most crucial support in my darkest hour to simply disappear without a trace.
Now that Serena has issued the command to search for Frederick,
You are absolutely correct; the previous set of images ended with my command, but the new images you've provided show a crucial scene after that, featuring a different character, likely Iker or the male protagonist, and another woman, possibly Diah, having a deep conversation about shared pain and understanding.
Since the original request used the female protagonist's perspective ("I"), I will interpret this scene as a flashback or a separate scene happening concurrently involving Diah (since you asked about her) and Iker, focusing on the theme of "Commonality and Understanding." I will use their names to keep the perspective clear and distinct from Serena's.
Understanding (Diah & Iker Scene)
V. A Shared Scorch Mark
The sun beat down on the wide, golden field, a stark contrast to the darkness that Iker and I were discussing. I watched him sit there, his usual composure slightly frayed by the intensity of the conversation.
He had revealed a past I could scarcely believe, a trauma that explained the steel in his spine and the shadow in his eyes. He had been hurt so deeply, betrayed by those he trusted, just as I had.
He caught my gaze, his eyes sharp. "How long do you plan to keep looking at me like that? No need to pity me too much."
I didn't flinch. "I don't pity you," I responded, my voice calm, the truth absolute. I wasn't looking at him as a victim, but as a mirror. "I just thought… you and I were rather alike."
I reached out, speaking from a place of genuine empathy, a feeling I rarely allowed myself. "I went through the same thing."
My mind flashed back—a sickening kaleidoscope of fear and loss. I knew firsthand. I closed my eyes briefly, remembering the devastating weight of those early years.
"Because I know firsthand… just how long the horrible memories of childhood trauma linger… and how painful it is to be betrayed by someone I once trusted and cherished."
I opened my eyes, meeting his gaze. "So I understand where you're coming from."
This understanding cut deeper than any shared history. It transcended our current conflicts and roles. It led me back to a moment of surprising vulnerability between us.
"Do you remember that day in the hotel master room, when you told me you've never hated me? I think I now get what you meant by that."
He looked away for a moment, an almost imperceptible twitch in his jaw betraying his inner turmoil. He couldn't deny the truth of my words.
"Because it was the same for you, right?" I pressed gently, my conviction growing. "You ended up understanding me, so you couldn't even bring yourself to hate me."
He was silent, but his stillness was its own admission. He had looked past my actions to my motivations, to the scars that drove me, and in doing so, he had seen himself.
I looked out across the field, the yellow petals scattering in the breeze. The resentment I held for his harshness, and the resentment he might have held for my actions, felt petty and fragile now.
"Understanding quells resentment."
It was a simple, profound realization. We were two survivors, scarred by different hands but bearing the same kind of damage. And in that shared pain, there was no room for hatred, only the quiet, hard-won acknowledgment of commonality.
This final set of images forms a continuation of the intense emotional conversation, where the character, assumed to be Diah (based on previous context), finishes revealing her deepest pain and realizes the reciprocity of the man's (likely Iker's) feelings.
)
Iker's jaw twitched, the single, quiet acknowledgement that he couldn't dispute the truth in Diah's words. She had called him out on his hidden empathy, proving that his earlier assertion—"I've never hated you. Not for a single moment"—was rooted in a deep, unsolicited understanding.
"Because it was the same for you, right?" Diah repeated softly. "You ended up understanding me, so you couldn't even bring yourself to hate me."
Diah looked out at the bright, petal-strewn field, the beautiful setting a stark contrast to the emotional wreckage they were dissecting. She was seeing herself in him, just as he had once seen himself in her.
"You must have seen yourself in me back then," she murmured. "Just as I am seeing myself in you now."
She thought of her own desperate past, a series of painful images flashing through her mind:
...Just how long the horrible memories of childhood trauma linger…
The way I shut myself up in my room, depressed and listless…
...And the reason why I foolishly gave my heart to the only person who was on my side at the time…
She spoke the painful conclusion aloud, the words revealing a vulnerability she rarely showed. She spoke of the man's past actions, his presence during her lowest points.
"And ironically, that means…" she said, her voice dropping slightly, "...even at my lowest moments, when I was sure you thought me utterly pathetic…"
She knew then that he hadn't seen her desperation; he had seen a fellow survivor struggling with the same fundamental wounds.
"...unable to distinguish whether I felt was really love or simply a survival instinct."
It had been so hard to tell where the desperate need for safety ended and genuine affection began. The lines had blurred into a gray, painful territory.
She repeated the profound lesson of their conversation, the title of the chapter summarized in four words: "Understanding quells resentment."
In that simple statement, the years of coldness, suspicion, and veiled hostility between them dissolved. There was no hatred left, only a recognition of two fiercely independent souls, bound by the shared tragedy of their pasts. They were two people who had, through their shared scars, finally found a mirror, and perhaps, a genuine connection.
My hand paused, the cigarette burning forgotten between my fingers. The aide's words echoed: "And most importantly, that person is... Sera?"
"What? Are you sure this is correct?" I demanded, my voice dangerously level. A third party—a skilled investigator, perhaps, or a rival broker—it would be difficult for anyone to gain access to this kind of confidential transaction information. But Sera?
"Yes, Director," the aide confirmed with a slight bow of her head. "Perhaps this was her intention from the start."
Impossible... This isn't like you at all! I thought, not about my son Leinz now, but about her. I had dismissed her as a silly girl, a temporary distraction for my son. I had only accounted for her as an emotional threat, never a business one.
The aide continued with the report regarding the painting. "Um, Director? There is something else I need to report... It concerns Ballerina."
"What are you bringing that up again for?" I asked, my attention already fractured. "Didn't Father take it, saying that he'd dispose of it however he saw fit?"
"Yes, well," the aide hedged, "we determined that Sir Igor secretly sold the painting to foreign art brokers."
I leaned back, taking a moment to process the layers of deception. Of course. Sir Igor wouldn't simply give up on a painting that valuable. And he certainly wouldn't destroy it simply because that girl told him to.
"But now that it's become impossible for him to go against his word and keep the painting," I mused, the smoke from the cigarette finally catching my attention again. "He decided to pretend to have gotten rid of it and sell it off surreptitiously to make up for the loss. I would've done the exact same thing." It was a cunning, practical move.
"Yes, but it seems someone had a connection to one of those foreign brokers," the aide repeated, her eyes flicking to the documents.
And that person was Sera. The person who had somehow manipulated Sir Igor into thinking he had to get rid of the painting in the first place.
A slow, cold smirk spread across my face. The cigarette, the reports, the missing son—it all faded slightly as a single, staggering truth settled in my mind.
"Haha... My goodness."
The light in the room seemed to darken, and a strange, cold energy pulsed around me.
"That clever little princess played all of us."
When I heard about the auction for Moon Halo being canceled, I wondered if Victor was up to something, but this... this was exponentially more sophisticated. The girl didn't just win a skirmish; she orchestrated a financial attack that neatly leveraged Sir Igor's own greed and my family's internal strife. She had the cunning of a seasoned broker and the foresight of a political schemer.
My gaze drifted to the drawer again, the thought of Leinz still nagging at me. If he was alone with her... "How am I to interpret this? If the two of them are alone... could something have happened between them over the past few days? Leinz... Don't tell me he's actually fallen for that girl."
But now, the fear that he was in love was almost secondary to the chilling realization that he was aligned with a mind as sharp and dangerous as my own. The situation was no longer a domestic rebellion; it was a business war, and my opposition was far more capable than I had given her credit for
I crumpled the report in my hand, the sharp sound of the paper echoing the violence in my chest. CRUMPLE.
"In hindsight, 'Sera' is just a layperson," I thought, reviewing the reports on the mysterious broker. "It was strange, the lengths she went to in order to hide her identity. But to think she'd resort to using an assumed name..."
The shocking truth finally crystallized: "...Sera was Serena."
That clever little princess played all of us.
I remembered the initial reports: Sera was said to have shown up at the auction house that day and attempted to bid on the painting. And afterwards, Leinz called me out of the blue. I had the matter looked into quietly and upon learning that Miss Serena had been kidnapped by Victor, I realized that…
Wait.
Realized what? That Serena was innocent? That was the narrative Leinz had fed me. But the real story, the one revealed by the Ballerina transaction, was far more intricate.
She must have anticipated that I couldn't afford to humiliate myself by ripping up the painting right then and there... as well as figured out that either my father or I would surreptitiously sell that painting through underhanded means.
That sneaky girl... she railroaded me in front of all those people to save face.
I envisioned the whispers of the press, the cold judgment of the art world. "How incredibly embarrassing all this must be for Ms. De Laurent. Ripping up that painting herself would be totally admitting defeat. Hey, make sure you're writing all of this down. This story will be gracing the front pages tomorrow, no question." She knew my pride, she knew my family's mechanisms, and she used them against me.
"So if Sera indeed is the one who purchased the draft of Ballerina through a broker..."
It means Serena's insistence that I destroy the painting was purely performative, and all a part of her ploy. Having publicly promised to destroy the painting, I would have no choice but to lose ownership of it.
"...but her true intention from the start was to possess both paintings."
A grimace tightened my features. My aide, still standing nervously, ventured a question.
"But... she could've just asked us to give her the draft painting. Why go to the trouble of buying it through a broker?"
I watched the crumpled paper unfurl slightly in my hand. That was the crucial difference between a simple request and a master stroke.
"Because if she had asked for it, it would have been a matter of family. If she bought it, she took the asset, crippled the family financially, and secured proof of our corruption—all while maintaining the moral high ground. She made us believe she was destroying our asset out of spite, only to buy it back herself through clandestine means, ensuring we couldn't profit."
I finally laughed, a cold, dry sound. This wasn't just my daughter-in-law; this was an enemy of prodigious talent. She didn't want a seat at the table; she wanted to burn the table down and build a new one with the ashes.
The cold realization settled in, chilling me far more than any financial loss. I ran a hand over the pearl necklace at my throat, the cool beads a contrast to the heat rising in my face.
Fool me once, shame on you... Fool me twice, shame on me.
I would never have guessed this was her plan all along. That she would use the pretense of destruction to execute a perfectly clean acquisition.
I leaned over the document that named "Sera" as the broker. "Moreover, even though it's a painting by Marianne Dessaint, as my father couldn't sell it publicly... it was undoubtedly sold at black market rate, less than a quarter of what it would have fetched had it been sold through official channels. So tell me, which option do you think would benefit her more?"
The aide murmured, "Ah, I see... what a terrifying woman that Lady Serena is..."
This is ultimately the best outcome for her, to own the actual painting in her name and the secret draft painting in her assumed name of 'Sera'. Even if she doesn't sell the other painting, having both in her possession makes them more valuable, and if she ever decides to sell the draft copy, she can do so without her name being attached to it.
Or she could alternatively use it as a means to embarrass my family, who had promised to destroy the draft painting, once more.
Why? Why do things keep turning out this way? Ballerina, the color of submersion... and even Leinz. All things that I cherished, desired, and were mine, yet in my brief absence, that girl is taking them all away from me.
I don't care about the paintings, but she can't have Leinz.
CLACK. The sound of my expensive heels striking the floor was sharp and decisive as I rose. I must stop them from developing feelings for one another at all costs!
🌿 Leinz and Serena: The Clearing
Perspective: Serena (I)
The sun beat down, turning the wildflowers in the steep clearing into a dizzying blaze of yellow. My long, white skirt caught in the wind, and a feeling of profound peace washed over me, a feeling I hadn't known was possible.
Whoosh. The wind rustled the high grass.
I didn't think you and I would ever have anything in common or come to an understanding of any kind. And immediately after our marriage, the way you obsessed over your family name at times... it reminded me of my father. Although I soon came to realize that your fixation with your family was of an entirely different kind from my father's.
While it's true that I never hated you, at first, I found it difficult to treat you with respect. I had no intention of ever engaging you in any meaningful conversation... with minimal communication between us, so I continued my indifference and neglect.
But now that we've peeled back the layers, it's staggering just how similar we are in some ways. I realized that you were the only person in the world... who completely understood me.
Little did I know that once I began teaching you the business and we started working together, you'd hit me again and again with the force of a tidal wave, the ensuing sea spray dampening my skin... until I found myself drowning in you.
Come to think of it... what Lovis said, that my knack for reading people and figuring out what they're thinking will come back to bite me...
Rustle.
I stepped carefully, focusing on the dirt path. Leinz was ahead of me, his profile handsome and resolute against the brilliant sky.
"This is a steep, rocky slope. Be careful," he said, without looking back, his voice deep and steady. "Follow right behind me."
I watched his back, the tension in my chest softening. He knew me; he protected me. He was right.
We have explored the Director's strategic anger and Sera/Serena's private thoughts and current situation with Leinz.
This expansion will focus on the contrasting emotional states of the two main female characters: the Director, driven by rage and fear of loss, and Serena, experiencing vulnerability and connection with Leinz. Both perspectives use 'I'.
The sunlight was warm on my bare shoulder, yet the memory of Leinz was a chilling depth.
I didn't think you and I would ever have anything in common or come to an understanding of any kind. And immediately after our marriage, the way you obsessed over your family name at times... it reminded me of my father. Although I soon came to realize that your fixation with your family was of an entirely different kind from my father's.
While it's true that I never hated you, at first, I found it difficult to treat you with respect. I had no intention of ever engaging you in any meaningful conversation... with minimal communication between us, so I continued my indifference and neglect.
But now that we've peeled back the layers, it's staggering just how similar we are in some ways. I realized that you were the only person in the world... who completely understood me.
Little did I know that once I began teaching you the business and we started working together, you'd hit me again and again with the force of a tidal wave, the ensuing sea spray dampening my skin... until I found myself drowning in you.
Come to think of it... what Lovis said, that my knack for reading people and figuring out what they're thinking will come back to bite me... I paused my steps, letting Leinz move ahead of me.
He walked ahead of me, treading this rough path first, clearing the way and removing dangerous obstacles... kicking a large rock aside. KICK. A high, steep, and dangerous slope. A rough path that, since so few tread it, is littered with branches and rocks both small and large.
I, still having much to learn, will need more time until I can lead the way on such a rough path... PAUSE. But now that I feel much more comfortable with having you near... Eiser.
He turned, his beautiful eyes meeting mine. TURN.
...I feel like I can now happily walk alongside you.
You walk ahead of me, so that I, following behind you, can be safe. It's a perfect analogy for... our dynamic to date.
I met his gaze, the golden light of the meadow framing my hand as I lifted it toward him. "Let's... hold hands."
Perspective: The Director (I)
I exhaled a cloud of smoke, the shock giving way to a calculating fury. I watched my reflection in the dark mahogany desk as I smoothed the crumpled paper.
"Sigh... I don't know anywhere they might be. Where could they have gone?" My thought was less worry and more impatience. GRIT.
How am I to interpret this? I slid the drawer shut. SLIDE. If the two of them are alone... could something have happened between them over the past few days? Leinz... Don't tell me he's actually fallen for that girl. Impossible... This isn't like you at all!
The aide's report brought the cold, hard facts: "Sir Igor secretly sold the painting to foreign art brokers. And most importantly, that person is... Sera?"
Of course. He wouldn't simply give up on a painting that valuable. But now that it's become impossible for him to go against his word and keep the painting, he decided to pretend to have gotten rid of it and sell it off surreptitiously to make up for the loss. I would've done the exact same thing.
I realized: Sera was Serena.
In hindsight, Sera is just a layperson. It was strange, the lengths she went to in order to hide her identity. But to think she'd resort to using an assumed name...
She must have anticipated that I couldn't afford to humiliate myself by ripping up the painting right then and there... as well as figured out that either my father or I would surreptitiously sell that painting through underhanded means. That sneaky girl... she railroaded me in front of all those people to save face.
So if Sera indeed is the one who purchased the draft of Ballerina through a broker... it means Serena's insistence that I destroy the painting was purely performative, and all a part of her ploy. Having publicly promised to destroy the painting, I would have no choice but to lose ownership of it. ...but her true intention from the start was to possess both paintings.
Haha... My goodness. My lips curved into a cold, cruel smirk. That clever little princess played all of us.
"I don't care about the paintings, but she can't have Leinz. I must stop them from developing feelings for one another at all costs!"
The Director is now poised for a counterattack, while Serena and Leinz are solidifying their bond.
We walked through the green garden as I called him. " Eiser"
He looked at me as I gave my hand to him " shall we walk together by holding hands ?" He hummed as we held each other hands .and this looks so admirable and heart whelming.