After that whole horrible affair, my mother seemed like an empty husk of her former self. In just four months, she had become a completely different person—someone I barely recognized. Her hands, which had once been soft and warm, were now cold, rough, and dry, as though they no longer belonged to her. Her figure, once dignified and composed, had become gaunt, almost eerily thin, a haunting reflection of the vitality she had lost.
She was so broken that she would often leave home, retreating to a convent for periods ranging anywhere from three months to over a year, seeking solace—or perhaps escape—from the weight pressing down on her mind and spirit.
It seemed my father had finally managed to resolve the whole sordid affair, though at a cost I could only guess at. Of course, it wasn't purely out of concern for my mother. I had overheard him speaking one night, and the coldness in his words left an impression that still lingers.
"I'm very sorry to have lost the land I gave up in order to pay the fine, but I should keep the mother of my children alive, at least for now," I heard him say, measured and detached. "The children are still young. Besides, the family matriarch being executed for a crime would've been an embarrassment to the Grayan name."
He paused, as if weighing every word. "Still, given that I was only able to deal with this matter any further since it became open to negotiation, it'd be best to lay low for now."
Even then, I understood that the world was nothing if not transactional. Compassion was a luxury; survival and appearances came first.
🛡️ Gaining Strength
Watching my parents, observing the quiet, calculating ways they navigated power, control, and fragility, I made a decision for myself. Until I could stand on my own two feet, I would bide my time. I would grow, learn, and cultivate strength in patience, preparing for the day I could claim independence without fear or apology.
I did not reject my father outright. Instead, I learned to sift through his teachings, taking what was useful, leaving behind the rest. Geoffric had advised me wisely: even the coldest figures sometimes held lessons worth absorbing. And so, quietly, I studied, observed, and practiced.
Then, when I was eighteen, a student at Dalincour, I returned home for summer vacation—expecting familiarity, routine, and the occasional warmth of home. Instead, I found absence. Geoffric had disappeared. No explanations were offered, no farewells given. The only words I could extract from anyone were a clipped, almost evasive: he was simply gone.
And just like that, a steady presence I had relied on vanished, leaving me once more to navigate the shadows of my family alone.
I endured those days all alone in the manor, without either my mother or Geoffric around. The halls seemed emptier than usual, the echoes of my footsteps louder, and the shadows in the corners longer. I guessed our secret meetings had been the cause of his dismissal, though no one ever confirmed it. Still, I forced myself to put him out of my mind. There was work to be done. I had to be ready.
"Tense your shoulders a bit more. Yes, excellent." The instructor's voice rang in my ears, steady and precise. Every movement, every adjustment, I absorbed like a lesson in survival. I was determined to be ready—ready for whatever my family's tangled world might throw at me.
And then, just days before I was to reach adulthood, thanks to my father and Victor, another major crisis erupted—one that would require someone to take responsibility, and likely suffer for it.
I began to overhear the panicked discussions, the hushed voices carrying through the corridors like whispers of doom.
My father spoke with a subordinate, perhaps his lawyer or trusted advisor, Sir Dustin. The gravity of the situation pressed down through their words.
"Eiser's still a minor... and my de facto successor. I can't let this affair stand in the way of his future," my father said, a flicker of cold determination sparking in his eyes.
"As for Victor, he's apparently vanished into thin air. What am I to do?" There was frustration in his voice, though it was carefully measured.
Sir Dustin offered his counsel, formal and cautious:
"Um, Sir Dustin... To be frank, we'd be at a disadvantage here regardless of whether it's you, Sir Victor, or Sir Eiser who ultimately takes responsibility for this. If any of you end up being tried, you'll have to forfeit a number of specialty businesses."
"No one with a criminal background will be granted a business license in those industries. And there will be many restrictions placed on any potential trades and business," he continued. "Hmm... so the best-case scenario would be to resolve this affair without letting it affect any of the three of you and foregoing a trial entirely."
But that wasn't possible. Someone had to pay the price.
My father's expression darkened as he continued his internal calculation:
"My wife cannot be tried again, not after that incident all those years ago. They only released her after she made a pledge not to reoffend and we relinquished the Western Lands. If she ends up in court again, I won't be able to do anything to prevent her from being sentenced to death."
He looked up, his eyes sharp, unflinching. "In that case... my wife is the only one we can foist this on."
When I learned what my father was planning, I did not recoil in horror. Strange as it may seem, I regarded it as an opportunity—an opportunity to observe, to learn, and perhaps, to finally put my own carefully laid plans into motion.
---
When I learned what my father was planning, I regarded it as an opportunity. I was no longer a child—I was nearly an adult, capable of observing, calculating, and acting. For the first time, I felt a confidence that I could hold both my father and Victor accountable for this incident, instead of letting them use my mother as a scapegoat once again.
The scandal itself was convoluted, yet straightforward in its consequences. It involved a land acquisition gone terribly wrong. My father had tried to purchase property in Pallantao City, but the mountain and the lands had been in our family for generations. My grandfather had refused to sell them for years, while his children and grandchildren pushed for the sale. For the prosecution, the motive was clear, and the evidence was even clearer—perfect grounds for a lawsuit or trial.
I found my mother at the precise moment my father's plan was beginning to take shape. She stood by the old telephone, her fragile frame poised with a quiet strength that seemed almost impossible.
"Mother..." I started, my voice trembling despite my resolve, wanting to tell her I would protect her, that I would handle those responsible.
"Eiser, don't," she said softly, anticipating my protest before it even formed.
I pressed the button on the telephone, prepared to call someone—anyone—who could aid me in my plan. CLICK. My voice rose, firm and steady, though my heart raced:
"Don't worry. I will deal with those who were responsible for doing my father and Victor's dirty work—"
"Eiser, don't," she interrupted, firmer this time. She turned slowly, meeting my gaze with a look I had never seen before: equal parts pain, love, and resolve.
"After marrying your father..." Her voice was soft, almost sorrowful. "I haven't been whole, not since I was forced to say goodbye to your siblings time and time again."
Her eyes softened, and a faint, bittersweet smile tugged at her lips. "In spite of that, I was glad to be able to meet you and Victor, and to love you as much as I possibly could... and now that I've had the opportunity to see you grow into a fine young man, I have no more regrets."
She reached out to take my hand. Her fingers were delicate against mine, but the squeeze she gave me carried a lifetime of warmth and love—a final gesture that felt both intimate and irrevocable.
"If I could ask you for one favor..." she whispered, her eyes glistening. "Don't hate your father and brother too much. Instead of resenting them, focus on living your own life."
A faint glow of light seemed to surround her, as though the room itself acknowledged the weight of her words. "In a few days, you'll be of age. Happy early birthday, my darling."
And just like that, my mother—my mother who had endured so much, who had loved despite every wound inflicted upon her—willingly became my father's sacrificial lamb. She did it to protect the future of her sons, even if it meant surrendering herself once again.
I watched her choice unfold before me, feeling the bitter sting of helplessness, yet also a deep, solemn pride. My mother had made her choice.
---
When I learned what my father was planning, I regarded it as an opportunity. I was no longer a child—I was nearly an adult, capable of observing, calculating, and acting. For the first time, I felt a confidence that I could hold both my father and Victor accountable for this incident, instead of letting them use my mother as a scapegoat once again.
The scandal itself was convoluted, yet straightforward in its consequences. It involved a land acquisition gone terribly wrong. My father had tried to purchase property in Pallantao City, but the mountain and the lands had been in our family for generations. My grandfather had refused to sell them for years, while his children and grandchildren pushed for the sale. For the prosecution, the motive was clear, and the evidence was even clearer—perfect grounds for a lawsuit or trial.
I found my mother at the precise moment my father's plan was beginning to take shape. She stood by the old telephone, her fragile frame poised with a quiet strength that seemed almost impossible.
"Mother..." I started, my voice trembling despite my resolve, wanting to tell her I would protect her, that I would handle those responsible.
"Eiser, don't," she said softly, anticipating my protest before it even formed.
I pressed the button on the telephone, prepared to call someone—anyone—who could aid me in my plan. CLICK. My voice rose, firm and steady, though my heart raced:
"Don't worry. I will deal with those who were responsible for doing my father and Victor's dirty work—"
"Eiser, don't," she interrupted, firmer this time. She turned slowly, meeting my gaze with a look I had never seen before: equal parts pain, love, and resolve.
"After marrying your father..." Her voice was soft, almost sorrowful. "I haven't been whole, not since I was forced to say goodbye to your siblings time and time again."
Her eyes softened, and a faint, bittersweet smile tugged at her lips. "In spite of that, I was glad to be able to meet you and Victor, and to love you as much as I possibly could... and now that I've had the opportunity to see you grow into a fine young man, I have no more regrets."
She reached out to take my hand. Her fingers were delicate against mine, but the squeeze she gave me carried a lifetime of warmth and love—a final gesture that felt both intimate and irrevocable.
"If I could ask you for one favor..." she whispered, her eyes glistening. "Don't hate your father and brother too much. Instead of resenting them, focus on living your own life."
A faint glow of light seemed to surround her, as though the room itself acknowledged the weight of her words. "In a few days, you'll be of age. Happy early birthday, my darling."
And just like that, my mother—my mother who had endured so much, who had loved despite every wound inflicted upon her—willingly became my father's sacrificial lamb. She did it to protect the future of her sons, even if it meant surrendering herself once again.
I watched her choice unfold before me, feeling the bitter sting of helplessness, yet also a deep, solemn pride. My mother had made her choice.
My mother was gone, and the worst part wasn't just her absence—it was seeing my father and Victor barely mourn her. They paraded their grief publicly, using her death as a springboard for charity work and media spectacles, polishing their reputations while the truth of her sacrifice was buried. That hypocrisy, that cold exploitation of her memory, filled me with a murderous rage I could hardly contain.
I don't recall exactly how I survived those months, but before I knew it, the late fall of my twenty-first year had arrived. The anger and resentment that had been simmering in my chest were now overwhelming, gnawing at my composure and patience. Everything was harder, heavier, and unbearably relentless. At times, I wanted nothing more than to throw in the towel and vanish from the whole charade of my life.
It was during this volatile darkness that Diah de Laurent entered my life.
The De Laurent family had a long history of working with us in various business ventures. Over the years, our families had become entwined—sometimes profitably, sometimes disastrously. There was even talk of a marriage alliance, though it was clear in practice that my family had far more control.
One evening, I found myself alone in a quiet corner, lost in thought. A figure approached me with the ease of someone who belonged in any room they entered.
"Hello," she said, smooth, confident, and unbothered by the tension that clung to me.
I looked up. I thought perhaps we had passed each other many times in public, but this was the first real conversation we were having in private. There was something about her—not just age or demeanor, but an air of self-possession that demanded attention.
She smiled, a knowing curve of her lips. "You smoke the same brand as I do. Can I borrow a light?"
I was momentarily surprised; she didn't strike me as a smoker. But given her family's history—complicated, entangled, and ambitious—I could understand why she might pick up the habit. I handed her my lighter, its green glow cutting through the dim evening light. She held her cigarette delicately, long hair falling around her face, and in that moment, it felt like a new game had begun. Diah de Laurent was going to be a central player.
There was an immediate, shallow sense of camaraderie between us. Two young people navigating the poisoned corridors of powerful, horrid families. She drew in a slow drag of her cigarette, smoke curling languidly around her face.
"I know there is talk of marriage between our families, but that's between you and Victor, not me," she said, cutting straight to the heart of the matter. Then, locking eyes with me, she made her move: "So why don't you just marry me?"
Her audacity left me momentarily stunned. She continued, a wry smile tracing her lips: "You're more my type than Victor. I like younger men. I told my father that if I'm to be sold off to the Grayan family anyway, I'd rather marry you."
I took a long drag, green glow reflecting in my eyes. "I have no interest in marriage, and especially not with you. Also, I like people who are honest with me. Tell me the real reason."
She had clearly done her homework. She knew my father's intentions—his secret plan to make me, not Victor, his successor. And yet, despite her transparency, there was a spark of alignment in her proposal. A fast, clean path to the destruction I craved.
"You want to destroy your family, don't you? And in order to make that happen, you're trying to become your father's successor. That's why you haven't abandoned your family, isn't it?" Her words were sharp, accurate.
I did. I had no desire to be the obedient son, the dutiful heir, or the caretaker of the Grayan name. I wanted to claim it, then dismantle it utterly. Diah's offer aligned perfectly: marry her, gain immediate leverage, and accelerate my plan.
Her analysis was cold, shrewd. "The succession process is delayed because your father cannot make up his mind. Victor's results are lacking, and you're the perfect successor, but he doesn't know what you're thinking. He cannot trust you."
Her ambition mirrored my own, eyes glinting with calculation. "You want to succeed as soon as possible, don't you? I'll help you. Let's do it together."
I realized the depth of her strategy. "That way, not only will you be able to pay back your family's debts, you'll gain your freedom afterwards."
"Exactly," she confirmed. "If I marry Victor, I'm bound to the Grayan family. But with you, I can move freely once our goals are complete."
She explained the transactional core: marriage would accelerate my succession. Without it, timing remained uncertain. She added, almost disturbingly genuine: "You have no love for your family, so the ruin won't touch you. I may resent mine, but I won't despise it. After restoring my family, I'll stay by your side."
My father, unsurprisingly, approved. The engagement solidified my succession, conveniently ignoring my secret agenda. The stage was set. Mutual ambition, shared contempt, and cold calculation sealed the pact. The destruction of the Grayan family had become inevitable.
"I will allow you to marry her. But you must be engaged first," the words echoed, shaping the course of everything that followed.
Dating Diah became a source of comfort. When the weight of the world threatened to crush me, she was there, mature, grounded, seemingly unshakable. I overlooked her dark tendencies, forgiven as necessary for survival. She acted decisively, often unilaterally, reminiscent of my father's methods.
Little by little, I saw the cracks in her facade, yet I accepted them. After all, we had made a promise. "I'll take Diah with me, so just deal with the clean-up here. Quietly."
At 22, my father finally set a wedding date.
Victor's last-ditch attempt struck: an attack meant to unsettle me, carefully concealed for years. The cruel truth followed—Geoffric, our former solicitor, was dead.
"They said it wasn't a simple dismissal, and you would know the truth, Father. What on earth are they talking about?" I demanded.
"He deserved to die and paid the price. That is all," my father said, eyes avoiding mine.
"Paid the price..." The words echoed, a familiar, lethal refrain. My father used them for executions, but never Geoffric. "So... you have Geoffric's blood on your hands as well."
"Strictly speaking, I'm not the one with his blood on my hands," he replied, pausing. Then, with a sharp look, he asked, "Do you remember, when you were eighteen... practicing your marksmanship in the forest?"
The memory hit like a physical blow. BANG. The sound was raw, percussive, branded into me. Muzzle flash, gunpowder, and the unknown face of my target haunted me.
I had pulled the trigger, yes. But who had fallen? Monster, enemy, or part of myself destroyed? The answer remained elusive, a wound I carried silently. The truth, still enemy and ghost, awaited my confrontation.