The sunlight warmed my cheek long before my senses fully returned. I stirred beneath the blankets, the unfamiliar softness cradling me so gently that, for a moment, I didn't remember where I was. It wasn't until the sharp scent of sea air drifted in through the window—clean, saline, alive—that last night's fragmented memories slotted back into place.
Frederick.
The dark streets.
My feet throbbing, my pride aching worse.
His chillingly familiar voice, so changed yet unmistakable.
I blinked against the bright gold streaming in through sheer curtains. Dust motes drifted lazily through the light, catching the morning like tiny suspended stars. Outside, gulls and sparrows sang in overlapping bursts: CHIRP, CHIRP, their carefree chatter almost mocking the heaviness still clinging to my chest.
I pushed myself upright, the bedsheets sliding to my lap. A dull ache pulsed at my heels, but it was no longer unbearable. My body felt rested for the first time since leaving home. The mattress—thin, simple—had felt like luxury after the possibility of cold stone streets.
I rubbed my calves gently.
"What time is it?" I murmured aloud, though the answer didn't truly matter. Morning was already moving. I had things to do.
But the moment I looked around the simple, quaint inn room—its wooden beams, its patched curtains, its soft patina of age—my heart squeezed. I didn't feel unsafe anymore. But I did feel… untethered.
Frederick had brought me here. And then he had vanished.
No explanation.
No plan.
No trace.
The weight in my stomach returned, slow and murky.
I rose, letting my toes brush the cool wooden floor. As I stood, I rotated my ankle experimentally. The pain was still there—a reminder of yesterday's frantic wandering—but manageable.
"My feet aren't too swollen, and I'm feeling pretty energetic. Good," I thought with relief.
"Honestly, I was a bit worried…"
I padded into the small bathroom. The faucet squeaked sharply before water rushed out—cold, clean, waking me all over again. TAP TAP. I washed my face, brushed my hair with quick, practiced strokes.
"Thanks to all those nights I spent away from the manor," I mused, wiping droplets from my jawline, "I have no difficulty washing up and getting myself ready to go outside."
A faint smile tugged at my lips.
"I think I'm getting better at makeup and doing my hair, too."
I lifted my gaze to the mirror.
A tidy, composed woman stared back—still tired, yes, but steadier, more capable than the panicked version of myself from last night. I touched my reflection lightly, tracing my cheekbone.
"It's all fine, except…"
My voice drifted off.
Except for the one thing I had never expected.
"Running into Frederick yesterday is the last thing I expected."
My chest tightened as the memory resurfaced with painful clarity—his cold words, his unreadable eyes, the commanding tone that left no room for refusal.
"He's never spoken to me like that before. He seemed like a completely different person…"
I gripped the towel too tightly, knuckles pale. The uncertainty between us felt like a stretch of unlit road—dangerous and strange.
"After escorting me to this inn, Frederick vanished."
Just like that.
No farewell, no warning, no promise of return.
There were so many things I had wanted to ask him. Wanted to tell him. Things that had sat heavy and silent in my chest through the entire journey.
And he had said—without a shred of hesitation—
"I'm sure you have much to both ask and tell, but all that can wait until tomorrow."
Well… now it was tomorrow.
I opened the window. CLACK.
A gust of crisp sea breeze rushed inside, stirring the curtains and clearing my thoughts like a sudden wind sweeping through a foggy harbor.
I inhaled deeply.
I didn't come here to cling to the past. I didn't come here for protection. I didn't come here to be swayed by Frederick's reappearance.
I had my own work. My own mission.
My own path—no matter how uneven the cobblestones might be.
"I will find him later," I decided in a firm, quiet voice. "But first, I must handle what I came here for."
I dressed quickly in my travel suit, fastening each button with renewed clarity. My heartbeat steadied. My mind sharpened. The day awaited.
I stepped toward the door, ready to descend to the lobby below.
Now that you have decided to prioritize your mission.
The man stood before me, a tall, silent figure framed by the dull morning light. Just minutes ago, the room had felt warm, safe—washed in soft sunshine and the quiet rhythm of the sea outside. But his arrival carved through that gentleness like a dark blade. The air shifted. The warmth evaporated. I felt exposed, as though the sun itself had retreated in his presence.
I clutched the towel around me, knuckles whitening.
"There were things I wanted to say to you if I ever saw you again," I thought, the words burning at the back of my throat. My chest felt tight with everything left unsaid—questions that had haunted me, explanations I deserved, emotions I had buried only to have them ripped open by his sudden reappearance.
"I had so many questions to ask, so many answers to demand."
Every syllable was a pulse of pain, a reminder of nights spent replaying the moment he left without a word.
But he didn't flinch. He didn't soften.
His voice—cold, composed, entirely foreign—cut through the space between us.
"You can do that starting tomorrow if you wish."
The bluntness hit harder than any shouted cruelty could have. Tomorrow?
As if my anguish were an inconvenience.
As if the pain he caused could be neatly postponed.
That's impossible, my mind whispered, unable to bear the distance in his eyes. The Frederick I knew—steady, gentle, warm in quiet ways—felt like a ghost. This man was steel. Controlled. Unreachable.
Then he said it.
That line that made something inside me splinter.
"How brave of you."
But there was no admiration in it. Only ice.
A mocking, cutting twist of his tone that chilled me to the bone.
And with a suddenness that made my stomach drop, he issued a sharp command:
"Follow me."
Just that.
No explanation. No emotion.
Just authority—unyielding, unrecognizable authority.
I stared at him, stunned. His voice had never carried that kind of edge before.
He seemed like a completely different person.
A stranger wearing the face of someone I once trusted.
Across the room, the window slammed shut.
CLACK.
The sound echoed like finality.
WHOOSH.
The curtains settled in the still air.
I drew in a trembling breath, letting it out as a quiet, jagged sigh. My chest ached. The man I once loved—whose arms had once been my refuge—felt impossibly distant now. As though I had crossed oceans only to find a hollow imitation of him.
"It's like you've become a complete stranger…"
The thought slipped through me as I turned toward the window, the towel still clutched tightly at my chest. The brilliant blue seascape spread out beyond the glass—vast, indifferent, painfully serene.
"…And the days we spent together were nothing but a fever dream."
I tried to hold onto those memories, but they were dissolving, fading beneath the sharpness of the man standing only meters away. The warmth he once gave me was being overwritten by this chilling new reality.
I forced myself to face him again, pulled violently back into the moment by the weight of his presence.
His voice came again—low, controlled, and carrying the faintest edge of something accusatory.
"Where did you disappear to this time?"
I stood by the window, the soft morning breeze brushing against my skin, carrying the faint scent of salt and something sweet—flowers, perhaps, blooming somewhere beyond sight. My reflection hovered faintly on the glass: long, dark hair spilling over the white fabric of my simple dress, shoulders slightly slumped from the weight of thoughts I couldn't shake.
Outside, the small coastal town of Flo Marina shimmered beneath the sun. Waves glittered like scattered shards of glass, and the sky stretched wider than anything back in the manor. Everything here was bright, open, honest.
But inside me?
A shadow lingered.
…and the days we spent together were nothing but a fever dream.
The thought twisted sharply in my chest. It didn't feel dramatic—it felt true. Painfully, achingly true.
Moments later, I found myself outside, walking through the sun-drenched pathways as though carried by momentum alone. The sunlight was almost too brilliant, as if trying to burn away the heaviness inside me. My straw hat did little to soften it, casting only a fragile shade across my eyes.
I passed the empty grounds—the quiet terra-cotta walls, the overgrown stone paths—and suddenly…
Seeing the empty grounds… reminded me of Grandma…
My steps faltered.
A tremor of sorrow seized me, sharp and unexpected, tightening my fingers around the edge of a weathered stone banister. The emotions surged without warning:
JOY. SORROW. OVERWHELM. CONFUSION.
A tempest, all colliding at once.
A cool breeze swept past—
WHOOSH—
lifting the hair at my shoulders, brushing away the heat pressing against my skin. I closed my eyes, tilting my face toward the sun. For a single breath, the warmth steadied me. I was here. I was alive. I was trying.
Trying to move forward.
Trying to understand.
Trying not to fall apart.
Elsewhere in Flo Marina, inside a temporary office stuffed with maps, folders, and half-finished cups of coffee, Lovis picked up the ringing phone. He took the call mid-bite—
CHOMP—
chewing loudly as he recognized the voice.
"EISER. IT'S ME, LOVIS. SORRY ABOUT NOT CALLING YOU EARLIER. A SMALL FIRE BROKE OUT AT THE PHONE COMPANY HERE."
On the other end of the line, Eiser's tension was almost a presence of its own. His voice wasn't heard, but his silence was enough to reveal his fear.
"WHERE'S SERENA?" he must have asked—because the question hovered, heavy and urgent.
Lovis relaxed, relieved to be bringing good news.
"YOU WERE RIGHT. SERENA REALLY DID COME TO FLO MARINA.
LOOKS LIKE SHE BOOKED A ROOM AND VISITED THE BANK. SHE WITHDREW SOME MONEY—PROBABLY STAYING A WHILE."
Across the line, Eiser finally exhaled. His shoulders sagged. For a moment, the stern lines of his profile melted into something raw, something vulnerable.
"I SEE… THANK GOODNESS. I WAS TERRIFIED SHE MIGHT BE STARVING OR WITHOUT A PLACE TO SLEEP."
But that relief…
was brief.
Knowing where I was was only the beginning.
What lay between us was far from resolved.
Authors pov
Relief drained from Eiser's body almost as quickly as it came, replaced by a cold, knifing anxiety.
"I SEE… THANK GOODNESS."
He repeated it, but softer—his grip still locked around the phone receiver.
Meanwhile, Lovis—utterly oblivious to the emotional minefield—continued speaking cheerfully, crumbs still on his desk.
"THE WEATHER HERE IS AMAZING TODAY. WHAT'S SERENA DOING HERE ANYWAY? AND WITHOUT YOU?
SHE COULD BE CHECKING THE HOTEL GROUNDS. OR SHE COULD'VE STAYED AT THE OFFICE—WAY NICER THAN AN INN. SHE DOES KNOW HOW MUCH RENT YOU'RE PAYING, RIGHT?
OR SHOULD I GO SAY HELLO? SHOW HER AROUND? MUST BE NICE TO SEE A FAMILIAR FACE—**"
Eiser's eyes hardened instantly.
Lovis never got to finish.
"NO. LET HER BE."
Eiser's voice was cold, controlled—an order, not a suggestion.
"SHE'S PROBABLY AVOIDING THE OFFICE BECAUSE SHE WANTS TO BE LEFT ALONE.
DON'T APPROACH HER. JUST KEEP AN EYE ON HER.
AND MAKE SURE SOMEONE FOLLOWS HER TO KEEP HER SAFE."
There was a pause.
A long, uneasy one.
Then Lovis said something that made the atmosphere shift.
"HUH? I THOUGHT YOU ALREADY HAD SOMEONE DOING THAT."
Eiser froze.
His expression sharpened.
"WHAT? WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?"
The sudden GLINT in his eyes was dangerous.
Lovis, realizing he had stepped into something sensitive, scrambled to explain.
"SHE LEFT ALONE. NO ONE WENT WITH HER.
UH… WELL… THE INNKEEPER SAID SHE DIDN'T COME ALONE."
The words hit Eiser like a blow to the chest.
A muscle in his jaw TWITCHED.
His fingers curled violently around the receiver.
Lovis continued, oblivious to the storm forming on the other end.
"HE SAID SHE WAS WITH A TALL, HANDSOME DARK-SKINNED MAN WITH LONGISH HAIR.
AND AS SOON AS I HEARD THAT, I FIGURED IT WAS FREDERICK."
The name landed like poison.
Eiser's expression shattered, then hardened into something dark and lethal.
His relief evaporated.
His composure fractured.
The so-called "fever dream" was far from over.
I hadn't been alone after all.
Eiser's grip on the receiver hardened until the cheap plastic creaked beneath his fingers. The quiet hum of the line only made the fury beneath his calm exterior feel sharper, more volatile.
"SO YOU DIDN'T KNOW EITHER. NO WONDER… I WAS CURIOUS WHY YOU'D LET HIM NEAR HER AGAIN…"
His voice was low, trembling—not with fear, but with the barely contained violence of betrayal. His knuckles blanched around the phone in a painful CLENCH.
The small lamp in the corner did nothing to soften the darkness swarming around him. The name—Frederick—was a spark thrown into a room already filled with oil.
"SHE'S WITH… …FREDERICK?"
The last word came out as a whisper carved from ice.
The call ended in a sharp click, leaving a silence so absolute it seemed to swallow the air.
The answer he had uncovered was the kind that hollowed a man out from the inside.
Meanwhile, Flo Marina was transitioning into night. The sunset had bled across the horizon moments earlier, leaving behind streaks of indigo and pale violet now swallowed by rising moonlight.
I had spent the better part of the afternoon wandering the town's winding paths, feeling both alien and familiar to myself. Every corner of the city felt touched by salt, sea wind, and nostalgia that wasn't mine.
THE DAY'S ALREADY WANING. WANDERED AROUND THE CITY DURING THE DAY.
Eventually, my feet had carried me to the beach where the tide rolled in with a calm, rhythmic SPLASH… SPLASH…
The moon, swollen and silver-white, hung over the dark water like an ancient guardian.
I drew in a deep breath of cool sea breeze. The coastline stretched in three directions, beautifully framed by everything Eiser had once described to me.
I LOVE THAT THE HOTEL GROUNDS ARE SURROUNDED BY A BEACH, A HILL, AND A CLIFF.
The sand was soft beneath my feet, the incoming tide brushing against my ankles with a cold kiss.
High above, the dark silhouette of the cliffs carved a powerful outline against the night sky.
THE OHAVIEH CLIFFS, WHICH IS SAID TO BE ONE OF THE MAIN ATTRACTIONS HERE, ARE REALLY STUNNING IN PERSON TOO.
As I walked, I found myself drifting into thoughts about the construction project—my last tie to the life I had abandoned.
THE VIEW FROM THE GUEST SUITES AND RESTAURANT WILL BE EXCELLENT, AND IT WILL MAKE A LOVELY PATH FOR A STROLL. I'LL NEED TO PAY CAREFUL ATTENTION WHEN THEY'RE DIGGING THE FOUNDATION TO ENSURE THAT THESE POSITIVE ASPECTS STAND OUT—
A tiny voice sliced through my thoughts.
"LADY… YOU'RE PHILESETUNA, RIGHT?"
I jolted slightly—FLINCH—and turned.
A small boy stood there, maybe five or six, dressed neatly as though he'd been out for an evening walk with his family. His eyes were huge and sparkling, fixed entirely on me.
"HUH? PHIL… PHIL… SE… WHAT?"
The name twisted awkwardly on my tongue.
I forced a smile. "UH… HI, KIDDO. SORRY, I DIDN'T QUITE HEAR THAT… WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY?"
Before he could answer, another voice broke through the sound of the surf.
"MARRON! WHAT ARE YOU DOING OVER THERE?"
A woman came hurrying down the beach, breathless from running—her steps kicking up little puffs of sand as she approached us in a frantic RUSH.
"I'M SO SORRY, YOUNG LADY!" she exclaimed. "MY BOY HASN'T DONE ANYTHING RUDE, I HOPE? HE JUST RAN OFF WHILE WE WERE ON A WALK."
Marron hopped in place gleefully.
"MOMMY! EXCITED!"
The mother sighed, but her fondness for the child softened her exasperation.
The moment was simple, domestic—so normal it felt surreal in contrast to the storm inside me.
But Marron wasn't done.
"MOMMY! EXCITED! I THINK THIS LADY IS PHILESETUNA!"
His little finger jabbed toward me with absolute conviction.
His mother huffed a soft laugh.
"OH, HONEY… SHE'S A PERSON, A PERSON! IS THAT WHY YOU RUSHED OFF?"
I blinked, baffled. "…PHIL… WHAT'S HE TALKING ABOUT?"
The woman straightened her scarf and smiled kindly.
"OH! I GUESS YOU'RE NOT FROM AROUND HERE, ARE YOU? ARE YOU A TOURIST?"
"AH… YES, I SUPPOSE," I replied, feeling a little foolish for not knowing such a widely beloved local myth.
But Marron only stared harder, his small brows furrowed in earnest belief.
"PHILESETUNA," the woman said, lowering her voice as though sharing a secret, "IS THE HEROINE OF AN OLD LEGEND IN THIS CITY. SHE'S A MERMAID. IT IS SAID THAT EVERY FULL MOON, HER TAIL TURNS INTO LEGS AND SHE TAKES A WALK ALONG THE BEACH."
My gaze instinctively lifted to the moon—huge, glowing, pulling at the tide as if by invisible strings.
A soft shiver crawled up my spine.
"She's described as extraordinarily beautiful," the woman continued, "WITH VERY LONG HAIR THAT'S WHITE IN THE WATER BUT TURNS BLACK WHEN SHE'S ON LAND. FAIR-SKINNED. ELEGANT. KIND OF LIKE…"
She gestured toward me, smiling.
The image of the mermaid flashed in my mind—like stained glass illuminated by candlelight.
"I THINK I SAW A STATUE OF HER AT THE FOUNTAIN IN THE SQUARE…" I murmured, trying to recall.
The woman laughed again.
"NO WONDER MARRON THOUGHT YOU WERE HER! YOU REALLY DO LOOK JUST LIKE HOW THE LEGENDS DESCRIBE HER!"
Her friendly chatter made the moment feel lighter. I exhaled slowly, deciding to steer the conversation toward something safer.
"WHERE ARE YOU FROM?" she asked curiously.
"I'M FROM WELLENBERG OF MEURACEVIA."
"OH, THAT'S SO FAR AWAY! WE'VE BEEN GETTING MORE TOURISTS FROM THERE LATELY. MOST OF THEM COME TO SEE THE SEA."
Then her eyes lit with gossip.
"THERE WERE ALSO SOME ENTREPRENEURS WHO CAME ABOUT A BIG HOTEL PROJECT."
I nodded, unsurprised.
She lowered her voice dramatically.
"I KEPT SEEING THIS MAN WITH FLOWERS ALL OVER HIS SUIT! ARE PEOPLE IN BIG CITIES ALL LIKE THAT?"
A tiny laugh escaped me.
"NO. HE'S A SPECIAL CASE. I CAN TELL WHO SHE'S TALKING ABOUT RIGHT AWAY."
"I ASSUME YOU CAME ALL THE WAY HERE TO SEE VALLEAH BEACH. WELL? IS IT WORTH THE TRIP?"
"HAVE YOU LIVED IN FLO MARINA ALL YOUR LIFE?" I countered gently.
"OF COURSE! MY FAMILY'S BEEN HERE FOR GENERATIONS."
"WHAT ELSE IS FLO MARINA FAMOUS FOR?" I asked, eager to learn more.
She pointed up at the breathtaking cliff face crowned by moonlight.
"LOOK AT THAT SEASIDE CLIFF. IT'S CALLED OHAVIEH—IT MEANS 'SWEET' IN THE ANCIENT LANGUAGE HERE. IT ALSO MEANS 'SUBLIME.'"
Her voice blended with the surf as I absorbed every word.
Flo Marina's history, its myths, its people…
This city was a world away from the life I had escaped.
Marge's voice was warm and animated, a cadence shaped by sea wind and years of speaking over the sound of waves crashing on the shore. She continued sharing details about Flo Marina with such affection that each word felt like a piece of the town's soul being placed gently into my hands.
"WE'RE KNOWN FOR OUR POMEGRANATES TOO," she went on proudly. "IT'S ONE OF OUR BIGGEST EXPORTS. THEY THRIVE IN THIS CLIMATE—THE WARM BREEZE, THE SOFT SOIL, THE SUNLIGHT. THE QUALITY OF OUR FRUIT IS EXCEPTIONAL. EVEN THE MOST FAMOUS HOTEL IN MEURACEVIA USES OUR POMEGRANATES!"
"OH, WE DO?" I blinked, genuinely surprised. It was funny—despite having grown up surrounded by luxury, I had never once stopped to wonder where some of those luxuries actually came from.
Marge happily pressed on. "THE PRIME POMEGRANATES WE GROW ARE USED TO MAKE ALL SORTS OF THINGS—WINE, JUICE, SYRUP, SOAP, DESSERTS. WE EVEN USE THE PEELS FOR OUR HOMEMADE REMEDIES. AND OF COURSE WE HAVE SEAFOOD. ABUNDANT, FRESH, DELICIOUS SEAFOOD."
Then, with the spontaneity of someone who lived her life guided by sincerity rather than calculation, she suddenly asked:
"OH, DO YOU HAVE ANY PLANS TOMORROW?"
I shook my head. "NO. I'M JUST HERE FOR LEISURELY SIGHTSEEING…"
Her eyes brightened like flaring lanterns.
"THEN… WOULD YOU LIKE TO HAVE LUNCH WITH US TOMORROW?"
For a moment I could only stare. The simplicity of the offer stunned me. A home with open windows overlooking the sea… a handmade meal… the warm chaos of a family table. It felt foreign. Almost forbidden.
"Huh?" I murmured. I had expected directions, perhaps, or recommendations—not an invitation into someone's life.
But Marge was already pushing past my hesitance with cheerful insistence.
"WHAT'S THE FUN IN JUST TELLING YOU ABOUT ALL THIS WITH WORDS?" she said. "I'D LOVE TO COOK FOR YOU MYSELF! MY HUSBAND IS A FISHERMAN—THE FOOD ON OUR TABLE IS AS FRESH AS IT GETS. AND OUR HOME IS CLOSE BY. THE VIEW IS EXCELLENT TOO! YOU CAN SEE THE SEA RIGHT FROM OUR DINING ROOM WINDOW!"
Marron bounced excitedly at her side, eager to add his own bait to the hook.
"MOMMY'S A REALLY GOOD COOK!" he shouted, voice ringing over the waves.
I laughed softly despite myself.
"Oh, I'm grateful for the offer, but—"
Before I could finish, Marron was already tugging at his mother's sleeve, eyes bright.
"WE HAVE A POMEGRANATE TREE IN THE YARD TOO! AND YOU CAN MEET MORO! MORO'S OUR PUPPY—HE JUST TURNED SEVEN! AND THERE'S THIS REALLY SWEET TABBY CAT THAT COMES TO VISIT US SOMETIMES!"
His excitement was so pure it disarmed me completely.
Marge stepped closer, her tone gentle. "OH, MY NAME IS MARGE, AND THIS IS MARRON, MY SON. IN CASE WE CAME OFF AS SUSPICIOUS… I JUST RUN A SMALL SOAP BUSINESS HERE. REALLY. WE'RE A SIMPLE FAMILY."
Her smile softened, warm yet not pressing.
"IF YOU WANT TO LEARN MORE ABOUT THE AREA, I CAN TELL YOU ALL OUR OLD FABLES, TOO. I WON'T INSIST IF YOU'D PREFER NOT TO. BUT… YOU'D BE WELCOME."
And for the first time in a long while, I realized how desperately I wanted to feel welcome somewhere—without pretense, without expectation, without fear.
I didn't say yes.
But I didn't quite say no either.
Far from the salt-softened winds of Flo Marina, the atmosphere in Eiser's office was razor–sharp with tension.
The room was dim, lit only by a solitary lamp that cast his features into stark relief. Shadows gathered beneath his eyes—half from exhaustion, half from a simmering storm he was trying, and failing, to contain.
The only sound was the repeated tap… tap… tap of his pen nib against the paper.
That was how Raul always knew something was deeply wrong.
"I THOUGHT FREDERICK HAD MADE HIMSELF SCARCE AFTER THAT KIDNAPPING," Eiser muttered under his breath, though there was no one in the room to hear it.
Frederick's name—once merely an irritant—had become a threat. A shadow that had slipped out of his control. And now, hearing from Lovis that Frederick was with me… that I hadn't come to Flo Marina alone… that I might be walking its streets with the very man Eiser had wanted far away from me—
His jaw clenched so tightly it ached.
He wrote a final line in a letter—cold, decisive—sealed it with a press of his thumb, and pushed it aside.
Enough was enough.
I stood by the window of my small room, the sea breeze brushing against my cheeks, carrying with it the scent of salt and distant sun-warmed sand. The life I'd known—the manor, the suffocating halls, the gilded restraints—felt unreal now, as if it belonged to someone else entirely.
The days Eiser and I spent together floated in my mind like a fever dream—too vivid to be forgotten, too unreachable to still feel real.
The empty grounds beyond the inn tugged painfully at memories of Grandma. A clenching sorrow tightened my chest. Yet at the same time, the open sky and the freedom of anonymity stirred something like joy.
A bombardment of peculiar emotions surged within me, overlapping in waves.
Miles away, in a temporary office set up hastily for the project, Lovis chewed noisily through his call with Eiser, giving updates without understanding the weight of his words.
When he finally relayed the innkeeper's account—that I had arrived with a tall, handsome man with longish hair—Eiser's rage detonated in silence. The glint in his eyes went icy. His grip on the phone turned bone–white.
"SO YOU DIDN'T KNOW EITHER… SHE'S WITH… FREDERICK?"
The call ended with a decisive click—less like a conversation concluding and more like a sentence being passed.
The day slipped into night, silvered beneath the rising full moon. I wandered the beach, thinking of the cliffs, the path that wrapped around them, the view the future hotel would offer guests. Every detail mattered. Every angle of sunlight and ocean breeze.
But my thoughts were interrupted by a small boy who ran up to me, his face full of awe.
"LADY… YOU'RE PHILESETUNA, RIGHT?"
Thus began the strange, charming encounter with Marron and his mother—a conversation that unfolded into local myths, family history, city lore, and the enchantment of Flo Marina's ancient legends.
For the first time since arriving, I felt like I was beginning to understand this city—not from reports or secondhand briefings, but from the lips of someone who had lived and loved every inch of it.
Marge's stories painted Flo Marina with colors no written document could capture.
Her excitement, her pride in her lineage, her knowledge of the cliffs, the old language, the sweetness and sublimity of Ohavieh—
All of it seeped quietly into me.
Back in the manor, Raul watched Eiser hungrily gripping his pen, tapping its nib in a rhythm that always spelled danger. Empty bottles had begun to gather near his desk.
Raul approached cautiously.
"Sir…?"
Eiser didn't look up. "RAUL."
Raul straightened immediately. "YES, SIR?!"
The order that followed was delivered with the finality of a sword falling.
"IT'S TIME TO BRING SERENA HOME."
Raul blinked, stunned. "H-HUH? YOU KNEW WHERE LADY SERENA WAS?"
"SEND THE POLICE TO FLO MARINA."
Raul nearly choked. "THE POLICE?! But, um—don't you want to send staff or bodyguards instead?"
Eiser's voice was low, controlled, but fiercely resolute.
"IF WE SEND HER STAFF, SHE'LL REFUSE AND SEND THEM BACK. IF I GO, I LEAVE THE MANOR UNGUARDED. IF WE SEND THE POLICE… SHE'LL HAVE NO CHOICE BUT TO COME HOME."
His decision was made.
The police were about to be dispatched to Flo Marina.
Eiser remained perfectly still after issuing the command, his posture carved from stone, his eyes glacial and unblinking. The room around him seemed to contract under the weight of his words—an invisible pressure that even Raul could feel as he stood frozen a few steps away.
The silence stretched, taut and brittle.
Raul swallowed. "You… you don't want to send our staff or bodyguards instead?" His voice wavered despite his attempt to maintain composure. He had served Eiser long enough to recognize when something was wrong, deeply wrong—but never had he seen this expression on his master's face.
"If we send her staff, she'll simply refuse to return and send them back," Eiser said, each word clipped, calculated. "I would go, but I can't leave the manor for the time being." His jaw tensed. "If we send the police, she'll have no choice but to come home."
A cold, merciless certainty wrapped itself around each syllable. He spoke as though the decision had already been carved into fate. As though my freedom—fragile and fleeting as it was—had been nothing more than a temporary malfunction he was now correcting.
He leaned back in his chair, but the gesture brought no softness. His gaze sharpened further, pinning Raul in place.
"Make sure that everything happens as if she were abducted."
Raul blinked. "H–Huh? Abducted?" His confusion cracked through the tension like a clicking wire, but Eiser didn't flinch.
He repeated, lower and more dangerous than before, "Tell them she went missing and was recently found in Flo Marina, but she was taken there against her will."
The deliberate construction of a lie… a lie he needed to become truth.
A lie that would erase my choices.
A lie that would justify whatever came next.
Raul's face drained of color as the meaning sank in. His brows furrowed, not in defiance—he never dared—but in the quiet horror of a man tasked with setting a dangerous machine into motion.
"I… I see," Raul said, his voice smaller than usual. He straightened himself, as though doing so could help him bear the weight of the order. "I'll let the police know right away. Is there anything else you require?"
Eiser's expression darkened with something violent, something raw and possessive.
"Frederick," he said, the name rippling with venom. It left his lips like a curse. "If he resists, eliminate him. I don't care how you do it—just make sure he's gone."
This time, Raul couldn't hide the flicker of shock in his eyes. He knew the old history, the broken trust, the grudges buried like landmines between the two men—but this? This was different. This was decisive. Final. A line crossed.
Eiser didn't look away. He didn't blink.
His rage was quiet now, controlled, distilled into a lethal and frightening resolve.
Raul bowed, lower than he had in years. "Understood, Sir. I will take care of it."
And with that single acknowledgment, the room seemed to exhale—a slow, heavy sigh of inevitability. The moment Raul stepped out, the faint echo of the shutting door sealed the decision like a coffin lid.
The orders had been given.
The machinery set in motion.
I would be "rescued."
Frederick would be erased.
And the illusion of my escape—of my brief, trembling independence—would be buried beneath Eiser's carefully crafted narrative.
The police were already on their way.