The cold sting of steel cuffs locked around Frederick's wrists, and the sight of him restrained sent a shiver down my spine. My chest tightened with disbelief, panic clawing at my mind. "Handcuffs? This is too much..." I whispered, barely daring to breathe, my gaze glued to the cold metal that now confined him.
The officer, his expression a mask of professionalism, addressed me. "Ma'am, there is no need for you to come with us."
"No," I insisted, my voice steadier now despite the chaos inside me. "Not only did someone in my household file this report, he's my companion. I'll go with him."
Frederick was being guided away by two officers, his posture rigid, his resolve evident despite the circumstances. "Frederick!" I cried, my steps urgent, though the world seemed to muffle every sound with a heavy, distorted rush.
He turned briefly, his eyes locking onto mine with that familiar intensity that always seemed to pierce through the storm of my emotions. "Go home. I'll be fine," he said, his voice calm yet carrying an unspoken weight. He paused, glancing at me with an inscrutable expression. "As for what I was about to say earlier... you'll find out soon enough."
"No, I'll come too," I countered, desperation creeping into my tone, clinging to the fragile hope that I could undo this injustice. "They must've misunderstood everything. I'll explain-it'll all be fine."
Frederick shook his head slightly, his determination unwavering. "I'll come with you," he replied simply.
As my gaze followed Frederick being escorted away, another figure emerged from the shadows. He was impeccably dressed, his aura of confidence unsettling, and that smirk-so familiar yet so dangerous-made my heart drop.
"Ms. Serenity," the man greeted, my name cutting sharply through the air. I spun toward him, disbelief rooting me in place. "Long time no see. Fancy meeting you here."
"Lovis?" The name escaped me with a mixture of shock and dread.
"Ms. Serenity," he repeated, the tone almost mocking in its politeness.
A chilling realization struck me like lightning. "Are you the one who found me and reported Frederick? Did Eiser put you up to this?"
Lovis chuckled, dry and humorless. "Haha... I can't deny it."
The words hit harder than I expected. My mind raced-kidnapper? Illegal immigrant? What absurd accusations had been set into motion?
"You know Frederick worked for me!" I shouted, frustration and outrage fueling my voice. "Then go tell them the truth at once!"
Lovis's calm demeanor did not falter as I took a step toward the retreating figures. He raised a hand, blocking my path. "Ms. Serenity."
"If I go to the police and explain everything-" I began, but the sting of inevitability cut through my words. Lovis had orchestrated this.
He stood before me, an infuriating blend of politeness and menace, a wall I could not breach.
"I'll escort you to your manor. Come with me," he said, his tone a command carefully veiled as an offer.
"What?" I recoiled, disbelief twisting my features. "No. You can go back on your own."
Panic rose in my chest, fueled by Frederick's earlier resolve. Why was he so unlike himself?
Lovis's eyes were unnervingly steady. "Mr. Frederick will be perfectly safe. The police have requested Artiazen's cooperation; this is merely a procedural background check before he is transferred to Meuracevia for a full investigation."
The language was clinical, detached-and that detachment confirmed the gravity of the situation. My stomach twisted.
My eyes narrowed. "So both you and Eiser knew from the start that the man with me was Frederick."
Lovis offered no denial. Betrayal bled through my veins. Eiser had known and yet had orchestrated this?
"If you're not going to help him, move out of the way!" I snapped, my nails digging into my palms in frustration. Why would Eiser manipulate the situation like this when Frederick had only ever protected me?
Lovis's presence felt like a shadow of control, oppressive and silent. Resisting seemed futile, and slowly, I allowed myself to be led back to the manor, the distant crash of waves on the shore echoing my inner turmoil.
The manor's grand bedroom was vast, cold, and oppressively silent. Standing there, I felt the isolation weigh heavily, the walls closing in with every thought of Eiser's betrayal and Frederick's uncertain fate. His calculated manipulation was now painfully clear-he had engineered separation, leaving me vulnerable and alone.
(Flashback when eiser and serena were together in serenity hotel .- eiser thoughts present)
I approached the desk where Eiser sat, absorbed in papers as though the world outside, including our so-called vacation, was inconsequential.
"I was wondering where you went off to while I was napping," I said, voice edged with irritation. "And here you are, back at your desk." I leaned into him, hands settling on his shoulders, then wrapping around his neck as I perched on his lap. "I told you not to work during our vacation."
He allowed himself a brief moment of softness, his handsome face momentarily yielding. "I can't just put it off," he murmured. "The new hotel in Flo Marina requires daily attention."
A wave of frustration surged. I wanted him-not his excuses. I tightened my hold. "If you keep this up, I'll throw all your pens away. Rip out the phone lines. Keep you tied up in our room."
Eiser smiled, that disarming private smile. "This disappoints me too," he said softly, pulling me closer. "We don't have long until we must part. Even if I spent all my hours gazing at you, it would never be enough."
Then, his expression shifted, serious and conspiratorial. "While you're unaware, our divorce is set for after this vacation. If I don't handle this work now, it all falls on you. I should lighten your load before then."
Divorce. Confirmation. The words stabbed sharply. He was clearing his path to set me adrift.
I fixed him with a determined stare. "Then let me help."
Reaching for the pen and papers, I hid my intent-I would not lighten his load, but probe for answers, seeking a way to reclaim Frederick.
Settling onto his lap, I prepared to examine his work. He grasped my hand gently. "Stay here. That's all I need," he murmured.
"Stay here?" I echoed, surprised.
"Yes," he said, eyes on his work. His focus was absolute, unbroken.
I attempted conversation, probing for information. "Oh? This is... the Northern Language. You know it?"
"Yeah."
I pressed, eager for more. "Learned as a child?"
"Yeah."
His terse responses grated on my nerves. "And the Southern Language?"
"Yeah."
My irritation flared. "Ye-" I started, cut off sharply. "Serena, stop talking to me," he snapped, a rare edge to his voice.
I sighed dramatically. "Fine. I suppose I should be grateful you're even letting me sit with you when you're so busy."
Time passed, and his focus remained steadfast. As for me, I had nothing to do but observe.
I traced my fingers through his silky hair, touched his shapely ears, and let my thumb wander along his neck, noting the subtle pulse at his Adam's apple. Betrayal and intimacy coexisted uneasily; I was close to a man who had just manipulated my world, yet the connection felt undeniable.
Leaning in, I tried to catch a word, a name, a clue in his meticulous handwriting-but the stylized script, coupled with the foreign language, eluded me. My mind sharpened; I needed those documents. I needed to decipher his intentions.
Sitting on his lap, I resolved: I would learn from his work, gather clues, and find a way to rescue Frederick.
---
Sitting on Eiser's lap, pretending to be bored yet secretly tracking every precise motion of his hand, my curiosity got the better of me. I couldn't resist a subtle provocation. My fingers grazed his neck again, tracing the outline of his Adam's apple, a gesture that was seemingly casual but intentionally teasing.
His pen froze mid-stroke. His sharp gaze lifted to meet mine, serious and unyielding.
"Serena. Keep your hands still," he commanded, his voice low, commanding, the kind of tone that left no room for argument.
I batted my eyelashes in mock innocence. "What do you take me for, a wooden doll? What exactly am I supposed to do while in your lap?" I leaned closer, letting the proximity-and my deliberate playfulness-work in my favor.
His eyes narrowed slightly, an intensity sparking in their depths. "This will only make things worse for you later," he murmured.
I pressed my advantage, leaning even closer, my face barely inches from his. "Or... are you trying to rush me? Hurry me along... so we can get to-!!"
The words blurted out before I could stop myself, the implication obvious. My face flamed crimson, a furious blush creeping over my cheeks. I stared at him, shocked at both my own audacity and the desire mirrored in his gaze.
"R-rush you?! You incorrigible-bastard!" I flailed, throwing my arms in mock indignation. "I inadvertently swore out of shock! I was bored, you were in my line of sight... what kind of woman do you think I am?!"
Then, an idea struck me. With a quick, decisive motion, I let one arm fall sharply onto his writing hand-a sudden, strategic slap.
The fountain pen, Eiser's prized tool for writing the Northern Language script, tumbled from his grasp. ROLL... DROP. The tiny clatter echoed across the marble floor. My heart jumped, but I masked the panic with a practiced pout.
Eiser glanced down at the pen lying abandoned, then back up at me. I took the opportunity, leaning in as if to kiss him, forcing his gaze upward while my foot subtly reached toward the fallen pen. The bare tip of my foot nudged it closer, a silent, deft maneuver unnoticed amid the intensity of our interaction.
His eyes held mine with laser focus, yet he hadn't noticed the foot's quiet mission. He took my hand gently, drawing attention back to himself-but the pen lay in wait, ready for retrieval.
Eiser did not immediately acknowledge the pen on the floor, his attention riveted on me instead.
"You should be picking up your pen, not me," I murmured, trying to gently push him aside, all while referencing the hands now resting on my bare thigh.
"You provoked me first," he countered, his voice dangerously low. "I've been holding back since earlier, trying to maintain composure."
"Since when?" I gasped, caught between shock and intrigue.
"Since you sat on my lap," he admitted, matter-of-factly.
Before I could process the implication, he leaned in, lips pressing against mine in a sudden, consuming kiss. My body jolted back to reality. W-WAIT!
My hands shot up to his chest, attempting to resist. "Hey! This isn't right! What you're saying makes it sound like-"
His grip tightened, sliding further up my leg. SLIDE. Then, with a swift, fluid motion, he lifted me slightly, repositioning me back onto his lap.
"Oh gosh..." I whispered, breathless and flustered, caught in a mix of shock and embarrassment.
He leaned in again, eyes burning into mine, and spoke words that shattered the romantic facade.
"...I'm begging you... to do it."
But it wasn't a plea for affection. His desire was cunningly tactical-he was asking me to stop interfering, to abandon my investigations.
I gathered every ounce of willpower and shoved him hard. "NO THANKS!"
The transition from flirtation to tactical seriousness ignited a surge of indignation. He was using intimacy as a weapon-manipulating me, attempting to distract and control me so I would abandon my suspicions.
I sprang from his lap, retreating across the room with pounding heart and purposeful stride. Hmph! It wouldn't take him long to reclaim the pen. I had to act-fast.
I cast a quick glance at the desk. Eiser was still seated, seemingly recovered from my shove, though his attention now split between me and the scattered papers.
This was the moment I had been waiting for. The pen was too far for a stealthy retrieval, but a nearby document called to me, almost daring me to seize it.
I strode deliberately toward the desk, every step calculated. STRIDE, STRIDE, PLOP. "I need some fresh air," I declared, my voice trembling just enough to sell the pretense. "I'll be back."
Quickly, I grabbed the nearest notebook-the black leather one, thick and promising-and tucked it under my arm, concealing my movement with the guise of distress.
Eiser was too focused to intervene immediately. I slipped out of the room, victory buzzing through my veins. Now, with a private space secured, it was time to decipher the Northern Language script and uncover the secrets hidden in his meticulous work.
---
The soft, golden lamplight blurred at the edges of my vision, dulled by the rush of heat coursing through me. My heart hammered so loudly I feared he might hear it. Every subtle brush of his hand against my top sent a shiver down my spine, a delicious tremor that I could neither control nor ignore.
"Sure you're not," he murmured, his voice low, a dangerous rumble that vibrated deep in my chest. His eyes locked onto mine, dark and intense, and in that gaze, I lost all control. The room seemed to shrink around us, the golden glow of the lamp turning everything else into a haze of insignificance.
Instinctively, I bit down on the edge of my silken top, clinging to it as a wave of sensation rolled through me, every nerve screaming in anticipation.
"Keep biting on that top so it doesn't slip down," he instructed, the casual cruelty in his tone only intensifying the rush of adrenaline and desire within me. My voice, raw and barely a whisper, escaped in a trembling gasp.
"...I'm begging you... to do it."
The words hung between us, heavy, charged, and undeniable. My eyes fluttered shut, the air thick and almost suffocating. You fool... what you just said was even more provocative. I felt the truth of it hit me like a current, and my body betrayed me, trembling under the weight of the admission.
The thought alone-him begging me for it-made my blood surge. There was no turning back now. The sound of his shoe striking the floor-a sharp, definitive CLUNK-punctuated the moment like a drumbeat of inevitability.
I bit harder on the fabric, muffling a sound that was part pleasure, part frustration. The faint taste of perfume mixed with desire lingered on my tongue.
"MMPH!"
"How adorable," he whispered, tilting my chin up as he leaned closer. "Yes... yes."
Every sensation spiraled around me, a dizzying whirlwind of proximity, heat, and tension. Then, unexpectedly, a fleeting memory pierced the haze: sunlight, warmth, and freedom. A day bathed in golden light.
She was beautiful already...
I remembered standing on a balcony, a black dress hugging my figure, the city sprawled below, sparkling lights flickering like distant stars. Wind tangled my dark hair around my shoulders, and I felt the intoxicating thrill of escape.
That vacation... it was like a dream.
The memory dissolved in an instant, replaced by a blindingly bright image of a sunlit day, sky impossibly blue, laughter spilling over, pure, unfiltered joy.
...And then her smile, dimples catching the light. That smile-the joy it radiated-snapped me back to the present, sharp, intense, and impossible to ignore. I was here. Now. In this moment. The dream had only just begun.
The soft RATTLE of something small hitting the floor pulled me completely back, slicing through memory and desire.
---
I stood in the quiet dawn, the manor silhouetted against a sky brushed in blue-green. The morning air was sharp and cold, biting my lungs as memories replayed in vivid, unrelenting detail, a private film reel in my mind.
Days of our odd, evolving marriage flickered before me: walks in the cool morning air, her constant motion, her chatter always clinging to my arm, filling the silence with life.
Then the workdays: buried in mountains of paperwork at the mahogany desk, the sun blazing through the windows, and there she was-lounging nearby, casual, careless, utterly alive amidst my formal world. Even her whining, her playful complaints... they seemed almost endearing, impossibly so.
I remembered one afternoon vividly: she sprawled dramatically across the sofa, exasperated that my focus was on documents rather than her. Our eyes met. She challenged me.
"What are you looking at? Never seen someone beautiful before? Go back to work."
I had smiled then, and in that fleeting, unexpected moment, realization began to dawn.
The mornings were the hardest. The quiet, golden mornings.
I'd open my eyes first, and there she'd be, asleep beside me, bathed in sunlight filtering through sheer curtains. Long, dark hair fanned across the pillow, her face peaceful, perfect. In that moment, I allowed myself a dangerous belief: perhaps we were truly husband and wife.
A strange, unsettling feeling gripped my chest. Watching her, I wondered what it felt like to love wholly, to marry the one you wanted. Walls I had meticulously built around my heart cracked.
The truth was undeniable: she was now irreplaceable. I could not-would not-return to the man I had been before meeting her.
And yet, reality remained. Our lives were entangled in a bitter plan. Divorce loomed, and the world had plotted a cruel path for us. She stood by the window, brilliant light behind her, a living memory of all we had yet to face.
"Once we're divorced, I'll miss you. Long for you every day."
Flat words, heavy with promise and confession.
"I told you we'd reunite once the Grayans were bankrupt..." I added, the taste of ash lingering with each syllable. A plan, convoluted and cruel, yet our only path back to each other. The waiting would be torture.
---
Present
A cold dread settled over me, snaking through the remnants of desire and memory. I looked out into the shadowy chaos outside, reflecting the uncertainty of our fates.
The plan was simple: ruin the Grayans, divorce, then eventually reunite with her. Yet as the emotional entanglement deepened, the risk of failure became painfully clear. If the reunion was only a fragile hope, a comforting lie, then the heart must take one last, desperate measure.
Every moment with her was borrowed time, a memory to store for years.
Movement drew my gaze. She shifted, the mattress yielding beneath her weight. My eyes snapped open.
She was there, leaning over me, hair cascading darkly across her face, eyes blazing with violet light, fierce and possessive. Her presence pulled at me with the force of gravity, demanding attention, claiming dominance.
A slow, deliberate smirk curled my lips, a mask of calm confidence as I met her gaze.
"Hello, Serena," I murmured, acknowledging her intrusion into both the intimacy of my thoughts and our shared reality.
Her expression remained sharp, commanding, coiled with energy and unspoken demand.
"You're late," she said, the words slicing the air, accusing me of hesitation, of longing delayed, of existing too long without acknowledging her presence.
I did not need to speak. I only needed to look at her. Beautiful, dangerous, poised above me in dark light, the world shrunk to just the two of us-locked in this final, desperate embrace before the storm.
(Chapter 100 end)
---