I stared at the flickering candle fixed to the dark wall bracket, the small, dancing flame reflecting in my eyes. Shadows stretched across the high, arched walls, curling like smoke around the stone pillars. The encounter with Frederick Bloom in that isolated chamber of the palace had not been a coincidence; it had been a necessary, yet frustrating, "re-engagement"—arranged with precision, timed to catch me unprepared, yet exactly when I was most vulnerable.
I remembered the beginning of our arrangement with an unsettling clarity. At the time, I had thought it clever, elegant even—the sort of deal that could serve both our purposes without leaving anyone truly compromised. Sweet, in a dangerously naive way. I had underestimated the depths of him, the currents of his ambition and his stubborn, almost imperceptible pride.
A faint bitterness settled in my mouth as I recalled my own past confidence. I had leveraged his skills, his history, perhaps even his entire life, to serve my purpose. I had seen him as a tool—precise, obedient, indispensable. I sent him to be a spy, to infiltrate, to gather intelligence, and yet, somehow, I had ignored the human beneath the polished exterior.
I see his face vividly in my memory: sharp, focused, holding a document I'd tasked him to procure. Every movement deliberate, every glance calculated. He was brilliant at blending into the truth, at concealing the core lie beneath layers of apparent honesty. That talent had been the very reason I had trusted him.
…only for him to, what, fall in love with the person he was spying on?
The irony was painful. The risk I had taken, trusting his professional discipline, had backfired spectacularly when his emotions betrayed him. And yet, it had been predictable. Humans were predictable in their unpredictability. He became more belligerent over time, subtly, almost imperceptibly at first. Then openly.
He made no progress in finding what I asked him to. Even the information I demanded regarding my businesses—the crucial pieces I had relied on him to retrieve—he sent back only the most meaningless fragments, carefully chosen to skirt the truth while appearing compliant.
OH…
Frederick…
He had been an asset once, pristine in his efficiency, but his loyalty had frayed like old rope. One day, he had audaciously asked to quit, thinking perhaps that his charm, his reputation, or my reliance on him would shield him from consequences. I had been forced to assert control in a way I had hoped never to need. Threats. A calculated, cold application of pressure. It had worked, thankfully, but it had left a bitter aftertaste.
I see another woman's face now, flashing in my mind with an expression of intense surprise, maybe judgment, at the thought. She had been wondering—She threatened him? Yes. I had. It was the only way to retain control, to prevent the entire operation from collapsing under his whims.
After that, the surface had calmed. Frederick continued his work, but it became increasingly clear that beneath the facade of compliance lay deception more artful than I had anticipated. A deliberate, slow, meticulous subversion.
That was a wrinkle I hadn't expected, and because I had been trapped in Buiterberg, I hadn't realized it at the time. It was only upon my return to Meuracevia that the full scale of his sabotage became clear. He had chosen, with meticulous care, only the most worthless intelligence to send me. Each piece calculated to appear legitimate, yet entirely useless.
It was a masterclass in calculated failure. He had done just enough to appear obedient, masking deliberate betrayal with the polish of experience. The skill was undeniable; I had to admit that even as anger coiled in my chest. But the betrayal cut deeper than simple defiance. It wasn't just lying—it was the craft of constructing a false narrative within the boundaries of truth.
Truth is easy to blend with lies. But to conceal truth within truth, to manipulate reality while maintaining the illusion of honesty—that is a talent few possess.
My gaze drifted down to a stack of books and papers on a nearby table, each sheet a testament to his deception—worthless intelligence masquerading as progress. Now that I was back, I understood what had to be done. I had to correct this oversight, reclaim the advantage he thought he had stolen, and reestablish the control I had once held so effortlessly.
---
The air in the room thickened, transforming from a chilly formality into a charged hostility. The dark-haired woman rose from her ornate chair, the movement of her brocade dress rustling softly as she began to pace. Her posture was rigid, deliberate, her every step echoing faintly against the polished floor, each sound a subtle punctuation to her mounting condemnation. Her eyes, dark and sharp, flashed with contempt, piercing me as if trying to unravel the secrets I had so carefully buried.
"I now understand why whenever you showed up… I could sense Eiser's change in composure," she began, her voice low, controlled, yet heavy with accusation. Historical flashbacks flickered in her mind, the way a projector casts images onto a blank wall—my moments with Eiser, the way I had maneuvered, the subtle shifts of tension I had created. She was weaving a tapestry of betrayal and manipulation, and I could feel the threads pulling tight around me.
"...it made the normally calm and composed Eiser so angry. The thought even makes me, a third party, sick to my stomach."
Her words landed like cold steel, precise and merciless. I could hear the rhythm of her pacing, the crisp rustle of her dress, the faint tap of her heels—each motion synchronized with the force of her condemnation.
She paused, turning sharply toward me, her eyes narrowing. "I trust you know just how seriously Eiser takes responsibility and keeping his word. Which is why he probably tried his best to maintain your relationship… because he'd made you a promise."
The sound of my heavy coat shifting on my arm was the only counterpoint—CLACK. It sounded louder than usual in the silence that followed, a reminder of my presence, of my complicity.
She gestured toward the window, where the pale winter light strained through the frosted glass, casting long, fragmented shadows across the room. The cold filtered in, yet her words carried a heat that burned into me.
"...and how just selfish you are. That your engagement to Eiser was only for show. It wasn't real."
A profound sense of shock washed over me, knocking my composure off balance. My lips parted slightly, caught between denial and the sudden, uncomfortable acknowledgment of truth.
"WHAT…?" I managed, my voice barely steady, my internal defenses rattled by the sharp precision of her judgment.
She wasn't finished. She resumed pacing, her condemnation building momentum, her hands gesturing subtly yet pointedly, as though physically marking the path of my misdeeds.
"Yet in spite of all that, you approached him with a smile, touting the fact that you were former lovers. I bet he felt not just anger, but also disillusionment and betrayal."
Her gaze fixed on me, unflinching, as though she were staring straight into the heart of every calculation, every manipulation I had performed. "How disgusted he must've been at your utter shamelessness. Your relationship was simply one born out of convenience, or perhaps just desperation."
Her words struck me harder than any physical blow could. They carried the weight of moral judgment, of understanding beyond mere observation. They cast a mirror in front of me, reflecting not just the strategic player I had been, but the consequences I had wrought.
The image of Frederick flitted through my mind—his back turned to the light, his posture tense, the shadow of conflict etched into every line of him. The memory felt heavy, pressing against the walls of my consciousness.
"...how every single day must've been hell for Frederick…"
The accusation hung in the air, thick and suffocating. She hadn't simply understood the mechanics of my schemes; she had assigned responsibility, moral gravity, and placed it squarely on me. Every calculated step I had taken, every manipulation I had executed, now existed in the stark light of her judgment.
The game I had thought I controlled with meticulous care had revealed a new player—someone not just perceptive, but morally relentless. And for the first time in a long while, I realized I was not entirely the master of this room.
L
The ornate hall felt impossibly cold, the high ceilings and gilded moldings amplifying the silence between us. But a sudden heat rose in my chest. The stream of cold fury coming from Ms. Serenity was not merely condemnation; it was an attempt to dismantle every carefully constructed layer of my reality.
I drew on the cigarette, deliberately slow, letting the smoke curl upward like a fragile shield between us. The ritual of it gave me a semblance of composure I did not feel.
"I told you the sordid tale of my past in response to your question not because I wanted you to understand me… but just because I wanted you to get the facts straight." My voice was flat, deliberately detached, though the words felt brittle in the tense air.
She was right about the facts, yes, but wrong about the meaning. She had taken fragments—my history with Eiser, my manipulation of Frederick—and woven them into a tapestry of her own righteous anger. The CLACK of her expensive shoe against the marble floor punctuated each accusation as she moved again, gesturing toward the fireplace like a general marking the battlefield.
"How disgusted he must've been at your utter shamelessness. Your relationship was simply one born out of convenience, or perhaps just a one-sided love… ah, but would it be accurate to call that love?"
She spoke of Eiser's seriousness, his unwavering sense of duty, the promises he kept despite my manipulations. The words hit me like frostbite. I understood now; this wasn't about Frederick anymore. Frederick had been a wound, but Eiser—Eiser was the grand prize. Serenity had connected the dots, recognizing that my sham engagement to him had been a strategic move, a cold calculation, not a romantic gesture.
"I now understand why whenever you showed up… it made the normally calm and composed Eiser so angry. The thought even makes me, a third party, sick to my stomach."
Her words finally breached my reserve. I lowered the cigarette, letting the ember glow weakly in the dim light, and met her gaze with a sudden, savage intensity.
"HA… MS. SERENITY…"
My face flushed, the sharp heat of indignation and alarm mingling. She had been observing me, judging me, perhaps even actively working against me all along. My mind raced for counterpoints, but the force of her scrutiny was relentless.
"You know, it infuriates me that you've been spying me all this time… and torturing Frederick with threats when he tried to stop…" I spat the words out, attempting to redirect the focus, to pin some of the weight back onto her.
Serenity, however, remained unmoved, her cold eyes boring into me. "...but what enrages me most is what you did to Eiser."
She pressed the attack, ignoring my attempt at diversion. Her voice grew sharper, measured yet burning with controlled fury.
"You said you felt pain and resentment over being thrown into the abyss after one youthful mistake…" She implied my current actions were childish, selfish, and a flimsy excuse for the chaos I had inflicted on Eiser's life.
The heat radiating from the white stone of the fireplace was nothing compared to the intensity of her disapproval. The facts were straight, yes, but her interpretation was lethal. She saw only the villain, the convenience, the shamelessness.
I had exposed my history as a weapon, and she had turned it against me with surgical precision. The duel was no longer subtle; it was a fiery exchange, a battle of dominance and moral authority.
I felt the full force of Ms. Serenity's anger pressing down on me. She wasn't just observing; she was judging my entire existence, my character distilled from the fragments I had offered.
"You said you felt pain and resentment over being thrown into the abyss after one youthful mistake," she said, her voice gaining weight, carrying the force of undeniable authority. "Then what about Eiser, who became trapped in the abyss before you did as a result of your foolish mistake?"
I had nothing to say. I could only clutch the thin cigarette, feeling the fragile ember waver in my fingers as her fury bloomed like a storm.
"Not once in his life was he ever diminished, not even when he left his family and lost everything." She was not merely recounting history—she was amplifying my own lack of integrity by contrasting it with his unwavering nobility. "The thought that he was turned into a pitiful, pathetic man because of someone like you makes me furious."
Her words were righteous, principled, and cutting. She was angry not just for Eiser, but for the very concept of duty, honor, and decency.
"You threw him into that deep, dark abyss, and abandoned him to the cold and loneliness."
I could feel the accusation settle on my shoulders like a physical weight. Her gaze held mine, unflinching, unrelenting.
"Don't you think it's cruel to him to believe that he'll just come right back to you if you turn things back to the way they were? It hurts my heart to think that he ever relied on and placed his faith in you, thinking you were the only person on his side."
Every word cut through my lingering arrogance, my illusion that Eiser's sense of duty would shield him, that he was still mine to influence.
Then, the final blow came, referencing the man whose presence I had long underestimated:
"He was young then too. Even younger than you. Wake up, I."
My eyes widened slightly, a genuine flicker of alarm breaking through my practiced poise.
"The person you threw into the abyss resurfaced long ago."
I hadn't seen him since that dark confrontation in the shadowed corner of the palace, the battered and dangerous Frederick. Serenity's words crystallized the truth: the battle was no longer just between her and me, or me and Eiser—it was far larger. Frederick was back, active, and beyond my reach.
"There's no point offering your hand to help pull him out."
The subtext was unmistakable: Frederick was not just alive—he was aligned against me, his return an unpredictable variable in the equation I had believed I controlled.
Serenity's voice hardened, delivering the final verdict.
"And one more thing. I don't know what document you saw, but our family isn't hiding anything."
Her words were a declaration of innocence, a claim of authority, and simultaneously a challenge to the very foundation of my political maneuver—the information Frederick had been supposed to steal.
The long, agonizing confrontation was over. My goal had been to establish dominance, clarify the facts. Instead, I found myself exposed, vulnerable, and facing a powerful adversary whose moral authority overshadowed my own.
I leaned against the mantelpiece, the cigarette forgotten, its fragile glow extinguished. My story was concluded, but the consequences—the reality Serenity had just laid bare—were only beginning.
I made it clear, my voice cold and unyielding, that despite all her attempts, she had uncovered nothing. There was no flaw, no weakness in the House of De Laurent for her to exploit. My gaze swept over her, sharp, uncompromising.
"Now that you know there is no weakness of our family to exploit… how about you stop resorting to underhanded means and look inward?"
The silence that followed carried weight, pressing down on the room like a heavy shroud. I leaned slightly forward, letting my words settle into the air like a judgment.
"Let me make something clear, since it seems you still don't have a clear grasp on reality. The only one who's still trapped in that abyss… is you."
Her eyes flickered, a faint tremor betraying her usual calm.
"So if you want to live, and save the House of De Laurent, start by facing reality. What you need to focus on right now isn't the past, Eiser, or me… but cutting out whatever presence in your life is blocking your path and scaring you. Whining about your debt or love can come after that."
I paused, letting my words sink in. My voice sharpened. "If I were you, that would've been my first priority, not regrets or jealousy. After all that, what have you accomplished? What have you protected?"
I let the question hang in the room. Nothing. Absolutely nothing.
The sound of her shoes striking the floor echoed faintly, deliberate—CLACK. A turn. She shifted, uneasy.
CLACK. Another turn. I noticed the hand holding a cigarette, the tip glowing faintly in the dim light, then she turned away.
I smiled faintly, my expression unreadable, but my next words were deliberate, precise.
"I wasn't going to… share this part of the story, but… oh. I forgot to mention one thing."
Her head jerked slightly, curious despite herself.
"There's one more person from Buiterberg who was very close to you."
She blinked, taken aback. "I… I don't know anyone from there."
I arched an eyebrow, tilting my head. "Are you sure? Really give it some thought. Perhaps… someone from your childhood?"
I laid the cigarette on the marble table, letting the glowing tip stain the white stone a faint crimson. The action was deliberate, a mark of control, a slow reminder of the power I wielded in this conversation.
Her eyes widened, confusion and a spark of anger mingling in her gaze.
(Serena thinking) What is she suddenly going on about?!
"What on earth are you—?" she began, but I cut her off with a deliberate pause, letting the weight of my words settle.
TURN. I watched her face carefully, searching for even the smallest flicker of recognition.
"Ah," I continued softly, my tone deceptively casual, "you said you did ballet when you were young, didn't you? What about then?"
A memory flashed in the room, as vivid as if it were unfolding right before us. The panels of her past, so carefully hidden beneath her poised exterior, sprang to life in my mind.
A large, stately building appeared first, the hallways echoing with youthful chatter. Then a locker room, with three young girls dressed in ballet-like attire, their laughter bouncing off the walls. A mirror reflected their faces, and a basket of shoes and props lay at their feet.
"Serena, your parents own a hotel, right? Lise's parents run a brewery. And a pretty well-known one at that! You're not the only one here who's the daughter of a business owner!"
"What's a brewery?" Serena's small voice quivered slightly, her youth exposed.
"Huh? Looks like you still have a lot of growing up to do, princess! HAHA!"
"Well, what is it?!" she had demanded, flustered.
"HAHA… It's a place where they make liquor. The stuff adults drink."
The memory faded, but its echo remained in the room. Silence stretched, heavy and suffocating. The elegant, composed mask she usually wore crumbled, leaving a terrified girl beneath, haunted by the shadows of a name she had tried to forget.
I leaned slightly closer, letting my words drip slowly, deliberately, like a challenge.
"Well, Serena? Do you remember her now? Someone who was 'very close to you' in Buiterberg?"
Her eyes widened further, the last traces of her composure slipping. The room felt charged, each heartbeat echoing like a drum, every second a quiet punishment.
L
The room was cold, yet inside my mind, heat and realization blazed like wildfire. The memories—Buiterberg, the ballet locker room, the laughter of girls long gone—swirled with sharp clarity. Lise. Her name, long buried beneath years of ambition and scheming, echoed like a bell through the silence.
Lise's voice rang in my mind, gentle yet filled with amusement:
"They're so pretty, and all the grown-ups in our village would always say how pretty they were. But once they got a little older, they started to hate being told that. I'd make fun of them sometimes on purpose because it was so cute seeing them grumble when I called them pretty."
The memory shifted seamlessly into another, more intimate frame. Frederick, with hair long enough to brush his shoulders, leaned slightly away from her, his expression tense yet soft.
"Frederick, looking at you like this… I can see your hair has grown quite long. It's pretty."
"I don't like being called pretty," he replied firmly, the faint crease of frustration at the corners of his eyes betraying his true emotion.
"Oh no, your pretty face only looks sadder now," the woman continued, smiling knowingly.
"I told you that I don't like to be called pretty," he repeated, sharper this time.
The flashback deepened: the woman in the yellow dress bent slightly toward him, warmth and familiarity in her movements.
"I'm sure you two will get along well. I'll introduce you sometime. It won't be easy for the two of you to meet, but if I become a ballerina and perform in a big theater, I'm sure my family will come see it at least once."
The memory faded, leaving only the stark present. My chest tightened as the pieces aligned in my mind. Back then, I had assumed Lise's "pretty sibling" must have been a girl. But now, I saw it clearly—it could very well have been a boy. The boy who hated being called pretty. The boy whose face held that rare mixture of beauty and sorrow.
Frederick.
And Lise.
My eyes snapped open, the realization hitting me like a physical blow. The muscle beneath my eye twitched involuntarily—TWITCH.
Lise. The girl from the brewery family. The one who had wanted to introduce her beloved sibling to me on the stage of some grand theater. The friend I had long forgotten when I abandoned Buiterberg, chasing prestige and influence within the House of De Laurent.
I had forgotten Lise. But someone else hadn't.
I turned slowly, fixing my gaze on Serena. Her composure, already fraying, had shattered completely. She was unmoored, silent, as if the weight of everything I had just revealed had pinned her in place.
The silence stretched, oppressive, broken only by the pounding of my own heartbeat. Then I spoke, low and dangerous, every word deliberate, measured, and sharp:
"Do you understand now, Serena?" My voice cut through the tension, cold as steel. "The weakness that cannot be exploited? It was never about the De Laurent family's legacy. It was about her."
For a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. The room, the memories, the shattered fragments of the past—they all converged into that single, unflinching truth. Lise. The key, the hinge of it all, the one I had conveniently forgotten—but who had quietly, inexorably, shaped everything that had come after.