I moved swiftly through the echoing hallway, the marble floor reflecting the dim golden lamps hanging from above. Outside, the storm raged without mercy—fat droplets striking the windows in relentless waves, each impact sharpening the edge of my impatience.
"Where's Serena?" I muttered under my breath, loosening my clenched jaw. "Why is she out so late again?"
My subordinate, waiting just inside the entrance, stepped forward with a stiff posture.
"Ah—speaking of which, sir," he began, adjusting his glasses nervously, "I received a call from her escort not long ago. Lady Serena went to the De Laurent Manor right after work."
De Laurent Manor.
I stopped walking.
So she truly acted on the suspicion I'd been entertaining for days. I had thought—hoped, maybe—that she wouldn't confront them so directly. That she would, for once, resist that reckless impulse to chase answers on her own. But she had gone straight there, probably demanding the truth I still hadn't fully pieced together myself.
A quiet frustration curled in my chest.
Of course she would.
I exhaled sharply and tightened my tie, the movement practiced, precise—an attempt to restore order somewhere, even if only in my appearance.
---
"My lord," the subordinate said again, holding out a raincoat, "the car is prepared, as you requested. Will you be going to the De Laurent Manor?"
"No."
My answer was immediate, clipped.
"To the Royal Palace."
"Ah—! Understood."
His eyes widened ever so slightly, confusion flickering there.
"I thought you'd retire for the night… Why are you suddenly heading to the palace?"
He had no idea—not about the lead I was chasing, nor the storm building far darker than the one outside.
Outside the manor, the sleek black car waited. Rain hammered the roof, pooling in little rivers on the polished stone steps. As I stepped into the vehicle, the world beyond the windshield was nothing but a blur of rain and darkness.
---
This night wasn't about Serena's impulsive decision.
It wasn't even about Frederick.
It was about something older—buried deeper.
The secret of the House of Serenity.
It wasn't recorded in any of the family's official archives. And Iansa—who should have been the first to tell me—never once mentioned anything related to it.
I was leaving soon.
If there was ever a time to uncover the truth, it was now.
Whether the secret was real or fabrication didn't matter. If it existed, or had ever existed, even as a rumor, some trace should remain. And if it didn't… then at least I'd know. I couldn't afford ignorance—not with what was coming.
Inside the palace archives, the towering shelves surrounded me like silent, ancient sentinels. Dust motes swirled through the air, disturbed by the weak lamplight on the desk beside me.
The rain outside intensified, pounding against the tall windows in a deafening SWAAAASH.
I dragged my fingers slowly across the spines of leather-bound records.
If I can find even a fragment… a loose thread…
Then maybe the truth—whatever it is—won't slip away from me.
---
Serena's Perspective
The rain had begun to blur the windowpane, turning the city lights into trembling streaks of gold. I stood before the glass, my old ballet shoes hanging from the wall behind me—silent reminders of a life that felt impossibly far away.
My subordinate's voice brought me back.
"Lady Serena, I just finished the call. As you asked, I contacted the director of La Tassaint Academy."
I didn't turn around, but my breath steadied.
Lise Bloom.
The girl whose name had resurfaced like a forgotten ghost.
The woman continued, glancing at a small notebook.
"Lise… who attended the academy with you over a decade ago… wasn't a citizen of Meuracevia."
My fingers twitched.
Not a citizen?
"She was from the Republic of Buiterberg. But according to the director, she registered at the academy without issue under an authorized status."
Buiterberg.
My pulse quickened—not from fear but from recognition.
She kept reading.
"Her application listed her goal as joining the national ballet company and becoming both a ballerina and an instructor."
That sounded like the Lise I remembered—ambitious, disciplined, constantly pushing herself. But then—
"And there's an additional note…"
She hesitated.
"'She expresses a strong desire to immigrate here, which suggests this may also be a means for her to obtain permanent residency in Meuracevia.'"
I felt my brows knit together.
Permanent residency?
Why had that never come up back then?
---
"Other than that, nothing particularly unusual," she said carefully. "But the director offered to send over her full school records, from admission to the moment she left the academy. Would you like them?"
"…No."
I finally turned away from the window.
"I don't need them."
I already had what mattered.
My subordinate hesitated before speaking again, her tone cautious.
"Lady Serena… The reason you asked me to look into this all of a sudden… Is it because of Mr. Frederick and—?"
"Yes."
The word came out with a strange heaviness.
"I think the two were siblings."
Her lips parted in surprise, but I no longer saw her.
My mind was already spiraling.
Finding out that Lise and Frederick were relatives…
That alone wasn't the issue.
The real issue was—
Why Diah brought it up now.
Why reveal something like that only at this moment?
What was her motive?
What did she want me to see, or think, or fear?
The storm outside crashed louder, lightning flashing faintly across the curtains.
I could feel it—
A truth was moving toward me, slow but inevitable.
And whatever it was…
It wasn't going to be gentle.
---
My subordinate hesitated before speaking again, her voice trembling with an uncertainty that mirrored my own.
"Um, Lady Serena… the reason you suddenly asked me to look into this… is Mr. Frederick and—?"
She didn't need to finish.
The truth had already slotted itself into place, sharp as glass.
"Yes," I said quietly, the word sinking into the silence between us.
"I think the two were siblings."
Even saying it aloud made my skin prickle.
The fact itself wasn't the issue—blood ties weren't crimes.
But the timing, the way the information surfaced, the hands that pulled it forward…
Diah.
Always Diah.
A cold ripple coursed down my spine.
While finding out that Lise and Frederick were relatives was shocking, what truly terrified me was the question behind it—the why.
Why now?
Why through her?
A heavy dread began to unfurl inside me, coiling deep in my stomach. It traveled upward, tightening my chest until I struggled to draw a steady breath. The memory of Diah's smirk—too smooth, too knowing—flashed in my mind, making my pulse spike.
I don't have a good feeling about this.
No—this felt like a trap I had already stepped into.
My fingers drifted up to my temple, pressing into the sensitive skin as if I could hold my thoughts in place. But the room shifted around me, swaying gently at first… then harder, like a ship losing its balance.
Dizzy.
The connection between Lise and Frederick wasn't a simple coincidence. It was a thread—thin, invisible—that Diah had tugged at with absolute precision. And once she began pulling… everything else followed, unraveling faster than I could grasp.
Before I knew it, my body gave out.
My knees buckled slightly as I slumped forward—
SLUMP.
The weight on my shoulders was suddenly unbearable, like the air itself had condensed into something heavy and suffocating.
"Lady Serena! Are you all right?"
My subordinate's voice cut sharply through the haze, but I couldn't respond. Everything around me had blurred.
My empty stare drifted toward the wall—toward the pair of worn ballet shoes hanging like relics from another life. Lise's handwriting still lingered on them, faded but unmistakable.
That single name—
LISE
—now sat at the center of an impossibly tangled web.
And around it were all the names pulled into the same orbit:
• Eiser… and me.
• Frederick.
• Diah.
• Victor.
And maybe more—people whose roles I hadn't yet uncovered.
Just how chaotically were we all intertwined?
How deeply had Diah orchestrated all this—years before I even knew to look for the signs?
A wave of nausea rolled through me.
The floor, the ceiling, the weight of the world—everything tilted.
I felt like I was staring at a calm surface of water, pretending to be still…
while beneath it, roots and threads and traps stretched endlessly downward.
My breathing hitched.
This was bigger than I thought.
The anxiety—sharp and dizzying—consumed me as the truth solidified:
This wasn't coincidence.
This was design.
The rain hadn't let up by the time he—I—returned.
STE—P.
The classic car rolled to a stop at the manor's entrance, headlights reflecting off puddles that quivered under the relentless downpour. My subordinate rushed forward, opening the door and holding the umbrella carefully above me as I stepped out.
My legs felt heavier than they should.
Exhaustion clung to me like a second skin.
I had searched through the night—page after page, document after document—hoping for a glimpse of the truth behind the House of Serenity. But every archive I had opened had been spotless. Clean. Too clean.
There wasn't a whisper of anything suspicious.
The mission was a failure, but the weight of it stayed wedged between my ribs.
My jaw locked. My hand curled into a fist—
CLENCH.
I'd have to double-check with the solicitors first thing in the morning.
There couldn't be even the slightest oversight.
Not now.
I glanced at my wristwatch.
The sky outside was paling—
dawn already breaking.
Another day beginning before the last one had even ended.
Inside, the manor was still—quiet enough that the soft ticking of the grandfather clock became a gentle echo.
DING.
I knew Serena must be asleep.
She always slept lightly on stormy nights, though she'd never admit it. If I went to her room now, I would find her curled up under the blankets, her breathing soft and even.
Part of me ached for that small moment of comfort.
Even just seeing her sleeping face—
That would be enough to steady me, if only for a breath.
As I walked down the hallway, my steps softened instinctively. I paused in front of her door, the wood cool under my fingertips as I let my hand SLIDE across it.
So close.
But I couldn't wake her.
There was too much yet unresolved, and dawn would soon demand my duty again.
The archives had failed me tonight…
but the tangled truth surrounding Lise, Frederick, and Diah—
That threat was very real.
And it would not wait.
I exhaled quietly, gathering what little strength the night had left me.
For now…
I would rest.
A few hours, at most.
Then the search would begin again.
The dim glow of dawn was just beginning to push its way through the tall windows, washing the long hallway in a pale, fragile gold. The rain was still falling outside—soft now, almost hesitant—yet each drop felt like an echo of the turmoil I had carried through the night.
I stood alone in the hall, hands clasped loosely before me, unable to sit still, unable to rest. Then I heard it—the low, familiar rumble of his car entering the drive. My breath caught.
Eiser.
When he stepped inside, I saw instantly how drained he looked—his dark suit slightly damp from the rain, his hair mussed by the wind, his eyes shadowed with fatigue. Yet beneath all of that, the intensity in his gaze remained unchanged.
He saw me and stopped in his tracks.
"Serena." His voice was deeper than usual, hoarse with exhaustion. "You… did you not sleep at all last night? Or did you wake up early?"
I swallowed, forcing steadiness into my tone. "I've been waiting."
His brows drew together, concern slipping through his guarded expression. "Why?"
"I was waiting in my room," I said quietly, "then I saw your car driving in and came out to see you."
It wasn't the full truth, but it wasn't a lie either. Not after the fear that had gripped me all night.
"Because it's raining a lot… and there's thunder and lightning, too."
The reason sounded childish spoken aloud, yet he didn't question it.
He didn't need to.
Because he could see the truth behind it—the leftover tremor in my chest, the way my shoulders were still stiff from hours of tension, the fragile breath I was holding.
He stepped closer without another word.
Then his hand reached out—firm, warm—closing around mine.
GRAB.
My breath shuddered. Relief shot through me sharply, almost painfully, as he pulled gently—
PULL.
And suddenly I was against his chest. Completely enveloped, held tightly in his arms. His chin rested in my hair, his breath brushing the crown of my head.
"I guess you need a hug," he murmured, voice soft but sure. "Like this."
The warmth of him broke something open inside me.
I clutched at his suit jacket, fingers curling into the fine fabric—
SQUEEZE.
Every bit of fear, doubt, and confusion I had drowned in last night seemed to melt under the steady beat of his heart. In that single, solid embrace, my spiraling thoughts finally slowed.
For a moment—just one—I let myself exist only here, protected in his arms.
My forehead rested against his shoulder as his fingers drifted up, brushing lightly along the back of my neck. The touch was grounding, easing the frayed edges of my mind.
The faint smell of rain still clung to me, mixed with the petrichor rising through the open windows—the deep, earthy scent after hours of storm. His breath warmed the top of my head.
"...puts my fatigued, overwhelmed mind at ease… and calms my tension and anxiety."
The words trembled through me, unspoken but undeniably true.
He bent his head closer.
"You smell like the rain," he murmured into my hair.
I inhaled deeply, letting my senses search for the scent of him—the crisp, clean warmth of his soap and skin. The safety he carried so effortlessly.
My voice barely emerged, a whisper against his chest.
"…Console me."
He pulled back slightly, tilting my chin up with his fingers. His eyes searched mine, steady and unreadable.
"You smell like soap," he said quietly.
A small, fragile smile tugged at my lips. "The scent of soap, which I told you was my favorite."
His expression shifted—something resolved, decisive.
Without warning, his hands slid beneath me—
LIFT.
My breath escaped in a startled gasp as my feet left the floor. Instinctively, my arms looped around his neck, holding tight. He adjusted his grip, secure and effortless.
STEP… STEP…
His polished shoes struck the marble, echoing softly as he carried me down the hall. The world blurred—the light, the warmth, the remnants of the storm.
Then—
SHUT.
The heavy door of the study closed behind us, muffling the entire house. The air inside was cool, tinged with the blue-gray light filtering through the tall windows.
He set me down gently, the plush seat sinking under our weight. Silence settled over us—intimate, heavy, edged with expectation.
He turned toward me, face partially illuminated by the muted light, expression unreadable.
"Tell me," he said.
My throat tightened. "About what?"
His gaze sharpened, cutting through every excuse I might try to cling to.
"You have something to say to me."
His voice was low, certain.
"The thunder and lightning is just an excuse."
My breath stopped.
Because he was right.
Completely, painfully right.
The storm outside was nothing compared to the one consuming me.
And it was time to speak.
"...But as I spent time alone, tried lots of different things... and after thinking and agonizing at length, I came to a vague conclusion."
The words trembled out of me, fragile at first. The room was too quiet—every breath sounded loud, every shift of fabric against my skin felt amplified. The ornate bench beneath me, once a comforting presence in his study, now felt unbearably rigid, as if urging me to sit upright and face the truth I'd been avoiding.
I pulled my hand free from his. His warmth lingered on my skin, like a ghost of reassurance I no longer deserved. I folded my hands in my lap, gripping them tightly to keep them from shaking. I couldn't look at him. Not yet.
"At first, I didn't want to accept our divorce." My voice cracked, and I swallowed hard. "While I understood why, on one hand, it made me furious."
Memories flickered—nights staring at the ceiling, days spent pacing the length of my apartment, the harsh salt of tears on my lips. Every moment had been a tug-of-war between resentment and aching loss.
"So I tried to look for alternatives..." I exhaled a shaky breath. "But I changed my mind."
The admission felt like driving a blade into my own chest. Slow. Precise. Necessary.
I stared at my hands, seeing the faint marks where his fingers had held mine. Seeing how empty they looked now. The next words were heavy—too heavy—but they had lived in my chest too long to stay silent.
"I think we need... this divorce."
The sentence hung in the space between us like a suspended verdict. The soft hum of the lamplight was the only sound. I forced myself to lift my gaze.
He didn't flinch.
His expression remained composed, almost unbearably calm. But his eyes—those deep blue eyes—held something else entirely. A quiet storm. A depth of thought so intense it made my pulse skitter. He wasn't numb; he was listening. Absorbing. Understanding too much.
I hurried on, afraid that if I stopped, even for a breath, my resolve would crumble.
"You're such a great, amazing person." My voice softened with the sincerity pouring through me. "In the past as well as the present, more than I can even fathom."
My heart twisted. This wasn't a condemnation of him. If anything, it was the opposite. It was because he was so good that this was so hard.
"So when I'm with you, I unknowingly end up relying on you and finding solace in you when things get tough." I gestured vaguely, the opulent room around us bearing witness to the truth. "Just like I'm doing now."
This midnight refuge, this instinct to run to him when the world felt overwhelming—it was proof of everything I was trying to say.
"I don't think that's a bad thing," I admitted softly. "Being with you will bring me joy and happiness. It'd be so reassuring to have you by my side."
A lump formed in my throat. God, it would be too easy to stay. Too easy to lean on him again and again until I forgot how to stand on my own.
"But I shouldn't do that. I don't want that, at least for now."
The bitterness of the moment stung, but beneath it was something steadier—determination. A fragile kind of courage.
"I'm still lacking," I confessed. "And I have a lot of flaws and gaps. So I think I need to fully feel and experience my thoughts and limits in order to be confident in the results I will produce going forward. Like with Sera."
The memories of my failures, my hesitations, my mistakes—they tightened in my chest. I needed growth. Space. Silence. Time. Things I couldn't reach if I kept retreating behind his shadow.
Finally, I looked up at him again.
There was no blame in my gaze. Just truth. And grief. And quiet resolve.
He listened to my entire confession without interruption.
I stood before him, the blue light of the study casting its serene glow over the last vulnerable fragments of my confession. The air felt still, as if the entire room was holding its breath along with me. The shadows stretched softly across his features, deepening the quiet intensity of his presence.
The man who had always been my unwavering protector remained seated, perfectly composed, listening with a focus that made every word feel monumental.
"...What I want to say is... for now, we're saying goodbye..."
My voice wavered—not from uncertainty, but from the weight of the choice. I watched the effect of the words ripple across his face—not a flinch, not a shift, but something deeper, almost imperceptible. Acceptance. Restraint. The kind of quiet strength that had always made him impossible for me to hate.
The air grew heavier, but I forced myself to continue. I couldn't leave him with emptiness; this wasn't an ending—it was the most hopeful beginning I could give us.
"...But let's meet again," I said, steadying my breath, "not as people who had to be forced or resigned themselves to marry one another... but two people who want each other."
The distinction mattered. It was the axis on which our entire future rested. My voice, once hesitant, now felt certain—rich with conviction born of solitude and painful self-discovery.
"...My feelings for you, at last given free rein to bloom and flourish... has now grown into love."
The admission trembled out of me like a long-withheld truth. I watched him closely, searching—hoping—for any reaction. But his expression remained unreadable. Composed. Controlled. As if he was intentionally holding himself back so as not to sway my resolve.
I understood. That restraint was part of why this journey was necessary.
Still, it made my heart ache.
A quiet determination rose in me. I stepped closer—one step, then another—closing the distance between us with all the confidence I had fought to build piece by piece. He watched me move, his gaze anchored to mine, following every breath, every word, every trembling truth.
This was the culmination of my growth. The final thread tying my past confusion to my newfound clarity.
"And someday," I said softly, yet firmly, "on the date and time you and I agree upon..."
I lifted my chin, letting him see me—truly see me—not as the sheltered girl he once protected, but as the woman shaped by her own choices, her own failures, her own strength.
I looked straight into his clear, brilliant blue eyes, offering him the future I had rebuilt from the ashes of our broken past.
"...Promise that you'll marry me again."
The words left my lips and hung in the air, pure and trembling, an offering made with everything I had become. The room fell impossibly quiet, even the fading rumble of distant thunder seeming to retreat into silence.
I waited. Breath caught. Heart unguarded.
He looked at me, his gaze deep and unreadable, assessing the sincerity and steel behind my vow. The man who was always balanced, who always had the right answer, now faced a question only his heart could answer.
He had received my final, heartfelt proposal.