Victor pov
The plush, crimson velvet of the chair swallowed him in its opulent folds, a stark contrast to the severe olive-green of Mayther Rufer's suit. Prime Minister of Meuracevia, he did not look up immediately, his hands resting on the desk as if the polished oak could anchor him against the storm I had brought into his study. The air was thick with the scent of beeswax and old leather, a tangible reminder of decades spent preserving appearances and secrets.
"Here you are again, Mr. Grayan," he said at last, his voice low and gravelly, carrying that ever-present undercurrent of impatience. He was seated like a monarch in his own right, the high-backed chair framing him as a man who believed his station was his birthright.
I stepped closer, keeping my gaze leveled with his. I wasn't here for pleasantries. I was here to claim victory over weeks of pursuit and shadowed whispers.
"I told you I'd find it," I said, letting a faint, almost imperceptible smile brush my lips. The triumph was laced with exhaustion—long nights of chasing rumors and piecing together scraps of information. "I found the evidence I told you about."
His eyes, magnified by the lenses of his spectacles, narrowed. For a fraction of a second, genuine shock crossed his face. Rare. A man so guarded rarely betrayed any emotion. "You found it? You mean… you know what it is and where it's located?"
"It was right under my nose," I said, stepping back and letting my words settle like stones in a still pond. His mind worked in that heavy, cautious way, each thought measured against decades of political survival.
He exhaled slowly, adjusting his glasses as if the simple act could steady him. Prime Minister Rufer was a man paralyzed by the fear of upheaval, careful to measure risk over action.
"Let me be frank," he admitted, his gaze finally locking with mine, troubled and wary. "It's not as if I am unaware. This is… important. It's a secret that belongs to the kingdom."
I let a silence stretch between us, long enough to make the gravity of my intrusion sink in. Weeks of effort had brought me to this exact moment; I would not let him moralize me into inaction.
"But I don't feel comfortable using this to stir trouble..." he began, hesitant, the words like fine glass threatening to shatter.
I cut him off sharply. "You know better than I do how much wealth and influence the House of Serenity wields in Meuracevia." I let the weight of that truth linger. "All the more reason to strengthen your defenses. Isn't a single household becoming more powerful than the Crown exactly what you've always feared?"
I began to pace, each step muted by the thick Persian rug beneath my feet. His gaze followed me, a silent accusation, a plea, and a warning all at once.
"Consider the companies they control, the people who follow them," I urged, the urgency of my voice filling the room. "Every day the network grows. It's possible now that she's running everything herself."
He shrank a little in his seat, his earlier regality bending beneath the weight of inevitability.
"Don't forget how long the House of Grayan has supported you, behind the scenes, unlike them," I pressed, letting the veiled threat hang between us. "This must happen if we are to continue working together."
I stopped, letting my gaze pin him in place. The predatory smile I offered was both promise and command: protection, yes—but only on my terms. "I know this requires courage," I added, leaning closer, letting the steel in my voice underline the truth. "But I will take care of everything. Just trust me… and pull the trigger."
The Prime Minister had only two choices: ally with me—or fall to me.
Serena pov
The soft glow of late afternoon warmed my hand as it intertwined with Eiser's. We walked together through the dappled light, the familiar sign—SERENITY RIDING FACILITY—rising overhead like a beacon from another, simpler time.
"Why did you bring me here?" I asked, voice low, almost lost beneath the rustle of leaves and distant birdsong.
His grip tightened, firm and reassuring. "I wanted somewhere quiet," he murmured.
I had expected the evening to stretch on with the charity event—forced smiles, rehearsed greetings, polite applause. Instead, after a short round of introductions with business representatives, he had led me here.
The golden hour spilled across the lake, painting the surface in amber and rose. The breeze carried the faint scent of horses and sun-warmed earth, a memory of calm that seemed almost alien after weeks of political maneuvering.
I remembered days spent here with Eiser—rides that felt endless, laughter carried on the wind, moments where everything complicated seemed far away. Here, with the sun low and shadows long, I felt a faint stirring of that past simplicity. Complications hadn't vanished, but for the first time in weeks, they seemed manageable.
I rode with him, letting the reins slide lightly through my fingers. The weight of the present pressed upon me, but the echoes of what once was—what could be again—gave me a fleeting, fragile courage.
---
,
The SERENITY RIDING FACILITY sign loomed softly in the golden haze of late afternoon, its letters catching the sunlight like a promise. The name carried weight—the stability my family had always embodied, the safety of familiar traditions, and the hidden history of simpler days. I gripped Eiser's hand a little tighter, letting the warmth of his palm anchor me to this present moment.
"Why did you bring me here?" I whispered, the words barely rising above the gentle rustle of the leaves.
He looked down at me, his gaze calm yet intense, catching the sun's glow in a way that made it seem almost liquid. "I wanted somewhere quiet," he replied.
I nodded, understanding without words. This was more than a retreat; it was a deliberate pause from the prying eyes and endless chatter of the world we navigated. "I expected us to stay at the charity event until evening, but after a surprisingly brief round of greetings… you brought me here," I murmured, letting my voice trail into the soft breeze.
Here, in this secluded corner of the estate, the world had faded. I remembered our past rides vividly—youthful laughter bouncing across the fields, the sudden rush of rain soaking us to the bone, the improbable beauty of a rainbow stretching over the green fields afterward. Those moments had been messy and real, moments that stitched our shared history together, layer by layer.
I thought about how we'd started. "Our paces and directions didn't align at the beginning…" I said aloud, almost to myself. We had been two separate people, carving divergent paths, yet the present had brought us to a harmony that felt deliberate and fragile. "…but we can now fall into step, side by side, without a word."
We walked along the dirt path skirting the lake, the silence between us no longer tense, but quietly profound. I glanced at him—Eiser, standing tall, his profile sharp against the golden sky, the wind teasing strands of his hair. He was the anchor I hadn't known I needed. My thoughts drifted to a question I had long avoided asking: How long before we can stroll and speak freely again, just the two of us, like that day? Perhaps, I hoped, that day was finally here.
The gentle breeze whispered through the leaves overhead. SWOOSH.
Eiser halted near the water's edge. His gaze softened, a gentleness reserved only for me. "Shall we sit?" he asked.
We found a spot on the grassy bank, the sun a molten splash of gold dipping into the horizon. He laced our hands together once more, both resting lightly on the cool grass between us. I let the quiet embrace me, savoring the calm after the day's relentless scrutiny.
Yet Eiser spoke first, his voice low and measured. "You're upset because of the whispers at the charity event, aren't you?"
I shook my head quickly, forcing a small, composed smile. "Don't worry about me," I replied, though the words felt hollow even as they left my lips.
He tilted his head, capturing my gaze. "What do you mean?"
Of course, he knew. The whispers had been impossible to ignore—veiled concern mixed with envy, malicious assumptions masked as casual observation:
"Did you see how they were holding hands the whole time? That supposed contractual marriage must be a lie now. Just goes to show, you never know what might happen between a man and a woman."
"Perhaps it's all acting? Look at their hands—no wedding rings. Gloves to hide the truth, no doubt."
"They've been married for years, yet no ring. Divorce is inevitable, just watch."
I breathed through the memory, letting it slide off me like water over stone. I hadn't been upset for myself, but for the constant need to validate our relationship to strangers.
I turned to Eiser and offered him a small, genuine smile. "I am fine, Eiser. I just wish for a day when we don't have to worry about what everyone else thinks."
The wind sighed over the hills—SWOOSH—a soft, haunting exhalation that seemed to carry away the day's heat. Eiser's eyes shifted from the sunset to me, filled with a mixture of guilt and unspoken sorrow.
His decision to step back from the Serenity businesses, delivered with such unwavering certainty, was not a tactical maneuver—it was self-inflicted penance. He believed the life we shared had harmed me in ways he could not undo.
"I fear that even your calm demeanor… is proof of an old scar I inflicted on you," he murmured, voice weighted with a guilt that seemed too heavy for his frame.
I stared at him, silent. Sharp, decisive, confident Eiser rarely showed this depth of vulnerability. It was more than an apology—it was a confession of the transactional beginnings of our union, a recognition that some wounds still lingered.
He continued, almost to himself. "This marriage, which began by wounding you… is hurting you to the very end."
He shifted slightly, shielding the weight of his own vulnerability. The unspoken thought struck me like a cold truth:
As if to say that you and I…
...are still perfect strangers.
The thought stung, even as I rested my head lightly against his shoulder, a gesture that spoke more than argument ever could. We were together—tangled lives, shared history—but his belief in our emotional distance remained intact.
After a long, quiet moment, he drew me closer with a subtle shift of his arm. A silent comfort, a promise without words.
The evening ended with the weight of his imminent departure pressing on me. I watched him leave, the car slipping into the city lights, bound for his "meeting with Mayor Aiden" and the three-day absence that would finalize his step back from the Serenity Empire.
TWO DAYS LATER
The polished exterior of the MOND HOTEL emerged in my imagination. Though I was not there, I could picture the scene with precise clarity.
Inside a sleek, high-end car, Eiser's secretary—sharp, precise, glasses reflecting the dashboard lights—delivered the briefing.
"We've arrived at the Mond Hotel, Sir Eiser. We need to be at the Mayor's office by 10 AM tomorrow. I'll pick you up at 9:10," he said, papers in hand.
Eiser nodded, eyes distant, already plotting the next step in his mind even after monumental personal decisions.
"Anything else you need?" the secretary asked.
Eiser's gaze lingered for a moment before he spoke quietly. "What about the jewelers?"
The jewelers. The one detail I hadn't expected: a wedding ring. Even as he withdrew from our family business, he sought to secure the smallest, yet most meaningful symbol of our bond. A single metal band, both simple and profound—a gesture to silence the whispers, to protect me from the world's cynicism.
I understood. He was doing this for me. Sacrificing influence, stepping away from power, just to ensure I wouldn't be haunted by gossip and doubt. And yet, he was getting the ring. The enormity of the act—the cost of the gesture—left me tangled in a complicated, overwhelming swirl of gratitude, love, and awe.
TWO DAYS LATER
The MOND HOTEL was the perfect setting for what I could only imagine as a quiet, intense negotiation. I pictured Eiser seated in a private meeting room, his posture rigid, eyes alert, yet carrying the quiet weight of someone still haunted by gossip he believed was harming me. Even after his politically charged meeting with Mayor Aiden, his focus had shifted to something far more personal: a single, simple symbol of commitment.
His secretary had confirmed the logistics in that precise, clipped manner that always reminded me of Eiser's meticulous efficiency. "We've arrived at the Mond Hotel, Sir Eiser. We need to be at the Mayor's office by 10 AM tomorrow. I'll pick you up at 9:10," he said, handing over a stack of documents.
Then came the unexpected command—the one I knew came from a deeper, more vulnerable place than anyone could see. "What about the jewelers?"
The secretary recovered smoothly. "Ah, yes—they should be in the hotel's meeting room. I reminded them not to be late."
And then came the inevitable, cautious question, one I knew reflected everyone's curiosity—and my own. "Could I ask… why you wished to meet with the jewelers so suddenly?"
Eiser, I knew, would never confess sentimentality outright. His answer, when it came, would be a pragmatic shield. I don't know much about women's jewelry, he would probably admit, a vulnerable truth hidden inside the simplicity of his words. His goal was clear: solve the problem efficiently, definitively.
The jewelers arrived: two women, one older, elegant in gloves and careful movements, the other younger, sharp and precise. They set out their cases, a glittering display of necklaces, earrings, bracelets—but Eiser's eyes sought only the wedding rings.
The older jeweler smiled knowingly. "Lady Serena has summoned us often enough. We know her preferences."
I could picture him then: stern, handsome, utterly out of his element, a man used to commanding armies of people now reduced to choosing a ring. He must have thought, It seems pointless… too late. Yet he persisted, driven by a desire to protect me from the shallow whispers of society.
The jeweler was keenly aware of the task at hand. "Lady Serena prefers custom designs over ready-made pieces," she explained. "She favors Etuah Mine® gemstones and often requests one-of-a-kind pieces."
I smiled faintly in my imagination. Etuah Mine®—a gem mine few outside the family knew, and one that carried not just beauty but memory. The ring wasn't a token of obligation; it was a fragment of my own identity.
"Alternatively," the jeweler continued, "she chooses specially-made items, unique in each collection." She gave the secretary a sharp glance, then exchanged a knowing look with her assistant. They understood that Serena's tastes were not simple—they demanded careful thought and precision.
I pictured Eiser absorbing the weight of this revelation. The act of choosing a ring wasn't simply selecting a piece of metal; it was a challenge of understanding me—my past, my style, my subtle preferences. Even the simplest symbol of commitment had become a lesson in humility, an acknowledgment of the depth of our connection.
His attempt to solve the "ring problem" efficiently now collided with the complexity of my true nature. The room was silent, save for the faint clicks of cases being opened and closed, yet in my mind, I heard the rush of his thoughts, the unspoken anxiety that this small gesture might not suffice.
I closed my eyes, returning to the Serenity Riding Facility, leaning against his shoulder. Every choice he made—the political sacrifices, the sudden jewelers' meeting, the personal risk—was an attempt to shield me. The ring was a token, yes, but the protection he offered went far beyond a simple band of metal.
The house felt vast and quiet without him. I waited, knowing he would return soon, carrying not just the ring but the silent promise of a fiercely protective, carefully constructed future—a future built less on duty, and more on devotion.
The three days Eiser spent away stretched endlessly. Silence filled the house, heavy with the absence of his presence. I managed the Serenity businesses, keeping pace with his absence, but each passing hour reminded me of the cost he was bearing for my safety.
When he finally returned, the tension I hadn't realized I was holding released in a slow exhale. He went straight to the study, where I was working late, the golden desk lamp casting long shadows across the polished wood.
The first thing I noticed wasn't the ring. It was the grim set of his jaw, a subtle, unspoken reflection of the battles he had fought alone.
He poured himself a glass of water, resting his hand against the rim. "I'm going to pull back from the House of Serenity's businesses, as I told you," he said.
"I know," I replied, setting my pen down and lifting my gaze to meet his. This was the reckoning, the moment to witness the full weight of his choice.
He set the glass down with a definitive click. "There will be a clear distinction between the Royal Court and the House of Serenity's businesses from now on."
I pushed aside my paperwork. "What does this mean for us?" I asked quietly, meaning personally, beyond politics. Our lives were intertwined with these Houses.
His eyes softened slightly, shedding the veneer of cold professionalism. "First, there won't be any more unnecessary gossip about you."
I nodded, recognizing the purpose behind his choice—the venomous whispers he had shielded me from.
"Second…" he hesitated, a flicker of doubt crossing his face. "It will be much safer for you."
Safer. The word lingered. He spoke not only of gossip, but of the real, dangerous scrutiny that came from our Houses' enemies. Pulling back meant shielding me, drawing a boundary that would protect me even as it cost him influence.
I stood, moving closer to the desk, running my fingers along its cool, polished surface.
"I understand. You mean to draw a clear line between the Serenity family and the Royal Court so that the Crown's power remains unaffected," I stated, seeking to ensure I grasped the full political weight of his decision.
He nodded, curt and stiff. "I don't need to be there, and I shouldn't be."
"All right," I said, sighing softly. Acceptance settled over me. But I needed him to know this: "...even if you step back from the Serenity businesses, I will continue to work for the Royal Court as much as I can."
Surprise flickered across his face. He had assumed the professional split would force me into retreat.
"There are people at the Royal Court who rely on me," I added calmly. "I won't let them down."
His frown deepened, the intensity of his protective instincts warring with the logic of his political reasoning. "No one can stop you," he admitted, "but are you truly going to continue?"
"Yes," I said simply. My decision was unwavering. "I've already made it."
I studied him—not the Prime Minister, not the businessman, but the man sacrificing his world for mine. I needed him to understand that my loyalty wasn't conditional on his choices; it was personal.
"Also…" I softened my voice, "I will continue to be your wife. I won't stop."
Relief and confusion washed over his face, mingled with disbelief. "…"
He had assumed the professional separation would mirror a personal one, that our marriage had reached its transactional limit.
I continued, letting honesty guide me. "I want to remain the First Lady, for the rest of my life."
"Why?" he asked, genuinely puzzled. "I thought you felt differently."
"Now, I feel this way," I stated plainly. Truth, simple and unadorned, filled the room with warmth. My love was no longer strategic; it was real. I wanted to be his wife—not just in title or duty, but in heart.
I closed the distance between us, placing my hand gently on his arm. The formal barrier dissolved. "I'm your wife, and I want to stay by your side."
Before me stood a man who had drawn back his entire world to safeguard mine. And in doing so, he had granted me clarity: the freedom to choose him—fully, without reservation
The lamp on the bedside table cast a soft, golden glow across the room, throwing long shadows over the mahogany dresser and the open papers I had been studying. The low, deliberate RING of the old ivory rotary phone cut through the late-night quiet, jarring me from my thoughts. My eyes flicked down to the receiver, heart skipping a beat.
"…This will serve as tokens to signify our faith and loyalty to one another." The words I'd just read on the page blurred, overtaken by a creeping sense of unease. A phone call at this hour could only mean trouble.
I set the paper aside, my chest tightening with the familiar knot of WORRIED tension. Late-night calls were rarely neutral. Slowly, deliberately, I reached for the receiver, fingers brushing the smooth, cold surface.
"Sir, this is the front desk. Sorry to disturb you so late," a clipped, professional voice came through the line. "You have an urgent call from home. She says it's very important and wishes to speak with you. Shall I put her through?"
My mind raced, weighing possibilities, calculating potential crises, each scenario darker than the last. "Sure," I said, keeping my voice steady even as my pulse quickened. A pause, then the faint BEEP BEEP signaled the connection.
"Leinz, it's me."
The voice was a jolt. "DIAH?" My throat tightened. She was supposed to be far away, wrapped in her own affairs. I gripped the receiver tighter, the rich silk of my bathrobe suddenly feeling cumbersome.
"How did you know I was here?" I demanded, sharper than intended.
"She said it was a call from home," Diah's voice was low, hurried. I imagined her, hair falling loosely around her face, brow furrowed with urgency. "So I assumed it was Serena."
"I can't talk for long," she added, the desperation in her tone unmistakable. "But… I thought you needed to know..."
A dreadful silence followed, broken only by the faint hum of the hotel's night-time systems. My stomach coiled. Whatever she was about to reveal would irrevocably alter the careful equilibrium I'd constructed in my retreat.
"I can't talk for long… but I thought you needed to know…" Diah's voice trembled. Her ragged breathing carried over the line, a signal of the urgency and danger I could almost feel.
"WHAT IS IT?" I snapped, my patience thinning. I pulled the robe tighter around me, narrowing my eyes as I tried to read the frantic tone.
"I'm sorry… this isn't how I wanted it to happen," she admitted, remorse lacing her words. But the confession only heightened my anxiety. "To think this is how Victor would find out about Frederick and the existence of that document…"
Frederick. The document. Victor. The three forces I had struggled to manage separately had collided. My mind raced. "Diah. Calm down and explain. Step by step," I ordered, forcing my voice to a steady anchor in the storm of panic.
"No… honestly, I knew things would escalate once Victor found out," she admitted. My stomach dropped as her next words landed like a hammer.
"Victor managed to persuade the Prime Minister."
The implications hit me like a punch to the chest. That meant legal backing, influence secured. The threat I had tried to anticipate was now fully realized.
"Ms. Serena will soon be…" Her voice trailed off abruptly, then a sharp CLICK signaled the line going dead. She didn't need to finish the sentence. The meaning was clear. Victor was moving against Serena—and by extension, against me.
I gripped the receiver, knuckles white, storm gathering in my eyes. My retreat was over.
Swiftly, I shed the bathrobe, replacing it with proper attire, movements precise and urgent. The sound of hurried FUMBLE FUMBLE at the door made me glance up. Eiser, always prompt, was rushing in, adjusting his glasses and straightening his coat.
"Sir Eiser, what's the matter—" he began, confusion plain on his face.
I didn't let him finish. My gaze was sharp, cold, commanding. "WE NEED TO HEAD BACK TO THE MANOR. NOW." My voice carried the kind of authority that brooked no argument.
Without waiting for a reply, I strode toward the hall, each STRIDE STRIDE echoing off the polished tiles, leather shoes ringing with purpose.
"READY THE CAR AT ONCE," I ordered over my shoulder, already moving down the corridor. There was no time to waste. Victor's plan was in motion, and whatever he intended for Serena, I would get there first—and I would contain it.
Every second counted.
---




Story Art Ina
Tip's
WEARING AND COLLECTING GLOVES WAS ORIGINALLY BELLATIA'S HOBBY. HAVING GROWN UP WATCHING HER MOTHER, SERENA WAS NATURALLY INFLUENCED BY HER. ABOUT HALF THE GLOVES SHE CURRENTLY OWNS ONCE BELONGED TO BELLATIA.