Serena pov
--- AT IANSA VILLA
the long journey finally over. The air was warm, tinged with faint lavender and vanilla from the scented candles that had burned all day. Despite my exhaustion, I had to see her. She lay so still in the massive, gold-gilded bed, the silk sheets tucked neatly around her frail frame.
"I'm exhausted from the lengthy journey, but I dropped by because I wanted to see you," I said, lowering myself onto a small stool beside the bed. My fingers absentmindedly traced the carved patterns on the armrest. "Aren't I such a good granddaughter?" I whispered, my voice carrying across the quiet room. "Have you been getting lots of rest?"
Her face was pale, serene in sleep, but I couldn't stop myself from talking. I needed her to feel my presence, to know I was here. "Next month, President Harold and I will start building a new train station in Flo Marina… and we'll have a blueprint for the seaside hotel soon," I continued, my words tumbling out.
I recounted the details of my recent work trip, gesturing slightly even though she couldn't see. "Yesterday, I went to Ariona District and just got back now… to look at the glass we'll be using for the new hotel. It's a high-quality glass, manufactured using novel technology. I saw it installed in a building—it was sturdy, and beautiful. You would've liked it too."
The memory of traveling alone made me pause. "Also, I went on a trip to Artiazen recently, all by myself. I thought of you a lot while I was there." I smiled faintly, recalling the meetings. "Entrepreneurs who are part of the royal family were very interested in the business we're starting up. They even brought up all sorts of topics—so many funny questions. I thought of how you'd laugh at them."
I leaned closer, letting my head rest gently on the edge of the bed, my hand brushing the covers near hers. "So please wake up already. I have so much to tell you. And to tell the truth…"
A sharp pang of memory struck me—the smell of sugar and flour in the kitchen, the warmth of the oven, the joy of sitting together. I closed my eyes. "I really want to eat one of your cakes again, Grandma. Can't you wake up and make one for me?"
I lowered my voice further, almost a whisper, as if the secret were too precious to share aloud. "…I still love the opera cake you used to make. So much so that I still remember the very first time I ever tried it."
The memory bloomed vividly before me: sunlight streaming through the window, golden on the table; the three of us laughing as we shared a plate, savoring each bite. "It was so delicious."
I stayed there longer, letting the quiet wash over me, wishing for even a small sign of response, a flutter of her eyelids, a breath, a smile.
---
I straightened up, smoothing my skirt with delicate care. "I'll clear the plate—won't leave behind a single bite, please?" I said, trying to inject a playful note into the solemn atmosphere, as if teasing her would coax her awake.
Then, with a gentle determination, I brought up one of our oldest promises. "Besides, you said you'd tell me your secret recipe once I became the President of Serenity Hotel. Well… I am now."
The memory returned, sharp and bright: Grandma in her crisp chef's uniform, smiling with that mysterious glint in her eye.
> Grandma: "Well, my cakes are more delicious thanks to my secret recipe. I never shared it with anyone, not even your mother."
Me: "Oh, what's the secret? Share it with me! I won't tell Mother, I promise."
Grandma: "There's a reason I call it a secret. Once you become the President of Serenity Hotel, I'll consider it."
I sighed, half in longing, half in nostalgia. "Also, Sui says… I don't seem like a little girl anymore, but a real lady. She said I even remind her of Mom sometimes." I adjusted my posture, trying to show off my outfit, a soft yellow dress, her favorite color. "You know… I'm wearing a very ladylike outfit today. Don't you want to see? Hmm? You should wake up and take a look."
Returning my head to the bed, I let my thoughts wander. Sui had noticed the change after my vacation, though I still wondered why that particular timing made her see me differently. Perhaps it was growing up, perhaps just being me.
The quiet bustle outside reminded me of the life waiting beyond this room. "And the sitting room is overflowing with flowers—Uncle Logan and your friends and acquaintances sent them all. So many people miss you, Grandma."
I gathered courage, leaning close, my voice softening to a secretive whisper. "And lastly… the most important thing."
Covering my mouth with my hand to make the confession feel safe and private, I murmured, "Grandma, I actually really like him."
My chest tightened, the mixture of excitement and sorrow coiling in my heart. "Just hearing his voice excites me, and every little thing he says or does makes my heart race. I've never felt like this before, like someone's mere presence could make me happy and content."
I lifted my eyes, searching her serene face for a sign, imagining the knowing smile that always seemed to understand everything. I just wanted her to share this joy with me, even if only in my heart.
---
I waited for a long moment after confessing my feelings. The silence stretched like a thick curtain, heavy and unyielding. I sighed softly, leaning back on the stool, the warmth of her bed brushing against my shoulder.
"Oh… even that wasn't enough to wake you up," I murmured, shaking my head, a sad, knowing smile tugging at my lips. "I thought hearing that I'd grown to love that man would be shocking enough for you to open your eyes."
A memory surfaced, daring, daring enough to challenge the solemnity of the room. "We may be parting ways now, but I want us to reunite and remarry one day." My words floated in the stillness, unanswered.
I continued, my voice tinged with exasperation but softened with affection. "I've told you so many things you'd want to hear… yet you're still sleeping. You're as stubborn as always, Grandma."
With a gentle, instinctive movement, I leaned over the bed and wrapped my arms around her. Holding her close, feeling the familiar, comforting warmth of her presence—even now—I let myself miss her fully. It was a quiet ache, a longing that clung to my chest.
Pulling back slightly, I took a deep breath, smoothing my skirt and preparing to leave. "No problem. I'll tell you more fun, interesting stories next time," I whispered. I had to leave now, but I anchored my words with a promise, a tether to her that I hoped would carry me back. "I'll be back tomorrow, so you have to wake up then, all right?"
I rose, glancing around the enormous, richly decorated room. My eyes lingered on a purple, custom-made chair in the corner, the memory of a conversation with Sui threading through my mind.
"I remember what Sui told me back then…" I murmured, recalling the words almost like a prophecy.
"He'll probably find it uncomfortable. The chair is too small."
"Too small?"
"Yes. As you know, the chair in the office is for women, custom-made for Lady Iansa… So it'll be quite uncomfortable for a tall and large-framed man like Sir Eiser."
I looked at the chair again in my mind's eye, tracing the shape of its slender backrest. It had been the chair where I first began working alongside Eiser. The realization settled over me like a cold certainty, a weight of foresight I couldn't ignore.
"This office will change hands again soon," I whispered to myself, the thought flickering and fading, a concern for another day. Today, I had given her all the news—business triumphs, romantic confessions, a lifetime of love. All I could do now was make my promise.
"I'll be back tomorrow, so you have to wake up then, all right?" I touched her one last time, gently, reverently, and left the room, leaving my words suspended in the quiet air behind me.
The memory of that office chair lingered like a shadow, pulling me into a vivid flashback from the early days of my presidency. Sui and I had been discussing Sir Eiser, the tall, imposing man I had just confessed my feelings for.
"I remember what Sui told me back then…" I murmured to myself, transported back to the luxurious office, its polished wood and golden accents gleaming. The tiny chair at the desk seemed absurdly delicate, almost fragile.
"He'll probably find it uncomfortable. The chair is too small," Sui had commented, her voice measured with concern.
"Too small?" I had asked, the faint clack of my heels punctuating the question.
"Yes. As you know, the chair in the office is for women, custom-made for Lady Iansa… So it'll be quite uncomfortable for a tall and large-framed man like Sir Eiser."
Sui had pressed further, her tone low, almost conspiratorial. "When I asked him about it, he said there was no need… but perhaps we should switch it out for a chair he'd find more comfortable? He'll be using it for several hours per day, it's bound to bother him…"
I had waved her concern away, feigning indifference. "Leave it alone! He'll deal with it himself. Do I have to worry about every little detail on his behalf?"
Yet the truth revealed itself in the years that followed. Ever since he became part of my life, part of my family… he had sat on that chair, too small and narrow, day after day. Hours of work, steadfast dedication, without complaint, without a single word about the discomfort.
My attention sharpened, bridging past and present, my mind painting him leaving the office. I pictured the empty mahogany desk, the polished expanse now hosting only two modest bags: a briefcase and a small satchel. The contrast between his monumental achievements and the simplicity of his departure hit me like a physical weight.
"Your accomplishments here have been staggering, yet you're leaving with nothing but these two bags," I whispered. The sight of them, so minimal against the vast desk, was almost unbearable.
Because seeing these two tiny bags, which likely felt inconsequential to him… overwhelmed me with emotion.
Memories cascaded—an evening spent together, the cruel gossip whispered behind my back at a public event, his silent patience as I brushed it off, his quiet fingers fiddling with my ring. His tolerance of small discomforts, his silent sacrifices, all came rushing forward.
Now, seeing him prepare to depart with so little, I felt the immense, tangible weight of his loyalty and love. Every unnoticed effort, every unspoken endurance, every quiet hour spent for my sake—everything culminated in this moment. And in that, the significance of his devotion, and my own feelings for him, became achingly clear.
I stood frozen in the office, my heart still heavy from the sight of Eiser's two humble bags. The modesty of them, resting on the polished mahogany desk, had cracked my composure entirely. I finally understood him—his silent sacrifices, his understated loyalty—but the comprehension came too late.
My gaze drifted across the desk and landed on a small, unfamiliar item resting near one of his satchels. I reached out, my fingers trembling slightly as they brushed against its surface. A fountain pen. Exquisite. Shimmering with the colors of the sea, delicate yet commanding. I lifted it carefully, noticing the intricate patterns etched into the metal, the subtle weight that spoke of craftsmanship and thought.
A folded note lay beneath it, a quiet whisper of affection. My breath caught in my throat. He had brought it from Artiazen, had purchased it thinking of me. A gift left on the eve of his banishment, a token of his undying dedication to both me and the work we shared. My chest tightened, overwhelmed by emotion. Because seeing these two tiny bags, which probably meant little to him… meant everything to me.
And then—
The antique rotary phone on the side table began to RING. Its shrill, insistent sound cut through the tense silence like a jagged blade. My hand froze over the pen before I set it down and moved swiftly to answer.
CLICK. The heavy receiver lifted with a soft, metallic scrape.
"Hello?" My voice was steady, though my pulse raced.
A panicked, trembling voice shot through the line. "L-LADY SERENA!"
Uncle Logan. My blood ran cold.
"Yes, Uncle Logan. It's me," I replied, forcing calm into my tone. "What's wrong?"
He inhaled sharply, a shaky, desperate sound that made my stomach twist. "I couldn't call you earlier… they wouldn't let me use the phone!" His voice was taut with fear. "Are you all right?!"
"They?" The word echoed ominously in my mind. Someone restricting a senior manager's communication. My heart beat faster. "Ah… yes, I had some external meetings and stopped by my grandmother's villa before returning to the manor. But who are these people you speak of?"
Before he could answer, a sudden, sharp BANG rang out—a sound like a door being violently kicked in. I jolted, clutching the receiver tightly, my heart hammering against my ribs.
"What's the matter? Did something happen at the hotel?" I demanded, my voice snapping with dread. In that instant, the call, the noise, and the sight of Eiser's departure crystallized into a terrifying truth: something serious had happened.
"What's that noise?" I murmured into the receiver, my hand trembling as my blood seemed to freeze in place. The booming sound wasn't distant—it was close, dangerously close.
On the line, Uncle Logan's voice choked with fear. "Well…!" he managed, before the line went dead with a sickening clack.
I dropped the receiver onto the desk, eyes wide with horror. The noise was no accident. I spun toward the door just as the heavy doors to the office burst inward.
Two figures in crisp military uniforms filled the doorway, their movements sharp, disciplined. Behind them, two housemaids stood, frozen in shock and fear, their faces pale.
The uniformed man at the front, clearly the one in charge, spoke, his voice low and menacing: "Where is Ms. Serenity?"
The housemaids exchanged frightened glances. One stammered, voice quivering. "I-in the office… Is she in her office or the other one?"
The other covered her mouth, eyes wide. "I-isn't that the Royal Defense Corps? What are those terrifying people doing in the manor? I'm… I'm scared…"
A whispered exchange between the maids betrayed their confusion. "I wonder that myself. How did they even know there were two offices in this manor?"
Suddenly, a group of men in suits—presumably the manor's security staff—rushed forward, murmuring anxiously.
"Oh! You're right! And we didn't even tell them where the office is… How did they know?" one of them hissed, eyes wide.
Another whispered, clearly bewildered, "What's going on? Shouldn't we summon the manor security personnel immediately?"
The presence of the Royal Defense Corps, bypassing normal protocol, radiated authority—and danger.
As the armed figures advanced, a woman from the manor staff, impeccably dressed, stepped into the path of the ornate office door. "She's in here, but you may not enter unless you state your purpose. First, please explain the reason you wish to see her," she stated firmly.
The military leader's face hardened, a shadow crossing his features. He ignored protocol completely.
"Unless you state your purpose, you may not—" she began, holding her ground.
"Step aside," the officer snapped, his tone void of compromise. A heavy BUMP sounded as he shoved her aside, his approach unrelenting.
A gasp of horror rippled through the corridor. "Are you joking? It's treason to deploy private bodyguards against the Royal Defense Corps!" one observer hissed, misinterpreting the power dynamic.
A final, heavy THUD echoed as the officer reached the door.
My mind raced, piecing together the fragments: the panicked call from Logan, the R.D.C. storming the manor, Eiser's quiet departure with only two bags. A cold, searing realization hit me like a physical blow: this was no professional transition. This was a coup. They had come for me.
The escalation was complete. The manor was no longer a sanctuary—it was a battlefield.
I watched, frozen, as the officer disregarded the staff member who had bravely tried to hold the line. Each of his steps toward the inner office door resonated like a hammer against my chest—authoritative, deliberate, invasive. This was no visit. This was a violation.
He turned toward me, and his gaze cut through the room like a blade. Cold. Unflinching. Absolute. There was no need for pleasantries, no time for protocol.
"Lady Serenity," he stated, his voice clipped, emotionless, and commanding. "This operation is by order of the Royal Defense Corps."
Before I could even form a question, he delivered the blow, each word measured and final.
"Effective immediately, you are hereby suspended from your duties as the President of Serenity Hotel."
Suspended? By the Royal Defense Corps? The words seemed to reverberate against the walls of the office, defying belief.
"And I must escort you to a new location," he continued, his tone leaving no room for negotiation or objection.
A sharp, cold clarity pierced through my shock. This was the 'office change' I had anticipated—but far from the procedural transition I had imagined. This was brutal, unyielding, and orchestrated by the highest authority.
I planted my feet firmly, grounding myself. My expression hardened, the shock twisting into a simmering, controlled fury.
"Who dares? Who gave the order?" I demanded, my voice low yet resonant, carrying every ounce of inherited authority and command.
The officer didn't answer verbally. Instead, he extended a sealed document toward me.
"The order is signed and approved by the Royal Family," he stated, his yellow-green eyes unblinking.
I stared at the royal seal, recognition—and the weight of inevitability—settling over me like a stone. A coup, executed with surgical precision, leaving no room for resistance or defiance. Protesting now would only result in immediate arrest, perhaps humiliation, and certainly further complications. I had to choose my strategy carefully.
I took a deliberate, calming breath, forcing my mind to sharpen. My gaze flicked to the desk, where Eiser's bags and the forgotten fountain pen still lay, tokens of his silent foresight. He must have known something like this would come.
I refused to let them see panic in my eyes. "I need just one minute," I said, my voice steady, regaining the poise of the President of Serenity Hotel. "I was on the phone with Mr. Logan, the executive director. I need to inform him of my suspension and confirm his immediate assumption of authority."
The officer's eyes narrowed, unconvinced. "That's not allowed."
"Just a minute," I insisted, lifting the receiver with deliberate calm. "As President, I have the right to confirm the handover of duties. If you object, you are interfering with the operation of a major institution under royal jurisdiction."
For a heartbeat, his gaze wavered, flicking between me and the door. The tiniest pause—a crack in his unyielding demeanor. I seized it.
"Logan," I said quickly, voice low and urgent. "Listen. The situation is not good."
The officers' footsteps began to close in, each stride ringing ominously on the polished floor. I ignored them, my focus unwavering on the phone line. "They're taking me away. You're in charge, Logan. Immediately call Eiser. Tell him the Queen is holding the card."
I slammed the receiver down, the sound echoing with finality. My message delivered, my instructions set—the chessboard had been laid.
📖 The Arrest
The chilling blue light of the room seemed to deepen, intensifying the shock that held me suspended in place.
Before me, a dark figure of military authority loomed. The uniform was immaculate, every detail precise—a symbol of rank and uncompromising duty. Yet it was his eyes that seized my attention: a striking, unnatural yellow-green that glimmered faintly in the dim light, predator-like, unyielding.
My hand shot to my chest, instinctively protecting the small, intricate brass device I had been holding. It slipped through my fingers with a soft, numbing echo.
THUNK.
The device hit the floor, scattering tiny components across the polished wood.
Heavy, deliberate footsteps approached. A boot, black and polished, struck the floor with measured rhythm—STRIDE—closing the distance between us.
Before I could react, strong, gloved hands seized my wrists, pulling them together. The cold steel of the handcuffs bit sharply into my skin, a metallic CLICK sealing my fate.
I stared up at the man, silent, searching for even a flicker of mercy in his impassive face. There was none. Only duty. Only inevitability.
His deep, resonant voice finally shattered the tense silence.
"THIS AFTERNOON," he began, every word deliberate and weighted with authority, "a large cache of weapons was discovered in the basement storage room of the Serenity Hotel, owned by the House of Serenity."
And then, the final, crushing blow: his yellow eyes bore into mine, unrelenting, as he delivered the decree that would change everything.
"You are under arrest for the illegal possession of weapons and conspiracy to commit treason against the Meuracevia Kingdom."




Story Art Ina
Tip's
TREASON IS CONSIDERED A FIRST-DEGREE FELONY UNDER MEURACEVIA LAW. EVEN IF NOT CARRIED OUT, IF THERE IS CLEAR EVIDENCE PRESENTED OF CONSPIRACY TO COMMIT TREASON. IT MAY BE PUNISHABLE BY DEATH. THE HIGHEST PENALTY IN THE KINGDOM.