Victor pov
The air in the office was thick with the scent of old leather, ink, and the quiet, suffocating weight of institutional power. I stood rigidly before the elder man, aware that the conversation unfolding here carried enough consequence to reshape a kingdom. The polished surface of the mahogany table between us reflected the soft, amber light of the lamps—but I felt no warmth from it. Only scrutiny.
The man seated across from me—an advisor, a strategist, and the Prime Minister's shadow—held my gaze with cool authority. His tone bore a gravity that suggested he fully understood the magnitude of what he was about to sanction.
"Are you certain you want to do this?" he asked, leaning back ever so slightly, as though expecting my confidence to waver. "This seems like too harsh a treatment for a young lady who has only recently inherited the family business."
His voice was firm, almost paternal, but beneath it lay a sharp edge. He knew precisely what was at stake: the House of Serenity was not merely a wealthy family—it was a symbol. A legacy. A fortress built on generations of public trust. Disrupting them was like striking at the foundations of the kingdom itself.
He tapped the papers in his hand, the faint crackle of parchment underscoring his next words.
"And the House of Serenity is a well-respected family, held in high regard by both the nobility and the public. Wouldn't they express strong opposition against this action?"
His question was not a warning—it was a test, one I had been preparing to answer since the moment I agreed to the Prime Minister's plan. He spoke as if I were simply a pawn executing orders, not someone who helped craft the very strategy he was now questioning.
But I understood his hesitation. We were attempting the impossible.
A flash of memory cut through my thoughts—the broken man kneeling before Lady Serena. Shackled. Shame weighing him down like a physical burden.
"I'm sorry, Lady Serena. This is all my fault. I am so ashamed of myself."
I had been cold—deliberately so.
"We'll deal with the matter of accountability later. Besides, the way I acted towards Eiser in the past must've colored your perspective of him as well."
My words had been sharp, dismissive, but necessary. Sympathy had no place in the political battlefield we were waging.
It was his admission that shifted everything.
"A holy agreement about the armory. So that's what you were about to tell me in my office that day."
A sacred clause. A covenant carved into the kingdom's history. And suddenly, the entire structure of our plan illuminated itself in my mind like a puzzle completing.
"Now I understand how things ended up like this."
Lady Serena's reaction had been fierce, not foolish. Her loyalty, infuriatingly unwavering.
"Since the damage is already done," she had pleaded, "rather than arguing over who's to blame for what amongst ourselves… please place your trust in him and assist him in his endeavors to the best of your ability."
Her voice had trembled—not with fear, but conviction.
And then, the confession that would complicate everything:
"He is still the man Grandma approved as the President of the Serenity Hotel… and the first… and only husband I will ever accept."
It was no longer just politics. It was personal—deeply, irrevocably personal.
Back in the office, the advisor's skepticism hung in the air.
He was right: a holy agreement was nearly untouchable. It wasn't law—it was doctrine. Tradition. An anchor tying the Serenity family to the kingdom in a way that defied legal dispute.
"What exactly are they planning to do?" The thought chilled me more than I let show.
But there was no retreat. If we couldn't break the agreement, we had to circumvent it. If we couldn't weaken the Serenity family directly, we had to erode the ground beneath them. A silent collapse. A carefully orchestrated downfall.
I met the advisor's stare evenly.
"I am certain," I said. The steady calm in my voice betrayed nothing of the turmoil twisting beneath. "The opposition will be strong, but the Prime Minister has accounted for it. We are not moving against the family's standing; we are targeting a specific, non-negotiable clause within the agreement itself. Our action is not political; it is a legal necessity."
A lie wrapped in truth.
My real mission—the one I had not shared with even him—was far more precise, far more destructive.
I was to dismantle Lady Serena's defenses one by one, distract her with fires too urgent to ignore, while the true strike against the sacred agreement remained hidden behind smoke and shadows.
I would be the knife she never saw coming.
---
Chapter XI: The Calculus of Greed — Expanded
Their voices filtered through the gap in the door—low, confident, dripping with quiet calculation. They spoke as though the fate of my family were a business transaction, a chess move, nothing more. I remained hidden, my breath shallow, my heart hammering as their words assembled the blueprint of my destruction.
The older man—the Prime Minister's confidant, the architect of political ruin—began with cool precision:
"Given that, now that I've come up with a likely pretext for you… what if the Kingdom of Meuracevia claimed the House of Serenity's assets and businesses?"
My blood froze.
"The Kingdom will reclaim the great power and influence it once had."
Reclaim. As though my family's legacy existed merely to be plundered.
Victor responded—not with outrage, but with reluctant fascination.
"Think about the amount of money the House of Serenity earns in a single year," he said. "Compared to that, the taxes they pay to the Kingdom are but a pittance."
He paused, his voice almost reverent.
"An enormous hotel empire and extensive real estate holdings, a vast network of people and businesses... The value of the assets, both tangible and intangible, that this family has amassed over generations is beyond all imagination."
Every word spiraled into me like a blade. They were mapping out the anatomy of my family's life's work.
Victor continued:
"While they did get rid of a lot of their wealth a few years ago when they were at risk, they ultimately kept only the essential assets, and still possess a staggering amount of land and buildings. Their hotel could collapse tomorrow and they'd barely blink an eye."
He said it like an observation, but I heard the resentment underneath. The envy. The hunger.
He warned of the backlash that would undoubtedly erupt if they attempted such an audacious theft.
"That business could become the Kingdom's as well. Excessive greed might cause us to lose everything. Besides, confiscating all the assets of a powerful noble family overnight will incite fierce opposition from the rest of the nobility."
The older man scoffed, dismissing Victor's caution the way one swats away a fly.
"You're too soft for your own good." His tone dripped with superiority. "The more popular someone is, the stronger the backlash when they're suspected of an offense as grievous as treason."
Treason.
The accusation that would give them the legal right to strip me bare.
A crime fabricated so convincingly that even my allies might hesitate to defend me.
He went on, laying out the strategy that made my stomach twist.
"We will seize their long-held estates and private properties, and issue an order for them to divide their assets."
Not an immediate annihilation—a slow bleed.
"That and imposing limits on their future business activities, informing them that any expansion beyond those limits will be forfeited to the Kingdom… And mandating the establishment of an auditing body should exert enough pressure."
Restrictions. Surveillance. Forced downsizing. A noose tightening around everything my ancestors built.
I could feel my pulse in my teeth.
Victor hesitated—only for a moment.
"I'm still not certain if this is the right—"
"Ahem." The old man cut him off sharply. "With that, let us conclude this matter."
In the final blow of arrogance, they discussed what they stood to gain.
The older man anticipated power. Wealth. Influence.
But Victor… his ambition was sharper, darker.
"How does that benefit me?" he replied, not even pretending to hide his greed. "That'll only serve to line the Kingdom's pockets. Besides, I didn't come this far just to stop there."
The words hit me harder than any formal accusation.
He was not simply participating.
He wanted a share of my family's downfall.
He wanted to carve out a piece of the House of Serenity for himself.
I was not facing one enemy.
I was facing two.
And both were aiming directly at the heart of my family's empire.
---
"Victor wants to eliminate Serena. Based on his insistence that the current 'measures will not suffice' against the Serenity family's resilience,"
No further continuation past that line.
The Prime Minister's confidant sat with his hands folded neatly atop the carved desk, as though he had just solved an arithmetic problem rather than plotted the downfall of one of the most powerful families in the kingdom. His weak attempt at a decisive tone—"Ahem. With that, let us conclude this matter"—still rang in the air like an insult to my intelligence.
He truly believed this half‑baked strategy of asset seizures and an auditing committee would break the House of Serenity.
I let silence settle. A long, cold silence that made the old man's shoulders stiffen. Only when I saw the flicker of uncertainty in his expression did I step forward.
I would make him understand.
"How does that benefit me?" I asked, letting the question slice through the air. "That'll only serve to line the Kingdom's pockets."
His face twitched, offended. Good.
He still did not grasp it—the scale, the magnitude of the Serenity empire nor the sheer stubbornness of its heiress.
I exhaled slowly, the small scar on my cheek stretching as my jaw tightened. I never forgot where that scar came from: a decision, years ago, that had allowed the Serenity family to expand into Artiazen with my blessing. A decision that now fed their unshakeable strength.
A decision I now intended to overturn by force.
"Prime Minister," I began, my voice lowering into something sharper, "does this seem like an ordinary situation to you?"
He blinked, startled. I didn't wait for an answer.
"We are dealing with a family that has plotted treason here. Those measures—seizing some properties, forcing a division—will not suffice."
The words came out as a growl. Each sentence was a hammer striking the weakness in his plan.
"They have money beyond counting," I continued. "They already weathered a near‑collapse and shed their excess holdings. What remains are assets so essential, so fortified, that not even a nationwide recession could touch them. You could destroy their flagship hotel tomorrow and they'd barely flinch."
The old man swallowed hard. Good—fear was the proper reaction.
Because this was no minor feud. No court skirmish. No bureaucratic tightening of regulations.
This was war.
And he wanted to bring a letter opener to a battlefield.
I leaned closer, watching his composure crack.
"Besides," I added, tone softening only to become more dangerous, "I didn't come this far just to stop there."
He didn't understand that half‑measures would only ensure our destruction. If we did not finish the Serenity family completely, they would survive… rebuild… retaliate… and emerge sharper, wealthier, more invincible than before.
"If we don't take firm action now," I said, "the House of Serenity will strike back. They will learn from the crisis they just experienced, close every loophole, and emerge as an even stronger fortress."
His breath hitched. He finally grasped the truth:
The Serenity family was not merely an opponent.
They were an inevitability.
Unless someone erased them.
A faint smile tugged at my lips—one I didn't bother hiding.
I won't be content until I steal that family's wealth… and see Eiser fall apart in the wake of Serena's death.
That final thought throbbed inside me like a living thing.
Serena. The heiress who had inherited not just wealth, but willpower. The woman who dared challenge my schemes. The last shield protecting Eiser. As long as she lived, the Serenity name lived.
Her removal was not an option.
It was a requirement.
The Prime Minister's confidant still hesitated, but I could already sense his resistance weakening. He feared scandal. Nobility backlash. Political instability.
But I?
I feared only one thing:
A Serenity who survives.
The Prime Minister was pale, trembling beneath the weight of the solution I had placed before him. His fear had finally found a direction—me. The Kingdom could not handle the Serenity empire, but I could. My family could.
His earlier resistance had melted away into something like horrified acceptance.
The House of Grayan.
The only entity powerful enough—and merciless enough—to cannibalize Serenity without collapsing under its mass.
He swallowed hard. His voice scraped out:
"…Delegate the management to you…?"
I let the silence confirm it for him.
"Not just management," I corrected softly. "Transfer the operational rights of the Flo Marina development entirely. The Kingdom will take its immediate payout. The rest of the Serenity assets can be liquidated at your discretion. But the future… belongs to me."
The Prime Minister closed his eyes for a moment, fighting the nausea of understanding. This wasn't simply a political crackdown.
It was a predator rearranging the food chain.
He opened his eyes again—resigned, cornered, broken by the inevitability of his own logic.
"You… you would take responsibility for the businesses?"
"For the businesses," I replied, "and for ensuring the crime of treason is punished with the full measure the law demands."
A tremor passed through him. We both knew what "full measure" meant.
Seizure.
Extinction.
The death of Lady Serena.
Only then would the transfer of power be clean. Permanent.
His fear had always been the aftermath:
Who will run the empire we tear apart?
Now he knew the answer.
I would.
And I would take my prize.
He exhaled shakily, almost relieved despite himself. For the first time, he saw not chaos but a path—dark, bloody, but functional. Politically defensible. Administratively feasible. Personally convenient.
And profitable.
His fingers relaxed from their death‑grip on the armrest.
His voice steadied.
"…Very well."
The words were almost a whisper, but they were enough. I had him. He had accepted the outline of the plan:
Serena—removed.
The Serenity fortune—confiscated.
The empire—broken and sold.
The crown—stabilized.
Grayan—rewarded.
But one obstacle remained, looming like a shadow between us.
The treason charge.
It was the linchpin.
The legal foundation.
The justification for death and total forfeiture.
And at this moment, it was still nothing but a fabrication—one that needed to be forged into "fact."
The Prime Minister's gaze drifted to the side, dread returning as he whispered:
"…But we must prove it. If we move before that, the nobility will… revolt."
I nodded once.
I had anticipated this.
This, in fact, was the centerpiece of the plan.
To destroy the Serenity family, I needed the Kingdom to believe in treason.
And treason must be demonstrated, documented, undeniable.
The Prime Minister's voice shook again.
"Victor… what must you do next?"
His question was timid, but his eyes were pleading for the final, necessary step.
The step that would convert fear into action, vision into decree, and rumor into an execution order.
He was ready.
And it was time.
The Prime Minister's eyes had shifted. No longer shadowed by fear or hesitation, they gleamed with anticipation—the faint sparkle of profit and power overtaking the remnants of doubt. The battle for logistical control was won. With the House of Grayan poised to absorb the operational burden of Serenity's empire, his only lingering worry—administrative collapse—was gone.
I allowed a slow, deliberate smile to curve my lips. Victory was near, yet fragile. One misstep, one legal miscalculation, and the treason charge would crumble, leaving my plans incomplete. The Kingdom would falter, the House of Grayan's claim would be delayed, and Serena… the serpent herself, would remain untouchable.
I stood and adjusted my tie, crisp and precise, a ritual of control before the final strike. "I will handle the rest," I stated, my voice calm but edged with steel. "The Kingdom will have its justification, its revenue, and the House of Grayan will handle the mess."
The old man's brow furrowed. "And the Holy Agreement?" His voice betrayed the slightest tremor of genuine unease. He understood the covenant's weight, its inviolable aura, the legal fortress it provided for the Serenity family.
"It is only a holy agreement about the armory," I scoffed, the words dripping with condescension. "A piece of antique parchment."
But I knew better. That "parchment" was more than ceremonial. It was the final wall between the House of Serenity and extinction. I would dismantle it. Piece by piece, clause by clause, until no protection remained.
Every step of my plan now converged on that single objective: neutralize the legal shield. My men waited, shadows within the royal archives, digging through the dusty tomes and sealed chambers where the kingdom's oldest secrets slept. For days, they had scoured decrees, prior amendments, annotations—anything that referenced the armory, the covenant, or the family's sacred obligations.
The moment I exited the Prime Minister's chamber, I issued the command: Locate the specific vulnerability in the "holy agreement about the armory" that allows the Crown to seize the associated assets.
The armory was more than stone and steel—it was a symbol of the Serenity family's ancient bond with the monarchy. That covenant had stood for centuries, an unassailable shield that "couldn't be easily disputed or modified."
If they invoked it now, if they argued it as protection against our fabricated treason charges, everything would collapse: the confiscation, Serena's removal, the transfer of assets to Grayan. Every piece of my strategy depended on turning that shield into a sword.
I needed the loophole, the condition, the one clause buried in centuries of formal language that dictated what happens when loyalty to the Crown is betrayed. Holy agreements, for all their rigid sanctity, were not invincible—they were conditional. Breach of allegiance, treason, disobedience—they all carried consequences that could void even the oldest, most sacred protections.
The Prime Minister's man—the disgraced president who had confessed to Serena, full of shame and regret—remained confined. He had revealed nothing critical to me, only offered apologies, and affirmed Eiser's place beside her. I didn't care for remorse. I cared for weakness. I cared for precedent. I cared for the past missteps that would allow me to claim the present.
The treason charge against Eiser and the Serenity family was my "likely pretext." Now, I needed to weaponize the covenant itself, the very document they believed indestructible. I needed a legal foundation that no court, no family defense, no sympathetic noble could dismantle.
My footsteps echoed through the long corridor, deliberate, final, each sound marking the inevitability of the coming strike. The House of Serenity imagined they were battling Iansa's kin. They were wrong.
They were battling me.
My focus was absolute: Locate the clause in the Holy Agreement that voids its protection upon a conviction of treason. Only then would the armory—and everything it represented—fall without a legal fight.
My footsteps echoed hollowly through the stone corridor, each one a small intrusion into the suffocating quiet of the underground prison. The air was heavy—thick with dampness, mildew, and the faint metallic bite of rusted iron. It reminded me of Buitenberg's lower wards, the places where sound died and hope eroded.
I kept walking, my pace controlled and deliberate. Even the steady rhythm of my boots felt too loud in this oppressive stillness. Each step forward was a reminder of the purpose drawing me deeper inside these walls.
When I reached her cell, I paused.
There she was—Lady Serena.
Her body was curled into itself, her arms wrapped tight as if they could trap the last remnants of warmth against her trembling frame. The dim torchlight barely reached her, but it was enough. Enough to see the pale blue tint on her lips. Enough to see the way her shoulders shook in weak, uneven tremors.
Then—
SLUMP.
Her body sagged further, her head dropping like a stone losing its final thread of suspension. My heart lurched.
"—!"
The sound didn't escape me as a word, just a jolt of breath. I didn't waste a second.
The key scraped in the lock—harsh, grating, far too slow for my pulse.
CLANK.
The gate groaned open.
I was inside the cell before the metal stopped swinging. I dropped to a knee beside her, reaching out with a gloved hand and touching her shoulder.
Her body was ice.
Not cool.
Not chilled.
Ice.
The violent shivers shook through her even at the slightest contact.
SHIVER. SHIVER.
I leaned closer, lowering myself until I could feel her breath—if she still had one.
A faint warmth brushed against my fingers.
Still alive. Barely.
A breath escaped me—long, released from a place in my chest that had clenched far too tightly.
But her skin… her hands…
They were far too cold.
The kind of cold that sinks past flesh and bone, straight into the soul.
A dread coiled in my stomach—familiar, unwelcome, and sharp. I had seen this before.
In Buitenberg, it was common for prisoners in the Republic's underground ward to die without warning—shock, hypothermia, isolation. Every dawn, bodies were retrieved, stacked, catalogued. I had carried them myself as a child. I still remembered the weight of limbs drained of life, the way their fingers stiffened into shapes that suggested their final, futile attempts to hold onto something.
The same conditions hung in the air around her now.
It was too harsh for her. Too extreme.
If she remained like this much longer, she would slip—quietly, silently—into the same fate.
I wouldn't allow it.
I slid my arms beneath her and pulled her gently, carefully, against me. Her head slumped to my shoulder, her cheek pressed to the fabric of my uniform. The warmth of my body enveloped her, though it felt pathetically insufficient in the face of the cold that had swallowed her.
She was so light.
Too light.
Like someone carved away piece by piece by fear, exhaustion, and cold.
SIGH.
A soft exhale escaped her when her body settled against mine. Whether it was conscious or reflexive didn't matter—it meant she hadn't reached the point of no return.
I wrapped my arms more securely around her, shielding her from the biting chill that seeped from every direction. My uniform held heat well. It wasn't much, but it was something.
She has to last a little longer.
She must.
My grip tightened slowly, instinctively.
SQUEEZE.
Not enough to hurt—just enough to anchor her, to lend her the steadiness her body no longer had.
These conditions were killing her. And I—
I wouldn't let that happen.
Not here. Not like this.
She needed time.
Time to be cleared of her charges…
Or time for me to find a way to pull her out of this tomb myself.
Either path required one thing above all else:
She must live long enough to reach it.
Every breath she took in this place was a victory.
A rebellion.
A refusal to become one more forgotten corpse waiting for the morning cleanup.
I would make sure she did not die of shock in my custody.
Her trembling had softened, little by little, absorbed by the heat of my body. I held her with slow, steady breaths, each exhale warming the top of her head where her hair brushed against my chin. The cold still clung to her like a parasite, but now her breathing had settled into a fragile rhythm—
ZZZ. ZZZ.
Sleep.
A thin, precarious refuge carved out of the miserable reality surrounding us.
I shifted slightly, keeping her nestled against me. My gloved hand traced the line of her back, applying a light pressure, grounding her, anchoring her inside this dim cocoon of borrowed warmth. She needed this. She needed rest more than anything the Republic could ever offer her.
I will take on the stain of shame and sin... so that both your hands and his remain clean and free of any blemish or filth.
The vow burned again in my chest, a familiar flame that did not warm but scorched. I had repeated it to myself so many times that it now lived beneath my skin, etched into bone.
My fingers curled instinctively.
CLENCH.
The leather strained, stretching tightly over my knuckles, mirroring the tension pulling taut within me. My life, my reputation, my blood—those were acceptable sacrifices. Hers were not.
I looked down at her face.
Even in the dim gloom of the cell, even weakened by cold, fear, and exhaustion, she was still beautiful. Not in the ornamental way nobles often praised, but in the quiet, steady way a person becomes beautiful when they endure—when they refuse to break.
This sacrifice, this self‑imposed damnation, was for her.
And for him—Eiser Grayan, who should not have to stain his hands with crimes I could bear instead.
However this ends, I must keep my promise.
I must protect her before I go.
A heavy calm settled over me, not peaceful but resolute. My role had never been to stand in the sun beside her. It was to guard her from the shadows, absorbing every threat, every blow, every sin meant for her.
Her breath brushed faintly against my collar.
I closed my eyes for a heartbeat, gathering myself, bracing my spirit for the path it was set upon—a path that would end in blood, in retribution, in my death. But if that death bought her life, then it was not a tragedy. It was a purpose.
Slowly, carefully, I shifted her body. My hands moved with deliberate gentleness, easing her away from the shelter of my chest and guiding her back toward the stone wall. The cold felt cruel as it touched her again, and for a moment I hesitated—wanting, irrationally, to pull her back, to keep her warm a little longer.
But I couldn't.
I had to leave before someone noticed my absence. Before suspicion grew. Before the mask of duty I wore began to crack.
I arranged her as best I could, making sure she leaned securely, her head resting against a relatively smoother section of the wall. She didn't stir. Her sleep was too deep, too exhausted, too necessary.
I rose to my feet.
The cell swallowed the sound of my boots, muffling the faint scrape of leather against stone.
I stepped to the gate.
The weight of my uniform settled over me again—oppressive, suffocating, a reminder of the role I had chosen to play in this hell.
My hand found the key.
CLANK.
The lock slid into place, sealing the barrier between us once more. A boundary I hated, but one I needed.
I looked back one last time.
She slept.
For now, she is safe.