The Hour of Anxiety
I stood at the foot of the cold, stone steps, my words still vibrating in the air like a distant echo. The facility was silent, yet the silence felt oppressive, almost sentient, pressing in from all sides. The air smelled faintly of disinfectant, mingling with the heavy, ancient scent of stone that had been here long before any of us.
"Serena's trial will be held in a few days," I said, my voice steady despite the turmoil tightening my chest. "After your friend visited, you've noticeably recovered and looked much better. So there should be less to worry about now."
I paused, letting my gaze drift to the empty corridor, picturing that brief moment when her friend had been here. The visit had been like a balm on a raw wound—a fleeting light in the gloom. "And if his intent was the trial, then he must be confident of the result. So there's no need for big anxieties. Endure the trial, and my part will be finished. After that, I will also…"
A sharp interruption cut me off. A voice, tense and clipped, came from the reception area.
"Wait a moment. The visitation inside hasn't finished yet."
A cold dread coiled in my stomach. I pivoted sharply toward the sound, my pulse quickening. Two men stood there: one behind the desk, rigid, trying to look official; another by his side, holding a silver tray. My eyes caught the glint of glass from a shattered cup, the shards catching the light. The sound had already lingered in the air—쨍그랑 (JJAENG-GEU-RANG)—a crystalline shiver of warning.
"Visitation hasn't finished yet?" I repeated, my voice low, dangerous.
The official shifted uncomfortably. "What are you talking about? Today's visitation was definitely—"
A deafening crash interrupted him—콰앙! (KWAA-ANG!)—the metallic, forceful slam of a door thrown open somewhere in the secured wing.
Something was terribly wrong.
"SERENA!" I shouted, muscles coiled like springs, breaking into a run without a second thought. The confused officials barely registered my movement.
The room opened up before me, bathed in a sickly, green-tinged light that mocked the ornate interior. And then I saw her: dark hair spilling like ink over her shoulders, eyes wide with raw, terrified panic.
"WHAT THE…" Her voice strained, desperate. "…NONSENSE!!"
Glass littered the floor around her, glinting like shards of a shattered calm. I reached her side instantly, pulling her close behind me. The terror in her eyes was more alarming than any threat around us.
"Are you all right?" My voice trembled, betraying the storm I was trying to contain.
No. She was not all right.
And in that instant, I knew my earlier words—the reassurances, the promise of less worry, the talk of recovery—had been lies. The trial, the calm, the control—I had deceived her. The real battle had only just begun.
---
A Visit from the Past
I had just arrived, shrugging off the rigidity of my coat in the antechamber before stepping into the main room. Dia was standing there, her expression unreadable, like a carefully drawn mask that barely contained the turbulence beneath.
"Who came by?" I asked, adjusting my tie. The weight of the other man's presence lingered in the room, like an invisible specter I couldn't ignore.
"Well… Dia came," the other man said, his tone detached, as if narrating a scene rather than living it. The air thickened, a silent tension pressing against my chest.
Dia turned to me, her features composed yet heavy with something unspoken. "What about? You suddenly showed up and said you had something to tell me."
I drew a slow breath, feeling the past pressing against the present.
"Dia. I…" The name of the man who haunted our lives trembled on my lips. The other man continued, his words flat, observant. "I wasn't someone who hated Victor from the beginning."
I remembered those early days vividly—those rare, fleeting moments of ordinary connection. Greetings exchanged, laughter shared. Dallincourt opera nights, stolen moments of companionship.
"We were definitely… good friends," Dia finished my thought, her voice cold and measured, a eulogy for a friendship that no longer existed.
I could only stare, words failing me. The memory hung in the room like a ghost.
"After Dia and I officially became engaged, the name Victor became an unspoken taboo."
I nodded silently. We never spoke his name. Victor had become a silent poison, a presence so corrosive that even mention of him could unravel everything.
"Except when absolutely necessary, no one brought that name up."
So why now? Why had Dia returned to stir the past, to summon him into the present?
"So why would Dia suddenly drop by and start talking to me about him? Something I never asked and didn't…"
He trailed off, leaving the question hanging, heavy and unresolved. I could only look at the woman before me—the woman I was meant to marry—whose past had walked boldly into the present, shaking the foundation of everything I thought I knew.
---
I stared at her, caught off guard by both her sudden appearance and the subject she had brought—Victor—a shock to the carefully controlled world I had built around myself.
Something I never asked, and didn't want to know?
Dia looked down, her hands clutching each other nervously. "Urgent… Ah, sorry for barging in like this. But I… Dia." She stammered, then forced herself to continue. "Maybe, though."
A strange calm settled over me. I stepped away from the door and gestured toward the chairs.
"I won't chase you off. I'll listen, so sit down."
Perhaps Dia had finally begun the process of clearing out the past. A flicker of hope, fragile and desperate, stirred in the deep, troubled well of my heart. Maybe this was the start of sorting out her feelings for me.
We sat across from each other at the small, polished table.
Dia spoke of Victor for a span of time that was neither fleeting nor overly long. And though she admitted she didn't fully understand why she was saying these things, I suspected the reason.
I see.
Her words weren't merely a clearing of the air; they were an unexpected revelation for me. And one small, long-buried curiosity of mine was finally resolved because of it.
I leaned back in my chair, running a hand across my jaw. The truth of her connection to Victor was far more complex than I had allowed myself to believe.
"I thought you were like me."
The confession escaped before I could stop it—a moment of unguarded vulnerability.
"That my feelings toward Victor were no different than yours: an illness, a bad tie." I searched her eyes, trying to read what lay beneath. "But I actually didn't know."
I paused, letting the raw truth of my miscalculation hang between us.
"I assumed your connection to him was merely an arranged-family tie, that there wasn't any deeper bond."
The silence that followed was all the answer I needed. I had been foolish, arrogant, terrified. I had built a fortress around myself, convinced that her coldness toward Victor mirrored my own resentful distance—so I could pretend there was no serious rival for her heart.
But now she was here. She was speaking. And for the first time, I felt that chilling, exhilarating fear—the fear of realizing I might have gravely misunderstood the true nature of her heart.
Chapter: The Sincerity Behind the Lie
I had confessed my own blindness, laying bare the simple, desperate assumption I'd made:
"I assumed your connection to him was merely an arranged-family tie, that there wasn't any deeper bond."
But I actually didn't know. I hadn't understood the sincerity behind the hand she reached out with—the disdainful expression, the hateful actions.
Something I didn't know…
A profound clarity, sharp and cutting as broken glass, finally pierced my defenses.
I think I understand it now. Back when you were betrothed to me, the reason you sank into unfathomable anguish and clung to such things… at the time our plans were unfolding, I wondered what could be so painful, so heavy.
You made excuses outwardly, but underneath, there was pain… about my brother. My brother, me, and even you—we were all living by deceiving one another. How could any of that have felt easy?
Dia looked up, her expression a mix of regret and necessity.
"I wanted to tell you this even now. Before I got engaged to you, Victor and I were long-time friends."
I listened, my mind piecing together every memory, every subtle shift in the air when his name was accidentally mentioned.
Friendship… Friends.
I leaned forward, tone low, challenging, demanding that she face the truth she had attempted to neatly categorize.
"Do you still not know your own heart, or do you just want to believe that?"
Her forced calm was beginning to crack. Her eyes darted away.
"You're still not straightforward with your feelings."
"I'm sorry," she whispered. "It was in the past, but I felt bad hiding it."
My gaze held hers, unwavering.
"If that had really been mere friendship, there'd be no reason now to confess and apologize like this."
The accusation hung heavy, undeniable. I needed to understand the true measure of her past devotion. I needed to know what was real, and what had been a performance for the public.
What in truth was sincere to you?
Certainly! Here's the polished, novel-style expansion of your final passages, staying strictly up to the text you provided, without continuing the story:
Chapter: A New Beginning
I had just asked the definitive question, the one that exposed all my anxieties:
"What in truth was sincere to you?"
Her answer was immediate, firm, and carried the weight of a truth she had perhaps been holding onto for herself. The image of her former self—the girl who had held hands with Victor—faded, replaced by the clarity of the present.
"I'm sincere."
Those words held the deepest, truest feeling buried in a heart far more complicated than I had realized. I felt the raw weight of that statement, and the potential it contained.
Then, she surprised me by turning the question back on me.
"So, do you regret it?"
I blinked, caught off guard. "…Huh?"
She leaned forward slightly, her expression earnest. "Do you ever regret that I became your fiancée, and not my brother's?"
My response was immediate, instinctive. "…No. Not at all. I never once thought that."
The relief in her eyes was tangible. I continued, trying to contain the leap of emotion I had just made.
"Then nothing is a problem. You and I only held hands when it was necessary."
I settled back in my chair, reflecting on the nature of our past with Victor—the bond that had caused so much confusion. We had been engaged to meet each other's needs, enduring it out of duty and responsibility. The process of breaking that bond had been far from smooth, and at the time, it had felt like the worst possible timing.
But now, in retrospect, it felt… acceptable.
Ultimately, a bond formed out of necessity ended when the need vanished. That was natural.
Dia watched me, then spoke with a quiet vulnerability that cut through my structured thoughts. She used the name only those closest to me knew.
"Eiser, I… I thought you'd never forgive me for the rest of your life."
I looked at her and no longer saw a complicated, deceptive girl. I saw a woman facing her painful past and daring to look toward the future—a future that included me.
I pictured us standing together on a high terrace, the city stretched out beneath us, the light of a new day breaking over the horizon.
Thinking about it… starting anew with you might not be such a bad idea.
A memory, a phantom image of a possible future, flashed through my mind, and I heard the words I had longed to hear:
I like you, Leinz.
The honesty between us, though painful, had cleared a path. The time for deception was over. Now, we had only the sincerity of the present and the hope of tomorrow.
Dia looked at me, using the familiar name, her voice weighted with the relief of a truth finally spoken.
"I thought you'd never forgive me for the rest of your life."
My gaze softened, though the deep scars of betrayal remained.
"Of course, I can't forget the terrible betrayal and deceit back then." I admitted, the bitterness still present but now muted. "This ease you see now is thanks to Serena, and because I've already burned away and sorted out unnecessary emotions."
I took a slow breath, letting the statement sink in.
"It's all in the past. We were in the same pit; it's not impossible to understand each other now."
A painful mirroring of our shared history and the toxic environment that shaped us both dawned on me.
"Ah, perhaps. The spiteful feelings I showed you… were they maybe a projection of my brother?"
I shook my head, answering my own question.
"Back then, I resented and blamed you because I thought what you did was wrong, and the best you could do was unfair. But now I can understand, to some extent."
I acknowledged her complex motives, recognizing the difficult choices she had faced.
I had come to a new understanding of my own capacity—a frightening acceptance of the lengths I would go to for the sake of what was truly mine. Sometimes, beliefs change for someone else. I realized too that I might use any means and methods.
The world was ruthless, and if I wanted a future with her—a real future—I had to be prepared to defend it fiercely.
"Therefore, I'll use any means necessary to protect what must be protected from now on. Even if I have to become the same kind of monster as them."
I looked back at Dia, the resolve in my heart hardening into a promise. My words dismissed the past and blessed the future.
"So bury our past connection and end it. There's no need to be sorry, no need to hold any feelings. Just find whatever will make you happy, Dia."
The tension finally eased from her shoulders. Her eyes were still shadowed, but the light of understanding shone through.
"I sincerely want you to be at peace."
She looked at me, and in that silent, profound moment, we acknowledged the tumultuous path that had brought us to this fragile truce. We were starting over—not from love or friendship, but from bare, shared honesty, built on a mutual desire for peace.
Absolutely! Here's the polished, novel-style expansion of your final passages, maintaining the first-person perspective and tension, strictly up to the passage you provided:
Chapter: The True Reason
I had offered Dia peace, a sincere farewell to her past connection with Victor, but the look in her eyes told me the conversation wasn't over. My assumption—that her visit was purely about emotional closure—evaporated as she fidgeted with the hem of her skirt.
"While you've somehow grown into a far more mature adult than me," she said, her voice laced with self-deprecation I found frustrating.
I cut her off, my gaze sharp. "Is that all you came to say? That can't be the only reason you came." The confession about Victor, while significant, felt like an elaborate prelude.
Dia's composure fractured, replaced by a desperate, worried expression.
"...This was something I planned to keep secret from you and Serena," she confessed, the silence in the room suddenly oppressive. "But Victor knows. So I can't not tell you either. If Victor knows, it's nonsense that you wouldn't know."
My posture stiffened. Victor's knowledge was the ultimate complication. If he had information he could leverage, it threatened the carefully balanced future I was building.
The atmosphere around us grew colder, the ornate room fading into a dangerous backdrop as she finally spoke the words I hadn't wanted to hear.
"It concerns the carriage accident involving the Serenity family."
I held my breath. The accident. Serena's family. A dark knot formed in my stomach. This wasn't about a broken heart—it was about power, murder, and the future of the entire Dukedom.
Dia looked away, unable to meet my eyes as she continued, the red glow in the room underscoring the gravity of her words.
"I… I was looking for a loyal place near Serena, and I met Frederick while I was in the Republic. While checking into him, I found out something."
Her investigation, conducted quietly and outside my notice, had uncovered a truth that could tear our fragile alliance apart.
"That fact was decisive; it was also the reason I could bend Frederick to my will."
The implications hit me like a physical blow. Dia hadn't just been passively mourning; she had been actively seeking leverage—a shield to protect Serena, even if it meant dealing in dangerous secrets. The truth about the accident—the tragedy that had set so much of our recent history in motion—was known.
My jaw tightened. "Know who caused that accident."
Dia's urgent confession had morphed from a personal reckoning into a political crisis. Her final words confirmed my worst fear: the war was not just political; it was personal, and the greatest weapon was the truth she now held—a truth Victor also knew.
I listened, my focus entirely on the man who stood before me—Leinz. The urgency he carried was a stark contrast to the luxurious ease of the room. The air was thick with unspoken strategy and undeniable danger.
"I need to know what you think I should do," Leinz said, his eyes drilling into mine.
I stood there, the weight of Dia's explosive secret about the Serenity family carriage accident still chilling the room. The truth about the accident… it was the key to everything, the poison at the root of my family's downfall.
I swallowed, forcing myself to be pragmatic. "Don't do anything for now," I advised him.
His expression remained unreadable, but I could sense his impatience.
"What?"
I held his gaze, my conviction hardening. "We have to watch Frederick and Victor's movements." They were the ones who held the exposed thread of the conspiracy. "They're not stupid enough to move carelessly now that they know I'm aware of it."
My mind raced, laying out the timeline, assessing the threat. "Victor's movements. They're what concern me." Dia's past connection with him might have provided him more than just emotional leverage.
Leinz conceded with a slight nod, the faintest hint of worry crossing his features. "Victor… he will think the next step is to get rid of you first."
That was the heart of the matter. My existence was the largest remaining obstacle to his ambition. I couldn't afford to be naive.
"I need to know the cause of the accident, even if I have to put you in danger." My voice was steady, acknowledging the calculated risk we were facing. I had to be cruel, for both our sakes.
"I know you can do it," I told him, a cold resolve settling over me.
He was my only tool now. I couldn't show him weakness. My emotions could not cloud the strategic necessity. My protection, my vengeance—it all depended on his ruthlessness.
Leinz looked at me, a flicker of something raw in his eyes, before he accepted the cold demand.
"I will. I'll take care of it."
I watched him go, the closing of the door a muffled punctuation mark on our deadly arrangement. I knew what I was asking of him. I was asking him to become the monster he was already resigned to being.
Even though I am the one saying these things… my hand trembled slightly, but I clenched my fist, burying the momentary guilt. I wish I didn't have to.
I remembered the gentle sincerity in Leinz's eyes from earlier—the man who had burned away his unnecessary emotions to protect what he valued.
Leinz… I know it's too much for you.
But the goal was everything. I had to continue to push him, to remind him of the stakes, until the bitter end. Until the truth that murdered my family was finally exposed, and the perpetrators paid the price.
Leinz was now preparing to act on the information to uncover the full truth about the accident.
Certainly! Here's the polished, novel-style expansion of your passage, maintaining the first-person perspective of the male narrator ("I"), staying strictly up to the scene you provided:
Chapter: A Monster's Resolve
I walked through the long hall, the echo of my footsteps mocking the silence. I had just promised her I would uncover the truth of the accident—even if it meant placing myself in harm's way.
I have to take care of it.
My hand rubbed the spot on my cheek where her finger had just been—a phantom touch of cold determination.
"Ah, this is bad," I muttered to myself. The lingering warmth of her hand, the weight of her demand, felt like both a blessing and a curse.
I stopped abruptly, turning my back to the empty hall.
This feeling is a dangerous one.
It wasn't fear of Victor, nor resentment toward Dia. It was the thrill of the chase—the terrible excitement of being given permission to unleash the darkness I usually kept caged. I was entrusted with the key to her safety, and that trust unlocked something primal within me.
If I don't use this, I feel like I'll regret it for the rest of my life.
I had lived by calculation, by duty, by necessity. But for her, I was ready to step outside those cold parameters.
"I'll use any means, any method."
I closed my eyes, recalling the soft curve of her throat in a moment of vulnerability—a constant reminder of what I had sworn to protect. The feeling was selfish, consuming, terrifyingly strong.
I don't care if I become a monster, either.
The true monster wasn't my brother, Victor. The true monster was the ambition that demanded deception, and the absolute power I now craved to secure our future.
I pulled out my phone, the screen lighting up to illuminate the hard set of my jaw. This was no moment for subtlety.
We need to be faster than Victor.
He has the knowledge; I have the means. The race was now purely tactical.
"I need information that will destroy them both," I said, my voice low, harsh, echoing in the silent room. I knew exactly who to call.
"Get me everything on the Serenity family accident. The original report, witness interviews, even the autopsy reports that were supposedly 'lost' in the fire. I want to know who was involved and where the money trail leads."
I spoke quickly, efficiently, delivering my commands into the receiver.
"Yes. Also, I need to know every single transaction between Frederick and Victor over the last two years. Every letter, every meeting. Dig up every piece of dirt until you find the one thing they're terrified of me discovering."
I ended the call, the phone dropping back into my pocket. The battle had officially begun. Victor's move would be to target her; mine would be to destroy the foundation on which he stood.
A cold, determined calm finally settled over me. The pain of the past was gone, replaced by a singular, consuming goal.
"This is fine. I'm going to protect you."
I stood at the foot of the cold, stone steps, the last words I'd spoken echoing in the silence of the facility. The air was heavy, thick with the scent of sterile disinfectant and old stone.
"Serena's trial will be held in a few days," I said, my voice deliberately measured. "After your friend visited, you've noticeably recovered and looked much better. So there should be less to worry about now."
I paused, thinking of her friend's visit—a balm on a raw wound, it seemed. "And if his intent was the trial, then he must be confident of the result, so there's no need for big anxieties. So, if you can just endure through the trial, my part will be finished. After that, I will also…"
A sharp interruption cut me off—a voice from the reception area I recognized immediately.
"Wait a moment. The visitation inside hasn't finished yet."
A sudden, cold dread seized me. I turned sharply toward the commotion near the entrance. An official stood stiffly behind his desk, another man near him. I saw the glint of glass from a shattered object on a silver tray the other man was holding—a broken water glass. The sound of it breaking, 쨍그랑 (JJAENG-GEU-RANG), seemed to hang in the air a moment later.
My blood ran cold. Visitations were over.
"Visitation hasn't finished yet?" I repeated, my tone dangerous.
The official, visibly uncomfortable under my gaze, tried to maintain his composure. "What are you talking about? Today's visitation was definitely—"
Suddenly, a loud, crashing sound, 콰앙! (KWAA-ANG!), erupted from within the secured wing. It sounded like a door being thrown open with brutal force.
Something was terribly wrong.
"SERENA!" I shouted, my entire body tensing as I broke into a run, ignoring the confused officials.
I burst through the door, the dark, rich interior of the room coming into view—a room lit by a sickly, green light that seemed to mock the grandeur. My eyes found the scene in an instant: Serena, her dark hair a wild cascade around her, her eyes wide with terrifying, wild panic.
"WHAT THE…" she cried, her voice strained. "…NONSENSE!!"
The glass fragments on the floor around her suggested a violent, desperate outburst. I rushed to her side, pulling her slightly behind me, shielding her from whatever was happening. The sheer terror in her eyes was more unsettling than any violence.
"Are you all right?" I asked, my breath ragged, my focus entirely on her, on keeping her safe.
No. She was not all right. And I knew, with sickening certainty, that everything I had told her minutes ago—about her recovery, about being less worried, about the trial—was a lie. The moment I saw her face, I knew the battle was far from over.
Certainly! Here's a polished novel-style expansion of your passage, maintaining the first-person perspective for Serena and following the heir's perspective as "he," up to the passage you indicated:
Chapter: The Price of Vindications
"Yes, once you're vindicated, that'll be enough for you. And in the praise and admiration of people, you'll regain reputation and rank. Right?" My voice was low, cutting through the stifling silence of the room. I watched the man—the supposed heir—stand tall and unyielding.
"You can't clear it without evidence, and invisible injustices remain unknown to the world."
My eyes narrowed, a cold appraisal of his rigid posture. "It's laughable that you plan to hold an entire public trial to clear your family's name while ignoring a closer injustice. So before the trial, you should at least know this."
He finally spoke, his deep voice carrying a tremor of impatience. "What are you trying to say now?"
"If you're going to be the head of the family, you should face how your parents met their end. To leave a proper family chronicle."
I took a slow step back, the pale silk of my dress rustling softly against the thick carpet. "There are many kinds of death."
He only stared, his handsome face frozen in question. "…What?"
My words came out in a steady, measured rhythm, like a eulogy for the unknowing. "Noble sacrifices, tragic accidents, choices someone made, betrayals by others, futile soldiers, quiet deaths from the passage of years, or simply pointless, senseless deaths."
I tilted my head, the green light from the window catching the strange, faint color in my eyes. The silence stretched, heavy and expectant. My gaze pierced him, demanding a truth he hadn't yet dared to seek.
"Which category do you suppose your parents' deaths fall into?"
The delicate porcelain vase on the nearby table seemed to shiver under the weight of my question. I heard the faint, unsettling sound of his sharp intake of breath as the finality of my challenge settled between us.
My question hung in the air: "Which category do you suppose your parents' deaths fall into?"
He stared at me, his eyes widening. For a terrifying, fleeting moment, the veneer of his composure broke.
"WHAT THE NONSENSE!!"
The sound of shattering glass filled the room—JJAENG GEU REONG!—a vase, perhaps, or a mere trinket, falling to the floor, punctuating the explosion of his rage.
"Serena!"
I didn't flinch. My pale blue eyes locked onto his emerald ones. I had struck a nerve. The heir—the powerful man who was so confident in his upcoming public trial—was rattled by the mention of his parents' true end.
Another man, one of the officers in the green uniform, rushed in, drawn by the crash. "Are you all right?" he asked, concern etched on his face as he looked from me—composed but intense—to the heir, whose back was now turned to me.
The heir dismissed him abruptly. "What are you talking about? Today's visitation was definitely—"
The officer, however, remained rooted to the spot, looking utterly confused as he stared past the heir toward the entry hall.
"Wait a moment. The visitation inside hasn't finished yet."
Visitation hasn't finished yet?
The officer was speaking to someone in the hall—a colleague, perhaps, or a supervisor. The heir turned, his brow furrowed, trying to comprehend the interruption and the strange report. The officer continued, delivering his piece of news with practiced formality.
"Serena's trial will be held in a few days. After your friend visited, you've noticeably recovered and looked much better. So there should be less to worry about now. And if his intent was the trial, then he must be confident of the result, so there's no need for big anxieties."
He paused, gathering himself. "So if you can just endure through the trial, my part will be finished. After that, I will also…"
The officer's words—meant to be reassuring—were a strange echo of the man's own confidence earlier. They spoke of the public, sanctioned event—the trial—while ignoring the hidden, private truth I had just dropped at his feet. They spoke of an expected outcome, entirely disconnected from the closer injustice I had just revealed.
I watched the heir—the man I was supposed to be comforting—as he turned to look at me. A profound mixture of suspicion and fury now replaced his confusion. He had just been told his friend's visit helped him recover, yet I—the current visitor—was the one who had just broken his calm. He was realizing I had come not to support his public cleansing, but to expose a fatal flaw in his foundation.
Here's a polished continuation of your novel expansion, keeping the first-person perspective for Serena and following the heir's reaction, up to the passage you specified:
Chapter: The Spy's Scar
The heir, reeling from the sound of shattering glass and the confusing interruption, spun back around. Fury gave way to a dangerous calculation in his eyes. He heard the officer's words about his friend's visit and realized the officer had confused me—the bringer of doom—with someone else entirely.
KWAAANG!
"Serena!" he roared, a genuine explosion of shock and betrayal as he finally understood the nature of my presence. He was about to physically restrain me, demanding an explanation, when a sudden, unfamiliar voice cut through the tense air from the doorway.
"Hmm? It's a bizarre contradiction. This is a terribly strange picture."
I smiled faintly, turning my gaze to the entrance. The speaker was a man whose pale eyes contrasted sharply with his dark, slicked-back hair. Most striking of all, a stitched-up, severe scar ran across his jawline and lip. This was the man the officer had spoken to—the one who was meant to comfort the heir.
He strode into the room, his demeanor one of unsettling curiosity. "I'm honestly curious. Even if you didn't know in the past, do you still trust that man now and allow him by your side?" he asked, not of the heir, but of me, the subject of the trial.
The heir glared at him, utterly disoriented. "What are you talking about? Today's visitation was definitely—"
The scar-faced man ignored him, addressing the general situation with chilling detachment. "If you knew and still allowed it, that's some stomach. If you didn't know, that's serious too."
He paused, letting his cold blue eyes rake over the rigid heir before settling on me. I knew he was referring to the man the heir had mistaken for his comforting 'friend.'
"The fact that he was a spy is only the beginning," I stated softly, stepping closer to the heir, forcing him to face me again, though my words were meant for the man in the doorway. The man who had been the trusted pillar of his recovery.
"Those who send spies always plant a bomb somewhere deep inside the heart, something they can pull to control a person."
My gaze met the heir's. The public trial was only a performance. The real danger, the real injustice, lay in the venom of the betrayal he had harbored close to his chest for so long. He had been so focused on clearing the public name of his family that he had been blind to the silent, personal, far more lethal threat living under his own roof. The scar-faced man's presence—the true visitor—only served to highlight how catastrophically exposed the heir truly was.
The heir, his face a mask of confusion, struggled to reconcile the officer's words about his 'friend' with my accusations and the presence of the scar-faced man, who now stood utterly composed in the doorway.
My voice was quiet, yet it felt like a thunderclap in the room. "The fact that he was a spy is only the beginning. Those who send spies always plant a bomb somewhere deep inside the heart, something they can pull to control a person."
I looked directly into his eyes, which held a mixture of green fire and dawning terror. "Such a secret is usually necessary to manipulate a high-value Republic figure at will."
The heir's body visibly stiffened. He was a high-value Republic figure.
"You didn't even know this critical fact," I continued, pressing the wound deeper. "And are still relying on him."
My words landed like blows, and for a horrible, blinding second, I seemed to sense something within him—a flicker of recognition. At that moment, a memory I'd briefly forgotten surged back.
A damn uneasy recollection returned, simultaneous and sharp.
I saw the memory, quick as lightning: a flash of a conversation between two women, one threatening the other. One day you suddenly said you'd quit, so I made a threat that was almost blackmail—and it had worked.
This was the nature of the control. Not just over the spy, but the bomb planted deep within his life, perhaps within the heart of the person he loved or trusted most.
The scar-faced man stepped forward, his cold blue eyes glittering with genuine malice as he addressed the heir. "No, it'd be more fun to ask you instead."
He smiled, but the movement only pulled the stitched scar into a hideous grimace. "How did it feel when you belatedly realized the bomb planted in you? Huh?"
The heir finally broke. The public disgrace, the vindication, the death of his parents—all faded as the reality of his deep, personal manipulation crashed over him. His posture sagged, the uniform suddenly looking too heavy.
The scar-faced man didn't let up. His question was laced with venomous curiosity. "Do you still think you deserve to protect that person?"
The heir looked at me, then down at his hands, then back at me. His eyes were full of anguish and dawning clarity. He was completely exposed, stripped of his supposed confidence and illusion of control. He had been so obsessed with clearing the public record, he had allowed himself to become the perfect tool for a far darker scheme.
"…What?" he whispered, his voice cracking. The question was a hollow echo of the one I had asked him earlier.
This stops precisely at the passage you requested.
Here's the polished continuation of your scene, keeping the first-person perspective for Serena and following the heir's devastating realization, up to the passage you specified:
🌪️ The Dread That Swallowed Me
The scar-faced man's question—"Do you still think you deserve to protect that person?"—hung heavy, twisting the heir's features into raw, agonizing doubt. He had been so focused on external vindication, he had missed the bomb planted within.
My attention, however, was drawn inward. The memory I had just accessed—the conversation between two women, one threatening the other with past knowledge—unlocked a torrent of unwanted sensation.
The dread that swallowed me in an instant.
An atmosphere so close to terror and unease, a nauseating sense of being out of place, an instinctive certainty that chilled every drop of blood…
My inner voice screamed with a knowledge I had been avoiding. Whatever Victor says, his words will be true, and that would be the moment to finally know something I hadn't known.
I gripped my hands tightly, knuckles white against the pale silk of my dress. This Victor—the man who claimed to be a friend, the one whose quitting had been averted by blackmail—was the true nexus of the conspiracy.
Then, the final, crushing piece of the puzzle slammed into my mind. The heir's parents' death—the thing he intended to clear with a grand public trial—wasn't a tragic accident, or a simple fatality.
The truth burst forth, fueled by the sheer terror of my sudden realization. My voice was no longer cool or challenging, but sharp with horror.
"That the person who caused the carriage to go over the cliff, the accident that killed that child's parents—"
I turned my eyes back to the heir, who was still staring at me, paralyzed by the previous accusation of his friend being a spy. I finished the sentence, and the name, the truth, was a death knell to his family's honor.
"—was your own paternal aunt."
The silence that followed my final declaration was absolute, broken only by the sharp, ragged sound of the heir's breathing. He stood frozen, his emerald eyes, once so defiant, now completely glazed over, fixed on some unseen point in the opulent room.
His public trial, the vindication he craved, the reputation he planned to restore—all were worthless now. His parents' death wasn't a tragedy of circumstance or political enemies; it was a brutal, intimate act of murder by the hand of kin. The invisible injustice I had warned him about was the secret he had instinctively buried, a secret his family had perpetuated for years.
I watched him, a wave of cold pity washing over my fear.
"How long did you plan to keep hiding it?"
THAT THE PERSON WHO CAUSED THE CARRIAGE TO GO OVER THE CLIFF, THE ACCIDENT THAT KILLED THAT CHILD'S PARENTS-
WAS YOUR OWN PATERNAL AUNT."
A cold dread coiled in my gut, tightening until my chest ached. The ambient light of the room—a sickly, vivid green that illuminated the deep shadows—did nothing to dispel the darkness gathering in my mind. My eyes, wide and heavy-lidded from shock, were fixed on the person who had just delivered the devastating news.
My mind was a chaotic, spinning blur of desperate denial and horrifying confirmation. Every nerve ending felt raw, exposed to a sudden, painful truth. It was a twist so cruel, so unimaginable, that it stole the very breath from my lungs.
The words echoed in the silence, ringing like a death knell: "WAS YOUR OWN PATERNAL AUNT."
No, I thought, a silent scream trapped behind gritted teeth. It can't be true.
The realization was a punch to the soul. My gaze dropped, then rose again, tracing the features of my own reflection in a window pane—pale, almost translucent skin, dark hair tumbling around my shoulders like a shroud, and eyes that felt too large, too wounded.
This revelation shattered everything I thought I knew, collapsing the foundation of my past into dust. The truth wasn't a stranger's act of malice, but a betrayal woven into the very fabric of my family. It was kin. My own paternal aunt. The one I was raised to trust, to respect, the one who was supposed to be family.
The light in the room shifted, turning the green glow into something more sinister, more toxic. I felt a tear track a burning path down my cheek. The world was tilting. There was no escape from this devastating, sickening reality. She was not a mere enemy, but a viper I had allowed close to my heart.
This stops exactly at the moment of the tear and the recognition of betrayal, matching the passage you indicated.





I am so excited for season 4 and let's wait upto next spring 🌱🌼😚