Serena let out a weak, fractured gasp, her vision beginning to swimmingly dissolve. ...Diah, what exactly is she trying to do? The thought spun chaotically in her mind. Every calculated threat, every bruising grip, and now this sudden surge of intense, focused guidance-none of it made sense.
...Do I look like a joke to you?
Serena bit her lower lip, trying to ground herself against the sudden waves of vertigo washing over her. She knew who Diah was. She knew the poison this woman was capable of pouring into the lives of everyone around her. There's no way she's worried about me, so why...
"Why are you doing this to me?" Serena managed to whisper, her voice cracking as she tried to pull away from Diah's steadying arm. "Why are you suddenly pretending to be so kind?"
Seeing Diah's intensely focused expression only deepened the twisting knot in Serena's chest. The nurse was acting with an urgency that mirrored genuine panic, her sharp features tightened in alarm. Acting like she really means it...
Serena's heart regularized into a heavy, painful thud. A bitter, cold reality took hold. Even if she truly regrets it, what does that change now? To me, it's nothing but deception.
"I don't want it, so get out...!" Serena choked out, her voice dropping to an absolute gasp as the room suddenly tilted violently.
The world went dark at the edges. The opulent dressing room, the shattered glass on the floor, and Diah's piercing gaze all blurred into a hazy, trembling mess. Serena's knees finally buckled completely. Her body swayed, losing all equilibrium as she fell forward into the void.
"What's wrong?! Are you okay?!" Diah's voice burst through the fog, entirely stripped of its malicious composure.
"Serena!!"
Before Serena could strike the cold marble tiles, Diah lunged forward, catching the collapsing heiress in her arms with a dull thud. Serena's head fell limply against Diah's shoulder, her consciousness slipping away entirely into a suffocating, dark heat.
Diah's eyes widened in sudden horror as she gathered the frail woman closer. Oh no. I knew her arm felt hot, but her entire body is burning up.
Panic leaked into Diah's expression as she lifted Serena, realizing just how little resistance the heiress could offer. This is bad! How did she endure such a high fever?
Hours later, the grand master bedroom was filled with the quiet, rhythmic ticking of a clock and the hushed whispers of medical staff. Serena lay motionless beneath the heavy silk sheets of her bed, her pale face framed by her dark hair, looking painfully small against the vastness of the mattress.
"If you had arrived even a little later, she would've been in serious danger," a senior doctor murmured, standing at the foot of the bed while looking over the charts.
Diah sat quietly on the edge of the adjoining stool, her uniform slightly rumpled, her gaze fixed entirely on the unconscious heiress. The fiery, aggressive strategist from the dressing room was gone, replaced by a silent observer watching the shallow rise and fall of Serena's chest.
"The wounds on her feet," the doctor continued, shaking his head in sheer disbelief, "and a fever this high must have been unbearable... she's incredible."
He turned away to prepare a fresh intravenous drip, his voice softening. "I'm just relieved we caught it in time."
Beside the bed, Serena's bandaged feet rested beneath the covers, neatly wrapped in clean white linen. She slept heavily, the dangerous flush of the fever finally beginning to recede, completely unaware of the complex, dangerous web still spinning around her.
The older head nurse sighed, adjusting the pristine medical cap on her head as she looked down at the fitful, sleeping heiress. "I'm just relieved we managed to get her to take the fever medicine today, thanks to Diah."
Diah stood perfectly still, her profile cut sharp against the dim, heavy curtains of the master suite. Her expression didn't soften at the praise. If anything, a cold, clinical pragmatism settled deeper into her features.
It only worked because she was delirious, Diah thought, her gaze tracing the pale, sweat-slicked line of Serena's jaw. It won't be that easy again.
She knew the absolute wall of hatred Serena built against her. The only reason those bitter lips had parted to swallow the sedative was because the fever had melted the heiress's sharp mind into a chaotic fog. Once the clarity of waking life returned, that stubborn pride would instantly snap back into place.
There's a limit to both forcing medicine on her and her ability to hold on, Diah mused, her eyes narrowing slightly.
Diah shifted her gaze to her own hands, clasped neatly over her white apron. Her thoughts wandered into the deeper, psychological trap they were all trapped in.
Whether it's food or medicine, she has to take at least a little if she wants to survive... So why is she pushing herself until she collapses like this...?
The answer was painfully obvious, even to someone as detached as her. The older nurse stepped closer to the bedside, her weathered face lined with a deep, professional pity.
"There are probably several reasons she refuses the medicine," the older woman murmured softly, looking around the lavishly appointed room. "For one, this is a detention cell. It may look comfortable, but it's still a prison."
Diah remained silent, letting the head nurse speak.
"In a place like this, it's only natural for her to distrust medicine handed over by a stranger," the older woman continued, smoothing down the edges of Serena's heavy blanket. "I also know she's incredibly sensitive. And she spent her entire life under the care of personal physicians. You could tell just from how she never even let anyone touch her."
A sharp click broke the heavy quiet of the room as the door latch shifted.
The older nurse turned toward the sound, her brow furrowing. "Either way, like you said, the fever reducer and medicine are only temporary. I'm worried she won't be able to endure much longer, and her..." She paused, looking back at the frail form on the bed. "Her body was already weakened from being locked in the..."
Realizing the sensitivity of the situation, the head nurse cut herself off, stepping toward the exit. "For now... I'll go get more water and fever medicine, so please stay with her for a moment."
"Understood," Diah replied quietly, her voice smooth and entirely unreadable.
As the head nurse stepped out into the grand, polished corridor, the rhythmic, soft thud of approaching footsteps caught her attention. Tack, tack, tack...
An elegant, imposing figure walked down the center of the hallway. The head nurse blinked in surprise, recognizing the formal attire instantly. Hmm? That's an aide from the Prime Minister's office... Meses?
The man stopped just outside the door, his posture rigid, his cold, calculating eyes fixing onto the nurse with an absolute authority that brooked no delay.
"His Excellency the Prime Minister is requesting you," Meses stated, his voice clipping the quiet air like iron. "Please come with me for a moment."
The heavy oak door clicked shut, sealing out the muted voices of the head nurse and the Prime Minister's imposing aide, Meses. Silence instantly reclaimed the master suite, thick and suffocating. Left entirely alone with the unconscious heiress, Diah let the rigid, professional mask slip from her face.
She stared down at her hands, tightly clasped against the fabric of her skirt. The faint, rhythmic sound of Serena's shallow breathing filled the space, pulling Diah's mind backward into a flood of memories she had long tried to bury.
...Sometimes I think back to that time, Diah thought, her chest tightening with an unexpected ache.
Her mind drifted back to the very beginning-to the first day she had laid eyes on the proud, untouchable daughter of the De Laurent family.
The day I thought you looked like a snow-white winter ermine.
Back then, Serena had seemed so ethereal, surrounded by a flawless aura of wealth and privilege, completely oblivious to the vultures circling her. Diah remembered the cold calculation that had driven her own actions.
"I approached you with an ulterior motive..."
It had been a calculated game of survival and espionage. Yet, as the days bled into weeks, the cold facade Diah maintained began to crack. Spending time with Serena hadn't been the tedious chore she had anticipated.
...No. To be honest, it was different. It's rare to meet someone who shares such similar interests and tastes.
Diah remembered the quiet moments they shared over delicate tea sets and imported sweets, the rare flashes of genuine, unfiltered emotion from the heiress. Beneath the rigid hierarchy of mistress and servant, a fragile, unspoken bond had briefly flickered.
Diah looked back at the bed. Serena lay perfectly still, her long dark hair spread across the white pillows, looking every bit as fragile as that winter ermine she had once resembled.
Then I found myself wondering... If we had met under different circumstances, maybe we really could've become close friends, like sisters.
A bitter, self-deprecating smile touched Diah's lips for a fraction of a second. You were right, she admitted silently to the sleeping woman. The reality we live in doesn't allow for such beautiful illusions.
Her thoughts shifted to the intricate, destructive web Serena had entangled herself in. The endless power struggles, the haunting memories, and the suffocating shadow of Eiser.
So if you want to survive and protect De Laurent, start by facing reality. The place you should be focusing your strength isn't the past, Eiser, or me. It's the one thing that's truly threatening and ruining your life.
Diah closed her eyes, remembering the devastating choices that had fractured their world. Looking back now, none of you were wrong. But if it had been me, I never would've made the same choice. I would've faced it despite the fear. Or fought until the very end so nothing could be taken from me, even if it cost me my life.
The memory of an old, authoritative voice suddenly echoed in Diah's mind-recollections of the old master, sitting quietly in his study, watching them with piercing, disappointed eyes.
"Back then... I just couldn't admit it. At her age, she was too busy walking on eggshells around me. Honestly, I wish she had been a little bolder."
Diah's hands suddenly clenched into tight, trembling fists against her lap, the fabric straining under her fingers. The hesitation, the fear, the constant running-it all ended here.
So I'm done running away.
She opened her eyes, her gaze fixing onto Serena with a fierce, unwavering intensity. There was no warmth left in her expression, only an ironclad, absolute determination. She knew the depths of her own sins. She knew the betrayal she had orchestrated.
I have no intention of asking for forgiveness with words alone, Diah resolved, her jaw tightening as she looked upon the pale face of the woman she had compromised. Because I know I don't have that right.
The silence of the room pressed heavily against Diah's shoulders. Dressed in the pristine, rigid uniform of a nurse, she sat by the bedside, staring down at the pale, unconscious form of Serena. The golden light filtering through the window pane caught the delicate threads of her hair, but there was no warmth left in the atmosphere.
Diah's gaze didn't waver. Her amber eyes carried a heavy, somber resolve as she looked at the woman who had once been her mistress, her companion, and ultimately, the target of her deception.
"But if the chance ever comes, I will repay the debt I owe both you and Eiser."
The vow echoed clearly in the quiet chambers of her mind. It wasn't a plea for redemption, nor was it a request for a lighter sentence when the dust finally settled. It was a cold, calculated transaction of the soul-a promise born from the remnants of a bond she had broken. Diah knew exactly what she had done, and she knew the wreckage her choices had left behind.
She shifted slightly, the crisp fabric of her uniform rustling softly in the quiet room. Serena lay entirely still, her long dark hair cascading over the white pillows, caught in a fragile, deep sleep that kept her blessedly unaware of the gathering storm outside.
Diah looked away, turning her back to the bed. The weight of her thoughts pulled her downward into a stark realization.
"I suppose that's... the last apology I can offer you both."
Words were cheap. A mere "I'm sorry" could not stitch back together the lives she had helped tear apart. If she wanted to offer any semblance of a true apology, it would have to be written in actions, in sacrifices, and in ensuring that the final pieces of this destructive game fell exactly where they needed to.
"So at least this time... I won't be left with any regrets."
Meanwhile, far from the quiet sanctuary of the medical suite, the dark undercurrents of the estate had already begun to boil over.
ONE DAY BEFORE THE TRIAL
The words hung in the dim, opulently appointed study like an executioner's blade. The heavy mahogany desk, the towering bookshelves, and the dim, atmospheric candlelight did nothing to soften the blow of the news that had just arrived.
"Dustin is dead?"
Nile, the Grayan family's eldest butler, stood with his head bowed, his face lined with the deep, grim creases of a lifetime spent managing the secrets of powerful men. His voice was low, carrying the chilling finality of the grave.
"I apologize for informing you so late. He was found collapsed in his room. Although the medical team rushed over immediately, he had already passed away."
The silence that followed was suffocating. The air grew visibly colder as the implications of the loss began to set in.
"Furthermore, by Victor's orders, news of Dustin's death was kept completely hidden from the..."
The report cut off as a shadow fell across the room. Standing in the half-light, Eiser listened to the butler's report, his sharp profile carved from marble, his eyes dark with an unreadable, lethal calculation. The board was shifting rapidly, and the trial hadn't even begun.
The words hung in the dim, opulently appointed study like an executioner's blade. The heavy mahogany desk, the towering bookshelves, and the dim, flickering candlelight did nothing to soften the blow of the news that had just arrived.
"Dustin is dead?"
Nile, the Grayan family's eldest butler, stood with his head bowed, his face lined with the deep, grim creases of a lifetime spent managing the secrets of powerful men. His voice was low, carrying the chilling finality of the grave.
"I apologize for informing you so late. He was found collapsed in his room. Although the medical team rushed over immediately, he had already passed away."
Eiser stood near the window, his silhouette sharp against the dark room. He listened intently as the butler continued. "Furthermore, by Victor's orders, news of Dustin's death was kept completely hidden from the-"
Eiser's gaze sharpened, his piercing blue eyes fixed entirely on the old man.
Although he was elderly, there had been no obvious signs that his health was failing.
The suddenness of it settled heavily in Eiser's chest, sparking an immediate, cold skepticism. So the fact that he suddenly collapsed and died is highly suspicious.
He paced slightly, his mind dissecting the political landscape of the estate. Delaying the public announcement of his death isn't entirely unreasonable. It's a common tactic to buy time, prevent internal chaos, and maintain control. Victor was playing a calculated game, hiding the body until the trial concluded.
But no matter how long I've been away from the family, hiding his death from me until now means...
Eiser stopped pacing, turning fully toward the loyal servant.
"Nile," Eiser said, his voice dropping into a dangerous, quiet register. "I know better than anyone how you devoted your entire life to the Grayan family, and how you stayed by my father's side until the very end, even after Victor became the head."
Nile remained motionless, his head dipped, his eyes hidden behind the glint of his spectacles.
"Knowing that," Eiser pressed, stepping closer, his presence commanding the dim room, "are you absolutely certain there isn't a single lie in what you just told me about my father's death?"
The old butler closed his eyes, his shoulders tightening subtly under his crisp suit. The silence stretched between them, thick with unsaid truths and buried histories. When Nile finally spoke, his voice was heavy with a forced, painful compliance.
"...I apologize, Young Master. I cannot tell you anything beyond that."
Eiser's fist clenched tightly at his side. Nile served Dustin for his entire life. Even after Victor became the head of the family, that loyalty didn't simply vanish. If Nile was refusing to speak, it wasn't out of malice-it was out of a deep-seated fear or a final, binding command.
In that case...
Eiser's icy blue eyes locked onto Nile, glittering with an unyielding, lethal determination.
"Then let me ask you another way."
The heavy silence stretched between them, thick with unsaid truths and buried histories. Eiser stood motionless, the dim candlelight catching the sharp, dangerous angles of his profile. His mind reeled backward, dragged into the recesses of a memory he had tried desperately to parse.
That conversation I had with my father in Victor's office last time...
The memory manifested in his mind with the heavy, unyielding weight of an iron scale. He could still hear the ghost of his father's voice, a grim bargain struck in the quiet corners of the estate.
"I will deal with Victor. If his life is the price for that, I've already accepted it. On these scales, I'll place my own life as well."
A cold realization began to dawn on Eiser. The sudden collapse, the tightly kept secret, the suffocating timing right before the trial-it wasn't a tragic twist of fate. It was a calculated orchestration.
His piercing blue eyes locked onto Nile, freezing the old butler in place.
"Did Victor know?" Eiser asked, his voice dropping into a chillingly quiet register.
Nile stood with his head bowed, the shadow of his glasses obscuring his expression. A long, agonizing pause filled the room before the butler slowly lifted his chin. His aged eyes met Eiser's, carrying a devastating certainty.
"Yes. He did."
Eiser's breath caught in his throat. The pieces of the puzzle violently crashed together, forming a picture far more monstrous than he had imagined.
Did Victor... did Victor kill our father?
Before the thought could fully take root, a sharp, frantic sound shattered the tension in the room.
Knock, knock, knock!
"Eiser! Eiser!!"
The heavy double doors of the study burst open with a harsh click. The frantic voice belonged to the estate's personal nurse, her usual composed demeanor completely shattered. She stood framed in the doorway, pale and breathless, clutching the brass handle as if trying to steady the room itself.
"I apologize," she gasped, her eyes wide with panic. "I know you have a guest, but this is extremely urgent..."
Eiser turned sharply, his gaze cutting through the dimness. "What is it?"
"Th... the Royal Palace just contacted us," the nurse stammered, her voice trembling under the weight of the news. "It seems something has happened to Lady Serena."
Eiser's heart hammered against his ribs, a sudden, suffocating dread replacing the anger in his veins.
"An urgent report," the nurse managed to say, her knuckles whitening against the doorframe. "Lady Serena's condition suddenly deteriorated a short while ago."
The transition from the cold, sterile confines of the Royal Palace detention cell to the familiar grandeur of the Serenity Manor happened in a blur of flashing headlamps and the heavy crunch of gravel.
The Royal Medical Team had thrown up their hands hours prior. Inside the damp, shadow-draped walls of the cell, Lady Serena's vital signs had spiraled beyond their control. Recognizing the political and medical nightmare of a high-profile noblewoman dying under their watch before a verdict was even reached, the Prime Minister had personally signed the emergency decree. It was a calculated act of mercy-granted strictly in consideration of her deteriorating emotional stability and physical recovery.
Yet, the palace took no chances. Serena was returnable property to the crown until cleared of all charges.
As the motorcade of sleek, dark vehicles wound its way through the manor's ornate iron gates, the illusion of a peaceful homecoming vanished. Royal Palace guards marched in lockstep, their heavy boots clicking against the marble tiles of the entrance hall. They immediately flanked the massive double doors, establishing a flawless, suffocating perimeter. To the weeping maids and the grim-faced butler standing at the foot of the stairs, it didn't feel like a rescue. It felt like their home had just been converted into a gilded prison.
Inside the dimly lit room, the air was thick with the scent of damp linens and metallic panic.
"Her pulse is too weak... hold her hand, keep her grounded!"
The estate's personal nurse, her hands trembling violently despite her years of clinical training, leaned over the mattress. Serena lay motionless beneath the pale sheets, her dark hair splayed wildly across the pillows like spilled ink. Her face was completely devoid of color, her collarbones sharp and fragile beneath the thin straps of her nightgown. Every shallow breath she took sounded like a desperate, rattling plea.
The nurse pressed two fingers to Serena's pale wrist, her heart hammering against her own ribs. She's slipping. The confinement didn't just break her spirit; it's shutting her body down.
"Serena!!"
The heavy doors slammed open, and Eiser virtually threw himself into the room. His tie was loosened, his sharp features twisted in an expression of raw, unbridled terror that none of the staff had ever witnessed before. He brushed past the nurse, his large frame casting a frantic shadow over the bed as he dropped to his knees beside her.
"Serena! Open your eyes!" Eiser pleaded, his voice cracking as he gripped the edge of the mattress, leaning over her fragile form. He reached out, his hand hovering over her face as if terrified that even the lightest touch might shatter what little life she had left.
Serena's eyelids fluttered weakly, a low, barely audible gasp escaping her parted lips. She was back in the manor, surrounded by the people who loved her, but the heavy, rhythmic thud of the guards' boots echoing from the hallway outside remained a brutal reminder: she was still in their clutches.
The atmosphere in the master bedroom fractured entirely under the weight of Eiser's demands. His voice, sharp and trembling with an anger born of sheer panic, cut through the weeping of the maids.
"Why is her condition this bad?!" he demanded, his blue eyes blown wide as he hovered over Serena's trembling, shallowly breathing form. "How serious is it?!"
The estate's personal nurse, her curly grey hair unkempt from the frantic summons, pressed her palm firmly against Serena's burning forehead. She looked up at the frantic husband, her face lined with grave concern.
"It's difficult to say for certain right now," the nurse admitted, her voice tight as she adjusted her glasses. "But her breathing is extremely unstable. Oh, my god... It appears her condition had been neglected for quite some time."
The realization hit the room like a physical blow. The damp, frigid air of the Royal Palace detention cell hadn't just made her ill; the total lack of medical attention had allowed a basic fever to ravage her body to the brink of collapse.
"We'll begin emergency treatment immediately," the nurse commanded, snapping into her professional role to block out the terror radiating from Eiser. She turned sharply toward the trembling maid standing by the door. "Sui, bring plenty of warm water! Hurry!!"
Knock, knock.
The sudden, rhythmic rapping on the heavy wooden door frame sliced through the medical panic. Eiser's head whipped around, his sharp gaze locking onto the threshold.
Standing in the doorway was a stern, middle-aged man dressed in a pristine, high-collared formal suit, backed by the subtle silhouette of a palace guard. He bore the cold, unyielding aura of an official who dealt only in bureaucratic mandates.
"Eiser Grayan," the man announced, his voice smooth, devoid of any empathy for the dying woman on the bed.
Eiser slowly rose to his full height, his posture stiffening into a defensive wall between the intruder and his wife.
"I am here under orders from His Excellency the Prime Minister," the official continued, gesturing subtly toward the hallway. "Could you step outside for a moment?"
He took a measured step into the room, the click of his expensive dress shoes echoing against the floor. "First of all, the Prime Minister wishes to express his deepest regret-"
Before the official could finish the hollow, state-sanctioned apology, the space between them vanished.
Eiser lunged forward with terrifying speed. In a single, fluid motion born of pure, exhausting rage, his large hand shot out and clamped tightly around the official's silk tie and lapels.
Thud!
He slammed the older man back against the wall, lifting him slightly off his heels. The official's eyes widened in genuine shock, his breath catching in his throat as Eiser leaned in close, his face twisted in a murderous scowl. The delicate political dance, the thin veneer of noble etiquette, the fear of the crown-all of it burned away in the fire of Serena's shallow gasps behind him.
The guards outside immediately tensed, their hands dropping to their holsters, but Eiser didn't care. If the Prime Minister thought a formal expression of regret would absolve them of what they did to his wife in that cell, he was dead wrong.
팁의
애스턴스는 왕립 의료팀에서 간호사로 근무했습니다.
TIP'S
ASTANCE USED TO SERVE AS A NURSE ON THE ROYAL MEDICAL TEAM.