Chapter 16
Elora
Six twenty. I stood in the manor's entrance hall, heels clicking against marble, palms slick with nervous sweat.
The emerald velvet gown clung to every curve—a daring choice I'd never made before. The back plunged low, cut perfectly to trace my spine. My makeup was flawless. Half an hour ago, I'd personally arranged the music therapy room with vintage records and essential oils.
I thought tonight I'd finally feel his warmth again.
Tires crunched over wet pavement. Headlights pierced the rain.
"Lucien!"
I gathered my skirt and rushed forward, breathless. "I prepared something for—"
The words died.
Lucien barely glanced my way. He held a black umbrella, bending down with exquisite tenderness to help someone out of the car.
Serena.
She wore an ivory wool coat, delicate and helpless as she nestled into his arm. Her slender fingers clutched his sleeve.
"Lucien," Serena gazed up at him, voice soft and syrupy. "It's gotten colder... I'm freezing."
"Let's get you inside." His tone was gentle.
They walked toward me, side by side. Not until they reached the center of the hall did his eyes land on me—for less than half a second.
"Elora." Flat. Detached. "The doctor suggested Serena needs a change of environment. She'll be staying here for a while."
Before I could respond, he turned to Anthony. "Prepare the east wing suite. The one overlooking the rose garden."
Ice flooded my stomach.
Three days ago, in this very hall, Lucien had wrapped his arms around my waist from behind, whispering in my ear about converting that room—the one with the best light and view—into my personal fragrance studio.
Now he gave it away without a word of explanation.
I dug my nails into my palm and grabbed his sleeve. "Lucien, I need to talk to—"
"Whatever it is can wait." He pulled away smoothly. "Serena can't stand in the draft."
Serena leaned against him, shooting me a triumphant smile over his shoulder.
I stood alone in the vast, cold hall. The emerald velvet suddenly felt ridiculous under the chandelier's glare.
Eleven thirty that night.
I carried warm milk down the second-floor corridor and froze at the corner.
Serena stood there barefoot, wearing nothing but an oversized men's dress shirt—Lucien's shirt. The hem barely covered her thighs. Long, bare legs on full display.
She stretched on tiptoe, reaching for a painting on the wall. At the sound of my footsteps, she turned with an innocent smile.
"Elora." She tucked a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. "Sorry, did I wake you? Couldn't sleep. Just wandering."
My fingertips went numb. Before I could speak, Natalie emerged from another door, shawl wrapped around her shoulders.
"Serena?" Natalie frowned, moving closer. "Barefoot? The doctor said you can't catch a cold!"
Natalie took the milk from my hands and gave it to Serena. Her eyes swept over the men's shirt, her frown deepening. "Serena... you're a young woman now. Running around the halls in Lucien's shirt—it's not appropriate."
Serena's eyes instantly reddened.
"I... I just got used to living here before, forgot myself... I'm sorry, Elora, don't misunderstand. I'll go change right now."
"It's just an old shirt."
The heavy study door swung open. Lucien stepped out, cold radiating off him. His gaze skimmed past my pale face. His voice held zero inflection. "She grew up here. Let her be."
"Lucien..." Natalie tried again.
"Mother, it's late. Everyone get some rest."
He turned back into the study.
That phrase—"just an old shirt"—drove a blunt needle straight through my chest. He'd told everyone in the most casual way possible: in this manor, my feelings meant nothing. Serena's "habits" came first.
The next afternoon. Glass conservatory.
Natalie pulled me into a wicker chair and pressed a warm lemon tart into my hands.
Serena sat across from us, cradling tea, her face ghostly pale.
"Speaking of which, Elora," Natalie said warmly, "Mrs. Nolan mentioned that woman who caused trouble at your shop paid the damages. Everything running smoothly now?"
"Pretty well." I forced a smile. "I go to the therapy shop every day. Watching clients recover keeps my spirits up. As long as you're healthy and energized, you can get through anything."
Simple small talk. An ordinary observation.
The teacup slammed against the saucer.
We both looked up. Serena was shaking violently, tears streaming down her face like broken pearls.
"Elora... are you... are you mocking me?"
I froze. "What?"
"You know I was born with a heart condition!
You know I'll never have a healthy body!
" Serena jabbed at her own chest, spiraling.
"You're bragging about how healthy you are, how much energy you have...
You're laughing at me for being half-dead, a burden who doesn't deserve to live, doesn't deserve to be in this manor! "
"I wasn't!" I stood abruptly. "Serena, I was just talking about my work! I didn't mean any of that!"
"That's exactly what you meant!" Her breathing turned ragged, too agitated. She shot to her feet to point at me—and knocked over the vase!
The crystal shattered across the floor. Scalding tea splashed everywhere.
"I'm dragging Lucien down... I'm useless..." Serena clutched her chest, eyes rolling back. She collapsed straight toward the broken glass.
"Serena!"
Natalie screamed and lunged forward, catching her just before she hit the shards.
"Medicine! Get the emergency pills! Call the doctor!" Tears streamed down Natalie's face. Serena convulsed in her arms.
The conservatory erupted into chaos. Anthony and several staff swarmed in. I stood frozen, hands and feet ice-cold, blindsided.
They forced the medication between Serena's lips. The convulsions eased, but she still trembled weakly on the sofa.
Natalie was drenched in cold sweat, gripping Serena's hand, still shaking with terror. She turned to me. No accusation in her eyes. Only desperate pleading.
"Elora... please... just say something kind! Apologize to her—please!"
"Natalie, I didn't mock her..."
"I know! I know you didn't mean harm!" Her voice broke. "But her heart can't take any stress! She nearly died in front of me once before! Elora, I'm begging you—even if it's just for her life—just humor her. Apologize. Please!"
Cold despair swallowed me whole. Everyone in this house demanded I yield. Everyone demanded I bow. Even for crimes I didn't commit. I stared at Serena on the sofa—tears on her cheeks, triumph flickering in her eyes. Blood seeped from between my clenched teeth.
I straightened my spine. My nails cut into my palms.
"No."
Natalie went pale. "Elora..."
"I didn't say those things. I won't confess to crimes I didn't commit."
"Enough."
The low, icy voice cut through the room.
Lucien strode in, his black suit jacket still damp from the rain. He didn't even glance at me. He stepped over the broken glass and knelt beside Serena, checking her pulse himself.
Once satisfied she was stable, he stood and looked at me.
"Go to your room."
His voice wasn't loud. But it pierced my heart like a poisoned blade.
"Don't come out without my permission."