Chapter 5- Chains in the shadow

Lucien's golden eyes traced the silhouettes of John and Noah moving through the winding paths of the garden below, their forms bathed in the soft glow of the afternoon sun.

From the balcony of his room, the young heir leaned casually against the ornate railing, the intricate designs of vines and roses carved into the wrought iron brushing against his fingertips. In his other hand, he held a book bound in rich, dark leather, its edges gilded and shimmering faintly in the light.

Lucien's brows furrowed ever so slightly, a rare hint of emotion on his otherwise composed face.

"This book," he murmured, his tone carrying a note of both confusion and intrigue, "….really is interesting."

He flipped the book open again, his eyes scanning the elegantly written text.

"It feels as if it's writing itself," he mused, his fingers tightening slightly around the cover.

There was no clear narrative, yet they mirrored the scene unfolding below with uncanny precision. The thought sent an uncharacteristic ripple of unease through him, though his expression remained serene.

He returned his attention to John and Noah, watching the measured steps of his father and the timid posture of the boy who trailed beside him.

The quiet exchange between the two, the subtle gestures, the slight tilt of John's head as he spoke, and Noah's fleeting glances toward the garden felt almost deliberate, as if each movement was meant to happen.

Lucien tilted his head, resting his cheek lightly against his hand as his thoughts wandered.

A faint smile touched Lucian's lips, one that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Life is meaningless, yet it finds a way to fascinate." He closed the book gently and leaned further over the balcony railing, his gaze fixed on Noah.

The boy's slight frame and hesitant movements seemed out of place amidst the grandeur of the Marcellus estate.

Lucien's fingers drummed lightly on the railing as his mind continued to spin.

Below, John's laughter echoed faintly as he gestured toward a particularly vibrant flowerbed. Noah nodded, his head dipping shyly, and the two moved further along the garden path, their figures gradually obscured by the towering hedges.

Lucien straightened, his usual air of aloof composure settling back into place. He held up the book again, letting it fall open to a random page.

"Curious," he said quietly, his voice barely audible as he retreated from the balcony and back into the shadowed elegance of his room.

In the heart of Serenith's bustling capital, the famed La Belle Étoile Parlour was alive with muted elegance. The space, known for catering to the kingdom's elite, was a haven of luxury.

Its vaulted ceilings were adorned with intricate frescoes, and the air carried a faint, soothing fragrance of jasmine and rose.

Floor-to-ceiling windows allowed the warm afternoon sunlight to pour in, casting a soft glow on the marble floors. Elegant crystal chandeliers hung like glittering crowns, reflecting the light in a thousand tiny rainbows.

Lady Jane Marcellus reclined in one of the plush velvet chairs near the center of the parlour, her posture poised yet restless.

In her hands, she held a catalog from Elorene's Fine Couture, Serenith's most exclusive fashion house. The pages showcased exquisite designs—silken gowns embroidered with delicate silver threads, bejeweled accessories, and the latest in noble fashion.

Despite the beauty of the catalog, Jane's attention was far from the delicate illustrations. She tapped her fingers irritably on the velvet armrest, her brows furrowed, and a soft grunt escaped her lips.

Seated beside her in a gilded chair was Lady Evelina Marcellus, her mother, who was in the midst of having her hair styled by one of La Belle Étoile's finest attendants.

The stylist worked deftly, weaving Lady Evelina's chestnut locks into an elaborate chignon, adding ornate hairpins studded with emeralds to match her gown.

Evelina's sharp, calculating eyes flicked to her daughter through the mirror's reflection.

"Jane," she said calmly, her voice like silk with a blade hidden beneath. "What is with all this noise you're making? A proper lady of Serenith does not grunt like a stablehand."

Jane bristled but did not look up, flipping through the catalog with sharp, deliberate motions. "I wasn't making noise," she muttered, though the heat in her tone betrayed her irritation.

Evelina raised an elegant brow, a faint smirk tugging at the corners of her lips.

"Really? If I didn't know better, I'd think that boy from the slums has already started rubbing off on you. Such coarse behavior is unbecoming of a Marcellus."

The stylist's hands faltered briefly at the remark but quickly resumed their work, their movements as precise as ever.

Jane's jaw tightened, and her fingers pressed into the glossy catalog. "Everyone seems to be taunting me these days," she said through gritted teeth, her words simmering with bitterness.

Lady Evelina let out a soft, bemused chuckle. "As if Lucien wasn't enough for me to manage," she said with an exasperated sigh. "Now we have to concern ourselves with some beggar boy taking up space in the estate." Her tone was calm, but her disdain was as sharp as glass.

Jane let out a scoff, shutting the catalog with a loud snap and tossing it onto the side table. She crossed her arms, her gaze fixed on the elaborate floral arrangements decorating the parlour.

Evelina tilted her head slightly, inspecting her reflection in the mirror. "How did John even find that boy?" she asked, her voice tinged with curiosity and derision. "Did he actually go digging through the slums for him?"

Jane exhaled sharply, shaking her head as if trying to dispel her mounting irritation. "He's already here now," she said, her voice clipped. "What does it matter where he came from?"

Evelina smirked faintly, signaling the stylist to pause as she leaned closer to the mirror, inspecting her hair for any imperfections. Once satisfied, she waved the attendant off with a graceful flick of her wrist. The stylist bowed slightly before retreating to assist another patron.

"That boy is your responsibility, Jane," Evelina said, turning to face her daughter. Her gaze was piercing, her expression composed yet unyielding. "Do not bother me with such trivial matters. If you cannot handle something so insignificant, how will you fare when faced with the real challenges of the world outside these walls?"

Jane's lips tightened, her fingers curling into her lap as the weight of her mother's words settled over her.

Lady Evelina cast one final glance at her reflection, smoothing an invisible crease on her sleeve before turning to face Jane fully. Her expression was calm yet cool, a picture of composed authority. "Ensure he knows his place, Jane. That is your role in this household. Prove to me you are capable of something so basic."

Without waiting for a reply, she swept out of the parlour, the train of her dress trailing behind her like a shadow. Jane stared after her mother, her nails digging into her palms as the sound of her heels echoed in the hallway.

The attendants quietly resumed their tasks, their faces carefully neutral. The room, filled with muted murmurs of other patrons moments ago, now seemed to echo with Jane's simmering anger.

The sunlight streaming through the parlour's tall windows dimmed slightly, as if the growing shadows mirrored the heaviness in the air. Jane picked up the catalog again, flipping through the pages with an air of irritation. But her gaze was unfocused, and her mind was far from the elegant designs before her.

Before long, Jane's heels clattered against the marble floor of the Marcellus manor, each step a declaration of her anger. The sound echoed through the high ceilings and ornate hallways, causing maids to pause mid-task and exchange anxious glances.

Those who had served in the household long enough knew better than to stand in her way; they quickly scurried into corners or behind curtains, praying not to catch her attention.

In the sitting room, Noah sat hunched on the edge of an oversized velvet sofa, his small frame nearly swallowed by its size. The book in his hands was trembling slightly as his small fingers clutched its edges.

He wasn't reading anymore; the tension that had been building in the house since Jane's arrival pressed on him like a weight. He could hear her approaching, the sharp sound of her heels growing louder, closer.

The double doors burst open with a dramatic swing, the heavy wood hitting the walls with a loud thud. Jane strode in, her crimson eyes gleaming with uncontained fury. Her dress, pristine and meticulously tailored, flared slightly as she marched toward Noah without hesitation, her heels clicking sharply on the polished marble floor.

Noah's head snapped up, startled by the sudden intrusion. His wide, timid eyes briefly met Jane's fiery gaze before darting back down to his lap. He clutched the book tighter, as if it could somehow shield him.

Without a word, Jane reached out and snatched Noah's arm, pulling him up from the sofa with a force that sent the book tumbling to the floor. It landed with a dull thud, its pages fanning out haphazardly.

"Stand up!" she barked, yanking him further upright.

Noah stumbled slightly, his small frame no match for Jane's forceful grip. He tried to steady himself, but his knees were trembling.

"What do you think you're doing?" Jane spat, her voice sharp and laced with venom. "Sitting here, acting all high and mighty, as if you're one of us?"

Noah's lips parted, but no sound came out. His wide eyes darted to the floor, his breathing shallow and uneven.

"I—I wasn't—" he stammered softly, barely able to form a response

"Don't lie to me!" Jane snapped, shaking his arm for emphasis. Her grip was unrelenting, her nails digging slightly into his skin. "You think you can fool me? Sitting here like you belong, like you're not just a worthless street rat we took pity on!"

Noah flinched at her words, his head sinking lower as his small shoulders hunched inward. His heart raced in his chest, and his breaths came out in small, shaky gasps.

Across the room, the old maid stood silently near the doorway, her arms crossed and her expression cold. She watched the scene unfold with an air of detachment. Her sharp gaze held no sympathy, only a flicker of disdain, as though silently affirming Jane's words.