A Forbidden Name

The Veymont mansion was unusually silent, but not peaceful. That silence—the kind that arrives just before a storm—pressed against the walls like a threat waiting to be spoken.

In the grand hall, Cassandra sat poised on the edge of her velvet chaise, her face stony. Across the room, Lucien Veymont stood by the fireplace, arms crossed, his voice thick with contained fury.

"I asked you a question, Gianna."

Gianna, standing before them in the center of the room, gritted her teeth. Her hair still held remnants of the wind from the college grounds. Her face, proud as ever, showed only the faintest crack—an echo of Tristan's words playing in her mind.

"He said…" She exhaled, forcing the words out. "He said he never got a chance."

Lucien's eyes darkened. "What?"

"That's what everyone heard. The whole college. The audio was real, not doctored. It was his voice."

"And what exactly does that mean?" Cassandra's eyes narrowed.

Gianna crossed her arms, biting the inside of her cheek. "I think… I think it means he once—cared. About me. Before all this."

Lucien slammed his hand against the marble fireplace. "Outrageous."

Cassandra's lips curved into something between disdain and amusement. "So now the Greystorm heir confesses his past love in front of an entire college? Pathetic. Weak. Absolutely delightful."

"It's not delightful," Lucien snapped. "It's dangerous. This… this changes everything."

Gianna lifted her chin. "It doesn't change me."

Lucien stepped forward, jabbing a finger toward the door. "Good. Because you will never marry into that family. Do you understand me, Gianna? Even if the last man on this planet bears the Greystorm name, he will never have you."

Gianna's voice cracked. "Why would I ever—"

He cut her off. "Because weakness breeds compromise. And that boy is nothing but weak. I will speak to Aldric Greystorm. They will keep that son of theirs away from you. I swear it."

Meanwhile, in the vast marble dining room of the Greystorm estate, Celeste sat across from Aldric Greystorm with a practiced sigh.

"So," she said, smoothing a strand of dark hair behind her ear, "are you aware the whole college now believes Tristan is an obsessive, jealous mess?"

Aldric arched a brow.

"He fought with Emrys," she added. "For Gianna Veymont."

The words hit harder than she expected. Aldric's spoon clinked against his untouched tea.

"Everyone's talking about it," she continued. "Not just the students. Staff, board members. They think he's emotionally unstable over an enemy's daughter. And let me tell you, he isn't denying it."

Aldric's jaw clenched. "Call them in. Both of them."

Minutes later, Emrys and Tristan stood side by side in the cold study, the shadows of ancestral portraits watching them from the walls.

"You fought," Aldric said flatly. "Over a Veymont."

Emrys stood tall. "She's not just a Veymont. She's her own person. And I have every right to talk to whomever I want."

Tristan's fists curled.

Aldric's voice sharpened. "Do you want to bring her into this house? Do you want her to marry into our bloodline? Have you both gone mad?"

Emrys opened his mouth, but Tristan had already stepped forward and grabbed him by the collar.

"You're not bringing her anywhere," he hissed.

Aldric barked, "Enough!" as Emrys pushed Tristan back.

Tristan's voice rose. "You think you get to flirt with her just because you play piano and read books? You're not even—"

"Tristan," Aldric snapped, "answer me clearly. What do you want from that girl?"

Tristan paused. The room went silent.

He finally looked up, his voice lower, more bitter. "Nothing."

Aldric stared at him, unconvinced.

"I lost control. That was it. I said something out of… I don't even know. Not love. I hate her. Her family destroyed us."

"Then why say she never gave you a chance?" Celeste asked coolly from the corner.

Tristan didn't answer. His knuckles were white.

"You should hate her," Aldric said, voice venomous. "You should hate everything she stands for. I want that gone from your head."

Tristan's breathing was uneven. "I need a break."

Aldric blinked. "You're not going anywhere."

But he was already walking out.

That night, under the quiet shadow of the moon, a private Greystorm jet lifted off the estate's airstrip.

The next morning, two luxury convoys arrived at a secluded estate in the highlands—a sprawling castle that shimmered like a mirage under the sun. This was Veymont property. Centuries old. Untouched by modern scandal.

Lucien Veymont stood with Cassandra and Gianna on the manicured stone terrace, watching the Greystorm convoy roll in.

From the other side, Aldric Greystorm, Celeste, and Emrys emerged.

No handshakes. No greetings.

Just tension.

Lucien stepped forward. "I called this meeting because you've lost control of your son."

Aldric didn't flinch. "And you've clearly forgotten that a few words spoken in youth don't mean a proposal."

Gianna stiffened.

"He fought my nephew," Aldric continued. "Is that how you raise your heirs?"

Cassandra smirked. "At least ours feel something. Yours only know how to destroy."

Celeste's gaze slid to Gianna. "He didn't say he loved her."

"No," Cassandra replied, "he said he wanted a chance. That's worse. That means he thought about it."

Lucien raised his voice. "Tell your son to stay away. He has no right to look at my daughter—not in affection, not in regret, not even in pity."

Aldric matched his tone. "Then tell your charming daughter to stay away from mine. Because if your girl is such a prize, maybe you should guard her better."

Lucien stepped forward, fists clenched. "Is that a threat?"

"It's a fact," Aldric snapped. "Your daughter walks like she owns the kingdom. Perhaps she forgot what it means to be humbled."

"She'll never be humbled by a Greystorm," Cassandra interjected coldly. "She was born above them."

Celeste gave a tight smile. "And yet you all seem very bothered that one might actually like her."

Lucien's eyes blazed. "He's not allowed to like her."

"And what if he does?" Celeste asked.

"Then I'll remind him what happened to the last man who did."

Silence.

Even the birds above them dared not chirp.

Gianna looked between the adults, a pit in her stomach. She wasn't a chess piece. Not a pawn for vengeance. And yet, they were deciding her fate like one.

The fight went on, neither side yielding. No handshake. No closure.

Only the truth echoing louder than ever.

The Greystorm heir had spoken something he should never have felt.

And the Veymonts would never forget it.