The Future Madam

A jet landed at a private airport early in the morning.

Claude stepped out first. Then Iyana. 

They descended the stairs.

The air was hot. 

She smiled a little. I'm back. 

He looked back and reached for her hand.

A dozen people in black waited a few paces from the stair. 

They greeted them with a bow. 

One man stepped forward.

"Sir, Miss, welcome back."

Claude glanced at her. "My secretary, Vincent Young."

She looked at the man. 

She'd seen him before—their first meeting with Claude. 

Vincent smiled. "Honored to meet you, Miss."

She smiled back. "We've met before."

"Yes, we have."

Her lips curved a little more.

"Keep the entourage small," Claude told him. "The future madam hates crowds."

Iyana felt a few heads turn, then caught their eyes widening. They quickly looked away when her gaze met theirs. She gave a slow, quiet exhale. Claude's still got the energy to tease.

"No, I'm grateful for the hospitality," she said. "Thank you, Sec. Young."

Her words made Vincent flinch. He bowed, lower this time. 

"Miss, please, this isn't hospitality. It's my duty. You're not a guest—you're our future madam," he said, his words swift. "I'll remember your preferences."

The group stood straight, heads down. Unmoved. 

She shot Claude a glance. He just gave a wry smile. 

"Competent, isn't he?" he said. "Even when he's not ordered to be here, he shows up anyway."

Vincent turned to him fast.

"Sir, I know I shouldn't be here. But I couldn't reach you," he said. 

Claude arched a brow.

"It's the acquisition. It moved today," Vincent continued.

"What time?" 

Claude's tone was flat. 

"At nine. Elder Jia says you'll head the meeting."

Claude silently waved off. 

Vincent bowed faintly and stepped back. 

Quickly, the group began carrying their luggages and moved toward two silver Porsche cars in the distance. A black Rover pulled up. The driver stepped out. Much older. Still in black. He bowed. Claude said they'd ride the Rover. Just as the doors shut, he leaned in and pressed a kiss to her cheek. She blushed, glancing at the driver seated in front. The driver rolled down the screen.

"You—" she said, placing her hands on his hard chest.

"You're quiet," he said, his voice lighter.

"Don't nag."

"Madam," he smiled, "I'm just happy." 

He pulled her closer, his lips brushed hers. Softly. 

She rested her head on his shoulder. 

"I'm back home," she said, almost to herself.

"I'm happy."

"I'm nervous."

"Nervous about what?"

"About your family. And Gosuico."

"I am Gosuico," he said, then held her hand. "And you're right here next to me. Does that feel scary?"

She just sighed.

She'd just miss the part where it was just the two of them.

Eating pancakes at breakfast.

Laughing at coffee shops over chess.

Or lying in bed watching the rain slide down the glass.

The car rolled through the capital in the heat. It crossed the long bridge and passed the silver towers. The arena too. She watched it. Still the same. Her heart skipped. She remembered the concerts. The neon. The drums. People jumping. Jersey shirts. And... Raena giving her lemon juice, saying something she couldn't hear. So they laughed. 

Iyana smiled wryly. 

Raena Steffani Suing, I hope you got what you want. 

The car climbed a hill—Magnolia Ridge. True enough, magnolias have gathered here like a vast forest. Pines everywhere, hiding big roofs. Then gates were opened. The car entered, drove through the paved road, and halted in front of a large, front yard. A man came and opened the car door. Claude stepped out first, then Iyana. 

She was transfixed. 

A sprawling, white-washed mansion stood before her—its columns and arches framed by leaning palm trees. Claude had told her before: it was the Gosuico ancestral home, lived in by seven generations.

The man gave her a smile and introduced himself as the butler. 

Behind him were servants bowing. 

The Porsche cars arrived. 

"Just remove those small black luggages," Claude told the butler. 

The butler nodded, then waved off the servants rushing to the cars. 

He ushered the couple into the marble main hall. 

There, a great chandelier hung above, heavy with light. The staircase split in two, curving up on either side like arms reaching out. Two women came down the stairs. The older one walked ahead with grace. She was small and delicate.

"It's Mother," Claude whispered.

The madam was supposed to be in her sixties. But she didn't look like it. 

"Look at you two," Madam said, smiling.

She extended her arms embracing her son first and then Iyana.

They sat on the sofa. 

"You're Iyana Marisse Jiran?" Madam said.

"Yes, Aunt," she nodded, smiling, "Please call me—Iya."

"Then call me—mother," Madam said. "Europe's far. So how was the trip?"

Iyana smiled. "I just slept."

"We'll spend two days here. Then we'll head to my place," Claude said.

Madam furrowed. 

"Tsk, what's the rush? That's barely enough time with Iya."

"We'll come visit every month," he said. "I've already cleared my schedule for it."

A laugh escaped from the young woman sitting across from them. 

"Aunt, you're looking at the human version of Claude Maximilian now." 

Then she smiled gleefully at Iyana. 

"Charis Wei," she said. "Brother Claude's first cousin. Call me—Cha."

Claude had mentioned her before—Charis Adriana Wei, the only daughter of the Wei Clan's head. Her father and Claude's mother were siblings.

"Just Iya," Iyana smiled.

"You're really pretty. I like your skin," Cha said.

"I just use a soap I made."

Charis dropped her jaw. "You're a genius!"

"Iya is a scientist," Madam added, turning to her. "Is that right, dear?"

"I work in the lab, yes. I'm an engineer, specifically," Iyana said, then glanced back at Claude. "Ma, we brought gifts. I heard you like green tea from England."

Madam's eyes lit up. 

"Oh, dear, you didn't have to. But thank you."

"They already dropped it off in the kitchen," Claude said. 

Madam nodded, smiling.

She looked up when the servants began walking upstairs bringing suitcases. 

"Oh, Beth?" she said.

"Yes, Madam," Beth replied. She stood behind Madam.

"Send Iya's things to the right wing," Madam said.

"We're fine using my room," Claude said.

"Please, Iya still needs her own room. Some private space," she said. "After the wedding, you two will have the master's bedroom." She looked at Iyana. "Back then, I prayed for a daughter and prepared that room. Never got one—just two infuriating sons." 

Madam sighed.

Claude remained still, as if he hadn't heard a thing.

Charis laughed. 

Iyana smiled.

She wondered how this delicate mother—soft-spoken, all quiet grace—had raised two sons. One born to carry the weight of a powerful clan. The other, to preach music.

Vincent Young arrived and bowed.

"I must go," Claude said.

"What is it?" Madam asked him.

"Shareholders' meeting," Claude said, tone flat as ever. "Elder Jia can't wait to retire."

"People are tired of figureheads. It's time, anyway," Madam said, her voice still warm.

"They talked to you?"

"The branch families are happy you've found your beloved," she sighed gently, "They'll bring gifts for the wedding." A pause. "All they ask is that you take the reins."

Claude said nothing. 

He took Iyana's hand and pressed it. 

"I'll be back for dinner," he told her.

"Hm," she nodded, "I'll wait." 

"We'll take care of her," Charis grinned.

Then Claude's tall back strode away, Vincent trailing behind. 

Madam sighed again.

Beth came back and handed a long, silky paper to Madam. 

"Cha, dear, take Iya to her room," Madam said, then turned to Iyana. "Rest, dear, if you need to."

"We're going," Iyana said.

As they went up the stairs, she looked back. 

Madam was reading the paper. 

Beth stood beside her, saying a few things now and then. 

"It's the menu," Charis said, following her gaze. "Aunt is careful with the food, because Brother's here."

"Let me guess," Iyana's lips curved. "All tuna. And no dairies."

Charis gasped.

"What? I have no idea," she said. "All I know is he's allergic to something—or maybe he just hates certain foods." She burst out laughing. "All that deadly aura—and he's afraid of milk!"

Iyana's smirk deepened, picturing that sharp corner of his dark phoenix eyes.

"Mother lives here alone mostly?" she asked. 

"Yes," Charis replied. "That's why I visit now and then. Bro lives near the company. Lyron stays in his studio." She glanced at Iyana. "I was shocked when I found out you're Bro's girlfriend. I'd heard about you before. From Lyron. Small world."

Iyana breathed like a whisper.

She and Lyron.

If none of it had happened, would it have changed anything?

They arrived at the bedroom. Light came in through the tall windows, and the curtains hung still. A desk near the window. Two chairs stood by it. The bed was large. Everything was beige or gold or cream. A chandelier hung from the ceiling, heavy with glass. 

"It's elegant," Iyana murmured.

"The colors carry it."

"True."

"Anyway, everyone's finally got to know you," Charis giggled. "The mystery is over." 

"Is it really like that?" 

"Who doesn't want to know?" she said. "We've known Brother had a girlfriend living abroad. But he never talked about her. Said she'd be mad." She laughed.

"Now, finally," Iyana said, chuckling.

"Yes, finally. I can say you're definitely Brother's type." Charis grinned.

The servants arrived. 

"Alright, just rest for a while," Charis smiled. "We'll talk later."

Servants began placing clothes in the cabinets as Charis left. 

Iyana watched them. 

One thing about the rich—people treated them like toddlers.

She remembered Claude washing the dishes. Taking out the trash.

Her lips curved.

He had truly adapted to her plain, ordinary life.

Now, she will.

An hour later, the room fell silent. She peered through the window. It was no longer a street park of children and dogs, but a landscape of hedge gardens on the wide estate.

She decided to take a nap.