The marble floor was cold against her palms and knees. Celine barely noticed. Her hair hung in disarray over her face, strands sticking to her damp skin. She knelt inside her father's office like a slave, waiting.

  Her father stood above her, his breath heavy with rage. "An affair with a servant," he spat, the words thick with disgust. "Like some common whore."

  Celine miled. Not because she was proud. Not because she was ashamed. But because it was laughable how little worth he was placing on her.

  "Do you have any idea what you've done?!"

  Celin tilted her head, her lips quirked upward, a shadow of a smile, "I've made your burden lighter, haven't I? No more need to parade me like cattle at auction."

  The slap came hard, sending her sprawling forward. The sting radiated through her skull, but she only licked the blood from her lip with a chuckle.

  "I thought even you would know better than to embarrass this family," The Duke growled. "Now, look at the mess you've made."

  "Duke of Rochefort afraid of a scandal?" Celine let out a soft laugh, "How could such a thing sully our name? We are Rocheforts, we do whatever we want and everyone looks away. They have no choice. Why? Because our name carries power, not good sense."

  Her father's face darkened. "You do not understand the consequences–"

  "No," she cut him off, her voice cool, her eyes freezing. "You don't understand. A Rochefort isn't ruined by scandal. They define it, own it, and turn it into power. If anything, the real disgrace is that you see this as weakness instead of opportunity. Grandfather did not build this empire by bowing his head. He didn't fear the public eye. He relished in it, he fed on it. And so will I. And so should you."

  She continued, her tone rising, her voice growing stronger. "Bowing down to the whispers of society is weak. It's pathetic. It's disgraceful. But if you think differently, then please, do me a favor and slit my throat here. It would be more noble than letting you drag my name through the mud, just because you can't handle a little gossip."

  "Enough!" her father roared.

  "I thought so." Celine slowly rose to her feet. "Grandfather's vision is fading, and you are letting it slip away. If you can't accept that, then kill me and have someone else who's willing to fight for this family. Or, if you are not willing to dirty your hands, then leave me be, and let me do what you're too afraid to."

  "Your brother died because of the same arrogance! I'm not going to let you repeat his mistake!" Her father gripped her shoulders and shook her, "Do you think I don't know why he died?! He died because he had the same stupid pride you have! And I'll be damned if I lose another child to this delusion!"

  "He was murdered!" Celine screamed, the words ripping out of her chest, tearing open her throat, "Murdered by the people you bow to, the people you cower to! How is that any less disgraceful?! How are you any less shameful for groveling at their feet, when you have the power to rise above?!"

  Her father struck her again, the sound ringing through the room. "He was a traitor, and he paid the price," her snarled, his fingers digging into her arms, "He chose to die. And I will not let you follow in his footsteps."

  Celine looked up at her father, the heat rising in her chest. She took a deep breath and forced herself to suck in the tears that stung her eyes, to force back the emotions that threatened to spill from her lips, and let her words fall like ice, "Then kill me, Father. Kill me, and let history forget the name Rochefort. Let it wither and fade and die. Let your legacy rot. I don't care. Do whatever you want. But the one thing you cannot do, is make me kneel before those who should kneel before us. And if you do not see that, then kill me."

  Her father's fingers loosened.

  His hand dropped.

  And his voice, his voice was nothing but a whisper, "Sometimes, it's better to bow in order to protect what's truly important. If not for me, do it for your mother."

  "If only bowing was enough to secure a better future, then we wouldn't be having this conversation," Celine said, the cruel truth dripping from her lips.

  Her father took a step back, as if struck. His face contorted in pain, but then just as quickly, it was gone, buried once more behind a mask of stone as he changed the topic, "The army's leaving tomorrow. Make sure to watch me at the ceremony. I can still put on a show when I want to, and you can learn a thing or two from that."

  Celine smiled, quick to mirror his shift in emotion, "I will, Father."

  He nodded and gave her shoulder a firm squeeze. "Protect Mother and the estate while I'm gone, alright? You may not have been born a son, but you're all I have now."

  "Yes, Father." Celine saw the need for solitude in his eyes, so she bowed her head and quietly left his office.

  · · ─────── · ???· ─────── · ·

  The torches flickered as she passed by the hallway, casting long shadows against the stone walls. The air grew colder, heavier, and suffocating. Celine reached the door of her mother's chambers. It creaked as she pushed it open.

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  The room was dim, the curtains drawn, the scent of dried lavender failing to mask the underlying sickness in the air. Her mother lay on the grand bed, swallowed by silk sheets and embroidered pillows.

  Celine stepped forward.

  "...Edmund..."

  Celine stilled.

  Her mother's lips moved, whispering a name that wasn't hers.

  "...Edmund..."

  She whispered again. A fragile, broken sound.

  "...my son..."

  Celine lowered herself onto the edge of the bed, smoothing the wrinkles in the blankets with slow, careful hands. "Mother," she said, her voice even, controlled.

  Her mother's eyes fluttered, glassy and distant, staring past her ─ through her.

  "...Edmund...Is that...you?"

  "It's me, Celine." She swallowed back the bitterness in her throat, and repeated, louder, clearer, her tone clipped, almost curt, "I will be representing the house at the upcoming banquet, since father will be absent. I wish for you to join me, should you feel well enough. Your support would be invaluable."

  But her mother didn't seem to hear, didn't seem to care.

  Celine stood up. "Rest well, Mother." She bowed her head and left.

  · · ─────── · ???· ─────── · ·

  Celine slumped against the wall, the heat fading, the rage melting away. She slid down the length of the hallway. Her fingers dug into her arms, clinging onto her body as if it were the only thing keeping her whole.

  The maids, the servants, the guards, all silent. Trained, to keep their gaze down, their ears shut.

  "You," Celine called out, "All of you, gather everyone. Every maid, every cook, every stable boy, every guard. The staff, the gardeners. Gather everyone, and meet me in the ballroom. Right now."

  They stared at her, confusion clouding their eyes.

  Celine glanced up, her stare enough to send them rushing down the hall, the echo of their footsteps ringing in the emptiness.

  A minute passed.

  Five.

  Ten.

  And the doors of the ballroom swung open.

  Silence.

  Their eyes, on her. They noted how Celine stood, slightly disheveled, her face somewhat swollen and pale at the same time, yet still contrasting with the force that radiated from her.

  Celine looked out at the sea of faces. Faces, whose names she never knew, whose stories she never bothered to ask. Faces, that had served her all her life.

  "I know what you think of me, and I've done nothing to make you think otherwise," Celine began, "I am not here to tell you I am innocent. I am here, because I want you to know that the person who died was a servant like you. A servant, who was born, and lived, and breathed for the Rochefort family."

  Her hands clenched, her nails digging into her palms.

  "Tell me, who is more deserving of my respect, of my compassion, of my understanding, than the one who is loyal to me until the end? And yet, I'm being called a disgrace, a failure, a shame, a stain, when the only stain here is his blood, left unavenged and ignored?"

  Her words echoed through the room, her voice rising.

  "An affair, a loveless marriage, an illegitimate heir, a broken engagement, a fallen woman, a bastard child, a disgraced house, a ruined name – none of these can break a Rochefort. Many tried, many failed, and many will continue to try. But there is one thing that cannot be overcome, and that is the absence of a Rochefort. Without a Rochefort, the peace ends, and the power is up for grabs."

  Scandal, gossip, misfortune – these were mere inconveniences, not threats. A Rochefort did not break under shame, did not kneel to slander. The House had weathered worse: betrayal, exile, war. Whispers could not kill what was built to last.

  "So instead of wasting time on your stupid, pointless, mindless gossip, spend it on ensuring the future of the House, not its destruction. Your wage is the product of the House's profit, not its ruin, and the sooner you understand that, the sooner you can stop wasting my time on lectures nobody wants to hear, and please my ear with ideas that are actually worthwhile."

  Their heads bowed, their eyes cast downward, and she knew they understood.

  She laughed, lifting the mood, breaking the tension. "You don't expect me to raise your pay by getting on my nerves, do you? If you want the coins, give me a reason to throw them. Am I clear?"

  "Yes, My Lady!" The room thundered.

  "Good. Now get back to work."

  They scurried out of the ballroom, their steps light, holding their chest, hearts beating rapidly as if they'd just returned from an integration room.

  Rocheforts didn't need a spotless reputation to wield influence. Power spoke louder than gossip, and Lady Celine knew how to make it talk.

  A broken engagement with the Royal Family? It didn't seem like the Rocheforts cared at all!

  Lady Celine even began to parade her new boy toys in public in provocation, flaunting her status and freedom, her wealth and power.

  Instead of punishing his daughter for her scandalous behavior, the Duke of Rochefort publicly announced his support, "These young men are undergoing special training under my daughter's guidance. She is personally ensuring they reach their full potential, and if all goes well, I will consider adopting one of them into the family."

  The nobles were baffled by this, and even the common folk had no idea what the Duke's true intentions were.

  Eventually, the scandal turned into a political conspiracy theory.

  The Rochefort line was in danger of extinction. With no male heir to secure its legacy, there was no need for an alliance through marriage – no powerful house to swoop in and seize control under the guise of unity. What they needed was a puppet to carry the family name.

  · · ─────── · ???· ─────── · ·

  The carriage rattled over the cobbled streets.

  Lucian sat with one leg crossed over the other, gloved fingers drumming idly against the polished wood of the armrest.

  He exhaled, tilting his head back against the cushioned seat.

  How foolish.

  For a moment – just a fleeting second – he had almost been worried.

  Worried that he wouldn't make it in time.

  When the rumors first reached him, he had entertained the thought that perhaps, this time, Celine had miscalculated. That perhaps, for once, she had pushed too far, too recklessly, and was now drowning under the weight of her own ruin.

  But now?

  A laugh slipped from his lips.

  Foolish, really.

  For a moment, he had considered offering his assistance – take advantage of her moment of weakness, and bring her down to her knees, make her regret the day she decided to treat him worse than the dirt beneath her shoes. But then, he had remembered just what sort of woman Lady Celine Rochefort was.

  Her ruined reputation was a trap, and everyone walked right into it. They thought they were watching the Rocheforts's downfall, eager to use it to their advantage. But that was just an illusion – one they happily bought, and one the Rocheforts were happy to sell.

  The carriage came to a halt, and Lucian stepped out, his boots clicking sharply on the cobblestones. He paused for a moment, letting his gaze rise to the towering castle ahead.

  The sight was magnificent, shimmering with opulence, like something carved from a dream.

  But he was not here to admire the view.

  With a final breath, Lucian straightened, his face a mask of indifference.

  He walked forward, each step unhurried.