Neris did not need a mirror to know how pale she looked—like a piece of abandoned linen, drained of life. Adrian's words in his office still echoed in her ears, a metallic hum that refused to fade. "The hostess."
The word itself was heavy, but coming from Adrian—carried by his calm, resonant voice—it felt like a golden shackle: smooth to the touch, yet tightening around her wrist with suffocating precision.
She left the office, and the long marble corridor felt narrower than usual, as though the oil-painted portraits lining the walls were leaning closer, watching her pass.
The palace's silence was no longer peaceful; it was charged with invisible tension, like the stillness before a sea storm. She paused for a few seconds, pressing her back against the wall, the cold stone seeping through her dress and into her skin as she tried to steady her breathing.
When she reached the grand hall—where crystal chandeliers cast a dim, fractured glow—she found Cecile and Henry waiting for her. Cecile held her delicate lace fan, snapping it open and shut in a nervous rhythm, while Henry stood by the tall window, his anxious gaze fixed on the dark garden the Duke had left earlier.
"What did he want?" Cecile asked the moment she saw Neris, her voice dripping with curiosity sharpened by jealousy.
"He summoned you to his office urgently, didn't he?"
Neris looked at her sister and thought—she truly is curious. Even Henry. Should she hide it from them, at least for now? They would hear it from Jason sooner or later anyway.
She turned to Henry; he had already stepped toward her, genuine worry flooding his eyes as he took in her expression—worry so intense it nearly shattered her composure.
Taking a deep breath, Neris summoned a mask of calm and said,
"He assigned me to organize the upcoming grand ball. I will be… the hostess, by his authorization."
Cecile's fan slipped from her hand, landing on the Persian carpet with a dull thud.
The silence that followed was heavy—so heavy Neris felt the air pressing against her lungs. Henry moved closer, his face paling under the chandelier's cold light.
"The hostess?" he murmured, stunned. "Neris, that role is not given to an advisor, no matter how capable she is. It's the lady of the house—the role noblewomen spend their lives preparing for. Does the Duke realize what he's doing to your reputation? Or is he trying to drag you into the mire of his family forever?"
Cecile burst out, pointing sharply toward the Duke's office.
"This is madness! The Duke has completely lost his mind—perhaps the horrors of war shattered his sanity. To push aside Duchess Helen and put you in the spotlight? That's insanity!"
Neris didn't answer. A sudden weakness crept into her limbs, an urgent need to disappear. She retreated to her room and shut the door behind her, leaning against it as though holding the world at bay.
In the dim room, scented with vanilla and old paper, memories of another life rose like colored ghosts.
She remembered the legendary ball at Carlton, whose echoes once reached her father's estate as whispered tales. Helen had been the sun everyone revolved around—radiant in a silver silk gown adorned with mountain diamonds, moving with effortless confidence through halls drowned in rare flowers and music played by the capital's finest musicians.
It had been a colossal event, etched into noble memory for an entire social season.
"Why does Adrian always rewrite history?" Neris whispered, pacing the room, her footsteps echoing against the marble.
Was he trying to strip Helen of her influence? Or using Neris as a shield—or a distraction—for something far more dangerous?
She dismissed the idea of a test. He watched her with predatory focus; he knew her capabilities. He didn't need a spectacle to assess her.
It seemed deliberate—casting the spotlight solely on her, making her the single target, and watching how she would stand once the arrows began to fly.
The next morning, sunlight slipped shyly through the fogged glass of the greenhouse, painting luminous squares across the leaves. Surrounded by the scent of warm soil and breathing plants, Neris made a firm decision: the greenhouse would be part of the preparations.
She wanted this quiet place to bloom wildly on the night of the ball—to bear witness to the dawn of her new self, proof that she had once existed here.
Henry entered the greenhouse, his face drawn, dark circles beneath his eyes betraying a sleepless night. His concern had passed beyond social jealousy into genuine fear.
"Neris, this is a trap," he said urgently. "Adrian isn't elevating you—he's placing you in the crosshairs of traditions and merciless nobility. Helen won't stay silent, and society will tear you apart the moment you make a single mistake. Why is he insisting on putting you through this? I'm worried about you—to the point of terror."
Neris interrupted him with a calm smile, though her fingers trembled as they brushed a leaf.
"Don't worry, Henry. Nothing bad will happen as long as the Duke decided this himself. He always has a solution. Trust him… and trust me."
She left him standing amid the pale greenery and returned to work with the gardeners.
But Henry did not go back to his room.
Instead, he walked with heavy, resolute steps toward the Duke's office, sparks burning in his eyes.
Inside, Adrian sat behind the massive ebony desk, wrapped in infuriating calm.
Henry stood before him and slammed his hand against the table.
"This situation you've placed Neris in is unjust!" he snapped. "You're exposing her to danger—before your family and all of society!"
Adrian was holding his fountain pen, slowly turning it between his long fingers, his gaze fixed on an empty point in the air—as if sensing a threat no one else could see.
"Have you finished?" Adrian asked coldly, his tone sharp as a razor.
"I'm talking about her life and her reputation!" Henry shouted.
Adrian lifted his gray eyes suddenly—dark, piercing. A chill ran down Henry's spine, forcing him to step back.
"And in what capacity do you come to me with your concern, Mr. Henry?" the Duke asked quietly, his voice carrying the weight of mountains.
"As her childhood friend," Henry replied with desperate courage. "I've known her for years. I know her dreams and her fears. You've barely known her name for a few months. I have more right to worry about her than you do!"
Adrian smiled—a faint, mocking smile that never reached his eyes.
"You're worried because you believe you know her," he said as he rose slowly, towering with authority. "Because you think time grants you ownership.
But the truth, Mr. Henry, is that Neris Holsten is now under my full responsibility. She lives in my palace. Breathes my land's air. Under my protection.
She belongs to this place now."
He stepped closer, until Henry caught the sharp scent of tobacco and mint. Adrian leaned in and whispered, his voice laced with a quiet threat:
"I know very well how to protect what is mine. And I know how to silence any voice that dares approach her—whether it comes from Eton or from a guest who forgets his place in my home.
You may leave now. I have work to do."
Henry left, rage boiling in his veins, helplessness crushing his chest as he searched for a way to pull Neris out of Adrian's dominion.
Elsewhere, Cecile paced her room like a caged tigress. Jealousy gnawed at her heart; the thought of Neris hosting the nobility was unbearable.
"I can't let this happen," she muttered, biting her lip. "If this ball succeeds, I'll lose all control."
She threw a pillow to the floor, stifling a scream—then froze. Her eyes widened with a sharp, dangerous glint.
She remembered something.
Rushing to her desk, she pulled out a sheet of paper and began writing an urgent letter—one that would be nothing less than a match tossed into a powder keg.
That evening, Neris returned to her room as the palace sank into silence. The weight Adrian had placed on her shoulders finally settled in. She opened the guest registries, studying the ancient names that would attend.
Fear stirred—then hardened into steel.
"Very well, Duke," she whispered to her reflection in the dark window, her eyes burning with resolve.
"If you want a hostess… I'll give you a ball no one will forget—not for an entire year, not just one social season."