LUCIEN
(PAST)
Miriam's daughter came running from the house, phone held out like an accusation.
"Mama."
Miriam turned from the garden hose. Water pooled at her feet as the video buffered, then loaded.
BREAKING NEWS:
Lucien Valecrest, the youngest son of the Valecrest family, has been implicated in yet another public offense.
The girl didn't understand the words. She only understood the urgency. The repetition. The way her mother's shoulders didn't move.
Miriam watched the screen without expression.
She never was surprised.
Back at the Valecrest mansion, Seraphina sat near the window, porcelain cup balanced precisely between her fingers. Outside, her pearl-white Range Rover cooled in the driveway, metal ticking softly as if counting down.
Seraphina's MacBook Pro lay open on the table, volume deliberately high. Lucien's face filled the screen—paused mid-sentence, mouth caught between denial and confidence.
Her mother-in-law entered, already exhausted.
"You're very calm," she said sharply.
Seraphina didn't look up. "Another offense," she replied lightly. "You'd think he was attracted to consequences."
Her mother-in-law scoffed. "Instead of stopping this from growing, you're sitting here sipping tea?"
Seraphina switched channels. This one was slower. More careful. Timelines. Witness statements. Language that could not be edited into ambiguity.
She smiled—softly. "It already has grown."
Lucien's wife had left the night before. Quietly. Bags packed. No goodbye.
No one outside the family knew.
Yet.
Her mother-in-law turned away, dialing a number Seraphina recognized instantly. It was used for one purpose only. If it failed, the family unraveled.
Seraphina rose at the same moment and stepped aside to make her own call.
"Publicize it," she said calmly. "Every outlet."
They returned to the table together.
Seraphina closed her laptop and resumed her coffee. Her mother-in-law stood frozen, waiting for the storm to pass.
It wouldn't.
Lucien would think she was protecting him.
That was the mistake.
She wasn't stopping the fire.
She was giving it oxygen.
Lucien had always believed chaos bent toward him.
Even now—screens lit with his name, phones vibrating endlessly, accusations phrased with care—nothing felt permanent. Scandals passed. Women disappeared. The family endured.
Seraphina endured.
He found her in the drawing room, composed, untouched by the noise. Her phone lay face down. Her expression was unreadable.
"You handled it well," Lucien said, dropping into the chair opposite her. His smile came easily—relieved, almost grateful. "Publicizing it early was smart. It killed the suspense."
She met his gaze slowly. Precisely.
"I did what was necessary," she said.
He laughed. "I knew I could count on you."
The words landed exactly where she expected.