"I'm sorry for coming here without notice. Is this the wrong time?" Sam softly spoke, clutching her new limited-edition handbag as her steps echoed towards them, looking intently at Luke.
Her silhouette cut against the bright space like a painting in motion. Tall. Composed. Not a single hurried step as her heels met the marble with a quiet, steady rhythm—even the regal mansion held its breath with such beauty.
She stopped just short of the man, eyeing him from head to toe with indifference that could barely mask the insecurity hiding beneath—subtly tightening her hold on the handbag. Her eyes fell on the woman he was carrying, thoughts racing, anxiety bubbling up almost to the surface—her outside grace a stark contrast from the chaos inside her.
"Sam, sweetheart! You came just in the right time!" Roseann exclaimed and greeted her with glee as she held the lady's willowy hands. "How have you been, my darling?"
Sam fell ill due to stress since she was harassed by journalists 24/7.
For weeks, the city had been in an uproar. Luke Siedel—son of the most powerful family in the region, sole heir to the Siedel fortune, the recently appointed CEO and most sought-after bachelor with impeccable reputation—was caught in a hotel scandal for the first time.
Drugged. Compromised. The woman unidentified.
But every media outlet had run with it, news exploded on social platforms, netizens were raging about it—opinions and sides forming, debating left and right. #SiedelScandal trended for twenty-one days. It was a national obsession.
And then suddenly—silence.
No articles. No follow-up.
Because two of the top entertainment companies were gone—bought out, wiped clean, archives scrubbed. Not even reporters would dare to whisper what happened.
"I'm recovering well, auntie. Thank you for your concern." Sam was exuding an air of elegance—a sophistication the mistress in front of her couldn't quite achieve. "Good evening Master, Madame."
With her hair curled into mermaid waves, her soft features were emphasized, skin so soft paired with dainty jewelleries that were still unreleased in the market. Her white flowy dress also hung just below the knee, exposing her slender legs. It matched well with her demeanour, making her look like an angel walking on Earth.
"Luke and I were supposed to have dinner tonight." She said and smiled shyly, although it did not reach her eyes. "I had the time to pass by his office but he wasn't there. He wasn't returning my calls either, so I got worried and rushed over here."
Luke froze silent, unable to find the words to explain, the kind of silence that wrapped around his throat like a tightening cord. He opened his mouth—once, then again—but no words came. The explanation sat heavy on his tongue, too tangled to speak aloud, heart beating too fast—as if he was thrown back to the morning after the shameful news broke, kneeling before her in great despair. Like he'd been caught with his hand in the proverbial cookie jar, guilt-colored and dumbstruck.
"Don't worry about that darling, he'll be right with you shortly." Roseann assured. She greatly adored this elegant young lady—the perfect match for his son, the daughter-in-law she envisioned to have.
"I apologize Miss Knight but the Siedels have an urgent family matter to attend to." Mr. Rowan chimed in and glanced at Luke, whose gaze was fixed on the beautiful lady in front of them. "I'm afraid Luke won't be able to properly entertain you tonight."
"Surely you understand." He added, eyeing back the young lady. Roseann wanted to butt in, however, she was met with a warning stare from Madame Shantal.
"Oh, no worries Sir! I'm just glad Luke is alright." Sam smiled sweetly to the old master, scanning Ara briefly. Her eyes remained untouched, like glass catching the light but reflecting nothing back.
"I'll take my leave now."
"Sam, wait! I—I'll see you off." Luke interposed, handing Ara to a guard on standby.
"I appreciate it but I'm fine, Luke." She retorted, smiling amicably—the corners of her mouth curving with practiced ease, but there was no warmth behind it. It was the kind of smile that offered politeness in place of sincerity—a gesture hollow at its core.
Luke took a step back indignantly, clenching his jaw, lips tightly pressed. "Albert will drive you home."
Luke nodded to his personal assistant who also drove the young miss to the mansion. Hearing this, Albert immediately sprang into action.
"Alright then, I'll be on my way." She greeted each elders and turned away, not even batting him an eye as she gracefully exited.
Luke was quite unhappy about this and gritted his teeth. He spent these past months apologizing and wooing Sam into seeing him again. He felt like his efforts went down the drain—back to square one.
He planned on proposing to Sam tonight, but the meeting with the elders took longer than expected and the torpid girl ruined his plans.
"Have her rest in the lounge." Rowan ordered the guard, snapping Luke out of his thoughts.
"Bernard already phoned Kyle, shall we discuss where to go from here?" Shantal suggested as they made their way to the guest lounge.
Roseann snorted, her voice rising to a shriek, "What?! Just give her some money or make her disappear entirely! Only gullible idiots would fall for these old tricks—"
"So, was Earl gullible enough for you?" Rowan looked at her with apathy, his words choking Roseann.
She secretly gritted her teeth at the remarks, glaring at the maids they passed by but their heads were already hung low, which further infuriated her.
"D-dad, what are you talking about?" Roseann stammered, and lightly chuckled to ease her embarrassment. "Don't disrespect my husband like that. Let your son rest in peace."
Although the old man had never said it directly, she knew he never liked her to this day.
God knows how she longed for the day when her son would finally take control over the entire Siedel clan. Then, she'd surely repay the old man.
"Master, Dr. Young is almost here." Bernard informed them, breaking the silence as they entered the lounge.
"Alright. Prepare the usual." Rowan ordered. The butler simply nodded and went his way.
The receiving hall unfolded like a showcase of luxury, every inch adorned with purpose. Gilded moldings traced the high, coffered ceilings, while rich tapestries hung like silent sentinels between marble columns. The floor was a mosaic of inlaid stone, patterned so intricately it could rival a cathedral's nave. No corner was left untouched—each alcove housed a sculpture or a vase of fresh blooms, their scent mingling faintly with old cedar and beeswax polish.
Several guest rooms branched off from this space, their doors tall and arched—framed with ornamental trims that shimmered faintly in the golden light. The air itself felt heavy with legacy, as though generations had invested not just coin, but pride and precision, into ensuring this space never whispered—butshouted—wealth.
"Mom, listen—I already gave her more than enough before! I'm sure she's just here to wring us dry." Roseann complained with a dramatic sigh, sinking into the velvet settee like a weary empress burdened with trivial matters. "Why should we go through all this? We're not even sure if she's telling the truth!"
Luke opened one of the guest rooms and had the still unconscious Ara laid on the bed. He heard his mother's loud complaints echoing throughout the whole lounge. His mood had significantly dropped since Sam left, his eyes as deadly as his mind.
"I'll just have her abort it, problem solved." He muttered, looking down on his phone—patiently waiting for Sam's reply.
"Might as well cut off your balls, huh!" Exclaimed Rowan, who was about to hit Luke again, eyes narrowing like a blade's edge.
Roseann just rolled her eyes on this old man, pulling out her phone—hand slightly trembling with the fervor of her grievances.
"Honey, relax." Shantal consoled, who was now rubbing Rowan's back. "Your blood pressure has gone through the roof earlier. I'll have Kyle examine you later as well."
Dr. Young arrived with his assistant trotting behind. He bumped into Luke who was just about to leave.
When the butler announced him, he offered a small, respectful nod, but his glance sought Luke instinctively—like it always had when they were boys, tangled in mischief or secrets.
"What's up!" He was about to pull a joke on him but seeing he paid no interest, he just went straight to Rowan. "How are you feeling, Sir?"
His manner wasn't stiff or formal, even in such a lavish space. Instead, he carried the ease of someone who had once run laughing through these halls, before chandeliers loomed overhead and titles hung like veils between people.
He shook hands with the old Master, who stood up seeing him.
"Dr. Young, thank you for coming without delay. As you're already aware, I'd like you to examine our guest." Rowan ushered him to where Ara was resting.
Squaring his shoulders with a practiced gentleness, he made his way toward the guest quarters, fingers tightening slightly on his satchel.
He wasn't here as a guest today, or a childhood friend.
His eyes—clever, warm, and constantly observant—swept over guest lying on the bed. Though his features were refined, there was something boyish in the way his brow lifted with curiosity and subtle concern as he set his things down.
Standing at the bedside, stethoscope slack around his neck, his fingers gently pressed against the girl's wrist to feel her pulse. His brow furrowed slightly—not from concern over her condition, but from a persistent, nagging itch at the back of his mind. Her face, pale and soft against the linen pillow, stirred something in his memory. Where had he seen her before?
Not from the clinic.
Not from town.
But somewhere—aaah.
He briefly glanced at the old master when he realized who she was.
Dehydrated. Slow and irregular pulse.
He skillfully examined her further, until his gaze went to her stomach.
Thatexplains everything.
He was stunned by the bump but recovered pretty quickly. He pursed his lips and instructed the assistant to stabilize her condition.
"I can tell that you already know she's pregnant." He commented as the straightened himself and relayed further instructions to the now busy nurse. "As she's currently unconscious, I'll have my assistant monitor her closely and provide the necessary supportive care."
"Do you know if she's receiving prenatal treatment?" He asked when they left the room.
"I called the hospital earlier where she had her ultrasound done. She never went back for a prenatal treatment plan." Rowan could only sigh, gripping his neck. "Roseann also mentioned she tripped in the courtyard earlier."
"Given the circumstances, I would strongly recommend that we proceed with a prenatal evaluation and initiate the appropriate prenatal care immediately." Kyle suggested as they approached the lounge, and eyeing at the door where Luke exited.
The silence that followed was only broken by the distant ticking of a clock and the hushed whispers as Shantal was relaying further instructions to the maids and the butler. Roseann was busy typing away on her phone—ordering yet another jewelry collection to relieve her stress.
"Dr. Young, I actually have something to discuss with you in my study." Rowan was in deep thought, doubt evident in his voice as he handed him a piece of paper and led the way. "It could be dangerous."
As the two gentlemen walked away, Roseann decided to leave as well and walked out, the sharp click-click of her heels fading into the silence behind her.
"Where's grandpa?" Luke asked when he ran into his mother on the corridor.
"On his way to his study. He's talking privately to Kyle—I bet he's considering abortion." Roseann smiled and excitedly left.
Luke thought of ridding that girl by any means as soon as possible, and hearing his mother's words, he rushed over to Rowan's study.
"... very possible since it runs in the family. Judging from her estimated due date, there's a strong chance they're his. As for the paternity test, it's difficult to carry it out in this case for a number of reasons—"
"What are you talking about? I heard we're pretty much heading towards abortion, right?" Luke abruptly swung the door open, dumbfounded, brows knitted in frustration.
"Abortion?" Kyle asked back in confusion, his eyebrows also scrunched up.
"Says who? You stupid fool! You're having twins and you're spatting out nonsense! Now, get over here so I can knock some sense into you!" The old master shouted but was immediately consoled by the young man beside him.
Kyle looked at him, meaningfully saying 'You. Fucked. Up.'
—
Knight Mansion, Ivory Heights
Sam's room was a portrait of elegance—silken curtains, delicately embroidered bedding, perfumed stillness hanging in the air like a fragile wisp.
Then—BANG!
The door slammed shut with a thunderous finality.
With a guttural cry that didn't belong to the graceful voice she usually spoke with, the woman—always angelic, always composed—snatched the porcelain lamp from the table and hurled it across the room. It shattered against the mirror in a burst of glittering shards. Her fingers, delicate no longer, clawed at the jewelry decorating her skin—angry red welts instantly lacing like raised, burning trails.
Her breaths were ragged, almost animalistic.
"Fuck that stupid whore!" Sam flounced and threw things across the room.
She grabbed at the sheets, tearing them with wild, uncoordinated jerks—the sound of ripping fabric a harsh counterpoint to the labored thudding of her heart.
Cushions flew.
Chairs overturned.
Picture frames crashed to the ground, their glass cracking like ice beneath a boot.
"Sam! Why are throwing things for?!" Leslie opened the door—revealing the chaos her panic-stricken daughter had made, the room completely torn apart.
She dodged just in time as a custom Weitzman heels flew by—landing heel first on the wall behind her.
She noticed that Sam was back early, seething with rage but didn't think too much of it since she was brought home in Luke's car. Did Luke cancel on her this time? Maybe she overly played hard to get?
"That bitch is in the Siedel Mansion!" Sam yelled and continued throwing more things. "She even fainted on Luke's arm!"
Her face twisted—no longer a serene mask of poise, but something raw, almost grotesque in its fury. Tears streaked her cheeks, but they didn't soften her expression—they made it more terrifying.
This wasn't sadness. This was rage.
Years of control, of charm, of practiced perfection—splintering in a storm of suppressed emotion, like watching a porcelain doll cracked open, revealing something feral underneath.
"That slut." Leslie immediately thought of one face, and one face only.
Impossible.
"Hey! For goodness' sake! Keep it down, will you?!" Cindy heard the commotion upstairs, and went to check on her sister's fiasco. "Fucking idiot."
She could only roll her eyes seeing how her sister thrashed the room to waste.
"You! It's your fault! You dare to call me an idiot when it's that brilliant plan of yours failed!" Sam was about to throw her a picture frame but was stopped—shoulders heaving, hair a wild halo around her face, eyes fixed on her sister.
Cindy mockingly mused a smile, leaning on the doorframe in delight, eyebrows arched as if challenging the lady before her.
"Sam, get a hold of yourself! The workers are still here!" Leslie ordered and gently shook her shoulders.
"And you, stop stressing your sister out. It's your fault for coming up with such astupid plan without consulting me first." She added glaring at Cindy. "Look at what you did to Sam!"
Cindy gritted her teeth in contempt. It was Sam who pleaded her to get Luke to sleep with her. The former even got ahold of some aphrodisiac from who knows where. All she did was to pour it quietly on Luke's drink. Now that the plan had gone South, she was solely blamed for it.
"Sam this! Sam that! I'm tired! I'm fucking tired of pretend—"
"I said enough!" Leslie raised her hand, slap landing with a hard, sharp crack across Sam's cheek—snapping her head to the side, marking it bloody red, leaving a bloom of heat blossoming.
"Yeah, that's enough." Cindy smirked, satisfied with that crisp blow as if it delivered her some justice. "Drink you pills before you come down…"
"... Our dear Amanda." She added before closing the door—leaving Leslie to indulge in her sister's another meltdown, smiling triumphantly as she hopped down the steps.