Siedel Estate, Noirémont Peaks
After examining Rowan, Dr. Young left for the hospital. He wrote a series of instructions for the nurse to follow, and advised Rowan on what to do.
Silence settled in the room like dust—thick and unmoving, the air made breathing feel like an intrusion. Drizzle started to whisper against the tall windows of the study, water streaking down like veins of glass. The walls, lined with leather-bound volumes and faded ancestral portraits, seemed to lean in to listen.
"Dr. Young confirmed the report. Twins," Rowan said at last, his voice cracking through the quiet, like dry timber splitting. "But we can't do a paternity test—it's too risky, too complex, which means—"
"We wouldn't know the truth until they are born." Madame Shantal sighed sharply, fingers tightening around the ivory handle of her cane.
Luke stood with his back to the fireplace, arms folded, brow furrowed. "Unless we're willing to risk invasive procedures. That could—"
"No," Shantal snapped, frowning. "Absolutely not. We don't touch her."
"And so we do nothing?" he shot back, frustration flickering beneath his composed exterior. "What if this is just some scheme, Nan?"
Rowan, thoughts preoccupied, looked up from the tea he had barely touched. "And what if it isn't?"
"What if those children are truly ours? Our blood? Your blood?" His voice was low but clear.
The firewood popped behind them, the only sound filling the pause that followed.
"We don't have the luxury of certainties," Shantal muttered. "But neither do we have the right to throw her out. Not when there's a chance—huge chance."
Silence again, this time thoughtful. The kind that pulled the tension inward instead of out.
"She stays," Shantal added, her voice soft but no less resolute. "Under our care. Quietly. No one outside this estate hears a word of it. If the children are ours—then they're Siedels, and they will be protected."
"No," Luke said as he pushed back from the bookshelf he'd been leaning on, his voice sharp with defiance. "You can't just keep her here, Nan. I'm going to propose to Sam—that hasn't changed."
The air in the study shifted. Eyes turned to him, who stood tall—shoulders squared, gaze unwavering, like a soldier before his tribunal.
"You would really propose to the Knight girl," Shantal said, each word brittle and icy, "Without our approval?"
"We don't know if they're mine. And until we do, I won't destroy my future for a maybe." Luke said, jaw tight.
"And if they are yours?" Rowan interjected, standing up from his seat. "Would you still marry into the Knight clan while your own blood grows inside another woman's belly? Those children could be the next Siedel heirs."
"I don't need you to tell me what to do, grandpa. This is my life. My decision." Luke snapped, his voice rising.
Shantal went silent as Rowan sat back in his chair, his hands steepled together, as he watched Luke. The tension, already taut, tightened to the point of snapping. Luke stood across from him, clearly bristling with frustration, his fists clenching at his sides. But Rowan was unfazed—he'd dealt with far worse than the ire of his own flesh and blood.
His gaze hardened, voice cool and deliberate. "No, Luke. This is the Siedel legacy. And the legacy comes first."
He wasn't threatening Luke, not directly—but the words hit like a blow nonetheless.
Luke took a step forward, his eyes narrowing. "So, you're going to dictate who I can marry, who I can have children with? You don't think I understand the implications here?"
Rowan didn't flinch. He had seen far worse from his predecessors—he had the weight of generations behind him. "You need to understand something, Luke."
He paused, letting the words sink in.
"If this... situation with Ara is true, then you're already trapped—like Earl. You'll never be allowed to marry Sam. Not by them, and certainly not by me."
Luke's face darkened with anger, but Rowan's words held fast, like iron chains.
"You'll have to answer for your choices," Rowan continued. "You've already made mistakes—publicly announcing that you're gonna pursue Sam, involving yourself in a scandal. And if you make another wrong choice here, you'll be jeopardizing the future of the family."
Shantal rose slowly from her chair and walked over to Luke, her voice far calmer than the storm in the room. "Your grandpa is right, Luke. The Siedel name can't afford another scandal, especially not with the Viremonts. They are still powerful—reckless, they will back the Knights any time."
Luke's breath came in short bursts, his frustration barely contained. "You don't understand—Sam and I are—"
"Oh, I understand perfectly well." Rowan cut him off, his voice low but powerful. "The problem is you don't, Luke."
Luke opened his mouth to protest, but Rowan's gaze stopped him. "And if you think for one second that I will allow the family's legacy to be tainted by this..."
Rowan let the words hang in the air like a threat.
"I didn't ask for this," Luke's shoulders slumped, his fists unclenching.
"Well, I won't have my first great grandchildren be illegitimate." The old master said, voice strained yet cold.
"We're already too old, Luke." Shantal sighed, holding his hands gently. "As I said earlier, what happened between us and the Viremonts before wasn't simple. Talks won't simply suffice."
"Nan, I won't follow dad's footsteps." He squeezed her hands firmly—not too hard, not too tight, but full of resolve. "I will marry the woman I love. No Viremont—or Siedel can stop me."
Rowan leaned forward, his eyes boring into Luke's. "You're a Siedel first, a man second. And as long as you wear that name, your personal desires come last to the family."
Luke could only look away, jaw clenched, but said nothing.
He had tried to fight for his autonomy, for control. But in the end, it wasn't just the Siedels' expectations weighing on him. It was his bloodline. His legacy. And all the years spent in this gilded cage, unable to escape the walls his ancestors had built.
"I won't stand for this, grandpa—no." Luke said quietly, fire still burning in his eyes even though he knew the battle was lost before it even started.
Rowan shook his head, his tone not unkind, but full of warning. "It's not that simple. It's never that simple. And you'll see soon enough."
Luke didn't reply immediately, but the seed of doubt had been planted, and Rowan knew it would grow. There would be no easy choices for Luke here. Not if the truth about the twins came to light.
"You'll delay," Shantal ordered, steely. "Maintain appearances but no more announcements, no proposal—not until the twins are born and we know."
Luke stared at her, his silence deeper than argument. In his eyes: war—between duty and desire, legacy and love.
"We'll handle the Knights, say you're needed abroad, to stabilize the new group. A reason to postpone talks, to keep them from visiting the estate." Rowan said as he walked toward the window, his back to Luke, surveying the estate's sprawling grounds under the rain. It was an age-old posture—a ruler who had long since grown used to people bowing, not questioning.
Rowan asked, turning his head to Shantal. "And the girl?" "
"We won't let anyone near her," Shantal said coldly. "The staff will be instructed. And she will remain in the West Wing, far from prying eyes."
"No one will know she's here until the twins are born." Rowan said with finality.
They began weaving a web of half-truths and delicate lies through the silence of corridors and the locked hush of rooms. While the girl downstairs stirred in her fevered dreams, unaware of the decisions being drawn like blades.
She would remain. For now.
And they would wait—tethered between uncertainty and legacy, between suspicion and the fragile hope of bloodline.
Outside, the rain intensified, brushing the tall hedges, rattling against the glass like fingers tapping in warning. The cold air seeped through the room as the downpour turned into a steady drumbeat—now deafening, as if echoing the rasping breaths, heaving chests, hearts pumping amuck.
Breath mists faintly rose in the dark as twigs rustled beneath frantic footsteps—darting through a narrow mud-slicked forest path. Moonlight flashed intermittently through the canopy, the trees warped and looming, their branches like skeletal arms clawing at the sky.
"Keep running, Sam!" a voice hissed, trembling but fierce. "Don't look back!"
Behind them, indistinct voices cut through the air—shouting, angry, in a language half-forgotten. The thunder of pursuit rattled through the trees, distant yet gaining. Always gaining.
The kid running with her turned, eyes wide and wild, lips forming words she couldn't hear.
Then—flash—she was falling with a man chasing them, dragged down into the underbrush. A snarl. A scream. The silhouette of the kid lunged at the man—a gunshot cracked the air, and everything shattered into black.
She tried to speak—to call out to the kid—but her voice was gone, swallowed by the mist.
The dream warped. The trees melted. The faces of the pursuers flickered—indistinct but cruel. One wore a family crest. Another bore a mark—one she recognized but couldn't place.
Then—complete darkness.
"Sam! Stay with me, Sam. Please." A voice echoed.
"I'm here, Sam. I'm here." Another one echoed again.
And then, just before waking, a man whispered something in her ear, his voice haunting:
"You were never supposed to make it out."
Ara awoke with a gasp, drenched in sweat, strapped on an IV drip. The morning light filtered through the drapes, soft and golden—but her heart pounded like a drum of war.
A fear she had long forgotten was starting to creep back in her heart.
"Bad dream, princess?" A grating voice startled her.
Her eyes scanned the room, then landed on the mistress, leaning lazily on a canapé sofa on the far corner of the room.
"What do you want?" Ara asked, sitting up grunting.
Roseann scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Shouldn't I be asking that?"
"Oh, I mean, you do you but isn't it creepy watching someone sleep? Waiting for them in a corner to wake up?" She asked, not quite looking at the mistress.
"You—" Roseann's face twisted but then she recovered, straightening herself up. "You were paid. I gave you enough to vanish."
"You gave me hush money to bury a child," Ara huffed. "Two. I was barely off the hospital bed when you sent that man—your lawyer? Your lap dog?—waving papers and checks in my face."
"You should've taken the offer and disappeared like the trash you are," Roseann sneered, stepping forward, heels punctuating every word. "Do you have any idea what you've done? Do you know how much trouble you've cost us? Let me guess—you saw the news, didn't you? The headlines?"
"I was the headline." The girl's voice cut cleanly across her rant.
Roseann barked a harsh, graceless laugh. "Yet you dare come into this house. You think showing up like this will earn you sympathy? You must be delusional."
"You made sure I stayed out of sight. But you failed. You may have bullied half the press into silence, but the world still remembers the headlines." Ara said smirking.
"You don't know the war you're starting." The mistress closed in their distance, eyes seething with displeasure.
"And you don't know who you're messing with," the girl said, gaze burning with fire.
That's when the footsteps came.
The nurse stepped in first, followed by the two elders and a butler.
"Roseann? What are you—" Rowan was surprised to see the mistress by the bedside. "This saves me the trouble. I need to speak with you."
Roseann eyed Ara one last time before greeting and walking over to Rowan, who was standing by the threshold.
"Young lady, should you need anything, just tell Bernard here." The old master briefly patted the butler.
"Thank you, Sir." Ara uttered as the nurse checked her condition.
Rowan merely nodded and left with Roseann.
"Breakfast will be here shortly, dear." Shantal smiled warmly, occupying the canapé Roseann was sitting on earlier.
The nurse assessed her, moving with that trained calmness—efficient, brisk, but never rushed—rubber soles softly shuffling on the tile. Shantal was speaking quietly with Bernard that came only as hushed whispers.
"Looks good," the nurse murmured more to herself than to Ara, scribbling something on her chart.
She paused by the foot of the bed. "You need anything?" she asked, meeting Ara's eyes for the first time—stare calculating, taking mental notes. Not cold, exactly. Just… clinical.
Ara's throat felt like sandpaper—parched and sore. She wasn't in the mood to fake politeness and ended up shaking her head with a grateful smile.
The nurse nodded, gave a tiny smile—just enough to be human—and was gone.
It was only now her and the old madame that remained as the butler closed the door with an almost imperceptible click.
Shantal walked across the space with deliberate grace, warmth gone, every step measured, like she was sizing up her next move.
Ara instinctively tensed, unsure of what to expect, but she wasn't going to show weakness. She knew the madame was a force to be reckoned with. The woman's very presence seemed to fill the room, commanding attention with just a glance.
"I trust you're comfortable here?" Shantal's voice was smooth like satin—but there was an edge to it that made Ara's skin prickle.
"I'm fine, thank you," Ara replied, though her voice held a slight quiver despite her best effort to stay composed.
Shantal's smile was faint, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. It was as though she found something amusing, yet it didn't make Ara feel at ease. She took a seat beside Ara, mattress dipping slightly under her weight, her eyes glinting with something unsettling.
"You're here now, Ara. And I can't help but wonder if you realize just how much your presence complicates things," Shantal said, leaning forward slightly, her gaze sharp. "Not just for you, but for everyone involved. For Luke, for the family, for the future." She spoke each word slowly, as if weighing it carefully.
Ara's throat tightened. She tried to maintain eye contact, but the older woman's stare was unnerving, like she could see straight through her. Shantal was trying to get under her skin, to see what made her tick, to figure out what exactly she was dealing with.
"I'm just here for the twins," Ara said firmly, her hands resting on her growing stomach. She knew she needed to keep this conversation neutral. The last thing she wanted was to get caught in some game of power she didn't fully understand.
"The twins," she echoed, almost as though tasting the word. Shantal's lips curled into something more akin to a smirk, but her eyes never softened. "Yes, of course. You're here for them."
"But don't forget, Ara, you're also here because of Luke. The family name." She leaned in a little closer, her voice dropping to a colder, more calculated tone. "And the Siedels have a very particular way of handling... situations like yours."
Ara felt the air grow thick around her. Something in Shantal's voice made her skin itch, a subtle, unnerving sense that the woman was holding back something far darker than mere courtesy.
"You will be taken care of," Shantal continued, her voice almost sweet, but the words hung heavy in the air. "But don't mistake that for kindness. You see, Ara, I've seen women like you before. They think they're in control, that they have a choice. But let me be very clear—this family doesn't lose control. Not over anything."
Ara's heart raced. She didn't know if Shantal was trying to intimidate her or warn her, but the underlying threat was unmistakable. She wasn't sure how to respond—what was there to say to a woman like this?
"I didn't come here to cause problems," Ara said, trying to keep her voice steady.
Shantal's smile returned, but it was colder now, more dangerous. "Oh, Ara, you don't have to try. The problems are already here."
She stood up, looking down at Ara as though she were a chess piece on a board, an insignificant part of a much larger game.
"You'll stay here, of course. For the sake of the twins. But know this: there are rules in this house. And those rules are not meant to be broken." She stepped toward the door, her gaze lingering on Ara for a long moment before she spoke again, her voice barely more than a whisper. "I hope you're smart enough to learn them quickly."
With that, Shantal left the room as silently as she had entered, leaving Ara alone. The weight of the conversation hung in the air, and Ara knew that this was only the beginning.
But she's ready, always has been.