The room was quiet and dimly lit with amber lanterns, casting warm shadows on the red velvet walls. Incense drifted lazily in the air, the scent grounding Harper as she stood barefoot on the ceremonial rug before Madam Fransisca. No audience. No whispers. Just the sacred silence of the inner sanctum.
A single candle glowed on the table where the registration scroll lay open. A silver needle rested beside it—delicate and cold.
Harper stood straight, her hands slightly trembling as she took a deep breath. Fransisca watched her with a composed expression, but there was a softness in her eyes.
Harper's voice broke the silence, steady but laden with emotion:
"My name is Harper Walker. It has no strong meaning, and I have no strong will. I have lived and experienced in my 20 years of existence. I was being given an opportunity in the world of the elites!"
Fransisca gave a small nod of encouragement. Harper's fingers curled into fists, then relaxed again.
"On this day, I am becoming a courtesan! To uphold the principles, the honor and glory of the courtesan house. To love my fellow courtesans as sisters and to be a great help to my companions. To help hold the world in unity, to dream and achieve it, to become a great woman and build a legacy that lives on forever and never humiliates the courtesan house."
She paused, chest rising and falling. The candlelight flickered across her face.
"On this day I am named Blue! The flower of the courtesan house. I am to bring peace, wisdom, and sensitivity, and be a guard to my companions. On this day onwards, my name is Blue!"
Harper picked up the needle, drew a quick breath, and pricked her finger. The sting was brief, but it made her wince. A single drop of blood bloomed on her skin before she pressed it onto the parchment. The scroll absorbed it like ink, sealing her vow.
A young girl stepped forward silently and helped her up, her hands gentle and steady.
"Congratulations on becoming a courtesan, Blue," Madam Fransisca said, her voice soft but proud.
Harper bowed her head.
"Thank you, Madam Fransisca."
Fransisca stepped to the side and motioned toward two figures who had been waiting quietly in the shadows of the room. They stepped into the candlelight—refined and graceful.
"This is Freya. She will be your escort. And this is Sage, your bodyguard."
Harper turned to see the duo more clearly—both stunning, with the same heart-shaped face, sharp eyes, and long black hair tied neatly. They gave a short, elegant bow.
"I am Freya, and this is Sage."
"Y'all are related?"
"We are twins."
"Oops."
They smiled faintly. Sage stepped forward and placed his hand over his chest with a solemn expression.
"Yes, Blue. We pledge our loyalty to you on this day. We will be loyal to you forever."
Harper blinked, overwhelmed. Her lips parted, voice barely above a whisper.
"Thank you."
Fransisca approached again, her tone gently instructive.
"Since you are still young, you still need a sense of direction. So your guard and escort can direct you sometimes. You are their superior, but you need to give respect when it's due—and consider them your older siblings when you feel down."
"Yes, Madam."
Fransisca nodded once. "Freya?"
"Yes, ma'am!"
Freya stepped forward with a small velvet box and handed it to Madam Fransisca, who opened it carefully. Inside lay a delicate silver necklace, with a dazzling blue jade that shimmered as though it had life of its own.
Fransisca clasped it around Harper's neck with care.
"It's beautiful," Harper whispered.
"Quincy sent it as a congratulatory gift."
"That's so thoughtful of him."
"Yes. We should go now—the ball is starting."
"Yes, ma'am."
As they left the sanctum, Freya carefully helped arrange the gown Harper now wore. Sage walked beside them, her stance protective. The heavy double doors at the end of the hallway awaited—behind them, the grand ballroom.
But this moment—this quiet, secret crowning of a courtesan—belonged only to them.
The moonlight washed over the outer courtyard of the courtesan estate, casting soft shadows across the marble stones. From their hidden vantage point behind a carriage bay, Quincy stood still, his eyes locked on the grand windows of the ballroom where light shimmered and music floated into the air like perfume.
He leaned slightly forward, his breath curling in the chill as he caught a glimpse of her.
There she was—Harper. No… Blue.
She was glowing. Draped in a sky-blue gown with deep sapphire embroidery that clung to her like it was stitched by the stars themselves. A delicate tiara crowned her curls, her posture poised like nobility. The jade necklace he had sent rested above her heart, catching the light every time she turned.
"She looks beautiful," Quincy murmured, unable to tear his gaze away.
"Yes, boss," Paige, the guard by his side, nodded in quiet agreement. "She really does."
His eyes lingered for a long moment. Not with desire—but with awe, pride, and something aching, something he couldn't name.
"I wanna see her," he said, more to himself than anyone else.
"We're not allowed to be here, boss. If Madam Fransisca finds out…" Paige hesitated. "She'll be mad."
Quincy sighed, the heaviness of reality dragging on his shoulders. "Yeah. True."
They stood in silence for a few more heartbeats, just watching the golden-lit windows where laughter and music danced without them.
"She'll see you soon," Paige offered gently. "She's already registered. Let's wait. She'll come."
Quincy didn't respond. His eyes were still on Harper.
A flicker of something passed through his expression—pride, pain, maybe a little fear.
Finally, he stepped back, hands in his pockets.
"Let's go back home."
"Yes, boss."
They turned and walked back into the shadows, footsteps silent on the stone. The lights of the courtesan house faded behind them—but the memory of her in that gown lingered in Quincy's mind like a burn he would carry for a long, long time.
The tea room smelled of jasmine and sandalwood, filled with the soft clink of ceramic teacups and gentle murmurs. The instructor stood near a small, polished wooden table, gesturing to a dainty teapot warming over a tiny flame.
"So today," she said with a calm smile, "we're going to be learning how to brew this special tea from Japan. I brought it for everyone—there's a little teapot and a little fire to brew the tea."
Just as she was about to demonstrate, the doors creaked open. Everyone's eyes turned.
Click. Click. Click.
Heels echoed against the marble floor as Harper strolled in, smiling as if she owned the room. Her light blue tweed blazer caught the light with a soft shimmer, her white boots pristine. Delicate jewelry pinned her short, neat hair in place like a halo of silver. She looked radiant.
The instructor raised a brow sharply. "You are late on your first day of class!"
Harper's smile remained calm, apologetic but unbothered. "I'm sorry, ma'am. I slept past time."
The instructor gestured to the middle row. "That is your seat over there. Blue, is it?"
"Yes, ma'am. It's Blue."
"Cool," the teacher muttered, turning back to the teapot.
Just as Harper moved to sit, a hand seized her wrist.
"What do you think you are doing, Harper?"
The air shifted. Heads turned.
Harper blinked. "Angel? What do you mean?"
Angel stood, arms folded, radiating hostility in a crimson silk top, her tone sharp as glass. "Why are you here? Did you miss the class you were supposed to attend?"
"No, I didn't."
"This is the noble ladies class."
"I know," Harper said, voice calm. "That's why I'm here."
Angel scoffed, throwing her hair back. "If you know that, why did you come in here? The regular courtesan class is downstairs."
"I'm not a regular courtesan," Harper replied steadily. "I'm a noble courtesan."
Angel's voice sharpened, incredulous. "Says who?"
Harper didn't flinch. "Says me."
Angel's jaw tensed. "Madam Fransisca!" she shouted toward the hallway. "She is a noble courtesan?"
Fransisca's voice rang through the doorway. "Yes."
Angel's mouth dropped open. "How come?! She just got registered yesterday! She doesn't even have a companion yet!"
"She does."
"Who?"
"Quincy."
The room stirred with gasps.
"What?! Quincy subscribed for her?"
"Yes," Fransisca said, stepping into the room with composed authority. "She is a permanent noble courtesan."
Angel's eyes bulged. "What bullshit is that?! No one's ever been named permanent noble courtesan!"
"She belongs to the courtesan house. Quincy subscribed to her for five years before she got registered. This morning, she got an additional five years. That's a first in our house."
Angel gawked. "So just because Quincy subscribed for her ten years, she becomes permanent?!"
Fransisca smiled coolly. "Yes. You all signed up to be courtesans between the ages of twenty and thirty. That's the maximum term deal. Hers spans beyond it—therefore, permanent."
Angel's voice shook with rage. "And you approved that because you got more money?"
Fransisca's eyes narrowed. "The owner approved it."
Angel spat, "And who the hell is the owner?"
"It's not your place to know, Angel. Face your studies and leave the courtesan alone."
"You're putting Harper over everyone else!"
Fransisca gave a knowing smile. "Her companion did. Next time, hustle harder for a richer one. Because right now, Blue is above everyone else in the nobles' halls." She turned on her heels and left the room.
The tension cracked like thunder.
Angel glared at Harper. "You, Harper—!"
Harper met her eyes coolly. "My name is Blue."
"Who the hell named you Blue?!"
"Blue is my courtesan name," she said firmly. "And you shall call me Blue."
Angel stood frozen, her face a portrait of disbelief, then stormed out. The teacher cleared her throat sharply.
"Minus ten points from Angel's assessment."
The class fell silent.
Angel halted at the door, turned her head with a sneer, then left, slamming the door behind her.
Angel's Room
A vase shattered against the wall, petals scattered across the floor like fallen pride.
"AHHHH!" Angel screamed, clutching her hair, yanking the pins out furiously.
"Angel, please calm down," said Celine, hovering by the door nervously.
"Calm down?" Angel barked. "She was named the flower of the courtesan house. A permanent noble courtesan?! Her whole term got subscribed in one day!"
Celine hesitated. "That was because… Quincy favored her."
"Oh Quincy," Angel laughed darkly, pacing. "I pushed him into her bed so they'd turn enemies—and now they're companions? Isn't that ridiculous?!"
"You should've let the minister take her instead…"
"Did I know he liked her?!" Angel spun around. "She was even Quincy's guard before she came here?!"
Celine blinked. "Wait… she was his guard? But if she worked for the Dylans before, how did she end up here?"
Angel narrowed her eyes. "When did she come to the courtesan house?"
"Three years ago."
Angel paused. "Three years ago… that was the same year Logan tried to get rid of Quincy in the field, right?"
"Yes, Angel."
"Harper once mentioned she trained in the field… but the Dylans don't even have a field. They do business openly." Her lips parted slowly. "Oh my God… she was dressed as a boy—because no women were trained in the field. She was the one who saved Quincy back then."
Celine's mouth hung open. "But didn't Ross say the guard who saved Quincy was dead?"
Angel scoffed. "Ross isn't stupid. He sold her here instead of killing her. Made money off her."
Realization sank into the room.
"Apparently…" Angel whispered, eyes burning with jealousy, "Harper is our number one enemy."
"But she's a courtesan now," Celine said quietly. "She's untouchable."
"Says who?" Angel hissed. "I'll never let her go. I will never allow anyone to be above me in the courtesan house."
Celine looked worried. "Are you going to tell Logan?"
Angel grinned slowly. "Definitely. When he gets back from his trip, I'll tell him everything."
She walked to the mirror, brushed her wild hair aside, and whispered to her reflection—
"This is my opportunity to hold Logan. If Logan wants Harper—or Quincy—he'll need me."