Rico walked slowly back to the room Zaya had shown him after dinner. The meal had been more than food — it had been an experience. Silver dishes, crystal glasses, and golden cutlery that caught the candlelight like tiny stars. The scent of roasted meat and herbs still clung to his skin, rich and heavy, as if the evening refused to let him go. He had never seen so much food in one place. Every bite shimmered like something sacred. Yet, when the Eliron urged him to eat, his throat had locked. He could barely swallow a few mouthfuls before he set the fork down. He was overwhelmed. Every time he lifted his eyes, someone was watching him — smiling politely, speaking softly, calling him young master as though it were the most natural thing in the world. Their eyes were kind, but unfamiliar. The words, heavy. He had nodded, smiled back, tried to look composed. But inside, he was trembling. When dinner ended, Eliron’s words still echoed in his mind — He was the lost heir of the West dy

Rico followed quietly behind Eliron, his mind swirling with thoughts about what might lie ahead. His chest felt tight, a flutter of anticipation mingling with nerves. The house felt different from the outside—quieter, older, as if the walls themselves held centuries of secrets. “Where are you taking me?” he asked, voice barely steady, betraying the unease he tried to hide. “Patience, Young Master,” Eliron said softly, calm and measured. “The truth lies ahead.” Rico’s footsteps quickened, impatience sharpening the ache in his chest. The hallway stretched before him, bright and endless, lined with portraits of stern ancestors and proud smiles. Their eyes seemed to follow him, whispering secrets he wasn’t yet ready to hear. A knot twisted in his stomach. What could be so important that Eliron had brought me here? At the end of the hall stood a single door, tall, carved with intricate patterns of vines and wolves. Eliron stopped. Rico’s gaze lingered on it, his heart hammering li

Zaya walked beside Rico as they descended the final steps of the grand staircase. The hall stretched before him like a dream he had never dared imagine, and yet here he was, stepping into its brilliance. Golden light spilled from the chandeliers, scattering across the polished marble floors and gilded walls like a shower of tiny stars. The scent of fresh flowers mingled with the faint tang of champagne, and the soft hum of conversation wove through the air. Guests moved gracefully, laughter rising and falling, glasses clinking in a rhythm that made Rico’s heart pound. It felt loud, then quiet, then loud again, until the steady thrum of his own pulse drowned out everything else. At the bottom of the staircase, Eliron waited. He radiated calm authority, a presence that somehow anchored Rico amid the overwhelming grandeur. Rico froze for a heartbeat. He had seen Eliron many times before, yet in this moment—standing at the edge of the hall, silver hair gleaming under the chandelie

“Delilah?” The voice sliced through the quiet like a knife — sharp, trembling, and filled with worry. Delilah’s head jerked up, her brown eyes widening in alarm. “Oh no,” she whispered, her breath hitching as panic flickered across her face like a shadow caught in candlelight. Rico turned toward the doorway, the shift of his movement slow and cautious. A woman stepped out onto the balcony, the light from the hall spilling over her, outlining the familiar gray of her uniform. She looked exhausted, as though life had taken too many pieces from her and left her with only fragments of strength to stand. Her hair, once neatly pinned in a bun, had begun to slip loose, strands falling against her temples. The tightness in her face wasn’t just from fatigue—it was from fear. When her eyes found her daughter, relief and frustration battled across her expression. The relief was brief, fading almost instantly into panic. “Delilah!” she hissed, her voice trembling with anger that was

The clatter of cutlery faded as the servers began clearing the table. The metallic scrape of plates and rustle of napkins gave way to a hush that settled over the room, but the tension remained, coiling quietly like a restrained breath.The chandelier above cast a soft, unwavering light across the polished wood, its glow reflecting off the table in steady, muted brilliance. It should have made the room feel warm, but instead, the shine emphasized the careful restraint of those gathered. The faint scent of the meal lingered, mingling with perfumes and colognes in a subtle haze—a blend of refinement, tradition, and silent expectation.Rico sat beside Patriarch Magnus, palms resting lightly in his lap, fingers twitching slightly as the tension hummed beneath his control. He reminded himself to sit straight, to keep his reactions measured, though the anticipation thrummed under his skin, impossible to hide entirely.The last plate was removed, and Eliron stepped forward. Even without look