Prologue
Ravensdale Mansion
In a dark room, the flicker of candlelight danced upon the walls.
A grand king-sized bed stood in the center, draped with heavy curtains.
On it lay a sick man Alaric Ravensdale.
Beside him was his wife, Cassandra Ravensdale.
She clutched a proposal letter, sealed with the Whitmore crest,
her hands trembling as she prepared to present it to her husband.
Before she could speak, he broke the silence.
"My dear, how is my Emily?"
Cassandra's voice quivered as she forced a smile.
"She is doing well, my lord."
Her words were soft, yet strained.
"And how about you, my love?" she asked him.
Alaric chuckled faintly, reaching out with a hand that trembled,
as if it could barely bear the weight of its own existence.
His voice was weak, each word a struggle.
"My soul is slowly leaving my body, my love.
Yet I still wish to see my Emily happy—with Gordon."
Cassandra's grip on the letter tightened, nearly crumpling the paper.
But Alaric continued, his eyes dim but determined.
"My love, promise me you'll see that day come.
I do not wish for anyone to harm our daughter.
Only Gordon deserves her."
Cassandra's heart ached, torn between the truth in her hands
and the promise in his eyes.
For a moment, she hesitated.
But then, she made a decision—one that would alter everything.
That night, she summoned Brendon and Ms. Mary to her chambers.
The fireplace crackled softly, casting flickering shadows across the room.
Behind the grand desk stood Lady Cassandra, her gaze cold and unreadable.
She looked every bit the queen of Ravensdale her chin held high,
her blood-red gown flowing to the floor, adorned with delicate rubies catching the firelight.
Before her lay a tall golden glass, its surface glinting with subtle menace.
Brendon and Ms. Mary stood before her, both silent.
Ms. Mary's voice was the first to break the tension.
"My Lady Cassandra, why have you summoned us?" she asked quietly.
Cassandra's eyes, sharp as daggers, fixed upon her.
For a moment, Ms. Mary faltered.
Cassandra had never looked at her this way before—so distant, so merciless.
Something was wrong.
Then Lady Cassandra spoke, each word slow and precise, her voice smooth yet cutting.
"In the world of nobles, loyalty and friendship are rare treasures."
She paused. "And yet, I have seen your loyalty, Lord Brendon. And yours, Ms. Mary.
So I ask you this" her gaze was ice, "can you hold a secret?"
"A secret," she continued, "that only we shall know… and bury."
Ms. Mary drew a breath, steadying herself.
"My lady, you already know my answer. My blood will never betray you."
Cassandra's gaze shifted to Brendon.
"And Lord Brendon?"
Brendon smiled faintly.
"I have sworn an oath to your husband—to remain loyal to your family and the generations to come, my lady."
Cassandra's expression remained unmoved. "Then prove it."
She gestured to the table, where three glasses of fine wine gleamed in the firelight.
"Before you are three glasses of the finest wine—delicately sweet and soothing. And yet" her eyes narrowed,
"one of them contains a poison that will kill the drinker instantly."
Her chin lifted a fraction higher, the glint in her eyes ruthless.
"Choose. Prove your loyalty to me. Either you die here, or you shall be placed among my most trusted."
The only sound was the crackling fire.
Ms. Mary chuckled softly. "My lady," she murmured, a shadow of a smile on her lips,
"if you have forgotten, let me remind you—we grew up together. I know what lies beneath that mask of yours."
Without hesitation, Ms. Mary reached for a glass and lifted it to her lips.
"There is no poison here," she said calmly. "None of them are poisoned."
Cassandra's eyes narrowed. "Are you certain?"
"Yes, my lady," Mary said, unflinching.
Brendon, meanwhile, took one of the remaining glasses.
"I shall drink," he declared.
"To prove my loyalty. If my fate is to die here, so be it.
I would rather perish proving my loyalty than live as a traitor."
And so they both drank.
After the last drop slid down Brendon's throat… silence.
Yet none of them had been poisoned.
Lady Cassandra smiled—a cold, cruel curve of her lips.
"Very good," she whispered. "Yet it does not end here."
Her eyes hardened.
"I need you, Lord Brendon. And you, Ms. Mary… to take my daughter far from this noble world."
Her voice was low but firm.
"Take her far—to a place where prying eyes cannot reach.
I do not wish for you to speak of this to anyone, under any circumstances."
Her gaze turned distant, almost mournful.
"Now go. Save her from hands that are dirty and cruel."
The only sound was the soft crackling of fire.
Brendon and Ms. Mary exchanged a glance.
They bowed in silence and turned to leave—
leaving Cassandra alone with the shadows and the dying light.
Present Day
Arthur Manor
The desk was cluttered with documents.
A framed photograph of Emily smiling sat among them.
Arthur casually flipped through a book.
Then a knock.
"Come in," he said.
A messenger stepped in.
"Lord Arthur, an urgent letter from Don Vo Domaill."
Arthur's lips curled.
"Ah… let's see what we have."
He read:
"Lady Ashley Grayson has successfully entered the island at Don Vo Domaill."
Arthur smirked.
"Oh, you are bold, aren't you, Lady Ashley?
Prepare to move out. I have unfinished business."
At the Abandoned Farm
The fire crackled violently.
Arthur sat in a thorn-covered chair, surrounded by darkness.
"Well!" he drawled.
"Shall we continue where we left off?"
He leaned forward, eyes sharp.
"My lady, will you surrender Emily's diary… and pretend none of this ever happened?"
Ashley's gaze burned.
Arthur chuckled.
"Don't look at me like that, Princess. That face reminds me of your father's final trial.
He tried so hard to prove his innocence. It was… delightful."
His serpent smile widened.
"No one defies the Whitmore name."
Ashley's fists clenched.
"You!" she hissed. "You're nothing but lies!
You poison truth! You filthy snake!"
Her voice steeled.
"I'm not my father. I will never surrender.
I will show the world what you did."
Arthur laughed.
"Oh, Lady Ashley. Who told you I was asking?"
He snapped his fingers.
Guards moved in.
Ashley rose, guarding her bag.
Sebastian stepped forward protectively.
"You shall not pass me," he growled.
Arthur taunted,
"Lord Sebastian… don't interfere."
He pulled out a ring, letting it glint in the firelight.
"Recognize it?" he sneered. "Clara's engagement ring."
A cruel smirk twisted across his face—one of pure victory.
Sebastian's face went pale.
"Why do you have that?"
Arthur chuckled darkly.
"We know everything. Whitmore eyes are everywhere… even in this small town."
His smile sharpened.
"You Vale bastards… four siblings from four different mothers. Lord Sebastian—disgusting."
Sebastian's anger flickered in the depths of his eyes, but he held it back.
Criticism like this was nothing new to him. So he swallowed the rage and stayed still.
Arthur's gaze locked onto him, waiting—watching.
He rolled Clara's engagement ring between his fingers with deliberate cruelty.
Then came the blow.
"Soon, Clara will have to share your child… with another woman too?"
He asked.
Then, without another word,
Sebastian's dagger flew—aimed straight for Arthur's face.
But one of the guards reacted fast, deflecting the blade just in time.
It clattered to the floor.
Arthur raised an eyebrow.
"Oh ho. Terrifying."
He kicked the dagger back toward Sebastian.
"Pick it up, Lord Sebastian," Arthur sneered.
"Show me how wild a Vale can be."
Sebastian just stared at him—eyes burning with fury, yet he didn't move.
He held himself back, silent and still.
Arthur's smile curled wider.
"Or…" he said, voice low and deliberate.
He toyed with Clara's ring, spinning it between his fingers.
His lips curled slightly, eyes glinting with anticipation—
waiting for Sebastian to break.
Sebastian's fury burned.
"I swear, if you so much as lay a finger on her, I will kill the entire Whitmore bloodline."
Arthur smirked.
"I'd like to see you try."
In a flash Sebastian snatches up the dagger,
And lunged towards Arthur.
To close his dagger almost touch Arthur face.
But the guards intercept him instantly, slamming him down to his knees before Arthur.
The dagger clatters from Sebastian's grasp, but the damage is done—the distraction is perfect.
Ms. Mary and Ashley can only watch.
As the guard pinned him down, arms restrained.
Then Sebastian spits a blood and grins up at Arthur, eyes glinting with dark amusement.
"Well, Lord Arthur," he sneers, voice rough but triumphant, "you didn't see that coming, did you?"
Arthur's smirk falters for just a heartbeat, eyes narrowing.
"W-What are you"
But before he can finish, Sebastian's eyes flick to Ashley—subtle but urgent.
His hands clamp down on the guard's arms, grip like ironclad, buying just enough time. For Ashley.
Ashley's breath catches, realization crashing in.
"Run!" Sebastian snarls, voice cracking like a whip. "Go Ashley!"
Ashley hesitates for a fraction of a second, torn
But Ms. Mary is already pushing her back, voice urgent and low.
"Go, child! Now!"
Heart pounding, Ashley spins toward the door.
But before she can reach it
Arthur's voice rings out, cold and lethal.
"Kill him!"
Then one guard held him back while the other drew a blade.
Ashley froze, her head snapping back to Sebastian.
"No!" she screamed, voice raw.
Everything slowed.
The fire crackled almost in slow motion, shadows stretching long and dark.
Ashley tried to turn back, desperation clawing at her throat—
but Ms. Mary shoved her forward, fingers trembling yet firm.
Arthur's smirk widened, eyes glinting with dark satisfaction,
while the guard's sword nearly touched Sebastian's skin.
Then—
The door burst open with a thunderous crash.
A commanding voice cuts through the chaos, sharp and unyielding.
"Stop that at once!"
The guards freeze, heads snapping to the doorway.
A man stands there, draped in a dark green coat, eyes cold and severe.
His hair is dark brunette, tousled but authoritative, and his presence fills the room like a storm about to break.
It was Aaron.
His gaze sweeps the room, lethal and unreadable, lingering for half a heartbeat on Sebastian bleed yet grinning before locking onto Arthur with a chill that could freeze hell itself.
"Unhand him," Aaron orders, voice smooth but carrying a deadly weight.
"Now."
The air is razor-thin, the firelight glinting off the blade still poised at Sebastian's throat.
And for the first time, Arthur's smirk falters—not just from annoyance, but from something darker.
To be continued.
Next: Chapter 15 — The Green Coat.