𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗿𝗮𝗰𝘁𝗲𝗿𝘀 𝗶𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿
SUI AGE 28
SERENA'S MAID AND THE HEAD MAID OF THE MANOR.
FREDERICK BLOOM
AGE 25
SERENA SERENITY
AGE 22
Authors pov
"POUR," the sound echoed through the high-ceilinged room.
Inside, the silence was broken only by the ominous swing of the grandfather clock.
"TICK."
The apprentice shifted nervously on the ornate, plush chair, eyes flickering toward the clock's face—the minute hand had crawled past the four.
"Umm…" the hesitant voice broke the stillness, sounding far too loud in the elegant quiet. "Weren't we supposed to meet at 9 AM today? It's already been 40 minutes…"
Madame Elara, a woman whose composure was as flawless as the jewels she crafted, did not even turn her head. Sitting impeccably straight, she raised a single gloved finger to her lips—a silent command.
"Shh. Silence," she murmured, her tone soft but sharp enough to cut through the air. Her cool gaze flicked toward the apprentice, a faint crease of disapproval forming on her brow. "I know it's your first time here, but don't make it too obvious."
The room grew heavier with tension, thick with the scent of polished wood and the steady rhythm of rain outside.
The apprentice's whisper followed, small and uncertain. "But… why? The time she gets here is the time we meet?"
Elara's lips curved into a knowing smirk, the kind that hinted at years of experience. "So, that's why you close the store when you visit this manor," she said quietly. "Because you don't know when the meeting will start—or when it will end."
There was a subtle nod of understanding between them. The reason was clear now. The kingdom's greatest jeweler did not visit this manor for a simple transaction—it was a ritual, a pilgrimage.
On the table nearby rested a heavy, leather-bound case, polished to perfection. From its partially opened lid, a faint sparkle escaped—
"TWINKLE."
The sight alone was enough to hold reverence. Each jewel inside had been chosen with devotion, prepared for one client only.
Elara's expression softened, pride flickering in her eyes. "Of course," she said quietly. "Didn't you know? No one does business in this kingdom without this client. It is my honor and pride that Lady Serena wears my jewelry. I could never give that up."
The clock continued its slow, deliberate ticking as the rain poured outside, each second stretching into eternity.
They were not simply waiting for a client.
They were waiting for Lady Serena—
and for her, one waited a lifetime if necessary.
---
"Anyway…" the apprentice murmured, still jittery from being so close to such power. Eyes flicked nervously toward Madame Elara. "Wonder what's keeping her this morning."
Elara adjusted her elaborate hat, a faintly condescending smile curving her lips.
"Oh, isn't it obvious? She's probably sleeping in…"
Outside, the rain continued its ceaseless assault, a relentless "POUR" against the tall windows. The apprentice's gaze wandered from the storm-blurred scenery back to the imposing, unopened doors of the manor's parlor.
With a slow, knowing lean closer, Elara's voice dropped to a scandal-laced whisper:
"She's likely sleeping in… after having fun with her lover all night."
The apprentice's eyes widened, scandalized and fascinated. The image of Lady Serena—the pristine, unreachable icon—shattered into something far more human, reckless, and undeniably alive.
A silent cutaway—
A bedside table, a toppled wine glass, grapes scattered over polished wood. Drops of wine gathered into a crimson bead: "DRIP."
"What? Her lo-lover?" the apprentice stammered, breath catching in disbelief.
Elara nodded sharply as though confirming a shared secret.
"Yes. There's a man she always keeps with her, like some luxurious emotional support doll. He'll most likely accompany her today as well."
The casual mention of the kingdom's most influential client having a hidden paramour sent a thrilling current through the air. Lady Serena was no porcelain statue—she was a storm.
---
Elsewhere in the manor, the storm outside escalated, thunder ripping the sky apart. A violent flash illuminated the grand bedroom, followed by an explosive "RUMBLE BOOM!" that shook the very walls.
A soft sound—"OPEN"—as a pair of eyes fluttered awake.
Lady Serena, the subject of whispered gossip, was jolted from deep slumber. Her lashes lifted slowly, revealing dazzling eyes hazy with exhaustion… and remnants of last night's indulgence. A pale arm lay draped over bare skin, silk sheets twisted around her form. Beside her, the sculpted torso of a sleeping man rose and fell with calm breaths.
A small, wordless "…", the only sound she could muster.
The muted stormlight poured over her face, revealing smudged makeup, tousled hair, and the unmistakable look of someone who had lived too much during the night. She sat up with effort, sheets clenched protectively in one hand.
"Ugh…"
A groan of annoyance slipped out as fingertips massaged a throbbing temple.
Outside, the rain hammered harder—"POUR"—as if echoing her misery. The day had arrived mercilessly.
Lady Serena Serenity, idol of a kingdom, lay tangled between desire and responsibility. A jeweler waited below. A lover slept beside her. And a pounding headache reminded her that indulgence always demanded a cost.
Duty was calling—and duty, unlike her, was never late.
---
The sharp sound of the slap hung in the air, followed by a stunned silence. Frederick's head turned slightly, the mark of her hand faintly visible against his cheek. His eyes, usually soft with devotion, flickered with something unreadable—hurt, perhaps, or simply resignation.
The rain outside intensified, "POUR," drowning out the sound of her shallow breathing. Serena clenched her trembling hand, lowering it slowly. "Don't touch me right now," she said, her tone calm but brittle, as if it could shatter at the slightest word.
Frederick sat there, motionless for a moment, before nodding quietly. "Understood, my lady." His voice carried no anger—only a tired, familiar acceptance.
Serena stood, the silk sheet sliding off her legs as she crossed the room. Every step was measured, deliberate, a return to composure. She pulled on a robe, the soft fabric whispering against her skin. In the mirror, the reflection that stared back at her was not a lover or a woman in disarray, but the heiress of Serenity Hotel—the image she was required to be.
The storm continued outside, relentless. A flash of lightning illuminated the room, revealing the untouched glass of wine from last night, the red stain on the carpet—small remnants of the chaos she had allowed herself to indulge in.
She drew a long breath and tied her robe tighter. "Prepare my dress," she said without turning back. "I have guests waiting."
Frederick rose silently, moving with quiet obedience. His every gesture was precise, respectful—yet beneath it, the tension lingered, thick and unspoken.
As Serena brushed a hand through her tousled hair, she caught her own eyes in the mirror once more. The woman staring back looked nothing like the one who had laughed in the candlelight mere hours ago.
Under her breath, she muttered, "Serena Serenity doesn't have the luxury of sleeping in."
Outside, thunder rolled—soft, distant, like applause for a performance that was about to begin.
The room glittered faintly as the velvet-covered cases were opened one by one, revealing an array of brilliance—emeralds, sapphires, pearls that shimmered like captured moonlight. Elara gestured gracefully, presenting each piece as though unveiling treasure fit for a queen.
Serena sat perfectly poised, chin lifted slightly, the cool glimmer of professionalism masking the exhaustion beneath. The jewels caught the light and painted fragments of color across her pale face. She studied them silently, her expression unreadable.
Elara, ever the performer, began her pitch. "This, my lady, is a newly acquired piece from the southern provinces—a necklace woven with natural emeralds and hand-cut diamonds. It was said to be inspired by the tears of the sea goddess."
Serena's gloved fingers brushed against the necklace. "It's lovely," she said simply, her tone measured. "But too sentimental."
A faint flicker crossed Elara's face before she replaced it with a smile. "Of course. Sentimentality doesn't quite suit the Serenity name."
From the corner of the room, a quiet movement caught Serena's attention. Frederick stood near the door, now dressed impeccably in his uniform, his composure restored. He carried himself with quiet dignity, as though the morning's tension had never existed. But Serena could feel his gaze on her, steady, unspoken—an echo of what they had shared, now buried beneath layers of etiquette.
Her fingers hovered over a sapphire ring—cool, blue, and distant. "This one," she said, her voice soft yet decisive. "It reminds me of rain."
Elara tilted her head, curious. "A fine choice. Calm, refined, and with depth beneath the surface."
Serena looked up, meeting the jeweler's eyes for a brief moment. "Exactly."
For an instant, the tension between her public grace and private chaos slipped through—visible only to the observant. Then, as swiftly as it appeared, it was gone.
Elara turned to the apprentice. "Pack Lady Serena's selection carefully. She has excellent taste."
As the apprentice moved to follow the order, Serena rose from her seat, the movement fluid and deliberate. "You've outdone yourself again, Elara," she said. "But next time, arrive without closing your shop. I dislike being the reason others must wait."
Elara smiled faintly, bowing. "For Lady Serena, waiting is never a waste of time."
Outside, the rain had slowed to a delicate drizzle, light filtering weakly through the tall windows. Serena's reflection appeared faintly in the glass—a woman polished to perfection, with cracks only she could feel.
Frederick opened the door for her. Their eyes met for a second—long enough to say everything neither dared to speak.
"Let's go," she said quietly. And the echo of her heels—"CLACK, CLACK"—faded down the hall, leaving behind the faint scent of roses and the silent weight of unspoken things.
Elara froze, her perfectly rehearsed composure cracking for the briefest moment. A dismissal from Lady Serena was no small slight—it was a declaration. Still, she recovered swiftly, offering a calm smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.
"Of course, my lady," she said smoothly, her tone balancing humility and resolve. "But if I may—before I leave—there is one more piece I'd like to show you. It's not from Silon. It's something… entirely different."
Serena's fingers paused mid-air, her attention caught despite herself. Elara gestured to her apprentice, who carefully lifted a slender velvet case from the bottom of the trunk. The sound—"CLICK"—as it opened was small but commanding.
Inside lay a necklace unlike the rest: a delicate strand of black pearls interwoven with faint silver thread. It wasn't ostentatious, but it radiated quiet confidence—an elegance that whispered rather than shouted.
"This one," Elara continued, "was crafted in the northern workshops. It carries no mark of Silon… only craftsmanship worthy of your name."
The silence that followed was sharp as glass. Serena's eyes traced the curve of the necklace, her expression unreadable. Then, slowly, she reached out—her gloved fingertips brushed one of the pearls.
"It's simple," she murmured, her voice softer, almost thoughtful. "Understated. It doesn't try too hard."
Elara inclined her head slightly. "Much like your grace, my lady."
From behind, Frederick's quiet breath broke the stillness. His gaze flicked between the necklace and Serena, sensing the shift in her mood. She glanced back at him briefly—an unspoken conversation passing between them in a heartbeat.
Finally, Serena turned back to Elara. "You may leave it. I'll decide whether it suits me later."
Elara bowed deeply, hiding her relief. "As you wish, Lady Serena."
As the jeweler and her apprentice began to pack up, Frederick rose silently, stepping closer to Serena. "You didn't have to be so harsh," he said softly, low enough for only her to hear.
Serena's lips curved faintly—not a smile, but something close. "In this world, harshness is a luxury only the powerful can afford."
Her gaze drifted once more to the pearls, glimmering faintly under the storm-lit window.
"Besides," she whispered, almost to herself, "beauty only matters when it obeys."
The rain lashed harder against the carriage roof—THUD, THUD, THUD—a relentless rhythm that seemed to mock their silence. The horses' hooves splashed through the puddled cobblestones, the wheels cutting through the gray mist that shrouded the manor grounds.
Inside, the air was thick with tension. Elara sat rigid, her gloved hands folded over the jewel case on her lap, her eyes staring straight ahead. The faint light through the window caught the side of her face—calm, composed, but with a barely concealed storm beneath.
The apprentice shifted slightly on the opposite seat, clothes still damp from the brief dash through the rain. Every movement felt too loud, too clumsy, as though even the smallest sound might reignite Elara's wrath.
After a long silence, Elara spoke—quietly, almost too quietly. "Do you have any idea what it means to lose a client like her?" Her tone wasn't furious this time—it was cold, weary, the sound of pride cracking.
The apprentice swallowed hard, voice trembling. "I... I didn't mean to offend her, Madame. I was just—"
"Just?" Elara's eyes snapped toward the apprentice, sharp as a blade. "You were just staring. And with that, you confirmed every rumor they already whisper about Lady Serena. Do you think she hasn't noticed the eyes that follow her? Do you think she doesn't know what they all say about that man?"
Her words hit harder than the rain. The apprentice lowered their gaze to their trembling hands. "I'm sorry. I didn't—"
"Sorry doesn't bring back a client." Elara's tone softened, but only slightly. "You've embarrassed me before her. You've embarrassed yourself. And you've made an enemy of the one woman who can destroy reputations with a single glance."
The carriage rocked violently as it hit a bump—CLATTER—but neither of them flinched. The apprentice's eyes glistened with unshed tears, and the world beyond the window blurred into streaks of gray and white.
Elara finally sighed, her grip on the jewel case loosening. "She's not a woman you cross lightly," she murmured, more to herself than anyone else. "Lady Serena remembers everything. Every word, every look. Even mercy from her comes with a price."
The apprentice looked up slightly, voice a hoarse whisper. "Do you think… she'll forgive us?"
Elara's lips curved into something that wasn't quite a smile. "Forgive?" She looked out the window again, eyes narrowing. "No. But she might remember us. And that, in her world, is far more dangerous."
The words lingered, cold and final, as the carriage rolled away from the grand Serenity Manor. The rain continued to POUR, washing the last traces of their visit into the mud, leaving behind only the faint echo of Lady Serena's voice—smooth, imperious, unforgettable.
Back inside the manor, unseen by them, Lady Serena stood at her window, the storm reflecting in her eyes. Frederick approached from behind, silent.
"She's gone," he said softly.
"I know," Serena replied without turning. Her fingers brushed the windowpane, tracing the trails of rain. "Let her remember this day. Let everyone remember."
Her reflection in the glass smiled faintly, sharp and unyielding—like a queen who'd just won another quiet, ruthless battle.
The silence after Lady Serena's exit was deafening. It felt as though the grand hall itself held its breath, unwilling to disturb the ghost of her presence. The echo of her heels still lingered—CLACK… CLACK… CLACK—until even that faded into the vast emptiness of the manor corridor.
Elara stood frozen for a heartbeat, her face pale beneath the dim chandelier light. Then, with a sharp inhale, she spun toward the apprentice. "GET UP! LET'S PACK OUR THINGS AND LEAVE." Her voice was no longer the smooth, composed tone of the master jeweler—it was brittle, edged with barely restrained fury.
The apprentice jolted to life like a startled animal. "Y-Yes, Madame!" Their trembling hands darted toward the velvet trays and glittering boxes laid across the display table. Rings, necklaces, and tiaras—each piece a symbol of Elara's lifelong craftsmanship—were hastily returned to the heavy traveling case. The apprentice's movements were clumsy, frantic—CLINK, CLACK, SCRAMBLE—as gemstones collided and velvet tore.
"Careful!" Elara snapped, voice cracking like a whip. But even as she scolded, her own hands were trembling. She gathered the last of the pieces herself, snapping the lid shut with a harsh CLICK.
The room, once filled with golden light and the quiet pride of their art, now felt suffocating—tainted by humiliation. Elara lifted the jewel case, its weight biting into her gloves, and turned on her heel. "We are leaving. Now."
The apprentice followed, head bowed, tears blurring their vision. Each step they took across the marble floor echoed like a punishment—THUD... THUD... THUD.
As they neared the grand doors, Elara stopped abruptly. The apprentice nearly collided with her. The older woman's shoulders stiffened, then she turned slowly, her expression a mix of rage and heartbreak.
"I told you," she hissed, each word slicing through the air, "not to make it obvious!"
The apprentice's throat tightened. "I-I truly apologize, Madame," they whispered, voice cracking. "I didn't mean to—"
"Didn't mean to?" Elara's tone softened, but her eyes burned. "You don't understand what you've done. That wasn't just a client, that was Lady Serena Serenity. The woman who decides whose work is worth displaying in her world. And now…" She trailed off, exhaling shakily. "Now she'll see us as nothing but fools."
The apprentice flinched under the weight of her words. The truth hurt more than the scolding ever could.
Elara closed her eyes briefly, forcing back emotion. "It's not just your embarrassment, child," she said quietly. "It's the death of opportunity. Of years of reputation and trust."
The apprentice's vision swam with guilt. The scene replayed in their mind—Serena's cold smirk, Frederick's brief glance of pity—and it burned like fire.
Finally, Elara turned toward the door, her tone clipped but controlled. "This place… it's not somewhere you should come if you can't control your eyes or your thoughts."
She pushed the heavy doors open—CREAK, THUD—and stepped into the gray, rain-soaked world beyond. The apprentice hurried after her, the downpour instantly soaking through their clothes. The rain was merciless, washing away warmth, pride, and hope all at once.
They climbed into the waiting carriage. The horses snorted impatiently as Elara slammed the door shut, the sound muffled by the rain. Inside, the air smelled of wet leather and silence. Elara stared out the fogged window, her reflection a ghostly outline—composed on the surface, breaking underneath.
The apprentice dared not speak.
Minutes stretched into miles.
Finally, Elara spoke, voice low and cold. "You have no idea what kind of woman she is, do you?"
The apprentice shook their head weakly.
"She doesn't humiliate people for sport," Elara continued, eyes distant. "She does it to test them. To see how they break." Her lips tightened. "And we broke too easily."
The apprentice turned toward the window, watching raindrops chase each other down the glass. "Do you think she'll ever… forgive us?"
Elara gave a bitter laugh, quiet and sharp. "Forgive? No." Her gaze hardened. "Lady Serena doesn't forgive. She remembers."
The carriage rolled on through the storm, leaving the Serenity Manor behind—a silhouette swallowed by mist and rain.
But inside the manor, Lady Serena stood by the tall window, watching the carriage disappear down the path. A faint smirk curved her lips.
"Pathetic," she murmured.
Behind her, Frederick lingered. "You didn't have to go that far," he said softly.
Serena's reflection met his in the glass. "Oh, Frederick," she said, voice like silk and ice. "You still think kindness gets results?"
He didn't answer.
"People show their true selves when they're humiliated," she continued. "Now I know exactly who they are."
Her eyes followed the carriage's fading silhouette. "And when the time comes," she whispered, "I'll know how to use them."
The rain continued to fall—steady, cold, and endless.

I swept out of the drawing-room, my heels clicking a sharp rhythm on the marble floor—"CLACK, CLACK"—before the jewelers could muster another word.
I didn't care to see Elara grovel further, nor that pathetic apprentice blush any deeper. The day was ruined by the lack of quality and the persistent drizzle outside. I didn't need their jewels, and I certainly didn't need their company.
My companion, Frederick Bloom, followed me in silence. He was used to these abrupt departures; they were simply part of my temperament.
I walked straight past the grand staircase and entered my private study, a room lined with dark wood and heavy velvet drapes. I didn't sit down. I needed movement, an outlet for the lingering irritation.
Frederick closed the door softly behind us—"CLOSE." He knew better than to speak first.
I turned on him, my gloved hand flying to my hip, the dark fabric of my dress swirling with the abrupt motion. I looked him over, from his broad shoulders down to his bare, muscled torso exposed beneath his loose shirt. He was perfectly sculpted, perfectly silent, and perfectly useless today.
"That child looked like she was about to cry," I stated, the memory of the apprentice's terrified face bringing a momentary, satisfied smirk to my lips. It was amusing, the raw terror and jealousy of the young.
Frederick walked toward me, a steady, measured pace. He reached out and gently took my hand, his thumb stroking the back of my glove. "You enjoyed that, didn't you?" he murmured, his voice rich and deep, a soothing balm against my nerves. "It was fun, wasn't it?"
I gave a short, sharp laugh—"HA!" I leaned in, my voice dropping to a low, conspiratorial murmur. "It was fun, yes, but I still feel irritable."
The truth was, the whole spectacle hadn't fixed the problem. The day was still a burden, the hangover still a dull ache, and the jewelry selection was still a failure.
Frederick's hand slid from my glove, reaching up to gently cup my cheek—"CUP." His dark eyes were filled with a focused, familiar intensity.
"You need to get rid of that irritability, I guess?" he suggested, a knowing smile curving his perfect lips. His attention was absolute, centered entirely on me.
I met his gaze, the challenge in his eyes answering the dissatisfaction in mine. The rain continued to drum outside, a monotonous backdrop to the luxury and power contained within these walls. The clock ticked on, marking the relentless passage of a difficult morning. There was only one reliable way to banish the lingering gloom.
I gave him a slow, deliberate nod. "Yes. That's exactly what I need."
♡o..(✿✿✿✿)♥
chapter 1 end
Story Art Ina
Tip's
IN THE KINGDOM OF MEURACEVIA, THE AGE OF ADULTHOOD IS 19 YEARS OLD.