Carlton Palace seemed to breathe differently that morning.
Less than a month remained before the upcoming gala, and all the required arrangements for the palace had already arrived. What remained was only the final installation—work that would begin shortly before the event itself.
Neris stood beside Jason, watching the workers carry the furnishings inside. The palace was no longer quiet; it pulsed with a strange vitality and a majestic beauty under her supervision.
The glass greenhouse—once a graveyard for withered flowers and a haven for dust—had, through relentless effort, transformed into a crystalline forest. White jasmine climbed the marble columns, rare ferns spread across the floor, and small fountains whispered with delicate streams of water. It was as if Neris was not organizing a celebration, but reshaping the very soul of the palace, stripping it of its shroud of death. She had even added a tea table at the center of the greenhouse.
Meanwhile, the tone of social news—both in Carlton and the capital—had shifted entirely.
The poisonous rumors planted by Cecile and Helene had abruptly faded, replaced by a tense, reverent anticipation. Newspapers no longer questioned Neris as an ambitious interloper; instead, they spoke in hushed voices of what was to come.
The circulating headline read:
"Will the new Deshard advisor—the daughter of Marquis Holsten—live up to the legend quietly being built around her? All eyes await the night of the gala, to behold the beauty who made the iron Duke break his silence and open the gates of Carlton to the world once more."
Adrian had masterfully redirected the spotlight with political finesse.
Neris was no longer viewed as a scandal, but as an icon cloaked in mystery—one accessible only through the Duke's own gate.
Inside Adrian's office, the air was saturated with the scent of aged paper. He was reviewing security reports with Edwin when the door was knocked, and Neris entered.
She was no longer the girl who once stepped into Adrian's presence burdened with unease. She had grown accustomed to him; she no longer feared him. Now, she walked with steady confidence, her back straight.
She placed the final guest list before Edwin, yet her gaze remained fixed on Adrian.
"Your Grace, there is a necessary amendment," she said calmly.
"I wish to exclude Count Hayden from the final guest list."
Adrian slowly lifted his head. His movements came to a complete halt as their gazes met in a heavy silence. He studied her carefully, searching for that subtle tremor in her eyes—the one that surfaced when she felt threatened.
"Count Hayden?" he asked, his voice devoid of emotion yet weighted with authority.
"His family holds influence in the south. Excluding him could raise political questions we would rather avoid."
Neris showed no reaction. She did not recount nightmares or dredge up painful memories. She simply replied, evenly:
"He is someone I prefer not to interact with. His presence would disrupt the harmony of the gala, and as its organizer, I believe his attendance is unnecessary."
Adrian tilted his head slightly, a glint of appreciation flashing in his eyes—admiration for this kind of mature arrogance. She had not pleaded. She had not justified herself emotionally. She had spoken from a position of sovereignty.
"As you wish," he replied with an unsettling calm that made Edwin raise an eyebrow in surprise.
"You have full authority over the guest list. What you deem unsuitable has no place in my palace."
That absolute freedom was a delegation Adrian had never granted anyone before—an unspoken public acknowledgment that Neris was now the unquestioned lady of this place.
The moment the door closed behind her, the calm vanished from Adrian's face. He set the pen down sharply and turned to Edwin, his features suddenly hard.
"Edwin, I want every document, every whisper, every detail on Count Hayden. His history, his questionable dealings, any encounter he's had with the Holsten family."
He paused, then added in a low, chilling voice:
"I want to know why her voice trembled—no matter how hard she tried to hide it—at the mere mention of his name. Find any weakness in his life. I want to know what he dared to do to make her uneasy."
Adrian was no longer searching for political leverage or strategy.
Something else gnawed at him—an urge to know everything about her, especially what disturbed her and what she concealed.
Late that evening, Neris was inspecting the grand hall where the gala would take place. Massive crystal chandeliers hung from the high ceiling like blades of light. She imagined the flow of guests when she heard the measured sound of his footsteps behind her.
She did not turn. She recognized his cadence.
Adrian stopped beside her, and together they gazed at the empty hall that would soon be filled with the elite.
"Neris… at the gala, I want you to be my partner."
She turned slowly.
Their eyes met.
The request was direct—unadorned, without preface.
She hesitated. Not out of fear… but awareness.
"And Helene?" she asked.
Adrian took a single step forward, erasing the distance between them, until she felt the warmth of his body in the cool air of the hall.
"Have you forgotten my objective?" he whispered, his voice echoing through the space.
"I told you from the beginning—I intend to remove Helene from the picture entirely. You standing beside me, your hand in mine before everyone, will be the final signal of her departure. No one will dare spread another rumor about her and me."
Neris looked into his dark eyes and asked a question that pierced his manufactured composure:
"And is your desire to remove her… protection—or something else?"
He did not answer.
He simply looked at her, long and unreadable, watching her in silence. It was an unspoken confession that even he did not know why he insisted on keeping her so close.
In that silence, Neris found the answer that was never spoken.
"Alright," she finally said, deciding to follow him to the end—to understand exactly what he intended.
He inclined his head briefly, then turned and left.
Back in his office, Adrian sat behind his desk, analyzing his behavior with the commander's mindset that had never failed him—until now.
He realized that the gala itself, appointing Neris as hostess, and granting her such authority had never been merely a "strategic plan," as he had convinced himself. He remembered that evening when Henry had stood near her—the look in his friend's eyes, and the strange physical tightness that had seized his chest. He had made sudden decisions, altered the course of the duchy itself, simply to remove Henry from the path and keep Neris occupied—contained within the walls of Carlton.
This was not his usual judgment… and that unsettled him most.
Adrian understood that he was now moving under an unknown impulse—one his military mind refused to name or rationalize. Yet he knew one thing with absolute certainty: he would allow no force on earth to pull Neris out of his orbit.
She had become a necessity he could not explain.
Her presence beside him at the gala was not merely a message to Helene—it was a declaration to the world:
This woman is under my protection.
As Neris immersed herself in work, Edwin entered the Duke's office carrying a slim folder.
"My lord… we found something regarding Count Hayden and the Holsten family. It appears there was an unfulfilled promise of marriage."
Adrian's eyes widened, and a terrifying smile spread across his face, forcing Edwin to step back instinctively.
"Then," Adrian murmured,
"was the proposal intended for Neris—or her elder sister?"
"No," Edwin replied carefully.
"He sought marriage with Lady Neris herself."
Adrian's voice dropped to a whisper.
"Good. I want more. Everything about him. Bring me his personal details."