Night wrapped Helia in a dark nightmare.
She was returning from a long day at the laboratory. The moment she crossed the threshold of the house, a sickening unease gripped her chest. The air was heavy, saturated with a suffocating tension. In the entrance hall, a few servants froze at the sight of her. Their evasive gazes and strained expressions said everything: something was terribly wrong.
A sharp sound echoed from upstairs, followed by the crash of something breaking. Then a rough, furious cry tore through the silence.
"Nahh! This can't be happening!"
Heart pounding, she climbed the stairs. Her footsteps rang through the corridor, echoing her rising fear. In front of the study door, a harsh smell of alcohol stung her throat. She drew in a steadying breath and pushed the door open.
The room was a wreck. Fallen books, scattered papers, shards of crystal strewn across the carpet. The candlelight flickered against walls stained by splashes of wine. Adrian sat on the couch, his head buried in his hands, his blond hair hanging in disordered strands across his brow. His wrinkled coat, open at the collar, revealed the tension rigid in his shoulders. A nearly empty bottle dangled from his fingers.
"Adrian…? Are you alright?" Helia asked softly, her voice cautious.
No answer.
She stepped closer, hesitant, and laid a hand on his shoulder.
He shoved her away in a sudden, violent gesture and sprang to his feet. His red, glassy eyes locked onto hers.
"No, everything is not alright!" he thundered, his voice cracking like a thunderclap.
Before she could react, he hurled the bottle. It flew past her face by mere inches and shattered against the wall behind her, exploding into a shower of glass.
Helia flinched, eyes wide.
"This is all your fault!" he roared, taking a heavy step toward her.
"Adrian… please, calm down…" she begged, her voice shaking as she approached him.
The blow struck sharp and clean.
The slap sent her stumbling to the side, a burning sting spreading across her cheek. She raised a trembling hand to her face, unable to comprehend it.
"Don't you dare tell me to calm down!" he screamed, his features twisted with rage.
His glare locked onto her, wild and unrecognizable, and a cold wave of fear swept through her. Instinctively, Helia took a step back. Then another.
Adrian followed. Slowly at first, then with heavy, deliberate footsteps that filled the room like a warning.
And then, without warning, he lunged forward, seized her by the throat, and slammed her against the wall.
"If you had found that damned antidote, my business wouldn't be falling apart like this!" he snarled, his alcohol-laced breath scorching her skin.
His fingers tightened. Air vanished from her lungs. She choked, her nails scraping helplessly at his wrist. Her vision blurred, her chest burning, every second more unbearable.
She tried to scream, but no sound escaped. Her legs buckled, her hands slipping down his arms and darkness swallowed her whole.
Helia awoke with a violent gasp, heart pounding wildly, drenched in cold sweat. Her breath came shallow and fast as she struggled to steady her racing pulse. She had not had one of these nightmares in weeks, and this one left her drained, as though she had truly come face to face with death. She forced the image away with difficulty, yet Adrian's acidic words still echoed in her mind, lingering like a poisonous stain.
She rang the bell to call Lucille and waited, her eyes fixed on the ceiling, trying to make sense of what had just happened, but failing.
The pain of the previous day remained fresh, anchored in her mind. She saw Adrian again, the man she loved, covering her in insults after betraying her in the most humiliating way. Elysia's triumphant gaze behind him... and all of this, in front of an assembly eager for scandal.
Her maid entered a few minutes later and gently closed the door behind her. Used to opening the curtains to let in the morning light, she hesitated upon seeing Helia lying down, her eyes swollen and her face marked by fatigue and bitterness.
A trace of concern flickered in Lucille's eyes, which she tried to mask behind a reassuring smile.
"Miss... you look so pale this morning. Perhaps you should take the day to rest?" she suggested in a soft voice, marked by evident concern.
Helia, usually quick to reply or downplay, simply nodded. She felt drained of all energy and lacked the strength to protest.
"Yes... I think you're right, Lucille."
Lucille, reassured by this response, gently opened the curtains, letting a faint stream of light filter into the room without being too harsh.
"Would you like to have your breakfast on the terrace, miss?"
"No, here will be enough Lucille, thank you" Helia's voice was but a whisper. She paused, then asked, slowly sitting up. "My father and brother... have they returned?"
Lucille turned, her expression saddened.
"Not yet, miss."
She then approached the chest of drawers to prepare a fresh towel, gently helping her refresh her face with tender care.
Once done, Lucille moved toward the door to fetch breakfast.
"Could you also bring me today's newspaper?" Helia asked in an uncertain voice.
Her maid froze, and a heavy silence filled the room. She slowly turned back toward her, her eyes expressing a compassion tinged with apprehension.
"Miss..." she murmured hesitantly before speaking more firmly, "I'm not sure you should read it."
Helia felt a wave of humiliation overwhelm her once more. She understood what that look meant: the events of the previous day would surely be recounted in detail in the newspaper, with cruel comments that would only fuel the shame and pain she already felt. With a soft sigh, she nodded and motioned for Lucille to forget the request.
She turned her gaze away, biting her lip to contain the emotion threatening to overwhelm her. Lucille, observing this reaction, understood that her lady needed calm and comfort on this difficult morning.
"I'll bring your breakfast, miss, and I'll be here if you need anything," she said with a kind smile, a glimmer of support in her eyes, before quietly leaving the room.
Helia remained alone, the silence of the room pressing in on her from all sides.
She knew that her family, her servants, and even strangers had witnessed her most terrible moment of vulnerability.
She had spent the day huddled in her room, exhausted by grief. She had tried to distract herself with her usual readings, but nothing helped; the pain returned in waves, irresistible, often followed by another uncontrollable burst of tears.
Night had fallen when she learned of her father and brother's return from the marquisate. Not wanting to appear weakened, she gathered herself to prepare and go down to dine with them, silently hoping they would act as usual.
As she expected, her father greeted her without any particular change, simply inviting her to take her seat at the table. His movements, measured and precise as always, almost gave the impression that he hadn't read the newspapers.
She could have been deceived... if not for his too obvious calculated indifference and Lucian's awkward glances, which revealed the truth.
Both were aware, and neither made a move to ask her anything about the banquet the night before or Adrian's betrayal. Strangely, this gave her a sense of relief. Where others might have sought emotional support, she momentarily felt protected by this distance.
The meal proceeded in silence, interrupted only by a few banal exchanges between the marquis and Lucian, which she paid no attention to. Helia played with her fork, her mind elsewhere, her face impassive. When dinner was over, she politely excused herself and returned to her room, leaving her father and brother alone at the table.
No sooner had she left the room than Lucian, his eyes filled with contained anger, struck the table violently with his fist.
"That bastard!" he exclaimed sharply, as if spitting the word with all the fury that bubbled within him.
The marquis, unperturbed, didn't even flinch. But a shadow darkened his gaze, and a cold gleam appeared in his features.
"If that scoundrel thinks he's going to get away so easily, he doesn't know us!"
The tension in Lucian's voice betrayed anger difficult to suppress.
"Father, let me take care of him! I'll crush his business to dust and make sure he ends up on the front page of the scandal sheets too!"
A bitter smile appeared on the marquis's lips. His gaze turned toward his son, impassive but calculating, and he replied in a cold, calm tone.
"As for destroying his business… Consider it already handled."
Lucian straightened up, surprised, then a bitter, predatory smile formed on his lips.
"In that case, I'll handle the rest." His eyes gleamed with cold determination. "I'll make him regret the day he was born."
The marquis set his glass down and, with a gesture of his hand, adjusted his napkin, as if marking the end of their clandestine conversation. He gave a knowing glance to his son, nodding slowly.
"Do as you see fit, Lucian. But be discreet."
He nodded, his features relaxing slightly, as if the prospect of seeking justice for his sister lifted a weight from his shoulders.