Voclain Palace, Countryside of France
Nestled deep in the rolling countryside of France, the Voclain Palace stood with timeless majesty. Its spires pierced the blue morning sky, and the sweeping fields that surrounded it swayed gently under the breeze, adding an air of serenity to its grandeur. The estate bustled quietly—servants moved about with practiced grace, some flicking their wands to polish the marble floors and tall windows, others preparing a silver tray of steaming tea and delicate pastries.
Within the grand office of the lord of the palace, the air was heavy with expectation. Sunlight streamed in through tall windows, casting golden rays across the ornate wooden walls. Seated at the head of the room, in a carved chair of dark cherrywood, was Maximilian Voclain. His brown hair was neatly combed back, his sharp blue eyes fixed in a pensive stare. Across from him sat two women—his mother, René Voclain, poised and quiet, and his sister, Isabella, her posture rigid, eyes flickering with a restrained storm.
The silence was broken by the soft creak of the double doors opening. A pair of servants entered swiftly, placing porcelain cups of tea and a small arrangement of fine French pastries on the table between them. After a bow, they exited, and the room was once again sealed.
Maximilian reached for his teacup but did not sip. Instead, his voice rang low and firm.
"So… what should we do, Mom?"
René, who had been staring into the surface of her untouched tea, remained silent. Her expression was unreadable. Isabella turned her gaze toward her brother, then looked at her mother with tightly pressed lips.
"Of course we must find the truth," Isabella said, voice clipped. "But before that, I think Mother has things to explain—don't you, Maman?"
René did not move.
Isabella's voice sharpened. "I think we deserve to know the truth. About what really happened to Père (father). Why he suddenly developed a heroic urge to fight dark wizards—and then got himself killed. And now, there are rumors… rumors that he had a son. A son, Mother."
She leaned forward, her eyes blazing.
"Not just any child, but a son with Olivia White. Eira's grandmother. What is going on, Mother? I dismissed these claims for days, thinking them absurd. But your silence—your damned silence—is making it impossible to keep pretending. So I ask you, again: Did Père really have an affair with Olivia White?"
The pause that followed was suffocating. Then, slowly, René exhaled, her shoulders falling.
"Yes," she said quietly. "He did. And yes—he had a son with her. That man… Cecil… he is your father's child."
A beat passed. Then Isabella's eyes widened. Her fingers clenched around the arms of her chair. For a long, suspended moment, she said nothing. When she finally did, her voice cracked.
"I… I can't believe it. How could he? How could Père do that? He was such a loving father. He was always there for us. How could he be this person?"
René looked down at her lap. Her face was pale, stricken with a quiet grief. "I don't know," she said softly.
Isabella's throat bobbed. "Is he really dead? I mean… what if he ran away with her?"
This time, it was Maximilian who answered, his voice cold and emotionless.
"No. He's dead. I've been told by Elijah White himself—he killed him. Elijah killed both Olivia and Père."
Isabella covered her mouth, a long breath escaping her lips. She turned slowly toward her brother. "Wait—wait a minute. Did you know about this? Did you know about the affair? About the son?"
Maximilian did not flinch. "Yes. I was the first to know. About all of it."
Her hands trembled. "How? What do you mean—the first?"
"I was nine," he began.
But before he could continue, René raised her voice sharply. "Maxi, please don't—"
"No," Isabella cut in, rising halfway from her chair. "I want to know. No more secrets, Mother. Either you tell me everything, or I walk out of this house and never come back."
Maximilian looked at her, then nodded once.
"You're right. You deserve to know."
He sat forward, voice steady but heavy. "When I was nine years old, one night while Mother was away traveling… I woke up in the middle of the night. I heard noises. I went to Father's chambers—and I found him in bed. With a woman. At first, I didn't recognize her. Later, I learned she had been teleported there by a house-elf. I watched from the hallway. I didn't know what to do. When Mother came home, I told her."
He looked toward René, whose face remained lowered.
"She didn't believe me at first. But I gave her my memory. She saw it. She saw it all in the Pensieve."
Isabella turned to her mother again, breath catching.
"And… what did you do, Maman? When you saw it?"
Maximilian answered instead, with bitter detachment. "Nothing. She did nothing. She told me to keep quiet. She even tried to erase the memory at one point. But for some reason… she didn't act on it."
Isabella's voice rose in anguish. "Why? Why didn't you say something, Mother? Why didn't you confront him?!"
René finally looked up, eyes glassy.
"And what should I have said, Isabella? Tell me—what could I have done? Confront him? Ask him why he didn't love me? Why he betrayed me? And then what? Tear this family apart? Drag our name through scandal? I kept quiet because I was protecting this family. I held it together."
Her voice cracked, tears spilling over her lashes. "I endured it. For you. For this family."
Isabella's chest heaved as she struggled to contain the wave of emotion. Her voice was trembling when she asked, "Did Maria know?"
"No," Maximilian answered. "She didn't."
Isabella laughed bitterly. "Of course she didn't. That's why you disowned her, right, Mother? For falling in love with the son of the woman Father betrayed you with? You disowned her without even telling her why. You destroyed her life—and mine. You robbed me of my sister for years."
René turned her face away, wordless.
"And you," Isabella spun to Maximilian, fury igniting in her tone. "You knew. You knew all this time. But you said nothing. Because you were too busy playing the role of the heir. I believed you—when you said Maria tried to kill you and Mother for the position of the Lord of this family . I believed every word of your lies. I was such an idiot I believed you instead of asking her myself…"
Maximilian rose abruptly, his voice laced with fire. "And what was I supposed to do, Isabella?! Our mother was clinging to Père's memory like a ghost. Crying over his grave for years. And I was trying—trying to hold this family up while it rotted from within!"
He jabbed a finger toward René.
"She's the one who told Maria not to marry Damien. Maria disobeyed her. Left the family. What was I supposed to do—tell you that Father was a cheater who never loved us? That he was a liar playing perfect dad just to cover his affair with that whore—"
He cut himself off, then said more quietly, "And you. You were off in the Ministry, playing politics, too busy to even talk to Maria. Don't put all of this on me."
He paused, then added bitterly, "If you'd known back then, this is exactly how it would've ended."
He fell back into his chair, breathing hard. "And Cecil—his existence should have never come to light. I don't know how the press found out. Maybe it was Elijah White who revealed it before he died."
He looked sharply at René. "Did you speak with Eira White? What did she say? Did she agree to deny the connection?"
René closed her eyes, her voice barely above a whisper. "No. She said she wasn't the one who leaked it. And she didn't want to be involved. She said this matter is between Cecil and the Voclain family."
Isabella's mouth dropped open. She stood.
"You did what? You went to her—and asked her to lie? You asked her to deny the truth?"
She scoffed.
"'Hello, I'm your grandmother. Please, would you mind pretending my husband didn't father a child with your grandmother?' Really? What did you expect, Mother? That she'd embrace the woman who disowned her mother and never once reached out? You didn't even attend your daughter's funeral!"
Maximilian slammed his hand on the desk. "Enough, Isabella! Mother did what she had to do—for the honor of this family. And that girl—she refused to help. Maybe I'll speak to her myself."
"To say what?" Isabella snapped. "To threaten her? Force her?"
"If I must," Maximilian said coldly, "I will. I won't let her ruin this family's legacy."
Isabella's gaze darkened. "This isn't about honor. It's about your power. You're afraid—afraid Cecil might have a claim. You don't want competition for your title."
Maximilian stared at her in silence.
That silence told her everything.
"I didn't think you'd stoop so low," she whispered. "To harm Maria's only child—just to secure your throne."
She stepped forward, eyes burning. "But I will protect her. I failed to protect Maria. I won't fail again. I will be Eira's shield. So try. Go on—lay a hand on her, and you'll see what I'll do."
"Enough!" René stood, her voice echoing. "Stop this bickering! No one said anything about hurting Eira. I won't let anything happen to her."
But Isabella sneered. "I don't believe a single word, Mother. Not after what you did to Maria."
She turned on her heel. "I'll be watching. The moment you so much as pressure that girl, I'll come for both of you."
Without another glance, she stormed out of the office, the heavy doors swinging shut behind her with a final thud.