At the Trévér family estate, deep within the ancestral manor's grand hall, Alina Trévér sat sprawled across the Lord's chair—a seat reserved by tradition, yet no one dared to remind her. Her fingers tapped rhythmically against the carved mahogany armrest, a slow, impatient cadence echoing through the tense room. Her eyes were half-lidded in thought, but her mind was sharp, replaying every word, every glance, every breath that had filled the courtroom earlier that day.
Especially Eira White's.
The girl's voice still rang in her ears—clear, cold, and defiant. A twelve-year-old child, standing alone before the ancient power of Europe's oldest wizarding houses, and not only holding her ground… but commanding it.
Alina's gaze swept across the room where her family had gathered—uncles, cousins, aging grandparents, her own children, all seated in uneasy silence. Charles Trévér, her husband, sat stiffly at the far end, saying nothing. She let her eyes rest on her daughter, Sophie, who sat quietly, head bowed, clutching her robes in trembling hands.
Alina sneered.
"Today," she began, her voice cutting through the heavy stillness like a blade, "I watched a girl half your age stand before a court of predators. Men and women with decades of blood and magic behind them. She stood tall, unafraid, and carved her name into their memory with a speech and the show of power that none of us will forget."
Sophie flinched but said nothing.
"If you were even a fraction as capable as her," Alina went on coldly, "you might have been worthy to inherit this family. I would've named you heir. I might've even felt pride. But no. You waste your life gallivanting across Austria and the continent, drowning in champagne, clinging to shallow friendships, and squandering time with Merlin know who. You're useless. Every single one of you—" she looked around the room now, voice rising "—leeches. Feeding off this family's power and name without offering a damn thing in return."
Gasps and murmurs rippled around the chamber.
"I named Julian as heir," she snapped, "hoping he might show promise. But what did he do? Let himself be dragged into the dueling arena at Beauxbâtons and humiliated—humiliated—by that same girl. Eira White. A twelve-year-old who shattered his pride and left him skulking around the school like a dog with its tail tucked."
She stood now, her voice low but furious.
"This family is still standing because of me. My connections. My fortune. My strategy. Not a single one of you has lifted a finger to carry this legacy forward. You feast on its riches, but do nothing to protect its future."
Her mother, pale and trembling, finally spoke. "Don't say that, Alina. We fought. We've stood on the front lines against the Voclain family. We bled for this name."
Her father chimed in, nodding. "Yes, yes—don't dismiss everything we've done. I gave my youth fighting against the Voclains. I—"
Alina laughed bitterly.
"Oh, come off it, Father. If you were even remotely competent, Aunt Céleste wouldn't have been head of the family before me. Your 'efforts' were wine-soaked parties and pathetic wagers. You were a disappointment then, and you're a disappointment now. Don't stand there and pretend otherwise."
A cold silence followed. No one dared interrupt again.
Alina turned away from them, pacing now, her voice growing more contemplative.
"She's not just a girl. Eira White is… dangerous. Brilliant. Calculating. And somehow still managed to keep her dignity intact after being dragged before that farcical court. Merlin help me, I can't believe I'm saying this—but she's impressive."
Her lips curled into a crooked smile. "And Maximilian Voclain thought he could use her. Use her as a distraction to manipulate us, to shift the heat onto the White family and divert it from his collapsing house."
She shook her head in mock sympathy.
"He failed. Miserably. And what's more—his own sister, Isabella, has turned her back on him. Now, the Voclains stand alone. No powerful allies left. Their bond with the Ministry of Magic? Fractured. Their strongest connection—his sister—is now on the side of the Whites."
She turned back to face her family.
"This is the moment we've waited for. The Voclain name is crumbling, and their most strategic ally has abandoned them. Now, when their walls are weakest, we strike. For our ancestors. For justice. For the blood they spilled and the power they stole from us."
The air in the room was sharp with tension. Even Charles, usually reserved, found his voice, though it trembled.
"Then… what of your plan for the White family? You said you wanted to use them. That Eira was our key to entering the British pure-blood circles. What now?"
Alina's smile deepened—cold, predatory, gleaming like a blade unsheathed.
"Oh, Eira White," she purred. "I underestimated her. She's no pawn. She's a queen on the board. Calculated. Composed. Dangerous. And very, very useful."
Around the room, murmurs bubbled up again, some of them less than respectful. A few voices, half-hidden in the corners, whispered sarcastically behind cupped hands: "Oh sure, Alina's finally impressed by something that isn't a man's cock."
She either didn't hear them or chose to ignore them — which was unusual for her.
"First," Alina said coolly, "I'll speak to her. Try diplomacy. See if she's willing to partner with us—to combine the strength of the Trévérs with the reach of the Whites. If she accepts, we gain a foothold in the British magical elite. If she refuses…"
She trailed off, her eyes gleaming with a cold fire.
"I have other methods. Ones she won't see coming. I will use her to reach my goals—whether she's willing or not."
A chill ran through the room. Everyone felt it.
They'd always known Alina was ruthless. But now, she wasn't just hungry for power. She was obsessed. Eira White wasn't merely a political opportunity—she had become something more. A target. A fascination. A challenge.
Some of the family members exchanged anxious glances. A few silently prayed—for Eira, not out of affection, but pity. She had caught the attention of a woman who valued neither blood nor bond. A woman who had mourned only one thing in her life: Roman Trévér, and even then, more for what he represented than who he was.
Now, like a cat that had discovered a particularly intriguing mouse, Alina Trévér had found something new to play with.
And this time, the mouse was very much alive.