The morning at Lonsdaleite Estate began not with sunlight, but with the commanding voice of the butler.
"Signorinas! It is time to rise."
His knock echoed against the carved mahogany doors of the triplets' chambers. Inside, the sisters remained tangled in sheets of silk, unwilling to surrender to the world beyond their dreams.
"Valentina. Isabella. Sofia." His tone sharpened, though still respectful. "Institut Le Rosey waits for no one, not even obsidian."
There was no reply. A sigh escaped him. Then, with long-practiced patience, he entered the first room and strode to the bed. The curtains were pulled aside with a single tug, flooding the chamber with the pale blue glow of the St. Moritz morning. The mountains outside glistened, snow catching fire under the rising sun.
Valentina groaned, rolling away from the light. Isabella buried her head deeper into her pillow. Sofia, the most stubborn of the three, muttered, "Five more minutes…"
The butler did not negotiate. With surprising strength for a man his age, he pulled the covers away, leaving the sisters to squeal against the cold air. "If you do not rise, I will be forced to call the maids. And you know what that means."
The threat worked. Within moments, the three were sitting upright, hair spilling like waterfalls down their backs, eyes heavy but awake.
"Cruel man," Isabella muttered, brushing a strand of light-blue hair from her face.
"Efficient man," the butler corrected, a rare smile tugging at his lips.
The maids arrived quickly, gliding in with trays of warm towels and bowls of fragrant water. The triplets were ushered to their adjoining bathrooms where marble bathtubs waited, steam rising gently. Lavender oil had been added to the water—an indulgence that soothed even their morning reluctance.
Valentina reclined in her bath, letting the heat erase the last of her sleepiness. Isabella hummed softly as the maids poured warm water over her long hair, fingers working to detangle the silken strands. Sofia, impatient, finished first, stepping out to be wrapped in a robe of ivory silk.
The ritual continued: drying, dressing, grooming. The maids combed through the triplets' ankle-length hair, brushing until each lock gleamed. Valentina's dark-red hair burned like embers under the morning sun, Isabella's pale blue shimmered like moonlight on water, and Sofia's golden-brown glowed as if spun from sunlight itself.
By the time they were dressed—in pressed uniforms tailored perfectly to their figures—they looked less like students and more like royalty preparing for coronation. Their lips had been tinted a soft crimson, their cheeks dusted faintly, though their natural beauty required little aid.
"Perfect," the head maid whispered, stepping back to admire them. "Switzerland itself should bow today."
The triplets laughed, though none denied the truth.
The scent of roasted coffee and freshly baked bread filled the grand dining hall. The long table stretched endlessly, its surface gleaming beneath the chandelier's golden light.
Their parents were already seated—though not in finery. Their mother, Livia Marino, still wore her nightgown, a robe of pale silk tied loosely around her waist. Her hair, once bronze-brown and humble, now fell in elegant curls streaked with silver. Her eyes lit up when her daughters entered.
"My girls," she said warmly, opening her arms.
Valentina, Isabella, and Sofia moved without hesitation, rushing to her side and enveloping her in a fierce embrace. Her laughter echoed in the hall, soft and melodic. For a moment, the world outside ceased to exist.
Their father, Don Alessandro Marino, watched from his seat at the head of the table. Still in his nightwear, he exuded authority even in the simplest garments. His gaze was steady, sharp, unreadable. He raised his coffee cup in greeting, though the sisters gave him no such affection as they gave their mother.
Their four brothers were sprawled casually along the table, plates already half-cleared. Lorenzo, the eldest, lifted an eyebrow as he bit into a piece of toast. Matteo, sharp-tongued and mischievous, grinned. Adriano, quieter, focused on his book even while eating. And Damiano, the youngest of the four but still older than the triplets, smirked as they approached.
"Still going to school?" Damiano teased, his voice lazy. "Imagine waking up early when you could sleep until noon."
The sisters rolled their eyes but took their seats.
"At least we contribute to civilization," Isabella shot back, reaching for fruit.
"You contribute to gossip," Matteo corrected with a laugh. "Half the school will faint when you arrive. The other half will plot your demise."
"Then at least we'll be remembered," Valentina said smoothly, slicing into a pear with graceful precision.
Livia chuckled softly, brushing her daughters' hair from their shoulders as if they were still children. "Eat quickly. Xavier is waiting."
As if summoned, the sound of polished shoes echoed through the hall. The doors opened to reveal Xavier, their driver. Tall, broad-shouldered, with dark eyes that carried both loyalty and secrets, he bowed his head respectfully.
"Signorinas. Don. Signora." His voice was deep, steady.
The sisters smiled, rising almost immediately. Unlike their father, whom they often ignored, Xavier commanded their genuine affection. Their mother's too—Livia's eyes softened every time she looked at him.
For Xavier was not simply a driver. He was the man who had once saved Livia when her parents had tried to sell her off like property. He had lifted her from despair, carried her into safety, and remained by her side even when she became the wife of an obsidian lord.
"Ready?" Xavier asked gently, his gaze lingering on the triplets with a kind of protective pride.
"Yes," Sofia replied, standing with her sisters.
Alessandro spoke at last, his voice low and resonant. "Remember who you are. Every step you take at Le Rosey reminds them that obsidian rules this world. Do not bow. Do not break."
The sisters exchanged glances but said nothing. Their mother reached for their hands instead, squeezing them warmly. "Remember also," she said softly, "that you are more than obsidian. You are my daughters. Be kind, when the world allows it."
The contrast between their parents' words lingered as they followed Xavier out of the hall.
The Rolls-Royce Phantom waited at the estate's entrance, polished so perfectly it mirrored the snowy peaks beyond. The bodyguards held the doors open, heads bowed.
As the triplets slid inside, the leather seats embraced them, and the faint scent of cedar filled the car. Xavier settled behind the wheel, his steady hands guiding the engine to life.
Through the windows, the estate shrank, replaced by winding alpine roads. Villages passed in blurs, locals pausing to stare at the sleek car gliding past. It was not just a vehicle—it was a statement.
Inside, the sisters sat close together, hair spilling across the seats, beads glinting faintly at their ankles. Their obsidian status was not just power—it was destiny.
But as the car curved toward Institute Le Rosey, their thoughts lingered not on power, nor their father's words, but on their mother's.
Be kind, when the world allows it.
None of them knew then how quickly the world would test that promise.