The night air outside the Veylor estate was cold enough to bite.
Serik walked across the courtyard with his backpack hanging loosely from one shoulder, each step heavier than the last. The gravel crunched under his shoes, a sound far too loud in the silence of a family that never wanted him.
Behind him, on the second-floor balcony, a pair of elegant heels clicked softly.
Elaria Feizen leaned against the railing, her silk robe fluttering in the breeze like a serpent's skin. Her sharp eyes followed the small boy walking away from the only home he had ever known.
A slow, satisfied smile curved her lips.
"I hope you die out there…" she whispered, her voice dripping venom.Then louder, so it carried through the empty courtyard:
"I hope you die out there, you little bastard."
She laughed—openly, fully, cruelly—as Serik kept walking without turning back.
Her laughter echoed off the mansion walls even after she walked away.
Damar Veylor was nowhere near the balcony.
He sat alone in his darkened office, lights low, curtains drawn. The bottle on the shelf had been waiting for a night like this. He grabbed it with a trembling hand, uncorked it slowly, and poured a glass half full.
He stared at it for a moment.
Then he drank.
The burn hit his throat, but it did nothing for the hollow ache in his chest.
With a heavy sigh, he opened the bottom drawer of his desk—the one he kept locked—and took out an old photograph. The edges were worn, corners discolored with time.
A young woman smiled up at him.Jet-black hair, soft eyes like wet amber, a doll-like face glowing with warmth.Serik's mother.
Damar's vision blurred.
"This is the only way…" he whispered, fingers tightening around the photograph."I don't know what else I can do."
A tear hit the glass frame.
He brought the picture to his lips, kissed it softly, and closed his eyes.
"I'm sorry," he breathed."To both of you."
He stared at the photo for a long time—longer than he had ever dared when she was alive.
And he kept drinking.
The massive iron gate loomed ahead of him, towering like the entrance to a different world. Serik slowed his steps, suddenly unsure.
What now? Where do I go? What do I do?
He was ten.Just ten.
His mind raced, panicked thoughts looping in circles:
Should I go to Swandani? Stay near the estate? Find work? Sleep outside? What would Mother want me to do? What would Grandfather Ardan have done?
The gate creaked open as he approached.The world beyond it felt too big—too loud—too real.
He stepped through.
The gate shut behind him with a final metallic slam.
Serik flinched.
A second later, headlights washed over him.
A car approached the gate from the outside, tires rolling slowly on the dirt road. Serik stepped aside, raising an arm to cover his eyes. The vehicle rolled to a halt.
The window slid down.
Serik's breath caught.
Inside sat an old man in a perfectly pressed black butler uniform, white gloves folded neatly on his lap. His hair was more silver now than Serik remembered, tied back in a small tail. His eyes were warm, tired, familiar.
"...Jons?"
The old butler's face softened, wrinkles deepening around his eyes.
"Young master," Jons said quietly, "step inside."
Serik blinked.He had completely forgotten.After his mother died, the Veylor house staff changed constantly… but for one year, the only person who stayed was Jons.
"W–What are you doing here?"
Jons opened the door for him, voice steady but gentle.
"I made a promise to the madam," he said, "that I would care for you until you turned eighteen."He placed a hand over his chest. "And I intend to honor that promise. You are her only legacy. My responsibility."
Serik's throat tightened.He hadn't cried since leaving his room… but now, the tears returned, almost overwhelming.
"Jons… I…"His voice cracked.
The old man smiled sadly.
"It's all right, young master. You're safe. For now, you're not alone."
Serik climbed into the car without another word, his small body trembling as he sat beside the only adult who had ever truly cared.
Jons closed the door, returned to the driver's seat, and started the engine.
As the car pulled away from the Veylor estate, Serik looked back one last time.
The mansion loomed in the distance, cold and silent, a place he knew he would never return to.
Jons rested a gentle hand on Serik's shoulder.
"Do not worry young master," the butler said softly, "You are strong just like the madam."
Serik nodded, wiping his eyes.
"Yeah," he whispered."Just like mother."
Inside the mansion, Elaria Feizen sat elegantly on a velvet chaise while a maid poured her tea. Steam curled upward in delicate spirals.
Elaria hummed a cheerful little tune as she lifted the cup to her lips, eyes closed, savoring the moment.
The maid glanced toward the courtyard, then spoke softly:
"Madam… that vile thing is finally gone."
Elaria opened her eyes, amusement shimmering in them.
"Just as I said it would happen. Damar needs this alliance more than he needs a bastard child. He offended the wrong person years ago, but now… now he has nothing to worry about."Her smile grew sharper."My son will be the next head."
She stood up with surprising grace and spun once, her robe swirling as she danced lightly across the room, basking in her victory.
The maid watched her, hesitant."…Madam, forgive me, but… what if he returns one day?"
Elaria froze mid-step.
Slowly, she turned.A manic gleam lit her eyes as she pressed a hand to her stomach, bending over in hysterical laughter.
"Return?" she echoed between breaths. "My dear girl… we are part of the mafia."
She raised her free hand and slid her thumb across her neck in a slow, cutting motion.
"You know exactly how we handle… inconvenient things."
The maid smiled, bowed her head deeper, and dared not say another word.
Elaria composed herself, smoothing down her robe.
"That's enough fun for tonight. I'll be going to my room."She took a step toward the staircase, humming again."Tomorrow will be a wonderful day."