Sophie Laurent stood before Isolde Dantes, her posture composed, though inside she felt the cold of that woman seep beneath her skin.
Madame Dantes slowly shifted her gaze from Sophie to the teacup in her hand, and just as unhurriedly, took a sip.
"You wished to speak with me, Madame Dantes?"
Isolde set the cup down.
"Yes."
Her voice was emotionless — smooth and cold, like the surface of a frozen lake. She lifted her eyes at last, fixing Sophie with that glacial stare before speaking again.
"History repeats itself. Mother and daughter — the same."
The words hung in the air. Sophie did not flinch.
"I don't understand..."
A faint movement of Isolde's lips — almost a smile, but too cold to be one.
"You do."
Adjusting the folds of her skirt, Isolde let her gaze travel lazily over Sophie, as though this conversation were nothing but a waste of her time.
"Your daughter."
No more words. Only that look — sharp, crushing, merciless. Sophie felt something tighten deep within her.
"Auren... she has done nothing wrong."
"You said the same about yourself."
Sophie's fists clenched at her sides. Isolde did not even notice — or perhaps she simply didn't care. She exhaled slowly, turning away as though there stood not a woman before her, but a shadow.
"You'd do well to remind her of her place."
And with that, she rose — gliding past Sophie, leaving behind nothing but the echo of cold.
***
Sophie Laurent had always known how to keep herself composed.
She had lived through too much to let emotion take hold of her.
Yet after that meeting, a strange chill settled inside her — heavy, lingering, unshakable.
She sat by the window in silence, staring out but seeing nothing, lost in thought.
"What right does she have to speak to me that way?"
Isolde Dantes never raised her voice, never made a scene.
Her words were like blades — thin, precise, and cold as winter wind.
She didn't insult; she wounded with elegance.
"Mother and daughter..."
Sophie's fingers tightened around the fabric of her dress. The words kept echoing, gnawing at her.
How many years had she spent carefully staying within invisible boundaries, so that her daughter wouldn't have to suffer as she once did?
How many times had she swallowed humiliation, just to protect Auren's fragile sense of freedom?
"And now she's walking the same path..."
Isolde hadn't said it outright — she didn't need to. It was in her eyes: contempt, mockery, cold certainty.
Sophie drew a slow breath, but it felt heavy, painful. Her chest ached as though something pressed against it from within.
No. Auren is different. She's strong. She won't break.
But for how long?
She couldn't let Auren see her like this — fragile, shaken. She had already lost too much.
Her daughter was all she had left.
And she would not let anyone take her away.
Even if it meant enduring the cold in silence.
***
When Auren returned home, she hadn't expected to find her mother like this.
She moved quietly through the hallway, but as she passed her mother's room, she froze.
Through the thin wall came the sound of uneven breathing — faint, strained.
Something twisted inside her.
She pushed the door open.
"Mom?"
Sophie sat by the window, her pale fingers clutching the fabric of her dress. Her face was drained of color, her lips pressed tight.
But it was her eyes that frightened Auren most — they were empty.
Auren stepped closer at once.
"Mom, what's wrong?"
Sophie startled, as if only just noticing her. She straightened immediately, a faint smile curving her lips.
"You're home already? How was your day?"
Auren frowned.
"Don't change the subject."
She knelt beside her, searching her face. "You're freezing. Are you in pain?"
Sophie shook her head faintly, looking away.
"I'm fine. Just a little tired."
But Auren saw her hands — the way her fingers trembled, the tension in every movement.
"Mom."
Her voice was soft, but firm.
Sophie closed her eyes, drawing a steady breath.
"Auren, really, don't worry. I'm fine."
But Auren did worry. She could feel it — the heaviness, the shadow. Something had happened.
She took her mother's hands into hers, wincing at how cold they felt.
"What happened?"
Sophie smiled again, but there was something in her eyes that made Auren's chest tighten with fear.
"Sometimes the past just finds a way to remind you it exists," she whispered.
The past?
No. This wasn't about the past — someone had hurt her.
And yet Auren knew her mother would never say it. Sophie always hid her pain behind that quiet smile.
It was her way of surviving — her way of protecting her daughter.
Still, Auren couldn't just stand by.
She helped her mother rise gently.
"Come on, lie down."
"Auren..."
"Mom. Please."
That simple plea left no room for protest.
Sophie gave in.
Auren guided her to the bed, pulling the blanket up around her shoulders.
"Just rest, okay?"
Sophie's lashes fluttered shut.
"You always take such care of me," she murmured, touching her daughter's hand lightly.
Auren smiled faintly.
"How could I not?"
But inside, there was no peace — only worry.
Sophie's silence spoke louder than words.
Auren brushed a stray lock from her mother's forehead.
"I'll bring you some water."
"Don't," Sophie whispered. "Just stay."
So she stayed.
Sitting beside her, listening to the soft rhythm of her breathing until it finally steadied.
When Sophie's eyes closed at last, Auren rose quietly and slipped out of the room.
The house felt too still — unnervingly calm. The silence pressed in on her like frost.
In the kitchen, she leaned against the counter, trying to steady her thoughts.
"Why won't you tell me anything, Mom..." she whispered.
No answer came.
And then she heard it — soft footsteps behind her. She didn't turn, but she knew who it was.
Kael stepped into the kitchen, his gaze immediately finding hers.
Usually, her eyes burned with stubborn fire, even when she was tired.
Tonight, something else lived there — something quieter, darker.
He leaned against the doorframe, studying her.
"What are you thinking about?" he asked at last.
Auren straightened, still not meeting his eyes. Her voice was calm, but there was a tremor beneath it.
"Just... it's been a long day."
He didn't believe her for a second.
Time stretched between them — silent, heavy — until Auren exhaled.
"It's my mother. She's been worrying again. She's not supposed to."
Kael's eyes narrowed.
"What happened?"
"She won't say. But I can see it — she's not herself. Something's wrong."
Her voice broke — not from weakness, but from anger at her own helplessness.
"You think someone hurt her?" he asked quietly, his tone carrying a dangerous edge.
Auren nodded.
"Do you have any idea who?"
She bit her lip. A name burned on her tongue, but she knew — if she said it, he would act.
"It doesn't matter. What matters is that she rests."
Kael gave a sharp, humorless breath.
"So you'll just stand by while someone torments her?"
Auren's eyes snapped to his.
"What else can I do? She won't even talk to me!"
He watched her — the tension in her shoulders, the way her fingers gripped the counter — and then spoke, calm but absolute:
"Then I'll handle it."
She froze.
"Kael..."
"Don't argue." He stepped closer, voice steady as steel. "I won't let anyone make her suffer."
No emotion, no hesitation — and that frightened her more than anger would have.
"Did you notice anything strange? Anyone visiting her? Any change in her behavior?"
Auren frowned, thinking.
"She's been tired more often. And tense. But that's nothing new. She never complains."
He nodded, as if confirming something to himself.
"Could this be connected to your father?" he asked quietly.
Auren flinched, her expression darkening.
"I don't know."
"Have you ever talked to her about him?"
She let out a bitter laugh.
"I tried. Her answer was always silence."
Kael's eyes narrowed slightly. Silence meant more than words ever could.
"You were born here, weren't you?"
"Yes."
"And your mother — she's from Canada, right?"
Auren nodded slowly.
"And she moved here... when?"
"I don't know. She never said. Just that it was a long time ago."
Kael's hand brushed the counter again, his mind already tracing invisible lines.
"She's been hiding her past."
Auren looked down, her fingers twisting the fabric of her sleeve.
He saw the flicker of uncertainty in her eyes — rare for her, almost fragile.
He came closer and wrapped his arms around her from behind, pulling her close.
"Don't think about it," he murmured near her ear. "Let me handle this."
Auren stilled, feeling his warmth against her back.
"Kael..."
"You're already carrying too much," he whispered, his hand gliding down her arm. "Let me take some of it."
Her eyes closed. For a moment, she allowed herself to trust him — to breathe.
But Kael's mind was already elsewhere.
Canada.
The word echoed in his thoughts like a key turning in a lock.
He understood now — Sophie's past was more dangerous than she wanted anyone to believe.
And he would not back down.
His fingers tightened at Auren's waist.
"I won't let them hurt you again."
He leaned closer, his voice a quiet vow against her skin:
"I'll find out the truth. I promise."