[Duclair Estate—The Next Morning]
The Duclair Estate had seen wars, duels, scandals, and surprise opera rehearsals—but never… this.
This chaos.
Maids were screaming. Footmen were sprinting with pillows. Cushions—fluffy like clouds sent from the heavens themselves—were being flung across the mansion with the urgency of a royal evacuation.
Extra-plush carpets were being laid over every inch of flooring, even up the marble steps, while a cook argued with the head butler over how spicy was too spicy for hormonal comfort food.
"MOVE THAT RUG! HE COULD TRIP!""WHY IS THAT CORNER SHARP? FILE IT DOWN!""IS THE ROOM HUMIDITY 53%?! I SWEAR HE SNEEZED!"
It was a royal-grade crisis. Because in the heart of the estate… A pregnant Lucien Rynthall had gone emotionally offline.
But outside?
The Count and his daughter were engaged in their own crusade.
