They stood just outside the dining hall, the corridor bathed in amber light from antique sconces. The silence between them was not cold, but weighted — like the pause after a symphony ends, when breath stills but no one claps yet.
Emmerich turned to her. His expression, so often unreadable, had gentled like thawing ice.
"Good night, Luna," he said, the words hushed but full of something warm. Something fatherly.
Luna blinked. It had been years—years—since anyone had said those words to her. Certainly not like that. Not with care.
She stiffened instinctively, as though not knowing what to do with the softness. Her reply came awkward and automatic.
"Uh. Yeah. You too."
He didn't correct her. Just gave her a small nod, the hint of a smile flickering at the corner of his mouth before he turned and walked away, his footsteps echoing with regal grace down the marble hall.
A maid with downcast eyes and perfect posture waited patiently beside her. "Miss Luna? This way."
Still feeling as though she were trapped inside someone else's dream, Luna followed in silence. Through tall arched doors. Past statues that didn't blink but felt like they might. Up a winding staircase that seemed to climb into the clouds.
The room they brought her to could've housed her entire apartment and still had space for a yoga studio. Deep plum curtains were drawn over high windows. A fireplace flickered in the corner. Everything gleamed with polished elegance, untouched but not unloved.
The maid gestured to a set of folded satin pajamas atop the massive bed, murmured something about ringing a bell if she needed anything, and then left quietly.
Luna stood there for a long moment, staring at the bed like it was a trap.
Then she sighed, changed out of the formal dress, and slipped into the pajamas—silky, whisper-soft, in a pale lavender that made her feel weirdly expensive just existing in it.
She flopped backward onto the bed.
"Oh hell," she breathed aloud.
The mattress was a cloud. A warm, supportive, heavenly cloud. The pillows, too, seemed to cradle her head like the hands of the universe. She groaned and sank deeper.
"If I sleep on this thing for a year," she muttered, "I might forget poverty ever existed."
She stared at the ornate ceiling, the silk canopy overhead.
"This morning I had breakfast that was... what? A stale butter cookie and half a banana," she murmured to no one. "And now I'm wearing pajamas worth more than my rent, lying on a bed that probably has a name."
The absurdity of it made her laugh, though it was more bewildered than amused.
"My life did a full 180 in ten hours," she whispered. "I went from lint in my wallet to… heir to a green empire."
She turned on her side, hugging a pillow close to her chest.
And though the bed was soft and the fire warm, a quiet ache still curled in her chest.
She missed Milo.
She missed knowing who she was.
But sleep, relentless and sweet, pulled at her until she drifted off—somewhere between disbelief and dreams.
The sun was already spilling through the tall windows when Luna blinked awake, her hair a disheveled halo against a pillow softer than anything she'd known. For a moment, she was weightless—caught between sleep and morning, unsure of where she was.
She stretched slowly, limbs sinking into the mattress, and mumbled groggily, "Milo…?"
Her hand patted the space beside her.
No warm, furry loaf curled against her ribs. No faint rumble of purring. Just sheets that smelled faintly of lavender and linen, too crisp, too smooth.
And then—oh.
Her eyes opened wider.
The ceiling wasn't the water-stained plaster she was used to. It was etched with golden filigree. The air didn't smell like old litter and stale coffee—it smelled like blooming orchids and wealth.
Her heart gave a confused flutter as memories rushed back.
The men in suits. The manor. The dinner. The man with her eyes.
Her father.
Her father.
Luna sat up abruptly, hair wild and pajamas askew. She looked around at the room as if seeing it for the first time, the sheer scope of it making her head swim.
She frowned.
Then, without warning, let out a single incredulous laugh—sharp and baffled.
"What the hell is my life?"
The laugh echoed against the walls, and before she could properly bury her face in a pillow, a polite knock came at the door. She jolted, then winced.
"Miss Luna?" came a calm voice through the door. "Are you awake?"
Luna cleared her throat, sitting up straighter. "Uh—yep! Yes! Wide awake."
The door opened gently, revealing the same maid from last night, holding a tablet in one hand and a few swatches of fabric in the other.
"Good morning, Miss. I hope you slept well. May I ask what you'd prefer to wear today? We've laid out a few casual options, or something more formal if you intend to visit the estate grounds."
Luna stared at her for a beat, brain still catching up. "Uh… casual. Please. Very casual."
"Very good. Also, your father has asked if you'd join him in his study when you're ready."
"Oh—yeah. Okay. I'll be ready in, like, fifteen minutes. Or ten. Eight?" she added, already climbing out of bed, flustered.
The maid offered a graceful nod and withdrew.
Luna muttered to herself as she hurried to change, cheeks flushed with secondhand embarrassment.
Great. First day of billionaire heiress duty, and you're cackling in satin like a maniac.
By the time she dressed—soft blouse, fitted pants, flats far nicer than anything she owned before—she felt like she had at least reattached herself to her body. She ran a brush through her tangled hair and followed the maid through the long hallway.
As they descended a wide staircase, a glint of light caught her eye through the tall window at the landing.
She slowed.
Outside, nestled neatly along the circular driveway, were several sleek vehicles—each bearing the distinct emblem of Stargreen, the family's own renewable energy automotive line. These were not the showroom models. These were prototypes—sculpted in futuristic curves, with matte finishes and quiet elegance.
And they weren't there last night.
Luna tilted her head.
Visitors?
She glanced at the maid, but the woman offered no explanation, merely continued walking. So Luna followed, tucking the question into the back of her mind as they approached an arched door near the west wing.
The maid knocked once, then pushed it open.
"Miss Luna," she announced softly.
Inside, the study was bathed in morning gold, its shelves stretching high with ancient books and mechanical models. Emmerich stood near the window, one hand resting on a globe that glinted with inlaid copper. He turned as she stepped in.
And smiled.
Not the elegant, rehearsed kind she'd seen at dinner.
But something quieter. Warmer.
"Good morning, Luna," he said.
And this time, she didn't flinch.
The study was quiet, thick with the smell of polished wood and old paper. Morning sunlight streamed through tall windows, glinting off the spine of every book and the brushed brass fixtures along the walls.
Luna stood stiffly just inside, her hands shoved in the pockets of her pale slacks, eyes flicking from globe to bookshelf to her father's composed form. Emmerich gestured to a pair of leather chairs before a wide, walnut desk.
"Please," he said gently. "Sit."
She did, hesitantly. The chair tried to swallow her with comfort, and she stiffened against it.
Without a word, Emmerich opened a drawer and drew out a thick, leather-bound folder. Its weight thunked softly as he placed it before her.
Luna stared at it. The fine paper. The gold-embossed seal. The words PRIVATE TRUST ACCOUNT – LUNA ARCLIGHT staring up at her like they belonged to someone else.
She opened it, slowly.
Her eyes scanned the first page. Then the second.
And her brain promptly short-circuited.
There were numbers here. Numbers she'd never seen in her life. Strings of digits with so many zeroes they felt fictional.
Shareholdings. Property deeds. Patents. Offshore accounts. Renewable bonds. Real estate portfolios spanning continents. She skimmed words like "majority stakeholder" and "primary beneficiary" with numb disbelief.
Her mouth opened, then closed.
"…You're kidding," she finally managed.
Emmerich shook his head once. "It's yours."
Luna gawked at him. "I don't want all that."
"I know."
"Then why are you giving it to me?"
"Because," he said calmly, "it's yours whether you want it or not."
She frowned, the folder still heavy in her lap. "But—this is ridiculous. I'm just a part-timer at a cat café. I've spent the last three years rotating between instant noodles and clearance aisle granola bars. I don't know what to do with this kind of money."
"You don't need to do anything with it," Emmerich said. "Just hold it. Keep it. It's your birthright. And no matter what you decide—to stay, or to walk away—this part doesn't change. You're the only heir I have. You always will be."
His voice didn't waver, but there was something solemn under the words. Something that made Luna stop arguing for just a moment.
She looked down again at the paperwork.
It felt unreal. Like being handed the deed to a kingdom you didn't know existed. And the crown that came with it? Far too heavy.
But still—she could see the conviction in her father's face. Not obligation. Not guilt.
Just… love, maybe. Or what passed for it when you lost twenty years and were trying to make the rest count.
"…Fine," she said at last, her voice dry. "But I'm not carrying this thing around in my backpack or anything."
Emmerich's lips twitched into the barest smile. "Of course not."
He reached into another drawer and pulled out a sleek digital tablet in a titanium case. "Our family lawyer has copies—both digital and paper—secured in several locations. And a few digital copies in the family's fault, should anything happen."
Luna blinked at him. Then let out a strangled, awkward laugh.
"Wow. That's… comforting. And also kind of terrifying."
"I thought it might be," he said, a rare glint of amusement in his voice.
Luna leaned back in the chair, folder still resting on her knees. She stared out the window for a long second, watching the wind ruffle the hedges in the distant garden.
"Okay," she muttered. "So now I'm a rich cat lady with commitment issues."
Emmerich said nothing to correct her.
But he smiled.
And the silence felt warmer than before.