The Empty House
Rain tapped against the tall windows of the Veyra estate like a thousand quiet accusations.
Serenya Veyra wandered through the hollowed corridors, her footsteps echoing off marble that once shone under galas and ministers' banquets. Chandeliers still hung above her head, but their crystals no longer glittered. The light had been cut off last week when the final payments failed.
Where once servants bustled, silence now spread like mildew. A grand piano sat untouched in the music hall, one string snapped, its lonely note clinging to memory. She ran her fingers along the keys, but no sound came. Her father had loved hosting salons here. His voice still haunted the walls.
And yet, all it had taken was a scandalous debt exposure—and Dominion's vultures descended. Parliament tore apart the Veyra legacy in three hearings. By the end, her father was gone, her mother retreated to the coastal isles in disgrace, and Serenya was left in the ruin of their name.
Still, one person had remained.
Alina Draemont.
The Rooftop Reunion
The message had arrived with a flash across Serenya's wrist-console: "Meet me tonight. Rooftop Lounge, Helion Spire. I'm here for you."
Serenya almost didn't go. Pride was a beast gnawing her ribs, whispering that accepting help was weakness. But when she looked at the collapsing halls around her, pride tasted bitter. She needed someone — anyone — to remind her she wasn't entirely forgotten.
Helion Spire's lounge was glass and neon. A bar curved like liquid chrome, bottles glittering like jewels behind it. Outside, the metropolis stretched in rivers of light, endless towers pulsing in the night fog.
Alina was waiting with two glasses of red. She looked effortless — hair in perfect waves, a black dress tailored to slice the air around her. She rose when Serenya entered, her smile warm, practiced, inviting.
"Serenya," she whispered, kissing both cheeks. "You look radiant, even now. Dominion hasn't broken you yet."
Serenya laughed softly, bitter in her throat. "It's trying."
They sat. The wine burned down Serenya's throat — expensive, velvety, like a relic of the life she'd lost.
"I heard rumors," Alina said, lowering her voice. "Malrik Draeven is circling what's left of your father's holdings. If TitanCorp absorbs them, you could at least have a seat in negotiations. Maybe salvage something."
Serenya's eyes narrowed. "Malrik? He fought to ruin us in Parliament. He hates my name."
Alina sipped, her eyes half-lidded. "Enemies can be useful, Seri. They're predictable. You know where they stand. It's friends you should fear more."
Serenya tilted her head, unsure if Alina meant it as wisdom or warning.
Flashbacks of Trust
On the tram ride home, Serenya's thoughts spun back to academy days.
She remembered nights in dormitories, sharing secrets with Alina under starlit ceilings. Alina had been the one who held her hair back after too much champagne, the one who whispered encouragement before Serenya's first parliamentary speech.
Alina had sworn once, laughing in drunken sincerity, "No matter what, we'll never turn on each other. We'll outlast them all."
That memory was a balm Serenya clung to. Because if Alina was still here — when everyone else scattered like rats — then maybe the world hadn't abandoned her completely.
The Auction
But then came the auction.
The Veyra estate had been stripped and sold piece by piece. Serenya dressed in her last silk gown and slipped into the marble atrium, surrounded by the glittering predators of Dominion's high society. Chandeliers burned above, casting light on faces that smirked at her downfall.
She heard the whispers as she passed:
"Still thinks she belongs here."
"Poor thing, doesn't realize the Veyra name is ash."
"She should have left the city quietly."
Her chest tightened, but she walked taller, refusing to bow to their disdain.
And then she saw them.
Alina Draemont, standing arm-in-arm with Malrik Draeven himself.
The shock hit her like a blade. Alina's hand brushed Malrik's sleeve in a gesture too intimate for business. They whispered to each other, laughing at some private joke, while lifting bidding paddles with casual grace.
The auctioneer's voice echoed:
"Lot Thirty-Seven — the Veyra Heirloom Mirror. Opening bid: ten thousand credits."
Alina raised her paddle without hesitation. Serenya's pulse hammered. That mirror had belonged to her grandmother, passed through generations of Veyras.
"Fifteen thousand," Malrik said smoothly, his lips curling.
Alina leaned toward him, whispered something, and together they raised the bid again — and again — until the mirror was theirs.
By the end of the night, they had bought half the Veyra heirlooms.
When Alina's eyes briefly met Serenya's across the room, there was no apology. Only triumph.
The Knife
Serenya stumbled out into the rain-soaked plaza afterward, heels clattering against stone. The city was alive around her, neon signs buzzing, mag-rails screaming, pedestrians brushing past without care.
But all she felt was the knife.
Not from Malrik. His hatred was expected. Predictable. No surprise there.
The knife came from Alina.
Her dearest friend, who had promised never to abandon her, who had poured her wine and whispered that enemies could be useful.
Serenya leaned against the cold steel of a tram pillar, rain streaking her face, though she couldn't tell if it was rain or tears anymore.
"A friend's comfort is soft. But their knife cuts deeper than any foe's. Trust blinds. Hatred clarifies."
Her voice trembled, but the words came sharper with every syllable.
The Oracle's Whisper
Her wrist-console flickered alive, though she hadn't touched it. The screen glitched with static, then cleared into a pulsing message.
LAW II: Never Put Too Much Trust in Friends; Learn How to Use Enemies.
Friends kill with a smile, for envy sharpens their hand.
An enemy at least bares their teeth before the bite.
Distrust not all companionship, but weigh loyalty against interest — and interest above sentiment.
The words burned into her, a cruel balm to her fresh wound.
She stared at them, shaking, until the anger hardened inside her like cooling steel.
The world had revealed itself. And so would she.
Serenya straightened her spine, wiped the rain from her cheeks, and whispered to the empty night:
"Dominion may have taken my name. But I'll never again mistake affection for safety."