The Next Morning – Lucien's Bedroom
The sunlight barely slipped through the heavy curtains, and silence ruled the room except for the steady sound of Lucien's deep breathing. He was almost completely covered, half-buried under the blanket, his messy blond hair stuck to the pillow as if he'd fought a battle in his sleep.
He was truly out cold.
The door suddenly burst open.
Bella stormed in wearing her bathrobe, her hair tied up in a beautifully messy way, her face a strange mix of panic and fury.
She shouted like a mother who'd just discovered a disaster:
"LUCIAAAAN! Get up! We have guests in an hour!"
Lucien stirred slightly, opened only one eye, and muttered groggily:
"Bella… five more minutes… just five…"
Bella pressed a hand to her forehead and let out a deep sigh.
She glanced at the wall clock-and gasped.
"No… this is impossible… I'm already late for my shower!"
Then she turned to him sharply:
"Lucien… if you don't get up right now, I'm calling Amory. And I swear, he'll beat you up until you wake up."
No response.
Not even a twitch.
Bella raised an eyebrow and muttered to herself:
"Alright… you chose this fate."
She stormed out, slamming the door behind her, shouting loudly enough for the entire hallway to hear:
"AMOOOORY! Darling, go wake Lucien up! Now!"
Her voice faded as she returned to her suite, grumbling angrily about her ruined shower schedule.
Only seconds passed before Lucien heard heavy, fast footsteps in the corridor-
footsteps he knew very well-
the footsteps of a man with absolutely zero patience for nonsense.
Lucien's eyes flew fully open.
"…Oh no."
The door opened.
Amory walked in.
He was wearing a shiny red silk bathrobe that looked like a villain's coat from a classic film, holding a cup of coffee. His hair was styled with excessive precision for someone who'd only just woken up, and his expression said very clearly:
Do not test me this morning.
In a low voice-calm but unmistakably threatening-he said:
"Luuucien! Why are you still not awake?!"
But he stopped when he saw Lucien already sitting up in bed, wide awake, wearing an extremely innocent smile.
Amory stared at him for two seconds…
Then slowly lifted his cup, took a measured sip, and said with weary restraint:
"Good. At least you woke up on your own before I had to use force.
Although… I was kind of looking forward to that."
Lucien raised his eyebrows with mock fear:
"Ah… good morning to you too."
Amory made a fake-formal gesture with his hand:
"Get up. Get ready. The guests will arrive soon, and I don't want the family being presented while they think you're a corpse on a bed."
He turned and left, closing the door with a rhythm that clearly suggested he was still not entirely satisfied.
Once his footsteps disappeared, Lucien released a long breath of relief:
"I survived… literally."
He sat up straight, glanced at the clock, and frowned:
"But… what guests come at this hour?"
He stood, stretched slightly, then stared at his reflection in the mirror before grabbing a towel and heading into the bathroom, muttering:
"Apparently, I don't just have to wake up… I have to solve a mystery this morning too."
Bella and Amory's Bedroom – Morning
The room was filled with noise-nothing like a couple preparing for a calm day, but more like a small workshop. Hair tools buzzing, clothes moving, nonstop chatter-everything pointed to a chaotic morning.
Bella sat in front of her vanity, wearing a light-colored silk robe, trying to stay still while the hairstylist worked with intense focus on her hair. Madame Rogier stood beside her, holding a small notebook and explaining enthusiastically:
"The hairstyle will be both wavy and curly-a refined blend that suits your face perfectly, my lady. It's the first time we're trying it on you, but it will highlight your features beautifully."
Bella nodded, a bit tense, but left everything in the specialists' hands.
On the other side of the room, Amory stood perfectly still, chin slightly raised, while a young woman adjusted the buttons of his dark red suit. He looked like a miniature Roman statue-
except for the sideways glances he kept stealing toward Bella, as if counting down the seconds until he could escape the chaos.
Suddenly, the door opened.
Lucien walked in wearing elegant casual clothes-polished enough to suggest he was ready to go out, but not nearly polished enough to understand what was happening around him. His expression said it all: total confusion.
He paused, observing the madness-Bella surrounded by a team, Amory standing like he was in a fashion rehearsal, piles of clothes everywhere, overlapping voices.
He stepped closer to Amory and asked quietly:
"Amory… What's going on here? And why are there huge suitcases downstairs?"
Amory didn't look at him. He replied coldly:
"Remind me… what date is today?"
Lucien blinked, then sighed in annoyance:
"Late July… specifically-"
He stopped.
His eyes widened suddenly.
"Oh… wait. You mean…?"
He raised a finger, excitement bursting out:
"The Palace of Versailles event! The week dedicated to France's noble families! Conferences, political meetings, negotiations… and the Golden Day! Of course! How could I forget?"
Lucien spoke like he was addressing a conference audience, while Amory stared at him with zero admiration-barely even polite acknowledgment.
Lucien continued, muttering:
"But… aren't there more events than that? I mean… doesn't something happen besides meetings and celebrations?"
Amory replied flatly, mechanically:
"No. That's pretty much all of it."
Lucien went silent for a few seconds, then raised an eyebrow:
"And when did you get back last night?"
Amory answered without looking at him:
"Around midnight… or one. Not sure."
Amory's irritation became more obvious with every additional question Lucien asked. It was clear he was on the verge of losing his patience entirely-and that his tolerance for morning conversations had officially hit its limit.
Lucien opened his mouth to ask yet another question about the guests.
Amory didn't give him a second.
He snapped, irritation peaking:
"You'll see them yourself! So-be quiet!"
Lucien froze, staring at him with wide eyes, clearly not expecting the outburst. Then he shrugged indifferently, as if to say: Not my fault you're stressed.
He stepped away from Amory and headed calmly toward Bella.
As Lucien moved, Amory's face settled into a stiff, cold, lifeless expression-
the perfect look of someone who had completely run out of patience.
Lucien approached Bella carefully, step by step, trying not to step on any of the tools scattered across the floor: a hair straightener, an open makeup bag, an overturned accessories box with its contents spilled everywhere.
He asked softly, genuine amazement in his voice:
"Miss Bella… all this preparation for just one day?"
Bella turned to him through the mirror and smiled-a beautiful but exhausted smile.
"No, not for one day. For an entire week of chaos… and I haven't even started the real pressure yet."
The hairstylist lifted a section of Bella's hair and said firmly but politely:
"Please don't move, my lady."
Bella apologized quietly, then leaned slightly toward Lucien and whispered:
"And… the guests are some of my family. You know them, don't you?"
Lucien nodded in a childlike way that made Bella laugh softly before she continued:
"Some family members are the guests-three of them, specifically. Amory and I will be traveling with them in our designated procession. And since my residence is the closest to the gathering point, they'll be coming here."
Lucien made a sound that suggested the full picture was finally clicking into place, then said:
"Alright, that makes sense. But… Why the huge suitcase downstairs? At least tell me before I start building conspiracy theories."
At that moment, Madame Rogier lifted her head from her notebook and said with immediate seriousness:
"Those are the official luggage pieces approved for a married couple attending Versailles Week. The Admissions Authority requires prior disclosure of each bag's contents due to the security protocols in place-"
Lucien raised an eyebrow and tilted his head in visible confusion:
"What security protocols?"
Madame Rogier's eyes lit up like someone who had just been handed the opportunity to deliver a historical lecture. Bella and the hairstylist noticed it instantly, so Bella intervened coolly:
"Please don't exhaust yourself on the boy."
Madame Rogier's enthusiasm dimmed immediately, a hint of irritation crossing her face.
Lucien leaned toward Bella and whispered:
"Is she okay?"
Bella replied calmly with a small smile:
"She's perfectly fine."
Amory, who had been listening despite himself, let out a sharp sigh-one that sounded very much like a warning siren.
He turned slowly toward Lucien and said with controlled features and a voice expertly restraining anger:
"Lucien… could you… for just one second… stop talking?"
Lucien raised his eyebrows:
"Oh, we're back to square one. You're really not a morning person, are you?"
Amory answered in a completely flat tone:
"I'm not a morning person. Not an afternoon person. Not an evening person. And not at any time that involves your presence."
Bella laughed quietly, but the hairstylist lightly tapped her shoulder:
"Please… don't move."
Lucien decided to ignore Amory entirely, behaving as though he hadn't heard him.
He leaned slightly toward Bella and asked in a brotherly tone:
"Alright… since you're both going to Versailles, should I stay here at the apartment, or take a short leave and visit my family? It's been a long time since my last visit."
Bella fell silent for a few seconds, clearly thinking about something unseen.
Before she could answer, everyone suddenly turned toward the door as it was knocked.
Louis, the second grandson, stepped inside-only his head peeking into the room. His hair was perfectly styled, his appearance resembling a fashion model who'd just walked out of a photoshoot.
He looked at the chaos filling the room and asked, genuinely confused:
"Hello-we're here… um. Is this an operating room?"
Amory lifted his gaze toward him slowly and heavily, saying with refined sharpness:
"Louis… close the door."
"Alright…"
He shut it quickly and disappeared.
A brief silence followed.
Then suddenly- Bella burst out laughing.
Lucien laughed too.
Even Madame Rogier smiled.
Amory?
He remained standing perfectly still, with the expression of a man who had exceeded his tolerance limit ten minutes ago and was now operating solely on his morning caffeine dose.
He said coldly:
"If you're done laughing… we have only twenty minutes left to finish getting ready."
Lucien waved lightly at him:
"Okay, okay… Papa Amory."
Amory shot him a look with a very clear message: I will deal with you later.
Then he turned to Bella, his voice perfectly gentle:
"My love… if you need anything, call for me. I'll be downstairs."
"Alright,"
Bella replied cheerfully, smiling at him with genuine warmth.
After that, Amory left the room–
this time closing the door in complete silence.
The Reception Room – Center of the Apartment
The room was bright and simple, yet undeniably elegant: a large painting on the wall, a crystal vase, and furniture blending classic and modern styles. Lucien stood in the middle, slightly nervous… though an excited smile kept sneaking onto his face.
The reason?
Standing before him were the older Leclair grandsons-the faces he'd always seen in news reports, interviews, conferences, and magazine spreads.
The first was-
Alphonse Leclair (30)
He stood straight, as if he were born royal rather than merely noble. His coal-black hair was styled in a way that made it impossible to tell whether it was the result of meticulous grooming or effortless perfection-the kind of elite polish some people are simply born with.
His eyes were crystal blue, steady, carrying the calm of a man who knows exactly who he is and what he's worth. Tall-188 cm-and his features bore the same cool, aristocratic charm once possessed by his grandfather, Damien.
He extended his hand toward Lucien with measured politeness:
"A pleasure to finally meet you, Mr. Moreau."
Lucien shook his hand quickly, clearly trying to look normal…
and failing magnificently.
The second stepped forward.
Benoît Leclair (29)
His smile arrived before he did. The same black hair, but styled in a "casually neat" way, as though he'd simply run a hand through it-yet somehow looked better than anyone who spent an hour in front of a mirror.
His features carried intelligence, clear wit, and a playful spark that refused to disappear. Height: 185 cm.
He raised an eyebrow and said cheerfully:
"So we're finally meeting the man Bella chose this year as her fourth trainee."
Lucien suppressed a short laugh, while Alphonse shot Benoît a classic side glance-the universal please behave like a noble look.
Then the third approached.
Marceau Leclair (27)
His approach was so quiet Lucien didn't hear his footsteps. Silky black hair fell slightly over his shoulders, blue eyes tinged with gray reflecting the morning light poetically, and pale, striking skin as though he'd stepped straight out of a French painting.
Height: 183 cm.
His voice-low and soft.
He said gently,
"Hello, Lucien. Bella told us you were kind… we didn't believe it right away, but you really do seem that way."
Lucien froze for a moment, then said-looking at the three of them with a kind of awe:
"No- I mean- you- the three of you are actually here… in my room… I mean, in our apartment… That's strange, but in a good way."
The brothers exchanged brief glances-the look of people who knew very well the effect their presence had on others, but without real arrogance.
Benoît said,
"We're used to reactions like that. Yours is actually nice compared to some… some people completely fall apart."
Marceau chuckled softly, while Alphonse maintained his usual composure.
Benoît asked, scanning the place,
"Are the couple ready? Or is Amory still in his 'do not disturb' phase?"
Lucien nodded honestly:
"He's functional… but right on the edge of losing his patience."
There was a brief pause-
Then Benoît burst out laughing.
As they moved to sit down, Lucien was still feeling something strange:
These weren't just Bella's cousins…
These were Alphonse, Benoît, and Marceau Leclair-
names that had always reached him through a screen…
and now they were right in front of him, speaking to him directly.
Elsewhere in the Apartment…
The Hallway – Near the Window
The hallway was relatively calm compared to the chaos that had filled the apartment since dawn. Morning light reflected off the polished floor as Amory stood beside a tall window, holding his phone in his left hand while pressing the bridge of his nose with his right.
His voice was low, sharp, all business:
"Yes… I need the report before noon, otherwise- no. No excuses, Madeleine. Reorganize your priorities and send them to me immediately."
He was clearly in no mood for mistakes.
Then-
the sound of steady footsteps echoed from the far end of the hallway.
Light heels… confident.
Amory stopped speaking for a moment without turning around.
He knew that rhythm well.
Then came the unmistakable voice:
"Amory?… How do I look?"
The instant he heard her name in her voice, he ended the call immediately.
No goodbye. No, I'll call you back.
Just closed the phone.
He turned.
And it was as if the air froze for a full second.
Bella stood in the middle of the hallway, bathed in sunlight streaming from the window behind her.
She wore deep navy velvet trousers that traced her legs in a refined, elegant way.
Beneath the jacket was a silk blouse in a soft yellow-white tone, warm like morning light.
The velvet jacket itself was a matching deep blue, subtly gleaming with every movement.
Her black leather shoes were simple, yet elevated the entire look effortlessly.
Her hair-
A masterpiece on its own: curly–wavy, soft, elegant, moving lightly with every breath.
Her makeup was understated: pink lipstick, natural cheeks, simple silver earrings, and a silver bracelet that completed the glow-
along with her wedding ring, carrying the same custom design she shared with Amory.
Amory had been smiling the moment he turned around-
But the smile changed.
It didn't disappear.
It focused.
Deepened.
Like he was seeing something no one else could.
Bella asked with mild concern, trying to stay composed:
"Does… does the hairstyle work? The stylist said it-"
He cut her off calmly, his voice saturated with attention:
"Come here."
She took a slow step toward him.
He watched every detail, as if committing her to memory.
She stopped in front of him.
He raised his hand-then lowered it before touching her hair, as though afraid to ruin it.
Then he said, in that deep voice he rarely used:
"You look… stunning, Bella."
It wasn't a compliment.
It was a deliberate statement-heavy, precise-
from a man who only said something like that when he meant it completely.
Bella raised an eyebrow, slightly surprised by the calm that had settled over his features.
She asked softly:
"Really? Not… too much?"
He answered without hesitation:
"Not at all."
Then his eyes widened just slightly as he added:
"If we didn't have guests waiting… I wouldn't let you leave the house looking like this."
A faint blush immediately appeared on her cheeks.
Bella kept looking at him, somewhere between flustered and reassured. She stood still, but her fingers toyed with the edge of her jacket-clearly waiting for a second opinion… or perhaps another word from him.
Amory noticed instantly.
He stepped closer-not a full step, just half of one-but enough to shorten the distance between them.
He said lightly, lifting one curl without actually touching it:
"Which genius hairstylist came up with this style?"
Bella replied, slightly nervous:
"Madame Rogier… she said it suits my face better."
Amory murmured slowly:
"She's right… unfortunately."
Bella raised an eyebrow:
"Why unfortunately?"
He sighed like someone confessing an international crime:
"Because now you're going to attract the attention of every noble in Versailles. And I-quite frankly-don't have time to fight twenty men in one day."
She stared at him, mildly shocked:
"What does that have to do with-"
He interrupted with mock seriousness:
"If anyone gets too close, I'll be forced to issue a public statement clarifying that you're married to a very sensitive man… who gets jealous easily… and may emotionally collapse in front of the public."
Bella laughed softly, shaking her head:
"Amory… you really are a drama queen."
He lifted his chin with inexplicable pride:
"I'm a refined drama queen. There's a difference."
He stepped closer again-this time fully-then gently held the edge of her jacket between his fingers:
"Are you sure you're comfortable in this fabric? Velvet sometimes-"
She interrupted him with a smile:
"Amory… I'm fine."
He stopped. Then slowly raised his hand toward her cheek-but before touching her, he hesitated and pulled back slightly.
Not fear-
respect for the makeup that had taken a full hour.
He said more softly:
"Just… don't let your eyes wander too far from me today, alright?"
She replied playfully:
"If you don't explode at someone within the hour, I'll try."
His face froze for a moment, then he said:
"I'll classify that as… unnecessary provocation."
Then he turned slightly and gestured toward the salon:
"Come along, my lady. Everyone in the apartment is waiting for you… and some of them are more nervous than I am."
Bella laughed as she took his arm to guide him:
"Come on… let's go together."
Amory smiled in quiet satisfaction, holding her hand where it rested on his arm, and they walked together toward the salon.
Bella's Point of View – The Beginning of the Day in Versailles
…Alright. Let me be honest with you from the start.
I'm absolutely sure you saw the chaos happening below the apartment hours ago-
the processions, the long black cars moving slowly like they're afraid of scratching the pavement, and people in formal suits at seven in the morning as if that's completely normal.
Yes… all of that is because of Golden Versailles Week.
Anyway-since I know you don't want the kind of detail that makes you feel like you're watching a news broadcast-
I'll summarize everything quickly.
First of all:
The nobles?
They've arrived.
All of them.
From the farthest corners of France to the gates of Versailles-each one entering as if they personally invented the title of "noble."
Knights, dukes, lords, ladies, sons of ladies' husbands-
in short: an enormous human collection that's far too enthusiastic.
Second:
The journalists…
Oh God, the journalists.
Standing outside the gates like it's a rare hunting season-lenses gleaming, camera flashes dizzying.
Every time someone steps out of a luxury car, ten photographers rush in with the same recycled question:
"A smile, please!"
And me?
I pretended I didn't hear a thing.
Third:
The palace itself…
Listen-Versailles on an ordinary day is already breathtaking.
But today?
It's like it inhaled a second life.
The lighting, the soft music drifting from inside, the loud laughter echoing through the halls, the sound of polished shoes against the marble floors…
The palace felt alive-
in a way that's just a little unsettling.
Fourth… and most important to me:
The people.
The people.
So. Many. People.
Everyone greets me as if we've been best friends for twenty years.
Everyone has a story they must tell… or a comment about my hair… or my marriage… or the state of the family… or the weather… or literally anything that pops into their mind within three seconds.
And there I am…
standing…
wearing the perfect smile…
A carefully engineered smile.
A smile I can now confidently say is five-star fake.
Yes.
I glue that smile onto my face like a mandatory accessory.
Because if you dare not to smile in front of the French nobility?
Congratulations-you've just triggered a potential diplomatic crisis.
And yet…
despite the chaos…
despite the noise…
despite my feet starting to protest from all the standing…
Only one thought crossed my mind:
"When can I escape?"
But easy now…
The day hasn't even properly started yet.
Inside the Grand Hall – Bella's POV
If you walked into the hall with me at this moment, the first thing you'd notice is how formal the atmosphere is-
formal enough to make you feel guilty for breathing too loudly.
Crystal chandeliers hang from the ceiling, classical music plays faintly in the distance, and the French nobility gather in human circles, talking with rigid smiles, as if their facial muscles are pinned in place with golden needles.
And of course…
the moment they saw me?
Hands shot out-two… three… five… ten…
Everyone suddenly wanted to greet me.
"Lady Bella! It's been ages!"
"Such an honor to see you here!"
"You look wonderful today, as always!"
"I haven't visited Duke Damien's grave in two years-if only he were here…"
And my smile?
Running in full 4K resolution.
I smile… shake hands… nod… and repeat the same sentence fifty times:
"Thank you, I'm delighted to see you all."
And inside my head?
Yes, my dears… I know half of you genuinely like me… and the other half like the idea that you're supposed to like me. Both are welcome.
My popularity is painfully obvious-
to the point where some people extend their hands before the previous conversation even ends.
I feel like a movie star…
except this version comes with royal protocol and a back that's begging for mercy.
As I moved between groups, I saw him.
Amory.
Standing with a group of senior lords, in his formal suit, shoulders tense… wearing that perfect smile he only uses when he's about to socially suffocate.
From a distance, I could see everything:
how he moves the corner of his mouth half a centimeter, no more
how his eye flickers with something close to internal screaming
how he checks his watch indirectly every single minute
And because I know him better than I know myself, I laughed inwardly.
That man hates social events more than he hates wasting time.
But he tries.
He really tries-to look calm.
To look pleasant.
To look… unbothered.
A full theatrical production…
and I'm watching the backstage.
I turned slightly and spotted my three cousins-Alphonse, Benoît, and Marceau-each surrounded by their own crowd:
Alphonse stood confidently, speaking eloquently with a delegation of southern dukes, looking like someone who was born to command an entire hall.
Benoît… laughing out loud. His energy lit up the room. Every group he passed turned into a small party.
Marceau… standing quietly with two young artists, discussing a painting that had been hung just minutes ago. The only one who actually looked comfortable here.
All of them looked-
quite literally-
like they knew exactly what they were doing.
And me?
Hands in my pockets… smile raised… thinking:
Yes… we're all one family… a family professionally trained in elegant performance.
As I was mentally preparing to explain the sheer absurdity of some of the compliments I'd received…
A very familiar voice reached me from behind-confident, quick, cutting into the atmosphere rather than entering it:
"Excuse me… may I have a minute of the young duchess's time?"
Ah.
I knew the voice before I even turned.
I turned-and there she was:
Amélie.
Light brown hair pulled up neatly, a mid-length royal-blue dress, and a gaze carrying far too much confidence for someone people refer to as "just a personal assistant."
But of course…
the truth no one knows:
She's the youngest daughter of a marquis family.
And yet… she chose to work with me.
Or as she likes to call herself:
"Bella Leclair's certified chaos supervisor."
I smiled-a real smile this time-and said:
"You're late. I thought you'd leave me to face this performance alone."
She raised an eyebrow:
"Impossible. I'm the only one who knows how to save you. I'm your superhero-did you forget?"
I laughed.
And for the first time since entering the hall… I felt like I was breathing normally.
Amid the crowded hall, the artificial noble voices, and laughter hanging in the air like it had been manually installed, Bella leaned toward Amélie and whispered in a deliberately theatrical tone:
"My noble lady… would you permit me to accompany you outside? I fear a noble such as myself may suffocate in this atmosphere saturated with appearances."
Amélie lifted her chin dramatically and replied in the same style:
"Of course, my exalted duchess. Fresh air suits no one as well as it suits Your Grace."
They stifled their laughter as they walked slowly through the nobles, as if performing a scene from a satirical social play.
The moment they exited the hall and entered the corridor leading to the gardens, Bella exhaled deeply and said plainly:
"Finally… fewer people, less noise."
Amélie laughed:
"If we'd stayed two more minutes, you would've launched into a full monologue about the internal conflicts of the aristocratic class."
Bella replied dryly as she opened the garden door:
"I was already warmed up."
And the instant their feet touched the grass, their steps slowed automatically-
as if the place itself allowed them to return to themselves.
No duchesses.
No royal court affiliates.
Just Bella and Amélie.
Bella stood in the middle of the garden, lifted her arms slightly into the cool air, and said:
"This is the only place that gives me my humanity back."
Amélie smiled softly:
"And I come here because you're the only one who makes all this royal glow feel… almost meaningless."
They exchanged a brief look filled with shared relief-the kind that needs no explanation.
Then they continued walking together through one of Versailles' side gardens-the hidden ones, known only to those who've studied the secret paths between the trees.
Their steps were quick, as if they were escaping something…
And that something, of course, was people.
Bella said, lifting her head toward Amélie with unmistakable playfulness,
"Amélie… listen to me. If I stayed one more minute inside that palace, I'd start handing out acting reviews to the nobles.
Someone who shakes your hand while secretly hating you? Seven out of ten.
Someone who smiles while mentally stabbing you in the back? That's at least a nine out of ten.
An excellent nominee for Best Supporting Actor."
Amélie burst out laughing, glancing around.
"I don't know why, but every time I'm with you, I feel like I'm escaping a badly directed play."
"That's because you're escaping with me," Bella replied confidently, then pointed toward the wooden gazebo at the end of the path.
"Come on. Let's sit there for a bit and reclaim some of our humanity before going back to the main performance."
They entered the gazebo and sat on the long stone bench.
The wind carried the scent of roses from the surrounding bushes, as if the place itself were washing away the remaining noise clinging to them.
Amélie placed her bag beside her and sat with refined elegance, while Bella took her usual position-one that loudly and unapologetically declared her total lack of concern for royal protocol.
Amélie said,
"All right… tell me. How is Lucien?"
Bella shrugged casually.
"He's fine. He said he wanted to visit his family this week, so I allowed it."
Amélie raised an eyebrow.
"And the other three? Why didn't you give them leave as well?"
Bella answered with serious sarcasm:
"And if I let them all go? The palace would be empty. Besides, it's not logical to force someone to ask for time off. If they want it, they can come and say so. I'm not obligated to send them back to kindergarten."
Amélie hesitated, then said carefully,
"But… don't you feel like you… own them a little?"
Bella replied confidently, as if the question were a compliment:
"Do I treat them badly? Do I restrain them? On the contrary. I gave them fame, money, and status. The least I deserve is to know where they're going."
Amélie stared at her for a long moment, then covered part of her face and said,
"I swear, Bella… every time I think I understand you, you reveal an entirely different version of yourself."
Bella smiled faintly.
"Don't worry. The day will come when you understand all my layers. You might be only the second person who ever does."
A comfortable silence settled between them-as if they were thinking the same thoughts.
Suddenly, a childish voice echoed from behind the trees:
"Eeemiiiiiilllyyyyy!"
Bella jumped, stifling a laugh.
"Dear mercy… who's coming at us like they're training for a continental race?"
A small child, about four years old, appeared-his hair messy, his face red from running, arms flailing as if he were trying to take off.
Amélie laughed and called out,
"Johnson! Come here, little one!"
The child ran toward her, crashed into her legs, then wrapped his arms around her with exaggerated force.
Bella laughed.
"He really does resemble you. A dramatic entrance with absolutely no warning."
Amélie lifted him, patting his back.
"He's my cousin's son. He insists on calling himself 'the little knight.'"
Bella said,
"A knight? He looks more like a tiny tornado to me."
The child hid behind Amélie's shoulder, peeking at Bella shyly, then waved at her with his small hand.
Bella returned the gesture with an overly formal, theatrical nod.
"A pleasure to meet you, Sir Johnson."
Then she bowed to him in an exaggerated way that made him burst into laughter.
Amélie shook her head.
"You are… completely abnormal."
Bella smiled confidently and winked.
"And that's exactly why you became my closest friend."
Amélie returned a soft smile.
"And I know that very well."
Amélie then looked at Bella seriously and said,
"We should leave now, before anyone thinks we ran away or are doing something inappropriate."
Bella laughed lightly.
"You're right… let's go, then."
They started walking back toward the gathering, their laughter blending into the path.
Little Johnson, cradled in Amélie's arms, laughed along with them-despite not understanding why.
Bella suddenly stopped and looked at the boy with amused sarcasm.
"Honestly… this little one already knows how to deal with people. Did he understand why we're laughing?"
Amélie looked at her with a mix of firmness and mild irritation and said,
"Bella… he's only four years old. Of course he laughs when he sees everyone else laughing. At least that's his way of entertaining people and winning hearts. But if an adult tried that kind of social smoothing? You'd be buried under accusations, and no one would find you charming."
Bella smiled mischievously.
"Ah… I suppose you're right. Then I'll leave that kind of magic to the little knight alone."
Amélie laughed again, and the three of them continued walking-Johnson waving his tiny arms, their laughter blending with birdsong and the whispers of the breeze through the garden trees, creating a scene full of lightness and joy.
Tobecontinued… 🌿✨