Rumble. Rumble.
Thunder roared across the sky like war drums pounding against the stone walls of the Royal Villa. Lightning flashed violently, streaking across the heavens like jagged veins of fire. Rain poured in heavy torrents, drenching the earth in a relentless downpour.
Lord Archford Devonte stood by the window, his silhouette framed by the storm. In one hand, he held a glass of whisky, swirling the amber liquid slowly before taking a measured sip.
"Looks like the monsoon has arrived," he murmured, eyes fixed on the lightning dancing across the sky. "Tsk… I didn't expect it this early. Perhaps it's a sign from the heavens—that they're ready to wash away the wicked from this kingdom once and for all. Don't you think?"
The Queen Dowager sat nearby in a rocking chair, her gaze locked on the tablet in her lap. The scandalous article about the Duchess Dowager of Florence glared back at her.
"I wish that were true," she replied, her voice low. "Maybe then we could finally rid ourselves of the venomous snakes nesting in our own homes."
She tapped the screen, her eyes narrowing.
"Speaking of snakes… it seems someone's already begun the hunt. And whoever it is—they're ruthless."
Archford sighed, his expression darkening. "She had it coming. Felistus warned me about that woman. She is a snake wrapped in silk. I have no doubt that she is responsible for the misfortunes inside the Sinclair family. And the death of my beloved sister."
The Queen Dowager lifted her gaze from the tablet and studied him. "Do you still miss her?"
Archford's eyes turned somber. "My sister was not that old, Alicia. She still had the strength of a youth burning inside of her. The only pillar of support I ever had. Felistus was more than just an older sister, she was like a mother, both to me and Ronald (Reginald's father and the Queen Dowager's husband, the late King). Ever since our mother died and father acted like a stranger to us. She took care of us as if we were her own children not brothers. If the law wasn't so admant on making a male member of the Royal family succeed the throne...Felistus would have made a great Queen."
Alicia (The Queen Dowager) sighed, her voice softening. "I remember it well. She was more of a mother-in-law to me than a sister-in-law. She taught me the family statutes, how to carry myself as queen. I'd talk to her for hours—whether in person or over the phone—whenever the weight of duty felt too heavy. She always knew what to say. And now… all I have are her memories. But I'll never let go of them. She shaped me into who I am today. And I will always be eternally grateful."
Archford nodded, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Me too, Alicia. She shaped me into someone better. And now she's gone… and I didn't even get to thank her for what she did in my life."
Then Archford's eyes darkened, rage rising like smoke from a long-smothered fire.
"I swore on her grave that I would burn the entire Sinclair family to ash. They murdered my sister in cold blood—without shame, without remorse. After everything she did for them… everything she sacrificed… they slaughtered her like an animal. Like a piece of meat they were eager to discard. I swear they will pay. I'll tear them limb from limb with my bare hands if I have to. I will make them pay."
His voice trembled with fury. Alicia could see it—his hands clenched, his jaw tight, his body quivering with the weight of vengeance. She too longed for justice. Felistus's death had left a wound in her heart that never healed. But revenge against the Sinclairs was a path that required precision. Florence was the spine of the kingdom, and according to myth, only those of Sinclair blood could locate the Blue Diamond Roses—the lifeline of the kingdom's wealth.
Destroying them wouldn't be easy.
Unless…
"Did you find her?" Alicia asked suddenly.
Archford froze, then turned slowly to face her.
He sighed. "No. My men searched everywhere. It's been three years. I have no doubt those animals devoured her."
Alicia's eyes narrowed. "That's strange. The Plains of Misery don't harbor predators—only vultures and crows. And they take days to strip a body clean. That girl's body vanished just hours after it was dumped. Your men did report that they saw footprints, didn't they?"
Archford nodded slowly. "Yes. But they weren't sure if they were human. Some were covered by sand."
Alicia leaned forward, her voice low and deliberate. "I have a strong feeling she's alive. Miraculously. Unimaginably."
She turned her gaze to the tablet in her lap, the scandalous article still glowing on the screen.
"And I believe this… is our first clue. Whoever wrote this piece knows something. Tell your sources to find out who's behind it. I want answers—before or during the Masquerade Ball. We need leverage against the Sinclair family. And what better leverage than a ghost returned to haunt them from the dead?"
She looked up, her lips curling into a sinister smile.
Lightning flashed.
Thunder roared.
And both elders broke into matching smiles—dark, gleaming, and full of promise.
Revenge had never tasted so close. The ember had flared into flame, and the storm outside was nothing compared to the inferno they were preparing to unleash.
.....
Rumble. Rumble.
Crash!
Crash!
The room looked like a war zone—toppled furniture, shattered vases, torn blankets and sheets strewn across the floor like battlefield debris.
Miranda stood in the center, wild-eyed and disheveled. Her hair was tangled, her eyes bloodshot, her lips pale and cracked. Her pajamas hung crookedly from her frame, twisted and scrunched like she'd wrestled a storm.
"I swear I'm going to kill that son of a bitch! AAAAH!" she screamed, hurling a vase to the floor with a deafening crash.
Leticia watched from the corner, unfazed, her thumbs tapping calmly on her phone. "Urrgh...I am surrounded by animals," she muttered. "And here she was calling my husband the only beast in the pack. Yet she is also not acting any different. Huh.... what a world."
Miranda collapsed onto the bed with a grunt, burying her face in her hands.
Leticia sighed and approached.
"Feeling better now, Mother? After trashing the entire room like a madwoman? Weren't you the one who called my husband a senseless bull? And yet here you are… acting no different. Mmm."
Miranda snapped, lifting her head. "Oh, will you just shut up! Shut up! Can't you see this is a disaster? It ruins everything! All our plans to coax the Queen Dowager into letting us see that old hag's belongings—gone! The letter… everything!"
Leticia scoffed. "And who's to blame for that, Mother? You and your whorish activities. Now that this has surfaced, it's only a matter of time before they uncover the rest of your past. And when they do, we're all ruined."
"No! No! No one is going to find out anything, you hear me? No one!" Miranda shouted, clawing at her hair in frustration.
"This… this is the first and last thing they'll ever discover. I'll fix it. I'll go to the noble women's court and explain. I'll tell them it happened before I married the Duke. That I've changed. That I've been faithful ever since. Yes… I'll fix this."
Leticia folded her arms. "No, Mother. I will fix this. You and Aaron have proven yourselves to be nothing but grown-up babies—throwing tantrums at the slightest pinch."
Miranda rose from the bed, her face inches from Leticia's. "You little b—how dare you…"
Leticia didn't flinch. "It's the truth, Mother. Whether you like it or not. And I won't let you ruin everything we've built over the years with your childish behavior. From now on, I'll handle things. You just sit back and watch me work."
Miranda exhaled sharply, placing her hands on her hips.
"How? How are you going to fix this?"
Leticia didn't answer. She pulled out her phone and dialed.
"Hey, it's me. Did you do what I asked? Good. Then it's time. Spread the news—I want it out by tomorrow afternoon. And schedule an interview with the N.G.H. blog. Make sure it's clean. No mistakes."
She ended the call.
Miranda stared at her, eyes narrowing. "What news are you spreading? What are you planning?"
Leticia smiled, slow and wicked. "Don't worry, Mother. You just keep playing the broken, pitiful victim in this story. I'll do the rest."
Rumble. Rumble.
Thunder roared outside, sealing the moment like a pact with the storm.
Leticia's mind was ablaze with twisted resolve. She would not let her plans unravel—not now, not ever. Even if she had to walk through hell, she would protect her dreams.
No one was going to ruin them.
No one.
.....
Rumble. Rumble.
Thunder roared like an angry lion fighting over a kill.
And that's exactly how it felt—as Eric stood by the window, watching the rain flood the courtyard in violent sheets. The storm outside mirrored the storm within.
The courtyard also mirrored his own life, which had once been pristine—blooming with vibrant flowers, its freshly mowed lawn a canvas of summer's promise. It had felt like his future: bright, orderly, full of potential.
But now, it was filled with dirty water and muck, the flowers were destroyed and the lawn filled with filth. All the gardener's hard work was for nothing. All his work was for nothing.....
Nothing....
Nothing.....
Nothing....
The word echoed endlessly in his mind.
His thoughts spiraled back to the moment Daniel took the trophy. The moment he was humiliated in front of everyone.
Ha! Ha! Ha!
"Eric is a loser! Eric is a loser! Eric is a loser!"
The chant from his childhood rang in his ears. He remembered the wrestling match. He provoked—Daniel to a wrestling match but ended up being humiliated when he fell down with just a little shove. Like a little reed tilted over by a small gust of wind.
He challenged, Daniel to a horse derby but he lost the race by a huge gap. He played basketball, a sport he rarely liked, in order to gain popularity at Royal high school but both boys and girls would still flung themselves at Daniel who was the school's most handsome hunk and popular football player.
Even his academic achievements were eclipsed. Whenever he earned praise for good grades, Daniel's straight A's would turn his victories into shadows, meaningless. Hard work for nothing.
Daniel.
"Eric…" a voice echoed faintly in the background.
Daniel.
Everything had always been about Daniel.
"Eric…!" the voice came again, louder.
Why…
Why…
Why!!
"ERIC!!!"
Eric snapped out of his trance, jolted by his mother's voice.
He turned slowly, his eyes bloodshot—so red they looked as though they were dripping blood.
Esmerelda looked at her son in shock. He looked different, felt different. It was like he was a different person, a different being and that scared her. Her face even turned horrified after looking at the wall behind him.
Eric followed her eyes.
He looked down at his hand. Blood.
Then turned to the wall behind him.
A massive crack split the plaster, jagged and deep—like it had been struck by a sledgehammer.
'What the hell…'
Eric stared, stunned. He knew he'd been working out. He knew he was strong.
But not this strong.
Esmerelda quickly turned and shut the door behind her. She grabbed a cloth, took hold of Eric's injured hand, and began wiping away the blood with urgent, trembling strokes.
Eric's eyes slowly returned to normal, confusion replacing the storm that had clouded them. He looked down at his mother, who was now frantically tending to his wound.
"Mom… what—"
"Not another word," Esmerelda hissed.
She guided him toward the bed and ushered him to sit.
Eric winced as she pressed the cloth against his wound, her touch firm but careful.
Esmerelda glanced at him—his face buried in his hand—and then at the massive crack splitting the wall behind him.
'That won't be easy to hide,' she thought grimly.
Eric exhaled sharply. "What… are you doing here?"
Esmerelda paused. "I came to check on you after that…" She stopped herself, sighed, and took a deep breath. "You didn't come to dinner. I was worried. But I don't blame you."
She tied the cloth around his hand with practiced ease. "I'll call one of the royal nurses from the infirmary to treat the wound properly." Her eyes flicked back to the wall. "And I'll find someone to cover that.. crack."
She turned to leave.
Until—
"You're not going to say anything?" Eric asked, his voice low.
Esmerelda froze.
"You're just going to walk out as if… nothing happened? Didn't you come here to comfort me? To tell me things will turn around?"
She sighed. "My comfort isn't what you need right now."
Then she turned and faced him.
"I'm tired of shielding you. I believe, You're more than capable of standing on your own."
She reached into the pocket of her dress and pulled out an envelope, tossing it at his feet.
"However, next time, don't involve yourself with foolish people. Otherwise, you'll give the beast a chance to strike."
Without another word, she turned and left the room.
Lightning flashed, illuminating the space in a burst of white.
Eric tilted his head toward the envelope. It had spilled open.
Photographs lay scattered across the floor.
Another flash of lightning lit the images.
A man—naked, suspended upside down—his body marred with deep gashes, covered in filth and blood.
Eric stared at them in silence.
Then, slowly, he gathered the photos and tossed them into the fire.
He watched as the flames consumed each one, the orange glow reflecting in his eyes.
A signal.
The beginning of the end was near.
And he never anticipated for it, more than he did now.
....
A few doors down from Eric's room, a figure sat in a velvet armchair near the fireplace, watching the flames devour the wood with slow, deliberate hunger.
'However , next time… don't involve yourself with foolish people. Otherwise, you'll give the beast a chance to strike.'
Esmerelda's voice crackled through the small listening device in his hand:
Daniel swirled his glass of red wine, the crimson liquid catching the firelight like blood in motion.
"Mmm… looks like I'm not the only one keeping shady secrets," he murmured, sipping slowly. "Tsk… typical."
He closed his eyes, savoring the taste, letting the storm outside speak for him.
"I can't wait to see how far you'll go, little brother," he whispered. "I'll be waiting—with arms wide open."
He rubbed his forehead, then leaned back into the chair, the fire crackling louder, lightning flashing across the sky, thunder roaring like a prophecy.
The storm was alive.
And so was the impeding war.