POV: Sylas
---
The Virellia estate was unlike any place I'd ever known.
It wasn't just its size—the towering halls, the chandeliers that glittered like suspended stars, the way every floorboard had been polished until it gleamed like glass. It was the weight.
Everything here felt like it had been carved from legacy.
And it did not welcome outsiders.
From the moment I stepped inside, the walls watched me. Not literally, of course. But the way the maids glanced at me from the corners of their eyes, the way the older butlers straightened their posture in disapproval when I passed too close—it was clear.
I didn't belong here.
And no one expected me to stay long.
---
The morning after I met Lady Seraphina, I was led through the eastern corridor by a senior servant who barely spoke a word. He gestured instead—abrupt, sharp motions meant to say keep up, don't speak, don't breathe too loudly.
He didn't need to.
I'd already learned long ago that places like this didn't like noise. Especially not from people like me.
"Rooms on the left are off-limits," he muttered once. "You step in there, you're done. Understand?"
I nodded.
He didn't even look back to confirm.
---
As I followed, I began taking quiet notes.
Three maids passed us on the upper balcony—one whispered behind her hand. Another laughed when she thought I couldn't hear.
"Is that him? The one the Lady took interest in?"
"Poor thing looks half-starved."
They weren't wrong.
But that wasn't new. My body had never made strong impressions.
Still, I walked steadily. I didn't rush. I didn't look away. That would give them something to push against.
---
When we passed by the main staircase, I caught my first real look at the estate's inner order.
Four uniformed men stood in line—tall, broad-shouldered, well-fed, polished like silver. Guards, perhaps. Or elite house servants.
They didn't acknowledge me. But I felt the pressure of their gaze the same way I'd once felt stone pressing against bone during cold nights.
I wasn't the first outsider they'd seen. But I was the one they were waiting to fail.
---
The eastern wing was quieter—less traveled.
Here, the shelves were filled with books too old to open and vases too expensive to clean. Paintings of past Virellias lined the walls: men in war medals, women with piercing eyes and gloved hands.
None smiled.
That told me more than I needed to know.
---
At midday, I was summoned to assist with a delivery in the courtyard. Two stablehands tossed a crate toward me without warning.
"Since you're good with silence, maybe you can carry this without whining too," one said, grinning.
I caught the crate, barely. My fingers stung.
I didn't reply.
"Guess the Lady wants her pets frail and mute."
Still, I said nothing.
He didn't like that.
"Oi," he stepped closer. "I'm talking to you."
"I know," I said simply.
He blinked. For a second, he didn't know what to do with that.
I carried the crate inside without another word.
---
They wanted reaction. Emotion. A crack.
I gave them none.
They'd get bored eventually.
---
That evening, as I finished organizing the third-floor sitting room, I felt her presence before I heard her.
Lady Seraphina.
Her footsteps weren't loud. But they were careful. Measured. Like someone who had learned to walk gently on glass.
I turned and bowed.
"You don't need to bow so often," she said.
"It's expected."
She looked at me with those strange, warm eyes. Eyes that hadn't yet learned how to see someone as beneath her.
"I'm glad you're still here," she said. "I half-expected Mother to send you away."
"She tried," I said quietly. "With her eyes."
She smiled, and it startled me.
Not because it was beautiful—though it was—but because it was… genuine.
She walked closer. "Has anyone been cruel to you?"
"Not yet."
That wasn't true. But I didn't want her kindness to become pity. And I didn't need her to fight my battles.
Still, she looked at me like she wanted to. Like she might.
"I'll have a word with the staff," she said gently.
"That won't help."
"It might."
I didn't answer.
But inside, somewhere beneath the layers of numbness, I realized something.
No one had ever said that for me before.
It might.
Those words settled somewhere in my chest—quietly.
---
That night, as I lay in the small servant's room tucked behind the west wing, I stared at the ceiling.
The Virellia house was beautiful. Lavish. Full of power.
But behind its gold-framed portraits and crystal lamps… it was cold.
A house that had never known weakness.
A house that judged without needing to speak.
And yet—
One voice, soft and clear, had said: "I'll have a word."
One voice didn't belong to this house.
---
Maybe… neither did I.
But for now, I would stay.
Not because I was welcome.
But because something inside me wanted to understand her voice.
And what made it so different from every other voice I'd ever heard.
End of chapter