Night had fallen over Arkwright Manor and in the grand dining room, a single figure sat at the center of an impossibly large table, her silver hair shimmering faintly under the soft glow of crystal chandeliers suspended high above.
Seraphina Arkwright picked delicately at her meal—a decadent spread that seemed more suited for a banquet than a solitary dinner.
The dining hall itself was a masterpiece of architecture and design. The ceiling soared two stories overhead, painted with frescoes depicting celestial constellations intertwined with scenes of noble conquests.
Gilded moldings framed each wall, their intricate patterns catching the light in ways that made them appear alive. At the heart of it all stood the table—a massive oval carved from polished ebony, its surface so smooth it reflected the glittering array of dishes laid out before her.
Dozens of chairs surrounded the table, each upholstered in velvet cushions embroidered with the crest of House Arkwright. Enough seating for an entire court, though tonight only one chair remained occupied.
Golden candelabras lined the edges of the table, their flames flickering softly, casting dancing shadows across the faces of the servants who stood neatly positioned around the perimeter of the room.
The food itself was a feast fit for royalty: roasted pheasants glazed with honey and herbs, steaming bowls of rich mushroom bisque, platters of freshly baked bread still warm to the touch, and towers of exotic fruits imported from distant lands.
A bottle of vintage red wine rested near Seraphina's plate, its deep crimson hue hinting at centuries of aging within oak barrels. Yet despite the extravagance, she barely touched any of it, her appetite dulled by frustration—and perhaps loneliness.
Across the room, maids and butlers stood rigidly in place, their expressions carefully neutral. They formed a perfect oval around the edges of the hall, mirroring the shape of the table they served.
Their uniforms were immaculate—black-and-gold livery bearing the sigil of House Arkwright—but their eyes betrayed discomfort. None dared move or speak without permission; even breathing felt like a risk in the presence of their mistress.
Seraphina sighed softly, setting down her fork with deliberate slowness. Her blue eyes swept over the silent assembly of staff, lingering briefly on each face before returning to her untouched plate. She hated this—the emptiness of the hall, the suffocating formality, the way everyone tiptoed around her as if she might shatter at any moment.
With a gentle wave of her hand, she addressed them, her voice calm yet tinged with exasperation.
"Sit." she commanded lightly, gesturing toward the empty chairs surrounding the table.
"Eat. There's no reason for all of you to stand there like statues while I dine alone."
A collective flinch rippled through the room. No one moved immediately, their hesitation palpable.
Finally, Marguerite stepped forward, bowing deeply. "Your Grace, we couldn't possibly—"
"Marguerite." Seraphina interrupted, her tone firm but not unkind.
"I wasn't asking. Sit. Eat. Enjoy yourselves."
Reluctantly, the staff began to take their seats, exchanging uneasy glances as they settled into chairs far removed from where Seraphina sat. The atmosphere remained tense, though some dared to nibble cautiously at the food placed before them.
It was clear none of them felt comfortable indulging in such luxury alongside their duchess.
Seraphina leaned back in her chair, swirling the wine in her glass absently. Her gaze drifted to the empty seat beside her—the one reserved for her husband. After several moments of silence, she spoke again, her voice softer now but laced with irritation.
"Where is my useless husband?" she asked aloud, directing the question to no one in particular.
The question hung heavily in the air. One by one, heads bowed lower, avoiding eye contact. Alden, the nervous butler, cleared his throat hesitantly.
"Master Vayne… left earlier today, Your Grace. He hasn't returned since."
Seraphina arched an eyebrow, her expression unreadable.
"It's night-time though? Why hasn't he come back? Did he went off to another woman?"
No one answered. The silence stretched uncomfortably, broken only by the faint crackle of candle flames.
Finally, Claire—who had been sitting quietly at the far end of the table—spoke up, her voice trembling.
"He… he went outside the estate, Your Grace."
All eyes turned to her, including Seraphina's. The young maid flushed under the sudden attention, clutching her napkin tightly in her lap. Beside her, Marguerite placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder, though her own expression remained grim.
"What happened, Claire?" Seraphina prompted gently, sensing the tension radiating from both women.
Claire hesitated, tears welling up in her eyes. When she finally spoke, her words came out in a rush.
"H-he asked me to slap him, Your Grace. Said he deserved it because of what he'd done. But when I tried, I couldn't do it. All I could think about was…" She trailed off, choking on her sobs.
Marguerite took over, her voice steady but filled with quiet fury.
"What Master Vayne did to her—and others—is unforgivable. Much pain doesn't even begin to cover it."
Seraphina's jaw tightened ever so slightly, though her expression remained composed. She knew exactly what Marguerite referred to; the stories weren't new.
Tales of groping, humiliation, violence, assault—they'd reached her ears countless times before. And yet, hearing it recounted here, in this setting, struck a chord deeper than usual. She had asked her to not be his maid, to do something else. But Claire refused.
As Claire buried her face in her hands, other members of the staff began murmuring amongst themselves. Some whispered sympathetically, others exchanged angry glances. Then, one bold maid, Lin, spoke up with her voice carrying just enough volume to reach Seraphina's ears.
"Your Grace," Lin said hesitantly, "forgive me, but… why haven't you divorced him yet?"
The question sent a ripple through the room. Heads snapped up, eyes widening in shock. Even Marguerite shot the maid a sharp look, silently urging her to retract her words. But instead of anger, Seraphina merely tilted her head slightly, considering the inquiry with surprising patience.
"It's a fair question." she admitted after a pause, setting her wine glass down with a soft clink.
"One I've asked myself many times."
She rose gracefully from her seat, pacing slowly along the length of the table. When she finally stopped, her blue eyes scanned the room, meeting each pair of eyes individually before continuing.
"Divorce isn't simple—not for someone in my position." she explained, her tone measured yet candid.
"To dissolve a marriage between nobles requires approval from the Crown Regent himself. And even then, it opens the door to scandal. Rumours would spread like wildfire, tarnishing not only my reputation but also that of House Arkwright. Our alliances, our businesses, our very livelihoods could crumble overnight."
Her voice softened slightly, tinged with resignation.
"And let's not forget the political implications. Vayne may be a disgrace, but his name carries weight. His family—the Whitefords—are powerful allies. Without their support still, we become more vulnerable to rivals like Lady Callista. Divorce would sever that connection entirely, leaving us exposed."
Alden frowned, interjecting cautiously.
"But surely, Your Grace, there must be another way. Surely enduring his presence isn't worth the cost."
Seraphina smiled bitterly, shaking her head.
"That's where you're wrong, Alden. Enduring him is the cost. For now, at least. Until I can find a solution that protects House Arkwright without sacrificing everything we've built, we have no choice but to endure."
She paused, her gaze drifting toward the empty chair beside hers. For a fleeting moment, something akin to sadness flickered across her features—but it vanished almost instantly, replaced by the steely resolve she always wore like armour.
"He's not just my husband." she concluded quietly.
"He's a liability. A burden. But he's also a reminder of what I stand to lose if I act recklessly. So for now, I wait. And I plan."
The room fell silent once more, the weight of Seraphina's explanation settling over everyone like a heavy velvet curtain. Claire dabbed at her eyes with trembling fingers, wiping away tears that refused to stop flowing.
Around the table, the staff exchanged somber glances, their expressions a mixture of sympathy for Claire and quiet frustration directed at the man who had caused so much pain. Even Marguerite seemed unusually subdued, her sharp green eyes softening as she watched Seraphina retreat back to her seat.
Seraphina sank into her chair with a quiet sigh, her shoulders slumping ever so slightly—a rare moment of vulnerability from someone who always appeared unshakable. She picked up her fork mechanically, though it hovered aimlessly above her plate without making contact.
Her thoughts drifted elsewhere—to the man whose absence loomed larger with each passing hour. Wherever Vayne was, she couldn't decide whether she wanted him to return or vanish forever.
Because honestly, if he died, he would be doing all of us a favour.
Her brow furrowed deeply, and then, in an uncharacteristic display of exasperation, she pressed the heels of her palms against her forehead, leaning forward until her elbows rested on the table. The gesture startled the staff; no one had ever seen the Duchess look so defeated, not even in private moments.
"Your Grace!" Alden exclaimed, his voice tinged with alarm. "Are you alright?"
"I'm fine." she muttered sharply, waving off their concern with a dismissive flick of her wrist. But when she lifted her head, her expression softened, and her blue eyes sought out Claire's tear-streaked face.
"No, I'm not fine" she admitted quietly, surprising them all. "None of us are."
She turned her attention specifically to Claire, her gaze filled with something akin to guilt.
"You've suffered the most." she said firmly, her voice carrying both authority and regret.
"And I know that all of you have kept your mouths shut about what my… good-for-nothing husband has done."
Her lips curled into a bitter smile, the words tasting sour on her tongue.
"I thank all of you for protecting House Arkwright by staying silent. It keeps our standing strong—even stronger than the royal family's, some might argue."
Her tone shifted slightly, growing softer yet resolute as she focused solely on Claire.
"But Claire…" She paused, choosing her next words carefully.
"If it helps—if it brings you any peace—you may leave. Resign. Walk away from this place and never look back. And I will ensure you're compensated for the rest of your life. You deserve far more than anyone else here after everything he put you through."
Claire froze, her hands clutching the edge of the table tightly. Tears welled up again, but this time they weren't born purely of sorrow—they carried gratitude, conflict, and perhaps even pride.
After a long moment, she shook her head slowly, her voice barely above a whisper.
"I can't, Your Grace."
Seraphina raised an eyebrow, intrigued despite herself.
"Why not? I won't hold it against you. In fact, I'd insist upon it. You've earned the right to leave."
"It's because…" Claire hesitated, glancing briefly at Marguerite before continuing.
"It's because serving you has changed my life. My family—we were poor once. Starving. Barely scraping by. But thanks to working here, we now live comfortably. My younger siblings go to school. My parents don't have to work themselves to death anymore."
She swallowed hard, her voice thick with emotion.
"I stayed because of you, Your Grace. Because serving under someone as powerful and kind-hearted as you—it gave me purpose. Leaving would feel like abandoning everything I worked for. Everything you gave me."
Seraphina blinked, visibly taken aback by the sincerity in Claire's words. For a moment, she simply stared at the young maid, her blue eyes searching for cracks in the resolve behind those tearful brown ones.
When none appeared, she let out a slow breath, nodding faintly.
"Very well." she said softly, her tone laced with admiration and regret.
"But know this: if anything changes—if staying here becomes unbearable—you tell me immediately. Do you understand? No matter how much loyalty you feel toward this household, your wellbeing comes first."
Claire nodded fervently, bowing her head deeply. "Thank you, Your Grace. Truly."
A heavy silence settled over the room once more, broken only by the faint crackling of candle flames and the distant howl of the wind outside. Seraphina leaned back in her chair, her gaze drifting toward the towering windows where shadows danced across the glass. Beyond them, storm clouds gathered ominously, casting jagged streaks of lightning across the night sky.
Whether literal or metaphorical, trouble was brewing—and Seraphina knew it wouldn't be long before it reached their doorstep.