Chapter Seven – The Unexpected Guest
532 Words
I was beginning to recognize the sounds of the estate.
The measured footsteps of guards during shift changes. The soft hum of cameras adjusting. The whisper of servants who avoided my eyes as if looking at me too long might cost them their jobs.
That afternoon, the silence broke.
Voices drifted in from the main hall—laughter. Light. Familiar in a way that felt foreign inside Blackwood Estate.
I stood by the balcony doors, peering down just as a sleek silver car pulled into the courtyard.
A woman stepped out.
She was tall, confident, dressed in cream and gold, her posture relaxed—like she belonged here. Like she wasn’t afraid.
My chest tightened.
Lucien emerged moments later, already in motion, his demeanor… different. Less rigid. Less cold.
He smiled.
The sight startled me more than it should have.
He kissed her cheek.
The world tilted.
“Who is she?” I whispered, though no one was there to answer.
Minutes later, a maid knocked softly and informed me I was needed in the main sitting room.
I entered to find them seated together—Lucien and the woman—talking easily, their heads bent close. She laughed at something he said. I had never heard that sound come from him.
“Elara,” Lucien said coolly when he noticed me. “Come here.”
I moved forward, my steps slow.
“This is Isabelle Laurent,” he said. “A family friend.”
Isabelle stood and offered her hand, her smile warm, curious. “You must be Elara. I’ve heard so much about you.”
I shook her hand, forcing politeness. “I’m sure.”
Her gaze flicked between us, sharp despite her softness. “Lucien, you didn’t tell me she was this… young.”
“Age seems to be a recurring theme,” he replied dryly.
Isabelle laughed again. “You always did have a taste for controversy.”
Something about the way she said it—like she knew him intimately—made my stomach churn.
“Will you be staying long?” I asked before I could stop myself.
Lucien answered for her. “She’s staying for dinner.”
Of course she was.
Throughout the evening, Isabelle spoke freely, teasing Lucien, reminiscing about shared history. She touched his arm casually. He didn’t stop her.
No rules applied to her.
I sat quietly, every nerve screaming. When Isabelle excused herself to freshen up, the silence that followed was suffocating.
“You didn’t tell her I existed,” I said.
Lucien glanced at me. “You’re standing right here.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
He leaned back, studying me. “Jealousy doesn’t suit you.”
“I’m not jealous,” I snapped. “I’m confused.”
He smiled faintly. “Good.”
Later that night, as I returned to my wing, Isabelle passed me in the corridor.
She paused.
“You should be careful,” she said softly, her smile gone. “Lucien doesn’t collect things he doesn’t intend to keep.”
I watched her walk away, my heart pounding.
For the first time since the wedding, I felt something worse than fear.
Competition.
- Writer
