VALE NO MORE

Vale Estate

Chapter Three

Vale Estate

By evening, the rain had stopped. The gardens surrounding the Vale estate shimmered beneath rows of golden lights while luxury cars rolled steadily through the gates, one after another. Drivers opened doors beneath the stone archways as guests disappeared into the mansion wrapped in expensive perfume, silk, and conversation.

Inside, the estate glowed. Crystal chandeliers reflected against polished marble floors, music drifted softly through the ballroom, and waiters moved through crowds carrying champagne on silver trays. Everything looked elegant enough to belong in a magazine spread.

Seraphina hated it immediately.

From the top of the staircase, she stood silently beside Mira while guests gathered below.

“You can still pretend to feel unwell,” Mira whispered carefully.

Seraphina’s gaze remained on the crowd downstairs. “That excuse stopped working after the first year.”

Mira frowned slightly but didn’t argue. The truth was simple: illness only inspired sympathy temporarily. After enough time passed, people became comfortable around it. They adapted. Eventually, they stopped seeing the person entirely and only remembered the condition attached to them. Tonight would be no different.

The black dress Mira chose fit loosely against Seraphina’s thinner frame, though the long sleeves hid most of the weight she’d lost over the years. Her hair fell softly over one shoulder, dark against pale skin. Beautiful enough to attract attention. Fragile enough to keep people whispering. Perfect.

“Miss Vale?”

A servant approached carefully from behind them. “Your uncle asked me to escort you downstairs.”

Of course he did. Seraphina descended the staircase slowly, one hand resting lightly against the railing while conversations below softened almost immediately. Not fully—just enough for her to feel it. Eyes followed her movements across the ballroom. Some sympathetic, some curious, some quietly uncomfortable. She ignored all of them.

The Vale family had spent years mastering the art of public perfection. Even now, surrounded by investors and politicians, the estate looked untouched by scandal or tension. Only Seraphina noticed the cracks beneath it.

“Seraphina.”

Octavian appeared through the crowd effortlessly, champagne glass balanced neatly in one hand. Tonight he wore charcoal gray, the color making the silver in his hair look sharper beneath the ballroom lights.

“You made it downstairs,” he said, his smile warm enough to fool strangers. “I was beginning to think you’d abandoned us.”

“I considered it.”

He laughed softly. Always polished, always composed. Her uncle rested one hand lightly against her arm as he guided her further into the ballroom. “There are several guests I’d like you to meet.”

Translation: Important people are watching.

Seraphina allowed herself to be led anyway. The introductions blurred together after a while—investors, executives, the wife of a politician whose name she immediately forgot. Most conversations followed the same pattern: You look well tonight. We’ve heard so much about your recovery. Your father spoke highly of you years ago.

Years ago. As though her life existed only in past tense now.

A woman in emerald silk smiled too brightly while speaking to Octavian nearby. “Your niece has your family’s features exactly.”

Seraphina almost laughed at that. No. She had her father’s features. That was the problem.

“You’re too quiet tonight,” Helena murmured beside her sometime later, appearing suddenly with a wine glass in hand.

Seraphina glanced toward her cousin briefly. “Am I expected to entertain the shareholders?”

“Only the important ones.”

Helena looked beautiful tonight. She always did—silver dress, diamond earrings, a perfect smile practiced enough to survive even cruel conversations. People loved Helena easily. Seraphina sometimes wondered whether that was natural or learned.

“You should mingle more,” Helena continued lightly. “People miss seeing you.”

Lie. Not entirely, perhaps. But close enough. Seraphina looked away toward the ballroom again.

“I think they miss the story more.”

Helena’s smile paused for half a second before returning smoothly. “Still dramatic.”

“And you’re still listening too carefully.”

That ended the conversation. For now.

Music shifted softly somewhere near the orchestra platform while more guests entered through the grand hall doors. Seraphina’s attention drifted instinctively toward the movement, then stopped.

A man had just entered beside two executives near the entrance. Tall, dark suit, calm posture. The room seemed to shift around him subtly without his effort. Not louder, not warmer—sharper. Interesting.

Seraphina watched him briefly through the moving crowd below. He didn’t resemble most men attending events like this. No forced social smile, no exaggerated charm. He spoke little while others around him compensated by speaking more. The kind of man people adjusted themselves around unconsciously. Dangerous, probably.

As if sensing the attention, the stranger looked up suddenly. Their eyes met across the ballroom. Only for a second, but something about the moment unsettled her immediately. Not because he stared, but because he didn’t. Most men reacted visibly after recognizing her—pity, curiosity, awkwardness. This man simply observed her calmly before looking away again, as though he already understood something everyone else didn’t.

Strange.

“Who’s that?” Seraphina asked quietly.

Helena followed her gaze, and recognition flashed briefly across her face. “Oh.”

Interesting response.

“Someone you know?” Seraphina asked.

“Not personally.”

Another pause, then Helena lowered her voice slightly.

“That’s Alexander Blackwood.”

The name settled sharply into the air between them. Even Seraphina recognized it instantly. Alexander Blackwood—founder of Blackwood Enterprises, ruthless businessman, the man newspapers alternated between calling brilliant and dangerous depending on the week. And he was standing inside the Vale estate.

Interesting. Very interesting.

“Why is he here?” Seraphina asked softly.

Helena’s expression tightened almost invisibly before smoothing over again. “Business, probably.”

Probably. Meaning she didn’t know, or didn’t want to say.

Across the ballroom, Alexander spoke briefly with one of the investors before his attention shifted once more. Toward her. Not obvious enough for others to notice, just deliberate enough for her to feel it. Something cold brushed quietly through Seraphina’s chest. Not fear. Instinct.

Before she could decide why, Octavian suddenly reappeared beside them. And for the first time all evening, her uncle looked genuinely tensed.