VALE NO MORE

Chapter One The Woman Upstairs Rain fell steadily over the Vale estate, soft against the enormous windows yet heavy enough to drown the silence inside the mansion. The house always sounded different at night. During the day, servants moved through the halls, phones rang endlessly in distant offices, and guests came and went beneath the glittering chandeliers as though the estate were a luxury hotel instead of a family home. But at night, when the lights dimmed and conversations disappeared behind closed doors, the mansion became something colder. Too large, too quiet, too watchful. Seraphina Vale sat near the bedroom window wrapped in a dark cashmere blanket, one hand resting against the arm of the chair while rain blurred the city lights beyond the gates below. An untouched book lay open in her lap, and she’d been staring at the same page for almost half an hour. Across the room, the fireplace crackled softly. “Miss?” Mira entered carefully, balancing a silver tray in her hands. Tea. Medicine. The same routine every evening. Seraphina didn’t turn immediately. “What time is it?” “Almost eleven.” That explained the exhaustion settling heavily behind her eyes. Some nights her body felt strangely distant, as though the illness had transformed even simple movements into negotiations. Mira set the tray beside her gently. “You should sleep earlier.” “I say that every night.” “And ignore yourself every night.” A faint smile almost touched Seraphina’s lips. Mira had worked for the family long enough to know when silence helped and when it didn’t. Most people in the estate treated Seraphina like fragile glass now—careful voices, sympathetic looks, concern polished into politeness. Mira, at least, still spoke to her normally. Mostly. The maid reached toward the curtains. “Should I close the windows?” “No.” The cool air drifting through the slight opening felt better than the heavy warmth trapped inside the room. For a while, neither woman spoke. Rain tapped softly against the glass, the fire crackled, and somewhere deep inside the mansion a grandfather clock chimed quietly. Eleven o’clock. Mira’s attention drifted toward the medicine tray. “The doctor said you missed the afternoon dose.” Seraphina finally looked down at the small collection of pills beside her tea. White capsules tonight. Yesterday they’d been blue. Interesting. “They change these too often,” she murmured. “The prescription changed again this morning.” “Apparently.” Mira hesitated. “Should I call the physician tomorrow? Maybe the side effects are worsening because—” “No.” The answer came sharper than intended, and silence followed immediately. Seraphina exhaled softly and leaned back against the chair again. “I’m tired of doctors.” Tired of blood tests, tired of whispered conversations outside hospital rooms, tired of hearing phrases like we’re trying our best, her condition is complicated, stress could worsen things. Three years of treatments and not a single one had truly helped. Three years ago, she’d been preparing presentations for shareholders and negotiating acquisitions with executives twice her age. Now people asked whether she could finish dinner without feeling faint. Funny how quickly life rearranged itself. Mira quietly handed her the teacup. “At least drink something.” Seraphina accepted it this time, though the tea had already cooled slightly. Outside, lightning flashed briefly across the sky, illuminating the gardens below in pale silver before darkness swallowed everything again. Even from the third floor, the property looked endless: black iron gates, sculpted gardens, stone fountains gleaming beneath the rain. Beautiful enough to impress strangers. Cold enough to suffocate inside. “You’re thinking too much again,” Mira said gently. “I always think too much.” “That’s the problem.” Perhaps. Seraphina lowered the cup slowly, noticing the slight tremor in her fingers before Mira could. Annoying. The weakness had been worse lately—not dramatic enough for concern, just enough to frustrate her. She set the cup down before her grip slipped entirely. Mira pretended not to notice. Again—kind. “Tomorrow’s dinner,” the maid began carefully. “Your uncle specifically requested you attend.” Seraphina’s eyes lifted slightly. That was unusual. She rarely appeared during family functions anymore unless absolutely necessary. Most guests preferred not being reminded that the Vale family’s once-promising heiress had become permanently ill before thirty. “Asking politely or demanding?” she asked. Mira tried not to smile. “Politely demanding.” That sounded like Octavian. Always controlled, always elegant, always careful with tone. Seraphina looked back toward the rain. “What’s the occasion?” “Investors, I think. Some people from overseas too.” “Mmm.” The estate hosted dinners constantly. Wealthy people enjoyed pretending business decisions happened naturally over wine and expensive food instead of greed. Still, something about the invitation unsettled her slightly. Lately everyone inside the house seemed oddly attentive toward her condition—questions about medication, about rest, about whether she planned to come downstairs. Subtle things, small enough to ignore, yet impossible not to notice once they accumulated. A soft knock interrupted the room. Mira moved toward the door immediately, and Helena Vale stepped inside without waiting for permission. Of course. She wore black silk and diamonds despite the late hour, her makeup still flawless from whatever event she’d attended earlier. Beautiful in the polished way magazines adored. Her gaze landed on Seraphina near the window. “Oh,” Helena said lightly. “You’re awake.” Seraphina lifted one brow. “You sound disappointed.” “Not at all.” Lie. A tiny one, but still a lie. Helena walked further into the room, removing one glove carefully. “Uncle mentioned tomorrow’s dinner.” “I heard.” “He wants you downstairs before the guests arrive.” Interesting. “Why?” Helena shrugged gracefully. “Appearance matters.” There it was. Not concern, not family closeness—appearance. The Vale family still displayed Seraphina publicly because sympathy looked good beside wealth. Investors preferred tragic stories over scandal. Seraphina looked down at the untouched medicine again. “I’ll survive one evening.” “I’m sure you will.” Something about Helena’s tone lingered strangely after she spoke. Not cruel, not warm either. Just observant, like someone monitoring changes carefully. The room fell quiet except for the rain, and Helena’s eyes shifted briefly toward the medicine tray before returning to Seraphina. “You look tired.” “I am tired.” “You should rest more.” Another strange statement. Seraphina smiled faintly without warmth. “I’ll add it to the endless list of medical advice.” Helena laughed softly, but her attention remained fixed on Seraphina a second too long before finally looking away. “Goodnight, then.” The bedroom door closed behind her quietly, and silence returned almost instantly. Mira muttered under her breath while adjusting the blankets near the chair. “She gives me a strange feeling.” Seraphina stared toward the rain-darkened gardens below. “Yes,” she said softly. “She does.”