HIDDEN BENEATH THE ELEGANCE

“Lady Seraphina Devereux has attempted suicide!” The scream tore through the manor like a blade. Footsteps thundered across polished marble floors. Servants rushed through the corridor in panic, their frightened whispers spreading faster than wildfire. “The young lady locked herself inside—!” “Get the physician!” “Where is the Duchess?!” Candles flickered wildly as maids gathered outside the bedroom doors, their faces pale with fear but their eyes glittering with something uglier beneath it. Excitement. Because everyone in this manor loved tragedy when it belonged to Seraphina Devereux. Inside the lavish bedroom, blood dripped silently onto expensive carpets. The girl lying beside the bed looked delicate enough to break apart from a strong wind. Long silver-blonde hair spilled across the floor like silk, partially covering the bruises hidden beneath the sleeves of her nightdress. One wrist had been cut open. Not deep enough to kill immediately. Just enough to hurt. Just enough to prove how desperate she had been. The room smelled faintly of iron and roses. Then suddenly— The girl’s fingers twitched. A sharp inhale followed. Her eyes snapped open. Cold. Alert. Wrong. For several long seconds, she didn’t move. Her breathing remained steady despite the blood loss. Gray-blue eyes scanned the unfamiliar ceiling above her with terrifying calm, taking in details instinctively. Large room. One entrance. Heavy curtains. Possible hidden passage behind the bookshelf. Three people outside the door. One armed. The thoughts came automatically. Conditioning. Training. Survival. The woman slowly sat upright. Pain exploded through her wrist. She glanced down at the blood staining pale fingers and frowned. “…Sloppy.” Her voice was hoarse. Not her voice. Cassia Vale stared at her smaller hands in silence. No callouses from firearms. No scars along the knuckles. No burn marks. Not her body. Her expression darkened. The last thing she remembered was fire. The mission collapsing. Gunshots. Betrayal. Her handler screaming through the comms. Then the explosion. Cassia pressed two fingers against her temple as foreign memories suddenly slammed into her mind hard enough to make her vision blur. Seraphina Devereux. Nineteen years old. Daughter of the late Duke Devereux. Fiancée of Crown Prince Leonhardt Aurelian. Villainess of high society. Cassia’s eyes narrowed slowly. No. Not villainess. Victim. Memory after memory flooded in violently. A child trembling while kneeling on rice for hours. Cold tea poured over her head for “speaking improperly.” Servants whispering insults behind her back. A stepmother smiling sweetly in public before digging nails into her arm hard enough to bleed. Drugged drinks. Manipulated rumors. False accusations. Isolation. Punishment. Humiliation. And tonight— Seraphina overhearing her stepmother speaking privately with her biological daughter. “You understand, Evelyne? The crown prince must never marry Seraphina.” Soft laughter. “She’s unstable already. After tonight, society will destroy her reputation completely.” “And if she dies?” Evelyne had asked quietly. A pause. Then: “Then the path to becoming queen will finally open for you.” Cassia felt something cold settle inside her chest. Not anger. Something quieter. More dangerous. The original Seraphina had broken completely after hearing those words. So she locked herself inside her room and chose death. Cowardly, some would say. Cassia disagreed. People only called it weakness because they had never experienced hopelessness powerful enough to crush the soul. Outside the room, frantic knocking erupted. “Lady Seraphina!” “Please open the door!” Cassia glanced toward the entrance calmly. The voices sounded terrified. Not because they cared. Because if Seraphina died, the household would face scandal. How inconvenient for them. Her gaze shifted toward the vanity mirror nearby. Slowly, she stood. The body felt fragile compared to her original one, but there was still balance in the legs. Flexibility. Potential. She approached the mirror. And froze. Beautiful. That was the first thought. The second was dangerous. Seraphina possessed an almost ethereal appearance—pale skin untouched by sunlight, silver-blonde hair cascading past her waist, and striking gray-blue eyes framed by long lashes. Too beautiful. Beauty like this attracted obsession. Control. Cruelty. Cassia tilted her head slightly. Even now, faint bruises remained near her collarbone, carefully hidden beneath silk fabric. Evidence. Her expression turned colder. The knocking intensified. Then came another voice. Smooth. Elegant. Poison wrapped in honey. “Seraphina, darling?” The stepmother. Duchess Helena Devereux. Cassia’s eyes sharpened instantly. Interesting. The woman sounded genuinely worried. A masterful actress. “Please open the door,” Helena continued softly. “You’re frightening your sister.” Cassia walked toward the door in complete silence. Outside, several servants stood gathered nervously beside Helena and Evelyne. Evelyne looked exactly as Seraphina remembered. Golden curls. Wide innocent eyes. The picture-perfect noble daughter. The future queen candidate. Cassia unlocked the door. Click. The room fell silent. When the door slowly opened, every servant stiffened. Because something about Lady Seraphina felt… different. She stood there wearing a bloodstained nightdress, one wrist still dripping crimson onto the floor. Yet her face remained calm. Too calm. Helena immediately rushed forward with perfectly timed tears gathering in her eyes. “Oh heavens—Seraphina!” Cassia moved first. Fast. Her injured hand suddenly grabbed Helena’s wrist mid-motion before the woman could touch her. The hallway froze. Cassia’s grip wasn’t strong because of physical power. It was precise. Controlled. Like someone trained to restrain targets. Helena’s expression flickered for the briefest second. Fear. Cassia saw it instantly. Interesting. The duchess recovered quickly, voice trembling beautifully. “My dear…?” Cassia stared directly into her eyes. For one terrifying moment, Helena felt as though she were being dissected alive. Measured. Evaluated. Hunted. Then Seraphina smiled softly. “I’m fine, Mother.” Every servant in the hallway went still. Because Lady Seraphina had never smiled like that before. Not sweetly. Not calmly. Not like someone hiding a knife behind her back. Evelyne unconsciously stepped backward. And for the first time in years— Fear entered the Devereux household.