Forbidden Echoes

Chapter1: Shattered Beginnings

I lay in my bed watching as the morning light gently spills into my expansive bedroom, caressing the antique furniture and plush fabrics that envelop the space. The sun warms my room and awakens the symphony of luxury and heritage- a reflection of the opulence that defines the Alden estate. As the sun creeps closer to my bed, the weight of grief settles on my chest – a poignant reminder of my father's untimely demise.

The memory of my father’s voice plucks me from the plush feathered duvet draped across my king size bed, “Always better to wake from your slumber early, my darling. That’s when the wheels of the world start turning and you best be on them when they roll on!”

I lazily swing my legs off the side of my bed into my Hermes house slippers.

If only it were as easy to fall asleep.

I stand up, my silk pajama set clinging to the duvet as I make my way to the ornate mirror in the corner of my room to assess the damage of another sleepless night.

For a second, I didn’t recognize myself. Suddenly, the little girl that used to jump into daddy’s arms is a 21-year-old poised at the threshold of adulthood. Suddenly it’s no longer little Serena, the little ballerina. Suddenly it’s Serena Cordelia Alden, heiress to the Alden legacy, the Alden empire.

I give my mascara-lined under-eyes a soft rub, but it won’t budge. I step to the right of my mirror into my en-suite bathroom, grab the micellar water and undo last night’s crying. I splash my face with cold water to get the blood flowing and as I dry my face off, my eye catches the vintage Chanel dress hanging in my wardrobe on the opposite side of the room.

I should probably get dressed, so I can coordinate the caterers and florist crews for today’s events.

Knowing my mother and her love for dramatics, she’ll probably be incapacitated by ‘grief’, leaving me with the duties of the funeral arrangements.

My movements feel dull as I float across the room to my dress where the rich black hues, reminiscent of aged wine, complement the mahogany tones of the space.

Like muscle memory, I slip the dress on, running my fingers over the delicate lace detailing, immersing myself in the exquisite craftsmanship that drapes over my curves with the grace of a bygone era. The fabric enfolds me like a second skin, and I’m reminded of my duty as an Alden to mirror the timeless elegance and sophistication that comes with the family heritage.

I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror and hear a feigned memory of my father pass through my mind. “Now that’s what the heiress of our family should look like! Elegant, graceful, powerful. Always remember that, darling!”

I move to my vanity where the vintage pearls, passed down through generations, are carefully presented on maroon velvet cushions. Each pearl holds a story, a whisper of the Alden lineage.

A breeze whispers through the sheer curtains in front of my window, spilling a soft beam of morning sun over my face. I close my eyes and welcome its warmth on this cold day.

The air carries a subtle scent of lavender – a fragrance that lingers from the flowers my father used to bring from the estate gardens. Today, the lavender serves as a fleeting reminder of a past that now seems both distant and hauntingly present.

The room, bathed in morning light, becomes a sanctuary where the past and present coalesce. My mind wanders through the halls of memories and for a moment I’m enveloped in a time that once was.

I spend this time pinning my soft blonde waves into an elegant low bun, allowing a few flowing strands around my face to escape. Standing before the mirror, I am a reflection of legacy and mourning, a testament to the endurance of familial traditions.

A soft knock on my bedroom door interrupts the solitude. The door creaks open, revealing my mother's tear-streaked face, draped in a black mourning dress. Her melodramatic wails fill the room, a performance that grates against my resolve. Despite the theatrics, I offer a tight-lipped smile, concealing the annoyance that simmers beneath the surface.

She enters the room, tissue in hand as she examines me, “Oh darling, I cannot believe that he’s gone! Your father is gone!”

I inhale slowly, clenching my jaw shut to halt the damaging words that stand ready to spread across the room.

“Mom, I know today is hard, but let’s try to calm down and get through the funeral.” I say calmly with a subtle hint of annoyance.

“Calm down?! Calm down?! Serena, you might have lost a father, but I lost my husband, my soul mate!” She pauses to conjure up tears. “Have a little compassion!”

My annoyance might be granted, but she’s also right. We all lost someone different today. I change my posture, my face softens into a compassionate frown.

“I’m sorry, Mom. You’re right. We all lost a different person today. It’s just that, with Dad gone, I’m the next in line to care for our family. To carry our legacy. I’m just trying to make sure today is about honoring him. You know how he loved attention!” We both chuckle at the thought of my attention-loving, titan of a father.

Her lips curl up slightly, and she drapes her arms around my neck. “I love you, my Serena darling! Now, let’s fix your hair and get some color to those cheeks. You look a little pale. Oh, and don’t forget to put on that new perfume Dad got you on his last trip to Dubai. He would have loved that with this outfit!” she says as she makes her way out the door, into the great hallway to boss around some staff.

I turn to my vanity again, this time to sweep strokes of bronze and pink across my cheeks. I doubt that I’d allow myself to cry today in front of the 200 guests joining us for the intimate ceremony, but I opt for the Dior waterproof mascara.

I pause for a moment to search my green eyes for the strength I need today.

You are the heiress of the Alden legacy, Serena. No tears, no weakness.

I lift the gold embossed perfume bottle to my neck, immersing myself in the moody Oud scent that fills the air. The Oud seeps into the crevasse of my skin while I swipe a subtle crimson lipstick across my lips. In a moment, I’m pulled back into a realm of memories while I adorn my left ring finger with my 18ct gold family crest ring.

It’s a good thing Dad had one made to fit my delicate fingers when he was still around. His ring would never fit any of my fingers.

I smile at the idea of his big safe hands that used to hold me when I was a little girl. I spin around in this memory while I press the slightly small pearl and diamond ring over my right middle finger.

That’s the thing with family heirlooms. People get squirmy when you try to get them resized.

Before I head out to the great room and brave the day, I give myself a final look in the mirror. The subtle crimson shade of my lipstick echoes the roses that will be adorning our house today. My ancestors' vintage pearls, weighted with familial history, cascade from my neck. The room, saturated with morning sunlight and the balanced scent of Oud and lavender, transforms into a stage where tradition and grief intertwine.

I give myself a stately nod and make my way to the great room.

Descending the grand staircase, unfamiliar mourners clad in shades of black offering condolences that ring hollow in the cavernous halls of the Alden estate. Friends of my father, high society acquaintances I've never seen before, traverse the crowd, creating an air of formality that contrasts with the genuine grief that permeates the surroundings.

I search the room for our house manager and one of my best friends growing up. I gently maneuver through the crowd of people towards Elodie. Her black dress hangs lightly on her as if it’s familiar with the events that will unfold today. The corners of her mouth lift slightly as I reach her.

In all my years knowing Elodie, she looks as if she hasn’t aged a day. But the soft creases around her eyes stretch across her skin, showing a life lived with laughter.

She wraps her arm around me for an apologetic hug.“Mon Chéri, you look stunning! Your father would have been proud.”

A genuine smile escapes from my stately façade as a thank you to her compliment. “Mon Dieu, Elodie! You have outdone yourself! The great room, the halls, the foyer… It all looks incredible! You have no idea what a weight you’ve taken off my shoulders by doing this today!”

“Serena, it’s nothing. I know how terrible it is to lose a loved one, and I also know that the only way to help a person grieving is to allow their mind not to think. So, I did all the thinking for you today.”

“You are simply the best, do you know that?” I let out a sigh.

“You even got the red and black roses he requested for today. And the beautiful ice sculpture spewing champagne so we could all celebrate his life- he would have loved that!” I squeeze her into me as we both look over the expansive displays of roses, champagne and moody decor.