Chapter 57: North Tower

The color rose quickly to her cheeks, soft but unmistakable, betraying an unusual embarrassment for her.

Her eyes drifted away for a moment, as if to avoid Blanche's, while she adjusted a fold of her outfit almost imperceptibly. That simple blush contrasted sharply with the confidence she usually radiated, revealing a fleeting, unexpected vulnerability.

Blanche, meanwhile, had slipped into a pair of faded white jeans, a thin sweater in the same shade with sleeves just a little too long, pearl-gray socks rising above her knees, Eva's ankle boots, and a frosted silver perfecto jacket. Deprived of her usual scarf—lost with her belongings at the hospital—she opted for a wide white mohair scarf.

The ensemble formed a pale, almost luminous silhouette, like an instinctive response to the tension still lingering inside her. The slightly worn jeans followed her movements without restriction, while the oversized sleeves softened the look with a deliberately careless touch. The pearl-gray socks elongated the line of her legs, adding a subtle nuance to a palette dominated by white.

Eva's boots, slightly bolder, introduced a quiet contrast, a hint of character beneath that apparent softness. As for the frosted silver perfecto, it caught the light with every movement, throwing off cold, almost metallic reflections, like a light armor resting on her shoulders.

The absence of her usual scarf was noticeable—like a missing, almost intimate detail. The wide white mohair scarf she had chosen instead wrapped around her neck with visible softness, its light fibers catching both light and motion, recreating a sense of protection—different, yet reassuring.

Eva, for her part, wore a black lace dress, massive platform shoes, a long black wool coat, and a cream silk scarf.

The contrast with Blanche was striking. Where Blanche played with light, Eva embraced depth—dark, elegant, and assertive. The lace dress revealed and suggested at once, playing with transparency and texture, adding a delicate dimension to her presence.

The heavy platforms grounded her, giving weight and certainty to each step, while the long wool coat structured the whole, both fluid and imposing. The cream silk scarf softened that dominance of black, adding a subtle, refined contrast, like a quiet light at the heart of shadow.

Side by side, they formed an unexpected balance—two opposing silhouettes, yet strangely complementary.

They went downstairs. Kiyan was waiting for them.

" You're late."

"My fault, "Blanche apologized." I almost had a heart attack when I saw Eva's outfit."

Eva elbowed her—she barely felt it. She hardly felt pain anymore, after cutting herself so often.

Kiyan raised an eyebrow at their outfits and headed toward the entrance.

The gesture was subtle, almost imperceptible, yet loaded with silent judgment. His gaze swept over them with quick precision, taking everything in without lingering, as if registering every detail in a fraction of a second. The raised brow suggested both restrained surprise and faint, amused disapproval. Then he looked away, already elsewhere, giving a slight shake of his head as if dismissing the thought.

His departure was just as controlled. No unnecessary movement, no hesitation. He moved toward the entrance with that quiet assurance that defined him, each step placed with almost calculated precision. Even with his back turned, his presence remained unmistakable.

Impeccable as always: a midnight-blue wool jacket, matching velvet trousers, a royal blue silk shirt, a blue-gray sweater, gray shoes, gloves, a panama hat. Elegance embodied.

Everything about him seemed meticulously chosen, yet never forced. The midnight-blue jacket structured his frame perfectly, hugging his shoulders with precision, while the velvet trousers added depth of texture, absorbing light with subtle richness.

The royal blue silk shirt, on the other hand, caught every glimmer, bringing a controlled luminosity—almost precious—tempered by the softness of the blue-gray sweater. The whole played on shades, materials, and quiet contrasts, creating a perfectly balanced harmony.

His gray shoes, immaculate, extended that elegance seamlessly, while the gloves added a timeless quality, as if he belonged to another era. The panama, worn effortlessly, completed the look, giving him that air of relaxed yet absolute control.

Elegance embodied—but above all, an elegance that didn't try to seduce. It simply imposed itself, as an obvious fact.

He handed them kraft bags containing homemade croissants.

Blanche beamed.

As usual, they sat in the back—a long-standing compromise imposed by Kiyan when they used to fight over the front seat. At ten years old.

Blanche, without lipstick—unlike Eva, who wore a vivid scarlet—devoured both croissants. Eva, mindful of her makeup, gave hers up.

The drive passed in silence. Kiyan drove, Eva talked, everything was normal.

Until they arrived.

"Blanche, sit in the front," Kiyan said simply.

The two friends exchanged a puzzled glance.

"Why? We have class, don't we? " Blanche hesitated.

"Eva has class. You and I have something to settle first."

Blanche's heart skipped a beat.

Was he finally going to reveal everything?

" But Dad! "Eva protested." You're our first class!"

" I'll be absent today."

" But that's two free periods! I could've stayed home!"

" Perfect. You'll have time to clean your second room. Now go, we're already late enough."

Frustrated, Eva headed toward the gate. Blanche climbed into the front seat and fastened her seatbelt.

"Where are we going?"

"To answer a few questions."

She got nothing more.

And yet, his aura still glowed with that soft amber light. Nothing like a man in a bad mood.

Phénix jumped onto her lap in cat form, purring under her touch. Her "aura" skill leveled up again.

She occasionally glanced at Kiyan. He seemed lost in thought, distant.

Strangely, it didn't hurt. For the first time, she understood. Truly.

At last, the vehicle stopped in front of a building she had seen dozens of times on TV but had never entered.

The North Tower.

Headquarters of the Greyson Corporation.

An artistic and historical monument, classified as part of Epsilon's heritage.

And above all—she now knew—the vampiric "city" of the sector.

Ruled not by the fictional CEO Sebastian Greyson, but by the King himself.

Blanche finally understood Kiyan's tension perfectly.

She was about to witness, firsthand, the punishment Sebastian had reserved for his best friend.