Chapter 67 CHAPTER 67:A Queen Watching for One Man
Chapter 67 CHAPTER 67:A Queen Watching for One Man
Elara did not move for several seconds after the gates closed behind Auren’s car. She remained standing at the edge of the steps, her posture perfectly straight, her gaze fixed on the empty driveway as if the darkness might give something back if she stared long enough. The night wind tugged lightly at the ends of her hair, brushing it across her shoulders, but she didn’t seem to notice. When she finally turned, the softness that had been on her face only moments ago was gone, replaced by the familiar composure she wore like armor. Her eyes found me immediately. “Sera,” she said quietly, already stepping toward the entrance. “Come with me.” She didn’t wait to see if I would follow. She simply expected it.
I walked behind her through the tall front doors and into the silent foyer, the echo of our footsteps stretching up toward the high ceiling. The house felt different again now that the night’s tension had begun to settle, as if it were slowly returning to its usual rhythm after holding its breath for hours. Elara moved with steady purpose, crossing the marble floor and heading toward the grand staircase without a single pause. The soft glow of the chandelier caught the pink diamonds at her throat, making them shimmer faintly with each step. She didn’t speak until we reached the upper landing and turned down the familiar hallway toward her bedroom.
The moment we entered her room, she slipped off her coat and draped it over the back of a chair, exhaling a long breath that seemed to release the last of the night’s strain. The tension in her shoulders eased just slightly, though the tiredness remained in her eyes. I hesitated near the door, unsure if she wanted silence or conversation, but the question that had been sitting in my chest all night pushed forward before I could stop it. “Miss Elara… Sir Senior Varya… how is he?” My voice came out softer than I intended, careful and cautious, as if the answer might still carry danger.
Elara waved a dismissive hand, crossing the room toward the vanity. “He didn’t die,” she said plainly, her tone calm but edged with lingering irritation. She began removing her earrings one by one, placing them carefully onto the polished surface as though the motion required her full attention. “The doctors say the fall looked worse than it was. He lost consciousness for a while, which frightened everyone, but there’s no serious damage. They’re keeping him overnight for observation. By morning, he’ll be complaining about hospital food and ordering the nurses around.” A faint exhale left her lips—half relief, half exhaustion.
I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding, the tension in my chest loosening at last. “That’s wonderful news,” I said quietly. “Everyone was so worried.” The image of the ambulance lights flashing against the mansion walls earlier that evening returned to me, sharp and unsettling. Hearing that the worst had passed felt like the final thread of the night’s fear finally snapping.
Elara went completely still when the words left my mouth. That’s wonderful news. For a single heartbeat, the sentence seemed harmless, floating softly between us. Then I watched the meaning sink in. Her shoulders stiffened first, followed by the slow tightening of her jaw. She stared at her reflection as if she no longer recognized the girl in the mirror. When she finally spoke, her voice came out quiet and sharp. “Wonderful?” she repeated, almost whispering the word as though it tasted wrong.
Her head turned slowly toward me, eyes narrowing. “You think this is wonderful?” The question came out louder this time, edged with disbelief. She took a step closer, and the air in the room shifted, thick and electric. “Tell me, Sera,” she continued, voice rising, “what exactly is wonderful about tonight being completely ruined?” Her laugh came out brittle and humorless. “Please. I’d love to hear it.”
I opened my mouth, but she didn’t give me the chance to answer. “Do you have any idea how long I waited for this evening?” she demanded, pacing now, “Eleven years. Eleven. Years. I planned everything—every detail, every second—and it’s gone. Completely gone.” Her voice cracked with frustration. “And you stand there smiling and calling it wonderful?”
She spun back toward the vanity and slammed both hands against it. The sound echoed through the room. “He ruined it,” she snapped. “That old man ruined everything.” The words spilled out faster now, hotter, harsher. “One stupid fall and suddenly the entire house turns into a hospital waiting room. Ambulances. Panic. Chaos. The whole night stolen from me.”
Her hand swept across the vanity in a violent motion, sending bottles and brushes crashing to the floor. Glass shattered loudly, the scent of spilled perfume exploding into the air. She didn’t even glance down. “Do you understand what tonight was supposed to be?” she shouted. “It was supposed to be perfect. We were supposed to have time. Real time. Not rushed apologies and emergency phone calls.”
She turned on me again, eyes blazing. “And you—you stand there telling me it’s wonderful that he didn’t die?” Her voice dropped into something colder, more dangerous. “Of course you think it’s wonderful. You didn’t lose anything tonight, did you? You didn’t spend eleven years waiting for a moment that vanished in a single moment..”
She grabbed a porcelain vase from the bedside table and hurled it across the room. It shattered against the wall, pieces skidding across the marble floor. Her chest rose and fell in sharp breaths. “Do you know what I got instead?” she continued bitterly. “Waiting rooms. Nurses. Worry. Watching the clock while he slipped further away from me with every minute.”
Her fingers curled into tight fists at her sides. “I should be relieved, shouldn’t I?” she said, voice trembling with rage. “I should be grateful. That’s what you expect me to feel.” She shook her head sharply. “But all I can think about is how he destroyed the one night I finally had with Auren.”
Elara’s chest rose and fell in sharp, uneven breaths, her anger still crackling in the air like the last sparks of a fire that refused to die. “Don’t stand there looking at me like that,” she snapped, voice trembling with fury and exhaustion. “You don’t get to look sorry now. You don’t get to pretend you didn’t ruin everything with one sentence.” Her words were fast and heated, each one landing harder than the last. She lifted her hand as she spoke, gesturing wildly, and the movement finally revealed the thin red line slicing across her palm.
For a moment I didn’t understand what I was seeing. Then a drop of blood slid slowly down her wrist and fell onto the marble floor with a soft, horrifying sound. My breath caught in my throat. “Miss Elara… your hand,” I whispered, stepping forward instinctively. “You’re bleeding.” My voice sounded smaller than I meant it to, swallowed by the tension still vibrating in the room.
She barely looked down, as if the sight of blood meant nothing compared to the rage still burning inside her. “It’s nothing,” she muttered dismissively, trying to curl her fingers into a fist, but the movement only forced another drop to spill. “It doesn’t even hurt.” Her voice cracked on the last word, betraying the lie.
“Please,” I said quickly, moving closer despite the fear still twisting in my chest. “Please let me help you. You’ve cut yourself on the glass.” I reached toward her slowly, careful not to startle her, as though approaching a wounded animal. “You need to clean it before it gets worse.”
“I said it’s fine!” she snapped, but the anger had lost its sharpest edge, thinning into something tired and shaky. She swayed slightly where she stood, and the sight made panic rush through me. “Miss Elara, sit down,” I urged softly. “Please. Just for a moment. Let me fix it. You don’t have to talk to me, you don’t have to forgive me—just let me help you.”
Her shoulders dropped a fraction, the fight draining out of her as quickly as it had flared. “You always do this,” she muttered bitterly. “You say the wrong thing, and then you look at me like you want to fix the world afterward.” But she didn’t pull away when I gently guided her toward the chair near the vanity. The broken glass crunched faintly under our feet, the sound a reminder of how much of the room her anger had already destroyed.
I hurried to the bathroom and grabbed the first-aid kit, my hands shaking so badly I nearly dropped it. When I came back, she was staring at the floor, her breathing slower now but still uneven. I knelt in front of her and carefully took her injured hand in mine. “I’m sorry,” I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper. “I shouldn’t have said it like that. I didn’t mean to upset you. I just meant your grandfather is safe. I didn’t think— I didn’t think about what tonight meant for you.”
She let out a shaky breath. “You didn’t think,” she repeated quietly, but there was no venom left in the words—only exhaustion. “Tonight was supposed to be perfect. Do you understand that? Perfect.” Her voice wavered, the anger dissolving into something fragile. “And everything fell apart.”
“This might sting,” I whispered gently as I dabbed antiseptic onto the cut. She flinched instantly, her fingers tightening around mine. “I’m sorry,” I said quickly. “I know it hurts.” I wrapped the gauze slowly around her palm, careful and precise. “I never wanted to make tonight worse for you. I promise.”
Her grip loosened as the bandage settled into place. The room grew quieter, the storm finally fading into a heavy silence. When I finished, I held her hand for a second longer before letting go. “There,” I said softly. “It’s taken care of. You’ll be alright.” And for the first time since the shouting began, the room felt less like a battlefield and more like something fragile trying to heal.
An hour later, the room was quiet in a way that felt heavy rather than peaceful. I moved slowly across the floor, kneeling to gather the scattered shards of glass into a small dustpan, careful not to cut myself the way she had.
Elara sat alone on the balcony, the city lights stretching endlessly beyond the glass railing like scattered diamonds. From inside her room, I could see her silhouette through the half-open curtains while I moved quietly across the carpet, gathering the clothes she had discarded earlier. The faint smell of cigarette smoke drifted in every time the balcony door slid open with the wind. It mixed with her expensive perfume, creating a strange, bittersweet scent that lingered in the air. I folded one of her silk blouses carefully and tried not to look at her too much, but my eyes kept wandering back to the balcony. She hadn’t moved in several minutes, just stared down at her phone as just staring at it, waiting. Or maybe rereading old messages. I couldn’t tell.
I picked up the broken vase pieces next, wrapping them carefully in cloth before placing them aside. My hands worked on their own, but my thoughts kept drifting back to earlier. Her anger. Her disappointment. The way she had said she waited eleven years. I wondered if she was waiting now too—for his name to appear on her screen, for a message, for reassurance that the evening hadn’t been completely lost. The silence from the balcony told me she hadn’t received it yet.
I wiped the surface of her dressing table, my reflection staring back at me in the mirror beside rows of makeup and jewelry that cost more than anything I owned. From the corner of my eye, I watched her bring the cigarette to her lips and inhale slowly, the ember glowing bright against the darkness. She exhaled in a long, tired sigh. “He didn’t even look back,” she murmured, her voice barely loud enough to reach me. I froze with a cloth in my hand. “Miss?” I asked softly, unsure if she meant to speak to me. She didn’t turn around. “Did you see him leave?” she asked. Her tone was calm, but there was something sharp underneath it, like glass hidden beneath velvet.
“Yes, Miss,” I replied carefully, stepping closer to the balcony door. “He left quickly.” She let out a quiet laugh that didn’t sound amused at all. “Of course he did,” she said, flicking ash . “He always leaves when things get complicated.” I hesitated, unsure if I should speak, but the silence felt heavier than her words. “Maybe he was busy,” I offered gently. She turned her head slightly then, just enough for me to see the faint crease between her brows. “Busy?” she repeated. “With what, Sera? Avoiding me?” Her gaze dropped back to her phone, and she pressed the screen as if expecting it to light up at any second.I turned back to the bed and smoothed the wrinkled sheets, straightening the pillows she had thrown aside earlier. The room no longer looked like a storm had torn through it. Everything was almost back in place. Almost. But there was something unsettled in the air that cleaning couldn’t fix. The balcony door remained open just enough for me to hear the faint sound of her breathing between drags, slow and controlled, like she was forcing herself not to feel too much at once.
As I gathered the last of the glass and stood up, I finally let myself look at her properly. She hadn’t noticed me watching. Her eyes were fixed on her phone screen, expression unreadable, cigarette burning down between her fingers until the ash grew too long and fell
“Miss Elara… would you like some tea?” I asked, hoping to shift the mood. She shook her head slowly. “No. I just need him to call.” Her voice softened on the last word, almost breaking. I stopped moving entirely. Hearing her sound like that felt wrong, like watching a queen forget how to stand. “He will,” I said, though I wasn’t sure if I believed it. She gave a small, humorless smile. “You don’t know him like I do.”
She tapped her phone against the riling, restless and impatient. “I shouldn’t care this much,” she muttered, almost to herself. I stepped closer to the doorway, the cool night air brushing against my skin. “It’s okay to care,” I said quietly. She turned fully then, her eyes searching mine as if weighing my words. “No, Sera,” she said softly, shaking her head. “It’s dangerous.” The way she said it made my chest tighten. For a moment, the confident woman everyone feared disappeared, leaving someone who looked painfully human and uncertain. She crushed the cigarette into the ashtray with more force than necessary.
I picked up the last of her clothes and folded them neatly, trying to give her space while still being close enough if she needed me. Behind me, I heard the faint sound of her phone unlocking again, the small click echoing in the quiet room. A few seconds passed. Then another. No notification came. She let out a slow breath and leaned back in her chair, staring out at the night once more. “Go finish your work, Sera,” she said gently, her voice steady again. “I’m fine.” But as I turned away, I knew she wasn’t. And the glowing screen in her hand, still dark and silent, seemed to prove it.