The office space was cloaked in a tense silence.
Save for the faint ticking of an ornate clock mounted on the far wall.
Sunlight stread through tall, arched windows, bathing the room in a golden hue and reflecting off the polished mahogany desk that dominated the center.
Two figures stood before the desk—
A man and a woman, both clad in formal servant attire.
The butler was an old man, his white hair slicked back.
His gaunt fra carrying an air of experience and quiet strength.
His posture was immaculate, his hands clasped behind his back as though he were carved from marble.
The maid standing beside him was younger, though her dry green hair and equally dull green eyes made her appear prematurely aged.
Her expression was stoic, but there was a quiet tension in the way she held herself, as if bracing for the weight of orders yet to co.
Behind the desk, a high-backed chair faced the window, obscuring the figure seated there.
The sunlight traced the edges of the chair's silhouette and caught strands of the long black hair cascading over its back.
The woman's voice erged, low and deliberate, filling the room like a whisper that demanded attention.
"Noah..."
She began, her tone laced with venom.
"They said he was dead. A tragedy, they called it—a brilliant young mind lost in an explosion.
His dorm room reduced to rubble, and his na erased from the academy's future.
But I know better."
The butler's eyes flickered with curiosity, while the maid's expression remained unreadable.
"Noah is alive..." the woman continued.
"Alive and as cunning as ever...
Only Noah could orchestrate sothing so elaborate as faking his own death.
That explosion wasn't a mistake—it was a masterpiece.
A carefully crafted spectacle to erase himself from the watchful eyes of his enemies… and perhaps even those who once trusted him."
She leaned back in her chair, her fingers tapping rhythmically on the armrest.
The two vassals exchanged a brief glance, but neither spoke.
"I'm sending the two of you to Ravenwood Academy..."
The woman declared.
"Your official business will be twofold...
Further business matters with the Ashbournes and Ravenwood will be discussed.
Use our prestige to make them welco you with open arms."
"And what of Lord Noah himself?"
The butler asked, his voice steady.
The woman paused, letting the question hang in the air before responding.
"Kill him."
The maid stiffened ever so slightly, but the butler remained unmoved.
"Noah must die," the woman repeated, her tone sharpening.
"This ti, there will be no staged deaths, no elaborate sches to slip through our grasp.
And when it happens, the bla must fall squarely on the academy.
Leave evidence that implicates their incompetence—make it look like their negligence allowed this to happen."
She rose slowly from her chair, finally turning to face her vassals.
The sunlight illuminated her striking features.
Fawless porcelain skin, raven-black hair cascading down her shoulders, and piercing golden eyes that glead with a mix of determination and malice.
She was a vision of beauty, yet her presence was suffused with an aura of nace.
The vassals bowed deeply.
"As you command, my lady..."
The butler intoned.
The maid simply nodded, her dry green eyes locking briefly with her mistress's golden ones before the two servants turned and left the room.
The heavy doors closed behind them, leaving the woman alone.
Her hands clenched into fists as she turned back toward the window.
Her reflection superimposed on the sprawling landscape outside.
"Insolent bastard," she muttered under her breath.
Her mind drifted to mories she wished she could erase.
--
She rembered herself on the cold marble floor of a grand hall.
Tears streaming down her face.
Her refined composure had crumbled, leaving her a vulnerable wreck.
And there he was—Noah.
His black hair was disheveled, his clothes torn and stained with blood.
His arms were bleeding, the crimson rivulets staining the knife he held tightly in both hands.
He smiled at her, that infuriatingly calm, almost gentle smile that only deepened her anguish.
"Stop this..."
She had begged him, her voice cracking.
"Please, Noah. Just stop."
"Stop?"
He had echoed, his voice tinged with mockery.
"Why should I stop, sister?
Isn't this what you wanted?
A weakling who bends to your every whim?
A puppet for you to control?"
Her nails dug into her palms as the mory played out in her mind.
"You're vile..."
She hissed to herself, her voice trembling with suppressed rage.
"A conniving, heartless monster who destroys everything you touch.
And yet… they all love you. They forgive you.
They admire you, even when you don't deserve it."
Her golden eyes burned with intensity as she turned away from the window.
"But not this ti, Noah. This ti, you'll pay for everything you've done. For every lie, every betray...
And when you're gone, the world will finally see you for what you truly are."
She then bit her lower lip as blood made it's way out.
***
The scenery shifted to the gentle creak of wooden wheels rolling over a cobblestone path.
The vassals, now seated inside an elegant black carriage adorned with the crest of the Ashbourne family, remained composed as the vehicle swayed gently with the motion.
The sunlight filtered through the velvet curtains, casting warm, muted shadows across their faces.
The butler, with his immaculate posture, sat upright on one side, his white-gloved hands resting neatly atop a polished cane. His expression was serene, betraying no hint of emotion. Beside him, the maid leaned against the soft cushions, her dry green eyes fixed on the passing scenery outside.
The silence between them was profound, but it was not awkward. It was the silence of professionals, both attuned to the gravity of their mission and the need for discretion.
The maid reached down, adjusting the hem of her dress. In doing so, she revealed a gleaming knife strapped securely to her upper thigh, its handle intricately engraved with a pattern of vines. The blade was sheathed in black leather, secured tightly around her white leggings. She lingered for a mont, ensuring its placent, before letting her long dress fall gracefully back into place. Explore more stories with My Virtual Library Empire
Satisfied, she folded her arms across her chest and leaned back, her lips curling into a faint, almost amused smile.
The butler glanced at her from the corner of his eye, his own expression unchanging. "Sothing amusing, Miss Evelyn?"
"Not amusing," the maid replied, her voice soft yet sharp, like the blade she carried. "Just thinking about how all roads lead to Ravenwood. It's a funny sort of irony, don't you think? Such a grand academy, full of noble ideals, about to beco a stage for... less noble pursuits."
The butler allowed a small, almost imperceptible nod. "The House of Ashbournes has always been intertwined with irony, my dear. This is rely the next chapter."
The maid's smile widened slightly, though her eyes remained cold. "A chapter written in blood, perhaps."
The butler didn't respond, his gaze steady and unflinching as he turned to look out the window.
---
The grand halls of Ravenwood Academy humd with the bustle of students preparing for the mid-term exams, but Iris Star moved through them with an unsettling calm, her sharp violet eyes scanning every detail. Her footsteps echoed softly as she trailed behind a group of students, seemingly just another participant in the crowd, yet her mind was elsewhere—back to earlier that week, back to the docunts that had almost cost her a finger.
Her father, ever the ticulous rchant, had sent her to Ravenwood to handle a series of business dealings with suppliers and buyers. Though a minor errand for soone of her caliber, Iris had taken the task seriously, as she always did. The academy's records room, where the dealings were logged, was as ornate as it was secretive. Inside, amidst the scent of aged parchnt and wax, she had found the docunts—sealed in crimson and bearing the sigil of a faction from the Northern Continent.
What caught her attention wasn't just the volu of goods ordered but a particular item listed within: "The Verdant Fang."
The dagger was infamous even among the most clandestine circles, a weapon of exquisite cruelty. It didn't kill through re wounds; it stimulated the victim's blood to overproduce at a frantic rate, paired with a venom so potent that every pore, every orifice, would bleed. Death was agonizing and swift—a masterpiece of destruction.
Iris, ever curious and cautious, had foolishly tested the blade. Just a prick of her finger, barely more than a graze, and the effects were imdiate. The tip of her finger darkened to an unnatural green, veins spreading outward like cracks in glass. The pain was searing, a white-hot lance that had her gasping. For a mont, she had thought herself lost.
But then, as if summoned by instinct, a red butterfly appeared, fluttering down to her wounded hand. Its delicate wings pulsed, and the venom receded as the wound healed almost instantly. The butterfly vanished as mysteriously as it had co, leaving Iris shaken but alive.
The mory sent a shiver through her even now as she walked with the others toward the eastern forest. Her hand, fully healed, flexed subconsciously, as if still rembering the pain.
Her thoughts returned to the docunts. Among the signatures on the order form, one stood out—a flowing, elegant script that she recognized imdiately. She had seen it before, many tis, on letters exchanged between her father and one of his most enigmatic partners.
The first daughter of the Ashbournes.
Iris's lips tightened into a thin line. The implications were damning.
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