The night was as dark as ink, pressing heavily over the rooftops of the Elton estate.
Serena sat curled up in the corner of her bed, a small figure swallowed by the shadows of her room. The door was tightly shut, and the silence around her was so thick, it felt as though even the air had frozen. Yet from the far end of the hallway, the sound of arguing cut through the stillness in broken bursts.
A man's furious roar clashed with a woman's unyielding voice, the tension escalating until it exploded into the unmistakable crash of something shattering — porcelain, from the sound of it — each crack like a hammer driving straight into Serena's chest. Then came a sharp *slap*, loud and jarring, echoing through the night like a whip.
Serena flinched. Her hands clamped over her ears, trembling, pink eyes shimmering with red. Even her small, fragile heart seemed to quiver.
That slap — it had landed on her mother's face. She was sure of it.
Her heart tightened.
"Damn you, Claude," she cursed under her breath, teeth clenched so tightly her jaw ached, her whole face tense with rage.
But she didn't go out.
She didn't even approach the door.
Because she knew — at her age, with her strength — stepping outside would only lead to one outcome: she'd be hit too. And nothing would change.
From the crack beneath the door, Claude's voice continued to leak through, filled with venom.
"You crazy woman…"
"Don't think I don't know what you've been up to…"
"It was you back then too…"
Serena didn't want to hear it. She kept her ears covered, tears brimming in her eyes, though none fell. She refused to let them.
"I'll make you pay, Claude," she vowed silently.
"One day, I'll drive you out of this house. With my own hands."
—
The night deepened. The shouting finally ceased, and silence returned to the estate.
But Serena was no longer sleepy. Wrapped in a cloak, she sat by the window, knees drawn up to her chest, her small face bathed in cold moonlight.
Suddenly, she caught sight of a familiar figure sneaking through the courtyard toward the side gate.
Her eyes narrowed — it was Claude.
Dressed in black, he moved quickly, a bulging travel bag slung over his back and a small gold-trimmed pouch fastened to his belt. It was clear he had planned this.
He glanced around nervously, ensuring no one was watching, then began loading several heavy boxes onto a waiting carriage. Even the horses' hooves were muffled in cloth — not a single sound escaped.
Serena watched from the window without blinking, a calm, faint smile appearing on her face.
"At last…"
She murmured softly, like a witness who had long anticipated the ending.
"Looks like he's taken everything he thinks is valuable… including those 'deeds' and 'share certificates,' I'm sure."
She chuckled under her breath, a flicker of cold cruelty glinting in her eyes.
"But those were all *carefully crafted replicas*. No matter how much he takes, it's all just worthless paper."
She blinked slowly, the moonlight dancing in her clear eyes like a still lake reflecting the ruins of a fallen castle.
"Run, Claude."
"As far as you can."
——
The next morning
Serena sat by the window once more, her chin resting lightly on her hands, quietly watching as the carriage—carrying Claude and what he called his "treasure"—disappeared into the pale mist of dawn.
She rose, slipped on her cloak, and walked to the door. With a soft click, she turned the handle and opened it.
Just beyond the doorway, a faint rustle of fabric stirred the silence.
It was her mother.
Vilia stood at the stairway landing in her nightgown, hair slightly tousled, faint sleep creases still visible on her cheek. Her expression was calm as she stared silently into the empty courtyard—as if she'd expected this all along.
Their eyes met.
"You knew he would leave," Vilia said at last, her voice low and hoarse, but steady.
Serena paused, then nodded.
"He's not someone who stays to face the consequences," she replied softly. "And he was never meant to be a father."
Vilia didn't argue. She stepped slowly down the stairs, her bare feet making no sound on the floorboards, and stopped by the faint marks the carriage wheels had left in the dirt. She stared in the direction it had vanished—like she was saying goodbye… or confirming that it was truly over.
After a long silence, she exhaled.
"Good. Let him go."
She turned to Serena, her expression composed and elegant as always, but her eyes—those familiar, gentle eyes—held a strange mixture of weariness and release.
"From now on," she said quietly, "this home belongs only to us."
Serena descended the steps, standing beside her mother. She gazed at the slender figure next to her, solitary yet unshaken.
"I'll do my part too," she said with determination. "I'll make this family stronger than it ever was."
Vilia looked down at her daughter, whose soft pink eyes now glimmered with a resolve far beyond her years. She raised a hand to gently stroke Serena's hair, her expression unreadable.
"Sometimes," she murmured, "I wish you didn't have to grow up so soon. A child who matures too early… only makes a mother's heart ache more."
"I know, Mama," Serena replied.
---
**A few days passed.**
Sunlight spilled over the Elton estate as if nothing had changed. The servants went about their routines—sweeping the courtyard, lighting the stoves in the kitchen, trimming the morning dew from the garden hedges.
Inside the study, Vilia sat behind a grand oak desk, dressed in a pale gold gown. Her hair was neatly pinned, and the elegance she wore like armor was now edged with authority.
Opposite her stood the aging steward, Miles, clutching a stack of documents and ledgers. His tone was cautious but steady as he listed the current assets, estate yields, and the wavering loyalties of distant relatives.
Vilia answered each point decisively, her voice calm and unwavering.
"Arthur is only ten," she said. "He will not bear the burden of this house prematurely. Until he comes of age, I will act in the Earl's stead and handle all family affairs."
Miles bowed immediately. "As you command, Madam. We all believe young master Arthur will grow into a worthy successor."
At the door, Serena watched quietly.
That was her mother—Vilia Elton.
She had never seen her mother command with such grace, never witnessed her navigate complex matters with such confidence. She had never imagined her occupying the Earl's seat so effortlessly.
And suddenly, Serena realized something.
If her father hadn't run off with the family fortune in her past life—forcing her newly adult brother to inherit a crumbling household—then maybe... just maybe, her mother would have been the better leader all along.
Something stirred in her chest: awe, admiration… perhaps even a touch of envy.
It turned out—her mother had never been weak.
She had only been waiting for the chance to show her strength.