The Butterfly Crown:The Return of Seraphine Vale

It has always been like this after Isabelle Moretti-Vale(mother of Seraphine)passed away. 

Nothing changed in the house.

The Mable floors still shimmers under the crystal chandeliers. The staircase still curved like a swan's neck toward the second floor. The air still carries the faint scent of lilies from the garden.

But the warmth has disappeared. 

Love is gone.

 In its place stood silence and humiliation. 

A new mother whose glare could kill and a sister she didn't know was born to her father a year after she was born.

Seraphine Vale is standing barefoot in the center of her room,the silk curtains swaying to the rhythm of the evening breeze. The sun had already ducked below the horizon,melting into a sea of gold and crimson. Downstairs, a flurry of activities floated upwards.ro

 She turns twenty today.

The servants busily packed things to be sent to Debouch Hotel, a magnificent hotel for hosting rich banquets among the upper echelons in the society.

Seraphine kneels on the floor, her fingers trembling as she searches through her vanity.

Empty.

She gasps.

She had hidden it here.

Her mother's necklace. 

A delicate rose-gold chain with a tiny phoenix pendant,handcrafted, irreplaceable. 

Heavy footsteps came down the hallway.

Her door slams open.

“What is keeping you up,you nitwit”, Harold Vale cusses.

“I'm sorry father,I  was looking for mother's necklace”,Seraphine responds.

“Is that cheap thing worthy of our time?”, Mr. Vale roars.

Lydia snickers and pinches her dress to control herself. Madam Marianne Vale, Lydia’s mother,shoots Lydia a glare. 

The words hit Seraphine’s face with full force.

Cheap?

“The guests are waiting. You are twenty now,stop holding onto the past”, Marianne said, stepping forward gently.

Holding onto the past?

As if she was throwing a childish tantrum.

She looks down while pinching her fingers. 

“I understand”.

Harold storms out of the room without another.

Lydia deliberately nudges Seraphine with her shoulder. 

“You shouldn’t keep the guests waiting”, she whispers sweetly. “It's embarrassing “.

The ballroom shine like a jewelry box.

Expensive wines,refreshments and caviars scattered across the room. Spicy red carpets were spread as if they were having a red carpet event. Guests dressed in expensive suits and gowns murmured beneath the orchestra strings flowing from a live quartet. The socialites in City K rank each other according to the banquets they host. The Vale family was nowhere near the three top families but they are not lacking either.

Everything was perfect.

Too good to be true.

Seraphine descended the staircase slowly.

Conversations paused.

Not because she was adored.

But because she was evaluated.

Her gown was simple, a midnight-blue flare gown as compared to Lydia. Lydia's backless emerald champagne dress made her stand out as if she was the star of the day.

Her hair fell in dark waves down her back. Her face, untouched by heavy makeup, carried a natural softness that contrasted sharply with Lydia’s sculpted glamour.

Harold raised his glass.

“To Seraphine, my eldest daughter’s twentieth birthday.”

Polite applause followed.

“To new beginnings.”

The words were vague.

Meaningless.

Seraphine noticed he did not mention her late mother's name.

Not once.

Lydia saunters beside her, holding her arms as if affectionate.

“You look nervous,” Lydia whispers.

“I’m not.”

“Oh, but you should be.”

Before Seraphine could ask what she meant, a champagne flute is forced into her hand.

“I had this prepared  specially,” Lydia said brightly. “It has imported elderflower essence.”

Marianne’s eyes glanced briefly toward the glass,unreadable.

Seraphina hesitated.

Harold’s stare sharpened from across the room.

“Don’t embarrass your sister,” Marianne murmurs softly.

Seraphine lifts the glass.

The liquid was sweet at first.

Then bitter.

A strange, metallic bitterness.

The music seemed to echo strangely in her ears.

The chandelier light blurred in her sight.

Lydia’s grip tightens just slightly on her arm.

“You should rest upstairs,” Lydia suggests sweetly.

The room tilted.

Guests’ faces smeared into a crowd of colors.

Seraphine tried to steady herself.

“I… I need air.”

She stepped back.

The crowd swallowed her.

Her heart beats too loudly.

She stumbles past gilded mirrors, through marble corridors, toward the elevators.

The world narrows into tunnel vision.

She pressed a button blindly.

The doors closed.

The ascent felt endless.

When they opened, the hallway was silent and carpeted in deep burgundy.

Wrong floor.

But her mind was closing off.

She staggers forward.

A door at the end of the hall stood slightly ajar.

Light spills from the room.

She pushes it open.

Inside, floor-to-ceiling windows revealed the city glowing like fallen stars.

A man stood near the glass.

Tall.

Broad-shouldered.

Perfectly still but his breath came in sharp gasps.

Lucian Ardent turns at the sound of the door.

His dark eyes locked onto her.

He had been expecting someone else.

Another political alliance.

Another calculated arrangement planned by his uncle and business partners.

But this girl--

She swayed.

Her gaze was unfocused but clear.

No overpowering perfume. Just a faint smell of vanilla. 

No calculated seduction.

She took one step forward--

And collapses. 

Lucian catches her instinctively.

His jaw tightens.

He waits.

Seconds passed.

There was no burning on his skin.

No violent itching.

No suffocating tightness in his chest.

Every other woman who had brushed against him triggered a violent allergic reaction.

But her skin against his was warm.

Soft.

Safe.

He stared down at her.

She gripped his shirt weakly.

“Don’t let them…” she whispered.

Her voice trembled.

Lucian’s expression darkens.

Drugged.

He understood immediately.

He should call security.

He should leave.

But when she trembled against him, tears sliding silently across her temples, something inside him shifted. She swings her arms around his neck and pushes his head towards her for a kiss. As if injected with chicken blood the drugs in his body clouded his mind ,he tears the gown from her body.

For the first time in years, his body did not reject.

For the first time, touch did not feel like poison.

The city lights flicker behind them.

The dark bathe the suite in velvet silence.

And fate seals something neither of them understood.

Morning sunlight filters through the heavily draped curtains.

Seraphine’s eyes flutter open.

White sheets.

Foreign ceiling. The room is decorated in dark tones.

A man was asleep beside her.

Her memory crashes in fragments.

The ballroom.

The drink.

The dizziness.

Her breath hitches.

Pain radiated faintly through her body. Her lower body. Hickey's spread on her delicate collar bones.

Tears wells in her eyes  instantly.

She slips from the bed, hands shaking as she gathers her torn dress and heels.

On the bedside table lay a ring.

Heavy.

Masculine.

Black gold engraved with an ancient crest.

Without thinking, she places it into her clutch along with her phone.

She runs away.

The Vale mansion doors are open widely as she rushes inside.

She was not ready for an explanation.

She had not prepared for the sight waiting in the living room.

Harold sat rigidly in his armchair.

Marianne stood beside him.

Lydia lingers slightly behind, hands folded demurely.

They were waiting.

“Where were you last night?” Harold demands coldly.

Seraphine froze.

Lydia gasps theatrically.

“Sister… your dress… why is it torn?”

Marianne’s hand flew to her mouth in feigned shock.

Harold’s eyes burn with something far worse than anger.

Disgust.

“What have you done,” he said slowly, voice heavy with contempt, “to disgrace this family?”

Seraphine’s fingers tighten around her clutch.

And for the first time---

She understood.

The smirk on her stepmother and Lydia’s faces.

They had known.

They had planned it.

Her best friend Nina Brooke had warned her.

The chandelier light above flickered softly.

And the illusion of family shatters completely.