Chapter 8
Olivia's POV
We had just left the train station.
Lucas's brother had sent a sleek black car to pick us up—a typical display of wealth from the Silvery family.
The ride had been quiet, the air in the car thick with unspoken tension.
And now, just as the looming silhouette of the manor came into view beyond the iron gates, I glanced at the man sitting beside me.
Lucas Von Maximilian.
The man I once loved… no, still loved in ways I couldn't admit out loud.
The man who shattered me not just once, but in ways that lingered. Ways that time refused to heal.
They say fame changes people, but that's not entirely true.
Fame is just the mirror—people warp themselves to match the image others project onto them.
They become idols, symbols, gods in the eyes of those who worship them.
And in chasing that illusion, they forget who they once were.
But Lucas never asked for that.
He was born into it.
So maybe he didn't change for fame.
Maybe he changed because he thought he had to—because someone like him, a noble born with both power and lineage, couldn't afford to be vulnerable.
Couldn't afford to stay kind.
Still… how would I ever know if he wasn't just pretending now?
My sister nearly killed him.
He admitted it with that strained voice of his—that he was on the verge of death.
I wonder… is that fear what's truly driving him?
Is that why he wants me gone so desperately?
Is this newfound 'change' just an act to survive?
Nobles don't change.
Not like that.
Especially not ones like him.
Unless…
No.
I shouldn't doubt myself.
I made a choice.
It was either Lucas dies, or I would never be free.
That was what she told me.
And yet, a part of me keeps flinching from that decision—because deep down, I never stopped caring.
Because once, long ago, I trusted him enough to let him control everything.
And I didn't hate it.
Back then, his control came with care.
With love.
But all of that ended when he was sixteen… when he forced me to marry him.
Since then, everything changed.
Or so I thought.
Yet, now—now I'm seeing something familiar again.
That same look in his eyes.
That same gentleness in the way he moves around me.
The attention, the softness… It's real, isn't it?
Or am I just too tired of hating?
I never planned to kill him.
I only started to believe it was necessary when my sister convinced me.
When her hatred became mine.
When her pain bled into my own.
But now… since the moment he whispered, "I'm sorry," I've started to hesitate.
Every step since has been a quiet war inside me.
Why not just leave?
Why must it end in blood?
I need to talk to my sister.
I have to tell her to cancel the deal.
I need to see for myself—how much he's changed, if anything he says is true.
If the love I thought died long ago still burns somewhere inside him.
I want to understand who he is now.
Even if it hurts.
Even if I'm wrong.
Because deep down, the real reason I stayed all these years wasn't duty.
It was hope.
Hope that I'd see him again—the boy who loved magic with wide eyes and an endless hunger to learn.
The boy who smiled when he talked about runes and enchantments.
The boy who held me like I was more than just a contract on parchment.
The boy who loved his family, who dreamed of growing stronger—not to dominate, but to protect.
And now, sitting beside me, I can feel it—that Mana flowing steadily within him.
Quiet, but powerful.
He's Tier 3 now.
An Archmage.
Just like he promised he'd become someday.
But he never bragged.
Not even once.
He could've reached this level years ago.
I knew that.
He held back.
For someone...maybe for me.
I don't know yet.
Let me see for myself.
If he hasn't changed, I'll walk away.
I've already given too many years to this life.
I won't waste more.
But if there's still something there—if even a spark of the old Lucas remains—then maybe… maybe there's something worth staying for.
The drive continued in silence.
Neither of us spoke, though I could tell he was distracted—his brows furrowed ever so slightly, as though his thoughts were miles away.
I didn't ask.
I couldn't.
Not yet.
Soon, we reached the manor gates, and the driver slowed to a stop.
The estate loomed ahead: towering stone, ancient vines clinging to its walls, stained-glass windows catching what little light pierced the clouds.
It looked less like a home and more like a monument to forgotten grandeur.
I stepped out, the wind brushing past my black and red dress—its silken folds hugging my figure, echoing the color of my hair, my eyes.
I had chosen it deliberately.
And then I looked to my side.
Lucas was already there, stepping out of the car, his black noble suit crisp and regal.
The white shirt beneath contrasted sharply, bright even under the dull sky.
His gloves—white as snow—hid the hands that once cupped my cheek, once held me when I cried.
He approached, quiet and calm.
And then, without a word, he came to my side.
And offered his hand.
"Shall we?" Lucas asked, his voice calm, smooth—eerily composed.
I was momentarily speechless, stunned by the simple gesture of his outstretched hand.
My eyes drifted to the manor before us—its massive frame towering above the earth like a fortress. It was twice the size of our own estate, maybe even more.
A testament to the legacy of the Silvery family.
The large wrought-iron gates behind us sealed the grounds completely, and beyond them, I could just make out the fence circling the entire estate like a wall of quiet warning.
Power radiated from every corner of the land.
I could feel it.
So many magic barrier seals had been placed here—layers upon layers, all expertly woven.
It made my skin tingle just standing within their radius.
Years ago, Lucas had stopped placing these kinds of wards in our home.
He used to say the cost wasn't worth the paranoia.
But now…
Maybe the Lucas standing beside me was someone who would do things differently.
Maybe he wasn't just changing himself—maybe he would change everything.
I placed my hand in his.
It felt warm.
Together, we walked toward the grand entrance, the stone beneath our feet echoing faintly with each step.
As we neared, two uniformed servants flanking the great oaken doors moved in perfect unison, pulling them open with practiced grace.
And just like that, the world beyond the threshold swallowed us.
A grand hall lay before us—radiant, opulent, blinding with gold and magic.
A sea of nobles filled the space to the brim. The air was thick with perfume, wine, mana, and barely veiled intentions.
Earls, barons, viscounts, counts... It was no surprise that no other duke-ranked families were present.
This wasn't their domain.
This was the territory of the Silvery family—the high nobles of the North—and tonight, they ruled this space.
The noise of conversation buzzed through the air like insects, but even amidst the crowd's chatter, I felt it—the shift.
Heads turned.
Whispers stirred.
Gazes landed on us like arrows.
Not all of them kind.
Some eyes gleamed with curiosity.
Others with greed.
Some with anger… and far too many with lust.
It made my skin crawl.
Yes, I was a noble.
But most of the people here, despite their titles and polished appearances, were hollow inside.
Their worth wasn't earned—it was inherited.
Emptiness wrapped in velvet.
Even as part of the Maximilian household, we ranked only as Earls in the noble hierarchy.
Lucas could have changed that.
He could have elevated us years ago with a single word.
But he didn't.
Because he didn't want to play the same game as them.
Now, that might be changing too.
Lucas was next in line to inherit the title of Duke.
And yet, he never used it as leverage.
He remained still in a world that demanded motion.
Whether that was pride or principle, I never knew.
But from the way he stood beside me now—shoulders straight, gaze unwavering—I could tell something in him had shifted.
One presence was notably absent, though.
I couldn't sense Lucas's father anywhere.
But someone else was here.
My sister.
I could feel her aura in the crowd—familiar, fierce, and unrelenting.
I had to find her.
There were things we needed to discuss.
Urgently.
The attack on Lucas... It had to stop.
Lucas, still standing beside me, finally spoke again. "I have many things to do at this party, so I won't be with you."
His tone was neutral, but the way he said it still disappointed me.
He let go of my hand.
The warmth vanished with it.
My lips curled downward ever so slightly. "What will you be doing?" I asked.
He looked at me, and for a moment, the noise of the party faded into the background.
His cyan eyes met mine—deep, clear, swirling like liquified mana.
"To create friendships," he said. "To learn how others raised their noble rank. To play a game with the mages here—to gain their knowledge. And finally, to speak with my brother, after all of that."
I blinked.
It wasn't just what he said, but how he said it.
Direct.
Honest.
No arrogance.
No deception.
No cold dismissal.
The old Lucas wouldn't have said anything.
He would've just walked away, treating me like an accessory, a name, a responsibility—not a person.
But this Lucas… he took the time to explain.
Even if it was all fake—even if it was just a facade—I found myself liking this moment. Liking him, in this moment.
And the only thing I could do was nod.
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Author Note
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