LEWIS

     In the depths of my shadowy laboratory, I stood, pondering life's peculiar twists and turns. Seeing Isabella's face, etched with the marks of pain and disappointment, had sent me into a bit of a melancholy. If only the gods of fortune had chosen a different path for us, I sighed.

     Once upon a time, it's true, my intentions were less than honorable. Her wealth had attracted me like a moth to a flame, but as our time together went on, I found my desire for her fortune eclipsed by my admiration for her very essence. 

     And in the end, when Frankie put his foot down and demanded I sever our ties, it became clear that I'd lost something far more precious than gold. Somewhere along the line, I'd fallen head over heels for Lady Brouwer.

     My eyes wandered to a light bulb on my desk. Picking it up, I held it in the palm of my hand, contemplating the delicate glass and wiry innards. Such a fragile thing, the foundation of my dreams of a better life. But it seemed more a harbinger of sorrow than a beacon of hope. 

     With a sudden burst of strength, I flung the bulb against the wall, watching as it shattered into a thousand pieces.

     The sight of the broken glass transported me back to that fateful night under the stars, when I first encountered Isabella at the Brouwer estate. I'd been seeking refuge from the suffocating embrace of the ballroom when I found myself wandering down a moonlit path toward the greenhouse. 

     The glass and metal structure was a veritable Eden, filled with plants and flowers from exotic lands, basking in the warm, damp air.

     And there, amidst the lush foliage, was Isabella.

     She wore a simple sundress and her hair was gathered in a loose ponytail, her features as delicate as a blossom. The moon's rays filtered through the glass, bathing her in a gentle light that made her seem otherworldly.

     She tended to her botanical charges with the care of a doting mother, her hands deftly adjusting the irrigation system, ensuring each plant had just the right amount of sustenance. Her focus and passion were magnetic, pulling me in like the tide.

     Our eyes met, and I felt a flush of embarrassment at being caught staring. But she smiled warmly, and we began to chat. 

     I found myself opening up about my own passion for invention, and she listened with rapt attention as I recounted my journey with the light bulb. Despite my improvements, there was still one problem: the bulb's light would fade far too quickly.

     "Perhaps," Isabella mused, "that's a hidden blessing." I furrowed my brow, puzzled, but she went on. "If your bulb were too perfect, lasting for, say, a year, then your customers wouldn't need to buy another any time soon. But if it only lasted three months, you'd have them coming back for more."

     The realization hit me like a bolt of lightning. I'd been so focused on the technology, I'd never considered the commercial side of things. But Isabella seemed to have a natural talent for it, a rarity for a woman of her background. 

     At the time, I assumed her working-class father had passed on his knowledge. But I was proven wrong when Frankie introduced her as the daughter of Lord Brouwer, a wealthy landowner and the ball's host.

     Our clandestine meetings continued, and I found myself falling deeper and deeper under her spell. But, as with all good things, it came to a sudden end. And now, as I recalled those heady days in my lab, a wistful smile graced my lips. 

     It seemed as though everything had been going swimmingly, my heart captured by a wealthy heiress I was to marry, and then, in the blink of an eye, it all crumbled to dust.

     Frankie sauntered into my lab, likely drawn by the sound of shattering glass. He surveyed the broken bulb on the floor and the dejected state I was in. Spotting the nearly empty bottle of cognac on the side table, he no doubt pieced together the reason for the bulb's untimely demise.

     "Perhaps we should refrain from smashing any more bulbs until we've secured Morgana's fortune," Frankie quipped, his tone sharp as a razor's edge.

     Angrily, I leapt up from my seat, clutching the bottle of cognac, and strode toward my brother. Standing toe to toe with him, our breaths mingling in a miasma of alcohol, I stared him down.

     "I do hope this is all worth it in the end," I muttered, waving the bottle around my lab. With a huff, I stumbled away from him and left the room.