Chapter 16

—Yes. A mother's instinct is no joke, but an eldest’s ego is something else,—

***

       The evening rolled on as the flashing cameras continued their relentless assault, capturing every carefully crafted moment of the couple’s night out. Seranna and Lorcan moved through the crowd of reporters and photographers with perfect synchronization, their every move executed with practiced ease. The two of them stood side by side as the flashes went off, their smiles smooth and polished, never wavering under the scrutiny of the press.

       Seranna’s gaze remained steady, never faltering, while Lorcan’s presence beside her was as solid and composed as ever. They were the perfect image of the “power couple” the press wanted to see, their chemistry undeniable, yet unspoken. It was all for the cameras, an act that they had rehearsed countless times, and tonight, the performance was no different.

       Once they reached the car, the barrage of questions and clicks finally stopped, the door closing behind them, and the world outside felt miles away. The engine hummed to life, and the brief silence in the car was only punctuated by the soft sound of tires against the road.

       Seranna sat back in her seat, her gaze distant, almost lost in thought, but her demeanor remained perfect. Lorcan, his focus on the road, kept his hand near hers, just enough to maintain the appearance of closeness.

       “Do you think they bought it?” she asked, breaking the silence, her tone neutral.

       “I think they got exactly what they wanted,” Lorcan replied without missing a beat, his voice calm, a slight edge of amusement hidden beneath it. “Another perfect night for the headlines.”

       Seranna let out a soft sigh, her eyes never leaving the window as the city lights flickered past. “Another night in the perfect story,” she murmured, though there was something slightly tired in her voice—an edge that barely registered, a crack in the performance.

       Lorcan shifted his gaze to her, his expression unreadable, and then, without any warning, he leaned in. His lips brushed hers in a quick, purposeful kiss. It wasn’t passionate, nor was it particularly intimate—it was just a brief, controlled gesture, one that could be easily dismissed as part of the act.

       Seranna didn’t pull away, but her surprise was clear, despite her best effort to conceal it. She blinked, once, twice, but her face quickly returned to its calm composure, the surprise melting away as if it had never happened.

       Lorcan pulled back just as quickly, returning to his neutral posture as though nothing had happened, but his eyes lingered on her for a split second, a silent question hovering between them.

       Seranna, ever the professional, didn’t acknowledge the kiss. Instead, she continued to look out the window, her expression passive. The air between them was thick with unsaid things, but neither of them voiced them.

       The rest of the ride passed in near silence, the conversation a mere formality when they did speak, as though the kiss had never occurred. They kept up the pretense—acting, as always, as if everything were perfectly in place.

       Neither of them spoke about it again, and the night continued, like any other carefully orchestrated performance—except, deep down, something had shifted, however imperceptibly. Neither of them would admit it, but the kiss had been a crack in their perfect facade, and no amount of silence could undo it.

       When the car pulled up to Seranna’s mansion, the gates opened smoothly, as if expecting them. The lights lining the driveway illuminated the stone path ahead, cool and quiet under the velvet of night. Lorcan parked without a word, killing the engine with one hand while the other remained relaxed on the steering wheel. For a few seconds, neither of them moved.

       Seranna glanced toward the mansion—tall, quiet, and shrouded in its usual stillness. No guards. No maids. Just that cold, elegant silence that always greeted her return. She reached for the door handle.

       “I’ll walk you to the door,” Lorcan said suddenly, voice neutral. Not a suggestion. A decision.

       She didn’t object. She merely opened the door and stepped out, waiting as he rounded the car to join her. The air outside was cool, the sound of crickets distant and soft, muffled by expensive landscaping.

       They walked side by side to the grand front doors, every movement still carefully composed, even though the cameras were far behind them now. Habit. Discipline. Or something else.

       At the top of the steps, she turned to face him. “I suppose we’ve done enough tonight to keep the media entertained for the next three days.”

       “At least,” Lorcan said, his tone quiet, clipped.

       There was a pause. Just a breath longer than it should’ve been.

       Then—he leaned in again. This time slower. Deliberate. His lips brushed hers not like an obligation, but like a punctuation—firm, precise, but brief. Controlled. Measured. No passion. No hunger. But still, it was a kiss. A kiss meant to be seen by no one.

       And Seranna—again—didn’t flinch. But her eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly after he pulled back, her voice as smooth as silk when she said, “That wasn’t necessary.”

       His gaze remained steady. “I know.”

       Another pause stretched between them. Longer. Quieter.

       Without waiting for a goodbye, she turned and opened the door, disappearing into the mansion with the grace of a queen exiting a stage.

       Lorcan stood there for a moment, looking at the spot where she had been. No expression crossed his face. No lingering sigh. He turned, descended the steps, and returned to the car—steps precise, spine straight, expression unreadable.

       The night swallowed the sound of the engine as it disappeared down the empty road. Neither of them looked back. Unconsciously, his fingers drifted to his lips. It had been his first kiss. The one in the restaurant. And—

       “For God’s sake...”

***

       Katherine had predicted the firestorm with chilling precision. “They’ll eat her alive,” she said, arms folded, lips drawn into a thin line as she stared at her phone.

       The photos had gone live just after midnight. A single kiss—brief, barely even sensual—shared between Seranna and Lorcan beneath the gleam of paparazzi lenses. It should have been innocuous. But context was everything. Seranna, newly divorced. Lorcan, perpetually unattached. The public did the rest.

       By dawn, vitriol spread like rot through social media.

       “She’s worse than Isaak—at least he didn’t pretend to be noble.”

       “This confirms it. She never cared about anyone but herself.”

       But Lorcan was being Lorcan.

       He seated behind his desk in a storm-gray suit, didn’t respond immediately. His eyes skimmed the headlines with detached precision, his hands calm as he finished his espresso. He didn’t flinch at the worst of it. He didn’t even blink.

       “They’ve already decided who she is,” he murmured. “We’ll show them who she’s not.”

       He didn’t wait for anyone’s approval. Within the next thirty minutes, his team had gathered in his office—PR head, media strategist, executive assistant. A dozen voices buzzed around him, all pitching statements. Denials. Redirections.

       Lorcan raised a hand. Silence.

       “Confirm it.”

       The room fell still.

       One of the senior advisors hesitated. “Confirm what, exactly?”

       “That Seranna and I are together,” Lorcan replied smoothly. “That we began seeing each other after her separation. That there was no affair, no betrayal—only the unraveling of something broken and the beginning of something honest.”

      “People will say it’s damage control.”

       “They’ll say what they want,” he replied. “But I won’t let them define her by assumptions.”

       He turned his gaze to the head of PR. “I want the language clear, but warm. Grounded. No theatrics. We won’t defend what doesn’t need defense. We’ll simply tell the truth.”

       He stood, adjusting the cuffs of his shirt. “This isn’t for sympathy. It’s for dignity.”

       The team scattered, and the official statement went live before noon:

Yes, Lorcan Millesernan and Seranna Geraski are presently in a relationship. Yes, the development of their personal connection occurred after the formal separation between Ms. Geraski and her former spouse. No, contrary to popular speculation and the speculative narratives proliferating across public platforms, this relationship did not originate in secrecy, deceit, or betrayal.

Their bond did not arise from scandal, nor was it cultivated in the shadows of indiscretion. Rather, it emerged from a space of emotional clarity—a progression that was slow, deliberate, and rooted in mutual understanding. It was shaped not by impulse, but by a gradual unfolding of trust, respect, and a quiet recognition of one another in a moment of personal transition.

To characterize what exists between them as anything less than genuine would be to willfully misread what is, at its core, a deeply human experience: two individuals who, in the wake of personal reckoning and the untangling of previous obligations, found something meaningful in one another. Something not sensational, but sincere.

They are not seeking validation from the public. They do not ask for unanimous approval, nor do they intend to reframe their lives to meet the demands of public opinion. What they seek—if anything—is the room to move forward with integrity. To live honestly in the face of intense scrutiny, without compromising their sense of self or each other.

This is not a plea for sympathy, nor a defense against voices that will inevitably persist in mischaracterizing the narrative. It is, simply, a request for grace—for the understanding that not all stories worth telling begin in spectacle. Some begin in silence. Some begin after endings. And some, like theirs, begin with the quiet courage to choose something real, even when the world is watching.

***

       And Seranna was being Seranna.

       She didn’t care.

       After reading the confirmation statement, Seranna slowly raised an eyebrow, her eyes lingering on the final line as if trying to decipher something unspoken beneath the carefully chosen words. The firelight in her private sitting room cast flickering shadows on the floor, but her attention remained solely on the glowing screen in her hand. She read it once, then twice more—each time feeling less like she was revisiting a fabricated piece of propaganda and more like she was eavesdropping on a quiet confession.

       It was supposed to be simple.

       A performance.

      An elegant deception with clear terms: she’d lend her image to Lorcan, play the part of a poised, powerful woman healing from a failed marriage, stepping into something new—not for love, but for leverage. He’d get breathing room from his family’s incessant matchmaking and she’d reclaim her narrative from the press and Isaak’s shadow.

       But this? This confirmation? It read like something far more earnest than she’d prepared for.

       It wasn’t defensive, nor did it reek of spin. There was no trace of PR trickery. It didn’t point fingers, didn’t offer excuses. It spoke of something deliberate, steady, and—above all—real. That word echoed in her mind more than she liked.

       Real.

       She tilted her head slightly, processing.

If someone had shown her this statement without context, she might’ve believed it was written by someone in love. Someone making a vow—not to the world, but to the person he stood beside.

       This wasn’t revenge on Isaak. It wasn’t a move in a game.

       And the worst part?

       It felt true.

       Her gaze lifted from the phone, drawn across the room to the man sitting quietly across from her. Lorcan Millesernan. Composed, immaculate, and infuriatingly unreadable as ever. His eyes were fixed on something indeterminate—perhaps the edge of the fireplace, perhaps nothing at all.

       There was no triumph in his expression. No smirk, no suggestion of manipulation or smugness. He didn’t even look like he was waiting for her reaction.

       He simply… was.

       Silent. Still.

       Emotionless.

       Professional—so much so that it unsettled her. He was more collected, more restrained, than she had expected even from him. If he had hoped for any gratitude or response, he showed no sign of it. He didn’t speak, didn’t move. He merely existed in the same room as her, like a constant she hadn’t asked for but couldn’t deny.

      She leaned back against the cushions, one leg crossing over the other, the confirmation still glowing dimly in her hand. The rain had started again, tapping rhythmically against the tall windows. It was the kind of day meant for solitude, not for existential confusion. And yet here she was—shoulders tense, lips pressed into a line, heart unexpectedly off-beat.

       If this was fake, she thought, he wouldn’t look so still..

       He wouldn’t be sitting across from her now with the composure of a man who’d made peace with something difficult, maybe even vulnerable.

       She narrowed her eyes slightly. “You really committed to the role,” she said at last, her voice calm, a touch sardonic.

       Lorcan turned his head toward her, slow and deliberate. “Didn’t I say I would?”

       She nodded once, “Yes. You did.”

       But even as the words left her mouth, something inside her tightened. Because for the first time, she wasn’t entirely sure which part of this was still an act—and which part had started to drift into something neither of them could fully control.

       The door was knocked—two sharp, precise raps that echoed through the quiet of her study.

       “Come in,” Seranna said without looking up.

       The door swung open with practiced grace, and a member of the Bolden Drakar stepped inside. He wore the signature dark uniform of the house guard, his posture rigid with discipline. He lowered into a respectful bow.

       “They have arrived, My Lady.”

***