Chapter 3

That cold gold coin, like a red-hot branding iron, burned into Serena's heart, and even after she returned to the Duke's luxurious and soft bedroom, she could not get rid of the burning pain.

She knew, even without seeing Lucien's eyes, how lifeless and cold they were. Her clumsy, condescending "help" probably wounded his last remaining pride more deeply than direct beatings.

“I can’t keep going on like this,” Serena whispered to her pale reflection in the vanity mirror. Occasional, flawed acts of “kindness” and “expulsion” were simply not enough to change her predetermined fate. She needed information, power, and the means to truly establish herself in this world, not just the seemingly glamorous but ultimately dangerous title of “Duke’s Daughter.”

She began to act, in a more covert way, in a way more in line with her identity.

First, there was intelligence. She no longer merely indulged in balls and beautiful new dresses, but began to "casually" eavesdrop on her father's conversations with his advisors, and used afternoon tea to chat with other noble ladies and women, piecing together seemingly useless gossip and fragments of information. She began to pay attention to the subtle power dynamics of the empire, which families were rising and which were declining, His Majesty the Emperor's health... and any possible, even subtle, rumors about the eldest prince who was living in exile.

Secondly, there's the matter of her own value. In the original story, Serena is a good-for-nothing with nothing to offer except for her beauty and family background. She begins to consciously change this. She expresses to her father her "interest" in certain family businesses, such as a nearly bankrupt vineyard in the southern part of the empire. She uses her charm and nagging to persuade her father to transfer the vineyard to her name, ostensibly to "learn how to manage it so that she won't be laughed at later."

The Duke assumed it was just a whim of his daughter and readily agreed without much thought. After all, it wouldn't hurt for his daughter to practice on a loss-making estate.

No one knew that, based on her hazy memories and fragmented knowledge from before her transmigration, Serena remembered that the soil near the manor seemed ideal for growing another, more profitable cash crop, and that a new trade route would open there in a few years. This might be the first step for her to secure her future and even accumulate resources.

Days passed quietly beneath a surface of tranquility. Serena continued to attend balls, mingling with noblemen like Arthur, playing the role of a spoiled but seemingly more "mature" duchess. Occasionally, she would hear snippets of news about "a certain black-haired, purple-eyed boy" through various channels.

Some say that he worked as a laborer at the docks and was severely punished for refusing to bow down to the local bullies.

Some say he seems to have taken on some dangerous jobs on the black market, and is as ruthless as a reckless mad dog.

Some people say they have glimpsed him in the slums outside the city, and his eyes are so sinister that they are frightening.

Every time she heard this news, Serena's heart clenched. She knew that the future emperor was struggling in the mud, licking his wounds, and gathering strength. Each hardship pushed him deeper into darkness, and also pushed her to a more dangerous edge.

Several months later, a grand palace banquet was held.

Crystal chandeliers refracted a dazzling light, amidst the elegant attire and clinking glasses. Serena, wearing a newly custom-made starry blue gown and a family heirloom sapphire necklace, was undoubtedly one of the focal points of the event. She was chatting and laughing with several noble ladies, but her eyes habitually scanned her surroundings.

Then, her gaze froze.

In a relatively secluded corner of the hall, near a pillar connecting to the servants' passage, stood a figure.

He wore an ill-fitting but impeccably starched servant's uniform, his black hair meticulously combed, revealing a full and angular face. In the few months since I last saw him, he had lost some weight, but his shoulders seemed broader; the thinness of his youth had been replaced by a restrained, lurking power, like that of a cheetah.

It's Lucien.

He actually managed to sneak into the palace banquet! As a servant!

He seemed to be awaiting orders, his eyelids slightly lowered, his posture respectful, yet his spine remained ramrod straight. His humble attire could not conceal the cold, aloof aura he exuded, so out of place with his surroundings.

Serena's heart skipped a beat. She instinctively gripped the feather fan ribs in her hand, her fingertips icy cold.

What is he doing here? What does he want to do?

Just then, as if sensing her gaze, Lucien slowly raised his eyes.

Across the bustling crowd and the dazzling lights, their eyes suddenly met in mid-air.

His eyes no longer held the suppressed resentment of the dungeon, nor the deathly coldness she hadn't seen on the street, but rather a kind of... calm. A bottomless calm that seemed capable of swallowing all light. Beneath that calm lay a sharp edge forged through hardship, an abyss teeming with undercurrents.

He didn't flinch at all, just staring straight at her.

Serena felt a wave of dizziness, as if the surrounding music and laughter had vanished in an instant. She forced herself to maintain a perfect social smile, without looking away or showing any panic.

She merely raised her chin slightly, and with a gaze befitting her status—a gaze tinged with curiosity and scrutiny, as if looking at a servant whose face was somewhat familiar but whom she couldn't quite place—she met his eyes for a brief moment.

Then, she turned back gracefully and nonchalantly, continuing to chat with the ladies around her about the latest hairstyles, as if the dramatic eye contact had never happened.

But a fine layer of cold sweat had already seeped out from her back.

The clamor of the court banquet enveloped Serena like a thick, warm fog, yet it couldn't dispel the chill in her bones. Lucien's calm, unwavering glance, like an icicle, pierced through all her feigned composure. He was no longer the boy she could slaughter in the dungeon, nor the dying vagrant on the street. He was like a newly honed blade, its edge concealed, yet all the more deadly.

She needed to know why he was there and who was behind him.

Over the next few days, Serena used all the resources she could subtly influence, mainly her seemingly honest but actually well-informed personal maid Anna, as well as some low-ranking servants and maids she had "friendly" befriended with her pocket money.

The news came in bits and pieces.

Lucien entered the palace as a "temporary attendant," recommended by Sir Renard, the deputy commander of the Royal Guard. Renard was an officer known for his rigor and taciturn nature, not a core member of any particular faction, but deeply trusted by the Emperor.

“Sir Renard?” Serena frantically searched her memory for information about him. The original story didn't mention him much, only that he played a crucial role in Lucien's ascension to the throne, and was one of the few who secretly supported the fallen prince from the beginning. So, they had already made contact so early on?

Lucien's performance in the palace was said to be impeccable; he was silent, diligent, agile, and even literate—quite rare for someone of his "lower" background. He was like a dry sponge, frantically absorbing all the rules and secrets of the court.

Serena felt an imminent pressure. Lucien's rise was happening faster than she had anticipated.

The opportunity soon arrived. A week later, the palace hosted a small indoor concert for several foreign envoys. Serena, as the duke's daughter, was naturally among the invitees.

She dressed carefully, choosing a dress in a relatively understated color, which toned down her flamboyance and added a touch of serenity. She knew that Lucien would likely be serving as a waiter outside the banquet hall tonight.

Sure enough, as she held her wine glass, pretending to admire the reliefs on the pillars, she caught a glimpse of that familiar figure out of the corner of her eye. He was standing with his head bowed by a side door, ready to serve the important figures coming and going.

Serena took a deep breath, knowing she couldn't wait any longer. She needed an opportunity, a seemingly "natural" opportunity to have a brief conversation with him.

Holding a wine glass, she strolled casually through the hall, gradually approaching the side door. Several nobles greeted her, but she only responded absentmindedly, her entire attention focused on that corner.

Just as she was a few steps away from Lucien, her foot seemed to trip over a fold in the carpet, and she stumbled slightly.

"Ouch!" she exclaimed softly, and the wine glass slipped from her hand.

"Crack!"

The crystal wine glass shattered on the marble floor, and the crimson wine splattered like blood, staining the hem of her dress.

The sudden sound attracted a lot of attention.

Serena immediately frowned, a perfectly timed look of annoyance and a hint of spoiled temper on her face: "Really! This carpet..."

Almost instinctively, or rather, out of a duty ingrained in his bones, Lucien, who was closest, immediately stepped forward. He didn't look at her, but quickly knelt on one knee and began silently cleaning up the broken pieces. His movements were swift and focused, as if this was the only task at hand.

The surrounding gazes quickly shifted away; it was just a minor incident during the banquet.

Serena looked at his lowered head, his black hair falling down and obscuring his expression. She could smell a faint scent of soap and something... like herbs on him? Was he injured? Or was he trying to conceal his true nature?

She bent down slightly, lowered her voice, and spoke quickly in a volume only the two of them could hear, her tone carrying a deliberately crafted, impatient complaint, as if she were simply annoyed by his slow movements:

"Get to work quickly! This dress is very expensive...tsk, it seems you've learned how to be a 'qualified' servant since leaving my house."

These words were still full of humiliation.

Lucien's fingers, which were gathering the shards, paused almost imperceptibly, just for a moment, before resuming their smooth movement. He still didn't look up, nor did he respond.

But Serena stared intently at him and saw the muscles in his neck tense up instantly, and the bluish-white color of his knuckles as he gripped the shard.

He was enduring it.

Serena's heart leaped into her throat. She had made the right gamble. Approaching someone in full view of everyone, in a way that fit her "persona," was risky, but it was the least suspicious method.

She straightened up, as if losing interest, and ordered another servant who had rushed over at the sound, "Clean this up." Then, lifting her wine-stained skirt, she prepared to leave.

Just as she turned around, a very low, cold voice, as if it were filled with shards of ice, brushed past her eardrums:

"Not as good as you, Miss, who, as always... is good at making things dirty."

The voice was deep and hoarse, carrying an extreme sense of irony.

Serena's steps faltered abruptly, as if all the blood in her body rushed to her head and then quickly receded, leaving behind a chilling fear.

He responded.

It wasn't submission, it wasn't anger, it was... a counterattack.

The broken wine glass and the stained hem of her skirt were a metaphor for the "filth" and pain she had inflicted on him.

Serena didn't look back, nor did she dare to stop. She maintained her haughty posture and quickly left the area, her heart pounding wildly in her chest, almost shattering her ribs.

He was no longer the boy who could only express hatred with his eyes. He began to use language to announce his presence and hostility.

Back in the carriage at the Duke's mansion, Serena leaned against the soft velvet cushions and closed her eyes wearily.