Chapter 2
A few days later, in the garden of the Duke's mansion.
The sunlight was perfect, bathing the meticulously manicured flowerbeds in a warm golden hue, and the air was filled with the sweet scent of roses and irises. Serena sat at a white, ornately carved wrought-iron table, leisurely enjoying her black tea and delicate scones, as if the harrowing ordeal in the dungeon a few days earlier had never happened.
But out of the corner of her eye, she kept an eye on the thin figure not far away who was struggling to carry a heavy flowerpot.
Lucien.
He was dressed in relatively clean coarse cloth clothes, but the whip marks on his exposed neck and wrists were still visible, not yet completely faded. His movements were somewhat stiff and slow due to the movement of the wounds on his back, and fine beads of sweat appeared on his forehead, but he kept his lips tightly pressed together, not uttering a sound, simply completing the tasks assigned to him in silence. His two naturally melancholic purple eyes were even deeper than in the dungeon, like two ancient wells, concealing all his emotions in their deepest recesses.
Serena knew that her gradual change over the past few days might seem to others as just the young lady's mood swings. She would still assign Lucien the dirtiest and hardest work, occasionally giving him a critical look as he passed by, uttering a few harmless sarcastic remarks, but she never used the whip again, nor did she lock him back in the dark dungeon. She even "forgot" to have ordered her to withhold food from him.
This insignificant, almost charity-like "improvement" would likely not evoke any gratitude in Lucien; it would only make him more wary and suspicious that she had come up with some new way to humiliate him.
It's time.
Serena set down the gilded porcelain cup, its base clinking against the tray. She picked up a handkerchief embroidered with intricate patterns and gently wiped her lips, her movements elegant and impeccable.
Then, she raised her eyes, her gaze finally settling squarely on Lucien. Gone was the complexity and panic that had occasionally slipped through her eyes in the past few days; instead, they were filled once more with the haughty arrogance befitting her status, and… a sense of weariness.
“Hey, Lucien.” Her voice wasn’t loud, but it traveled clearly through the garden, carrying a nonchalant languor.
Lucien paused. He slowly straightened up, but didn't turn around, only facing her sideways, the sunlight casting a shadow on his sharply defined profile.
Serena stood up, her lace skirt brushing against the tips of the tender green grass. She walked closer step by step, stopping in front of him at a distance that was neither too close nor too far, just enough for her to clearly see his taut jawline and for him to hear every word she spoke.
“You’ve been here long enough.” She tilted her head slightly, as if examining an old toy she had lost interest in, a faint and indifferent smile curving her red lips. “You always have a blank face, so boring. Apart from being a bit stiff, you’re nothing special.”
Her words were like fine needles chilled to ice, piercing precisely at the other person's most sensitive pride.
Lucien's fingertips twitched almost imperceptibly, but he still didn't turn to look at her. His deep purple eyes stared at a point in the void, silent and still.
Serena felt a slight tightness in her chest, but her smile remained unchanged, even carrying a hint of obvious disdain: "I'm tired of it."
She spoke those four words lightly, yet they sounded like a final verdict.
"Seeing you reminds me of the stench of the dungeon, what a downer." She waved her hand, as if to drive away some unpleasant scent. "Pack your things and get out of the Wilder family immediately. Whether you live or die is none of my business."
After she finished speaking, she stopped looking at him, turned around and left, her back view resolute and without a trace of lingering affection. The sunlight made her golden hair almost transparent, and her gorgeous dress stood out dazzlingly among the flowers.
A guard stepped forward and expressionlessly stuffed a simple little bundle into Lucien's hands. Inside were a few old clothes and a little bit of dry food—this was the last bit of "mercy" that Serena had "given".
Lucien finally moved.
He lowered his head, looking at the light bundle in his hand, then raised his eyes to watch Serena's receding figure. His face was expressionless, devoid of anger, relief, or hatred, only a deep, unyielding coldness.
Those purple eyes were like the calm surface of the sea before a storm, but beneath them surged undercurrents powerful enough to devour everything.
He knew this was far more than just a matter of "getting tired of it." The duke's daughter's contradictory behavior, from the sudden cessation of the flogging to this abrupt expulsion, was utterly bizarre.
But he didn't say anything.
He simply clenched the bundle tightly, his knuckles turning slightly white from the force. Then, he turned around, dragging his still-wounded body, and walked step by step, resolutely and silently, out of the luxurious yet cage-like ducal mansion garden.
Serena did not turn around.
She could feel the cold gaze behind her, as if it were a physical object, nailing into her spine, sending chills down her spine.
Only when she was sure that Lucien's figure had completely disappeared from sight did she slowly stop, lean against the cold pillar beside her, close her eyes slightly, and let out a long, silent sigh.
The first step is complete.
She personally pushed the future emperor out of the Wilder family's sphere of influence, and also deviated from the "original" storyline of him being tortured and driven to darkness on his own territory.
But this does not mean it is safe.
Releasing a tiger back into the mountains will only lead to endless trouble. She knew better than anyone that today's "expulsion" would only be interpreted by Lucien as another form of humiliation and abandonment. If he were to gain power in the future, he would settle this score even more severely.
However, at least... he survived, and left in a relatively "intact" state. This gave her room to maneuver, and also offered a glimmer of hope for the future... a slim chance of a turnaround.
A few days after Lucien was driven out of Duke Wilde's house, on the most bustling central avenue in the capital.
The sun shone brightly, and the place was bustling with activity. Serena, dressed in the latest pale yellow court gown and a wide-brimmed hat adorned with feathers, was chatting and laughing with a richly dressed young gentleman beside her—Arthur Howard, the son of the Chancellor of the Exchequer. She played the role of an elegant, slightly spoiled duchess, responding perfectly to Arthur's flattery and anecdotes, as if the fear of the dungeon and the resolve of the garden that day had all vanished with the wind.
This was part of her "plan" to maintain normal social interactions, play the role of Serena, and avoid arousing any suspicion, especially from her shrewd duke father.
Arthur was enthusiastically pointing to a newly opened jewelry store not far away, suggesting that they go in and take a look. Serena was about to nod when she suddenly caught a glimpse of a figure out of the corner of her eye.
Her smile froze on her face, as if her blood had stopped flowing at that moment.
Right at the dark corner of the alley, a thin figure sat against the wall, slightly huddled up. Although he had his head down, his black hair covering most of his face, and his clothes were even more tattered than when he was at the Duke's mansion, Serena recognized him at a glance.
Lucien.
How did he end up here? And in this state? She had expected that after leaving the Duke's mansion, although he would suffer some hardships, with his abilities and character, he should be able to find a way out…
However, the scene before her shattered her hopes. The boy's face was almost translucent with paleness, his lips were cracked, his eyes were tightly closed, and his forehead was covered with a fine layer of cold sweat, as if he were enduring immense pain. One of his legs was unnaturally bent, and his trouser leg was stained with dark dirt, like a mixture of dried blood and mud. He was like a broken doll abandoned in a corner, completely out of place in the bright and beautiful world around him.
“Miss Serena?” Arthur noticed her odd behavior and followed her gaze, his brows immediately furrowing in disgust. “Oh, a filthy beggar. Don’t let such a lowly person offend your eyes. Let’s go.”
His words pierced Serena like a needle, jolting her awake.
She cannot show any abnormality. Absolutely not.
A few passersby cast curious or pitying glances his way, but that was all. In this class-divided empire, the life or death of a destitute vagrant didn't cause much of a stir.
Serena's heart pounded wildly in her chest. She saw Lucien seem to stir slightly at the surrounding whispers, his thick eyelashes trembling as if he were about to lift them, revealing his deep purple, all-seeing eyes.
If he sees me... in this situation...
Fear gripped her, but even stronger than fear was an urge to do something. Not to atone for her sins, but for that faint glimmer of hope for the future!
She took a deep breath, forced herself to raise her chin, and reverted to her usual expression of contempt and arrogance. She even deliberately let out a clear, disdainful snort.
"What bad luck." Her voice was neither too loud nor too soft, just loud enough for Arthur and a few pedestrians nearby to hear. "To run into something so filthy as soon as I step out the door, no wonder I've been feeling down all day."
Arthur immediately chimed in, "Who says otherwise? I'll have the guards throw him out right now..."
“No need,” Serena interrupted him. She slowly took out a small purse embroidered with the family crest from her exquisite clutch, weighed it gracefully in her hand, and then pinched out a glittering gold coin with two fingers.
The gold coin gleamed alluringly in the sunlight, attracting many eyes.
Under everyone's gaze, Serena flicked her wrist slightly in Lucien's direction.
The gold coin traced an arc and landed crisply on the cold, rough stone pavement in front of Lucien with a "clang." It rolled a few times and came to a stop within his reach.
“Here,” Serena’s voice carried the nonchalant superiority of a benefactor, “take this little bit of money and find a corner to die in. Don’t block my way; you’re an eyesore.”
After she finished speaking, she didn't even glance at the gold coin or the person on the ground again, as if she had just casually tossed away a piece of trash. She naturally took Arthur's arm, who was still a little dazed, and said sweetly, "Arthur, let's go quickly, the air here has become unpleasant."
She pulled Arthur along, turned and left without stopping, her back still proud and upright.
Although Arthur found Miss Serena's "kindness" somewhat abrupt, since she usually preferred to directly whip offenders, it was in line with the occasional "charity" behavior of noble ladies. He quickly put this doubt behind him and eagerly accompanied her to the jewelry store.
No one saw how pale Serena's face was hidden under the wide brim of her hat the moment she turned around, or how much effort she used to hold onto Arthur's arm to suppress her trembling.
The gold coin lying on the cold ground reflected a cold and ironic light in the sunlight.
Lucien, who was leaning against the corner of the wall, slowly and with great difficulty opened his eyes after she turned away.
His deep purple eyes were somewhat unfocused due to weakness, but the cold sharpness within them remained undiminished. He glanced at the gold coin so close to his face, then looked up in the direction where Serena had disappeared.
His face was expressionless, devoid of gratitude, anger, or even humiliation.
There was only a deathly silence, a profound and icy coldness.
He reached out his hand, his fingers trembling slightly from weakness or perhaps from his leg injury, but he still firmly and slowly grasped the gold coin that carried a sense of charity.
The cold touch of the gold coin came from his palm, a stark contrast to the burning heat of his body.
He gripped it tightly, his knuckles turning white, as if he were holding not money, but someone's neck.
Wilder...
He silently chewed on this surname in his heart, as if chewing on blood and hatred.
Then, using the wall as leverage, he tried to stand up with all his might. Each movement aggravated the injury in his leg, bringing excruciating pain, but he only groaned, gritted his teeth, and something deep within his purple eyes was breaking and rebuilding, becoming harder and darker.
This chance encounter on the street was a terrifying moment for her, and for him, it was the most unforgettable "humiliating" act of charity from his enemy before he fell into the abyss.
He remembered it.
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