Whispers of Cloudshire Secrets

Chapter One

As night fell, the cold moon hung high in the sky. The bright moonlight fell on the ancient castle on the edge of the city, casting a mysterious silver veil around it. Emily stood on the balcony, looking at the forest in the distance, and felt a chill rising from the bottom of her heart. Since moving to this castle, her life has become bizarre and mysterious.
The cold wind in October swept across her bare shoulders, bringing a shudder. Emily subconsciously wrapped her woolen shawl tightly around her, but she couldn't feel any warmth. This castle seems to be always cold, just like its mysterious owner Lucas Black, exuding an inaccessible atmosphere.
"Miss Emily," suddenly, a low voice sounded behind her, "You'll catch a cold if you're still outside so late."
She turned around and saw Lucas standing at the balcony door. The moonlight outlined his tall figure. He was wearing a dark silk shirt, and the collar vaguely revealed his strong chest. The amber eyes flickered strangely in the darkness, as if they could see through her soul.
"Mr. Black," Emily whispered, trying to hide the trembling in her voice, "I'm just admiring the moonlight."
Lucas took a step forward, but suddenly stopped. Emily noticed that his body stiffened instantly, and his nostrils fluttered slightly, as if he was sniffing something. His expression became solemn, and a glimmer of wildness flashed in his eyes, but was quickly suppressed.
"Please go in," his voice was hoarser than usual, "It's not safe here."
Just then, a cold night breeze swept across the balcony, bringing a faint smell of rust. Emily saw that Lucas's fingers were almost pinched into the stone railing, and his knuckles were white. She couldn't help but take a step back, her heartbeat accelerated.
"I thought this castle was the safest place," she whispered, "after all, you are here."
Lucas let out an almost inaudible growl, "Some danger, Miss Emily, is much closer than you think." His eyes looked unusually sharp in the moonlight, "especially on a full moon night."
Suddenly, a wolf howl came from the distant forest, shrill and long. Emily was surprised to find that Lucas' pupils shrank in an instant and turned into vertical pupils like a beast, but the fleeting change made her wonder if it was just an illusion caused by the moonlight.
Just then, a cold breath passed by her from behind, accompanied by a chuckle. Emily turned around and saw only a dark shadow flashing in the corner of the balcony. When she looked back again, Lucas had come to her side, with a hand gently on her shoulder.
"I'll take you back to your room," he said, with an unquestionable commanding tone in his voice. Emily noticed that his palms were surprisingly hot, in sharp contrast to the chill of the castle.
Walking in the dark corridor of the castle, Emily could feel Lucas' presence, he walked behind her like a silent guardian. Moonlight poured in through the Gothic stained glass windows, casting mottled shadows on the floor.
"Good night, Miss Emily," Lucas whispered in front of her door, "Remember, no matter what sound you hear, don't leave the room tonight."
"Why?" Emily asked subconsciously.
Lucas was silent for a moment, his eyes looked deep and dangerous in the moonlight, "Because the moonlight tonight is too beautiful, it will always wake up something that shouldn't wake up."
When the door closed behind her, Emily leaned against the door, her heartbeat still alarmingly fast. She could hear Lucas's footsteps gradually fading away, but she seemed to hear the sound of wings flapping outside the window. She walked to the window and looked out through the glass.
In the moonlit courtyard, she saw a figure standing by the fountain. The man looked up at her window, and the moonlight illuminated his pale marble face - it was Draco, with a mysterious smile on his lips and a dangerous light in his eyes. When Emily blinked, his figure had disappeared, as if he had never appeared. Emily lay trembling on the bed, listening to the wolf howling outside the window. She knew that she had fallen into a world full of dangers, and this was just the beginning. On this moonlit night, her fate was closely linked to two mysterious and dangerous beings, and there was no turning back.

Chapter Two

In the dead of night, Emily lay in bed, the faces of Lucas and Draco appeared in her mind. She could not resist the deep attraction, but she also knew that she was caught in a dangerous vortex. She knew that the confrontation between the two men was a life-and-death hostility, and she was just a pawn in their war. A corner of her heart reminded her to escape, but the deeper desire pulled her to stay in this mysterious castle, looking forward to the unknown encounter.

        Just as she was about to fall asleep, a slight knock on the window interrupted the silence. Emily opened her eyes, and the moonlight poured into the room through the curtains, making the corners of the room particularly dark. She sat up subconsciously, trembling slightly and walked to the window. When she opened the curtains, a figure was standing in front of her, cold and elegant.

        It was Draco.

        "Sorry, I scared you, Emily." His low voice was frivolous and indifferent, as if every word revealed his unfathomable darkness. His eyes were like two flames in the abyss, locking onto her with an irresistible force.

        "How... are you here?" Emily's heartbeat quickened, and her hands unconsciously clenched a corner of the curtain. She knew she should be scared at this moment, but Draco's unique charm made it hard for her to resist.

        Draco did not answer her question, but slowly approached, lowered his head and whispered in her ear: "You know why I'm here, Emily. You've never really been afraid of me, right?"

        The moment he approached, she smelled the cold breath on him, as if it came from the night a thousand years ago. Her breathing gradually became rapid, but she did not retreat, but was locked by his eyes, as if her soul was also attracted to him.

        "Draco... we can't do this." Her voice was weak, but she did not retreat at all, as if even she herself was struggling with contradictions.

        "You don't belong here at all, Emily. Staying here will only put you in deeper danger." Draco gently lifted her chin, with a smile on the corner of his cold mouth, that smile was both gentle and dangerous, "But if you want to know the real darkness, then come. I will take you to see everything."

        At this moment, the door was pushed open, and Lucas' figure appeared at the door like a shadow. His face was gloomy, and his eyes were burning with anger. It was his possessiveness and anger that he could not hide. He walked towards Draco step by step, his hands clenched, his muscles tensed, as if he was going to pounce on and tear the enemy in front of him in the next second.

        "Draco, let her go." Lucas' voice was low and threatening, like an enraged beast. It was the first time Emily saw him so out of control, his eyes were like a ball of unextinguishable fire, revealing uncontrollable anger and possessiveness.

        Draco smiled slightly, released Emily's chin, and looked at Lucas provocatively. "Don't you understand yet? She doesn't belong to you. The savagery of the wolf tribe is nothing but a bondage to her, and I can give her true freedom."

        "The 'freedom' you mentioned will only make her fall into darkness. You don't understand what true protection is." Lucas sneered, his eyes as sharp as an eagle. He slowly stepped forward, blocked Emily, and protected her behind him. That was his attitude as the wolf king, firm and unshakable.

        Emily was sandwiched between the two, feeling her heartbeat speed up, as if breathing became difficult. These two completely different forces intertwined and collided in front of her, making it impossible for her to decide which side to choose.

        Draco raised the corners of his mouth and slowly took a step back, his eyes still on Emily. "Emily, one day you will find that he can't satisfy the desire in your heart. And I am your true home."

        As soon as the voice fell, Draco's figure disappeared into the night, as if he had never appeared.

        Lucas looked at the empty room, his fists gradually loosened, but the anger and worry in his eyes remained. He turned around and looked at Emily softly, but his eyes still flashed with contradictions and forbearance.

        "Are you okay?" He asked in a low voice, with a trace of undisguised concern in his voice.

        Emily nodded, but her heart was in turmoil and it was difficult to calm down. She knew that she had fallen too deep. She could not let go of these two men easily, nor could she easily resist them. A complex emotion surged in her heart, which was a dangerous and fatal attraction.

        "Lucas, I..." She wanted to say something, but lost her words when she met his eyes.

        "Don't get close to him." Lucas' voice was low, with a hint of pleading and warning, "I know you feel confused, but Draco is not what you think. He will only drag you into the darkness, and I won't let him hurt you."

        Emily just looked at him silently, and a touch of uncertainty gradually rose in her heart. She knew that this was not just a war, but a contest of feelings and desires. In this dangerous triangle relationship, she has gone too far and can never turn back.

Chapter Three

Emily stayed awake all night. The wind outside the window blew through the woods, making a low moan, as if the whole castle was whispering in her ear. She curled up in bed, recalling Draco's cold smile and Lucas's deep eyes. Two completely different attractions stirred in her heart, making her lost on the edge of danger and desire.

        When the sky was slightly bright, she made a decision. She had to figure out what she wanted, the wildness and protection of the wolf tribe, or the mystery and temptation of the vampire. She got up and walked out of the room, walked through the deserted corridor, and came to the door of Lucas's study.

        The door of the study was slightly open, and a whisper came from inside. Emily stood outside the door and pricked up her ears to listen.

        "She is innocent, Lucas." A low and gentle female voice came from Lucas's sister, Leila. Emily had heard rumors about her. Leila was the wisest prophet in the wolf tribe and could always see fragments of the future.

        "I know, Leila." Lucas' voice was hoarse, as if he had struggled all night, "but I can't control myself, I can't suppress my desire for her. I'm afraid that if she stays with me, she will only be swallowed by my darkness."

        Emily's heart trembled, and she raised her hand to push open the door.

        "Lucas." Her voice was abrupt and firm in the silent room.

        The two turned around and saw her standing at the door with a hint of determination in her eyes. She walked slowly towards Lucas, looked up at him, with a hint of determination and inquiry in her eyes.

        "I know you protect me, but I'm not a fragile child." Her voice was calm and firm, "I need to know the truth. Why are you always so hesitant? And why is Draco so persistent in approaching me?"

        Lucas' expression froze for a moment, his eyes wandering on her face, as if he was weighing whether to tell her everything. Finally, he took a deep breath, as if he had made up his mind.

        "Emily, the fate of our werewolves is usually determined at birth. The wolf tribe has a unique ability to perceive its partner. When we find that person, we will feel an attraction that cannot be ignored... and you are my destined partner." Lucas spoke in a low voice, with pain and desire flashing in his eyes.

        Emily's heartbeat accelerated, and thousands of emotions surged in her mind, both shocked and confused. She never thought that she would become his destined partner, and his possessiveness and protectiveness of her turned out to come from this ancient bond.

        She asked softly: "What about Draco? Why is he so obsessed with me?"

        Lucas's eyes became more gloomy, and there was a hint of anger in his eyes. "Draco's tribe never believed in fate. They prefer to dominate their own future. And he believes that as long as he possesses you, he can destroy me and the traditional beliefs of the wolf tribe. So, he is not sincere to you, but to weaken my power."

        Emily's heart suddenly tightened, and a hint of anger and loss surged in her eyes. However, she also felt a little unwilling, as if she was just a tool in this struggle, being fought over and torn by the two, and she had no right to control herself.

        "So, Lucas, are you sincere? Is it just fate for me?" There was a hint of disappointment in her voice, and her eyes became cold.

        Lucas was stunned, as if he was hurt by her question. He was silent for a moment before speaking: "Emily, I can't deny the existence of fate, but I can't ignore my feelings for you." He gently held her hand, his eyes full of affection and desire, "Whether it is fate or something else, I am willing to give up everything for you."

        Just then, a slight sound came from outside the window. Emily turned back suddenly and saw a pair of dark red eyes flashing outside the window, like a flame in the dark, and the familiar cold breath startled her heart.

        It was Draco.

        He stood outside the window, sneering at them, as if everything was under his control. He knocked on the window lightly, his voice cold and full of provocation: "I don't think it's possible to talk about 'betraying' everything here, Lucas. You can't protect her because she will eventually come to me."

        Lucas' eyes immediately became cold and dangerous. He stood in front of Emily, glared at Draco outside the window, and growled in a low voice: "Stay away from her, Draco. You can't force her to choose darkness."

        Draco smiled slightly, his eyes full of evil confidence. He raised his eyebrows at Emily, as if everything was under his control. "Dear Emily, you will find that the bright world cannot satisfy your desire. And darkness - is your destination." After he finished speaking, his figure instantly disappeared into the night.

        The room returned to silence, but the air was filled with tension and uneasiness. Emily looked at the empty darkness outside the window, feeling both fear and desire in her heart. She could no longer deny Draco's attraction to her, and the danger and mystery made her heart beat faster.

        Lucas noticed her hesitation, and a trace of pain and uneasiness flashed in his eyes. He gently held her hand and whispered, "Emily, don't get close to him. His darkness will devour you and make you lost in the endless night."

        She didn't respond, but just looked at him silently, her heart full of complicated emotions. She knew that she could no longer simply withdraw from the two of them. Her fate had been drawn into an uncontrollable vortex, and the only thing she could do was to follow her heart and touch the unknown darkness.

Chapter Four

As autumn deepened, the forest surrounding the castle donned a cloak of gold and crimson. Yet Emily felt none of the season's warmth. Since that night's revelation, her mind had been in constant turmoil, with Lucas's truth and Draco's temptation intertwining like two serpents in her thoughts, leaving her breathless.

        That evening, Emily found herself alone in the castle's library, searching through ancient tomes for any mention of werewolves and vampires. As she focused on a yellowed manuscript, the air suddenly turned cold. Looking up, she found Draco standing across from her, his appearance as silent as shadow.

        "Seeking truth, my dear Emily?" Draco leaned elegantly against the bookshelf, wearing a deep purple silk shirt that made his skin appear even paler. "But you know, written accounts are often one-sided."

        Emily instinctively stepped back. "Why do you always appear like this? It's unsettling."

        Draco chuckled softly, moving toward her with fluid grace. "Because I enjoy seeing you startled. It makes you even more enticing." His fingers traced her cheek, the cold touch making her shiver. "Lucas told you I'm merely using you, but did he mention that his fate is actually a chain binding him?"

        Emily froze. "What do you mean?"

        "The werewolves' so-called destined mates are nothing but constraints in their bloodline," Draco's voice carried a hypnotic power. "They're forced to love someone, forced to protect them. Isn't that tragic? While I..." his gaze deepened, "I choose you because I'm truly drawn to you."

        A low growl suddenly echoed from the doorway. Lucas stood there, his eyes now golden, filled with rage. "Step away from her, Draco!" His voice carried an unmistakable threat.

        Instead of retreating, Draco pulled Emily closer. "Why so angry, Lucas? Is it because I spoke the truth, or because you fear she might choose me?"

        The tension in the air grew thick enough to cut. Emily could feel the energy between the two men threatening to tear the room apart. Lucas's body trembled as he fought to control the beast within.

        "Enough!" Emily suddenly shouted, "What am I to both of you? Some trophy to be won?" Her voice carried both anger and hurt.

        Both men froze. Pain flashed across Lucas's eyes, while Draco's expression turned contemplative.

        Emily pushed away from Draco and walked toward the door, but paused beside Lucas. "You say I'm your destiny, but have you considered my feelings?" Her voice was soft but accusatory. "And you, Draco, if you truly cared for me, you wouldn't use me as a weapon against him."

        She hurried from the library, and only when she reached the corridor did her tears finally fall. She didn't know whom to trust - Lucas, chosen by fate, or Draco, who chose her himself? More importantly, she began to question whether she truly understood her own heart.

        As night fell, Emily stood on her balcony. Wolves howled in the distant forest, while somewhere in the castle, she thought she heard the flutter of bat wings. Everything reminded her that she stood at the crossroads between two worlds, and she had to make a choice.

        Then she noticed items on the balcony railing: a rose as black as night with a blood-red sheen - Draco's mark. Beside it lay a wolf fang necklace, a werewolf protection charm, obviously left by Lucas.

        Emily gently touched both items, her internal conflict growing stronger. She knew that choosing either would alter her destiny forever. But more importantly, she needed to understand what her heart truly desired.

        As moonlight bathed the castle grounds, Emily realized that her decision wouldn't just be about choosing between two men - it was about choosing what kind of life she wanted, and more importantly, who she wanted to become.

Chapter Five

The following days in the castle were filled with an unbearable tension. Emily found herself constantly caught between shadows and silence, between warmth and cold. Every corner seemed to hold either Lucas's protective presence or Draco's seductive whispers. The weight of their attention was becoming increasingly suffocating.

        One particularly cold morning, Emily discovered a mysterious leather-bound book in the library's restricted section. Its pages contained ancient prophecies about the eternal conflict between werewolves and vampires. As she read, her hands trembling, she found something that made her blood run cold.

        'When the moon bleeds red and the night grows teeth, a choice will be made that breaks the ancient cycle. A mortal's heart shall tip the balance, bringing either eternal darkness or salvation to both races.'

        "Interesting reading material," Leila's voice suddenly came from behind. Lucas's sister moved like a ghost, her silver eyes holding centuries of wisdom. "I've been waiting for you to find this."

        Emily closed the book carefully. "Is this... about me?"

        Leila's expression remained enigmatic. "The prophecy speaks of a mortal who stands between our worlds. But prophecies, dear Emily, are like rivers - they show the destination, but the path taken is always your choice."

        "What happens if I choose wrong?" Emily's voice wavered.

        "There is no wrong choice, only consequences," Leila replied, her voice gentle but firm. "But I must warn you - the blood moon approaches, and with it, a moment of truth that will change everything."

        Before Emily could ask more questions, a commotion erupted from the castle grounds. They rushed to the window to see Lucas and Draco facing each other in the courtyard, their postures tense with barely contained violence.

        "You've crossed the line, Draco," Lucas's voice carried up to them, filled with fury. "You dare to mark our territory?"

        Draco's laugh was cold and mocking. "Territory? This stopped being about territory the moment she arrived. Or are you afraid she's already choosing me?"

        Emily watched in horror as Lucas's form began to shift, his muscles rippling beneath his clothes. The morning sun caught his golden eyes, now burning with primal rage. Draco's own transformation was more subtle - his pale skin taking on an otherworldly sheen, his movements becoming impossibly fluid.

        "Stop!" Emily's voice rang out across the courtyard. Both men froze, their attention snapping to her window. "This has to end!"

        She turned to rush downstairs, but Leila caught her arm. "Be careful, Emily. The blood moon is three days away. Under its light, both races lose control of their darker natures. And you..." she paused meaningfully, "you will be at your most vulnerable."

        When Emily reached the courtyard, the tension was thick enough to choke on. Lucas immediately moved to her side, his protective instinct evident in every motion. But it was Draco who spoke first.

        "My apologies for the disturbance, dear Emily," his voice was silk over steel. "But perhaps it's time you understood the full scope of what you're involved in." He pulled an ancient medallion from his coat. "This belongs to your grandmother. She wasn't just any woman - she was a guardian, keeper of the balance between our races."

        Emily's world tilted. "My grandmother? But she died when I was young..."

        "She was murdered," Lucas cut in, his voice heavy with old pain. "By those who wanted to destroy the peace between our kinds. And now, as her descendant, you inherit her role - and her enemies."

        The revelation hit Emily like a physical blow. Suddenly, everything made more sense - the mysterious circumstances that led her to the castle, both men's intense interest in her, the prophecy. She wasn't just caught between two supernatural beings; she was part of an ancient legacy.

        "The blood moon comes," Draco said softly, his eyes locked on Emily. "And with it, powers long dormant will awaken. You'll need to choose not just between us, Emily, but between two paths for both our races."

        As if in response to his words, clouds gathered overhead, casting strange shadows across the courtyard. Emily felt something stir within her, something old and powerful, like a sleeping giant finally beginning to wake.

        Lucas moved closer, his warmth a stark contrast to the chill air. "Whatever you choose, Emily, know that my protection isn't just about fate or duty anymore. It's about-"

        But before he could finish, a piercing scream cut through the air. All three turned to see Leila collapsed at the castle entrance, her silver eyes wide with terror as she pointed at the sky.

        "It's coming," she gasped. "The blood moon... it's coming early. And with it, they're returning - the ones who killed your grandmother. They're coming for Emily."

        In that moment, as Emily looked between Lucas and Draco, she realized that her choice might not be about love at all - it might be about survival.

In the heart of Cloudshire, under the blazing afternoon sun, the air shimmered with heat. At Woodhaven Estate, a somewhat worn-down structure, a middle-aged man leaned lazily against the doorframe. He was clad in a simple shirt, neck button slightly askew, his sleeves rolled up casually. Below, he wore a pair of low-rise jeans that seemed to have seen better days, revealing a slender, delicate waist with his movements.
The sight was enough to catch anyone's attention. As a nurse walked by, she noticed a young man for the first time. She handed him a lollipop, gesturing towards the patient’s room. “Isabella Brightwood, your dad is here to see you?”
Isabella Brightwood peeled back the wrapper of the sweet treat, her eyelashes drooping slightly as she took a bite; she barely opened her eyes in response, murmuring, “Right.”
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With that, she hurried off, clipboard in hand. Henry Brightwood glanced over at her, unsure whether her comment was meant to be mocking or sympathetic, his expression a mix of concern and complexity. “Isabella's been expelled from the Academy. Norrington Town won’t take her back. You should consider enrolling her at Ravenivers House. Professor Wren is there; he could help her find a good school.”
Since she was about to take Isabella to another institution, Margaret Seraphine didn’t feel confident making any decisions herself and had just called Adri Woods from the hospital about this move.
Margaret’s chest felt tight, a growing frustration building within her. “Martha Cooke, take me inside to see Isabella; she’s about to get out of class, and I need to pick her up.”
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No doubt the people from Woodhaven were less than satisfied with the scandal surrounding Isabella. Removing the note from the board, Isabella tossed it aside after glancing at the jumbled letters—nothing but nonsense to her.
A few feet away, in an office chamber, a conversation unfolded between Adri Woods and Samantha Woods.
“Woodhaven has strict rules. Don’t bring your bad habits there, got it?” Margaret huffed, pinching the bridge of her nose in irritation.
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Cynthia Fairchild observed Isabella fumbling with her sweater and chose not to disturb her. This eccentric girl had quite an array of oddities about her wardrobe.
“What’s caught your attention?” Jonathan Rivers asked, shifting his gaze toward the window.
Henry Brightwood felt the weight of expectation—it was a burden living up to the reality of now having another child to support, more responsibility, and the costs of buying a house in town.
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Cynthia Fairchild couldn’t shake off the fear she felt when she last saw it, only to dismiss it later when Isabella claimed it was just a toy replica.
Martha Cooke shot a glance toward Isabella, her expression passive. “That’s Duncan Agnes’s music room.”
“Hmm?” Jonathan flipped through Isabella’s medical file, slightly perplexed.
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Henry Brightwood, grounded in the conflict of thoughts and unease regarding the possibility of creating a serious disturbance at Woodhaven, felt trapped. That could only increase Margaret’s distress—swallowing hard, he begrudgingly agreed to take Isabella to Ravenivers in Cloudshire.
Martha watched Margaret and Isabella go, glancing again toward the two of them, her eyes filled with doubt.
Stepping out, she moved toward Ravenivers but paused when Martha shoved her flip-flops back at her.
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With heavy hearts and the heaviness of their situations lingering, the course of the story began to twist further down paths that not one of them quite expected—and each of them would soon meet the complexities of their interwoven tales.

“Martha Cooke, go ahead and get some rest. If you need anything, just give me a shout,” Master Edward said, before heading down to the kitchen to lend a hand.
**
The House of Norrington's vehicle was parked outside Aunt Beatrice's home at Moonset.
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"Not your concern," Sebastian Thorne stretched his long legs out, leaning back on the couch, while Lyanna swiftly rolled her eyes in response. "In a couple of days, when the mission is over, you'll be heading to Ravenivers Crown Citadel."
“And what about you?” Jonathan Rivers asked as he strolled over.
“I’ve already brought Isabella's spouse into the House of Woodhaven. You think I need to bring along another burden? How do you think the people there will view me?” Margaret Seraphine felt quite exasperated by his incessant bickering. How could someone like Isabella Brightwood just be found?
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Even from behind the door, it was clear Margaret Seraphine’s tone was cold and unsympathetic. “Henry Brightwood, my situation is serious. I need to take her to Cloudshire for treatment.”
“I heard she’s taking a break from school," Adri Woods contemplated Margaret’s plea, worry etched on his face. "What a prickly girl she is—it’ll be tough getting her into First Academy.”
At that time, Lord Elijah Brightwood was unwanted. The two parents ended up dodging each other, and no one had been able to claim her in the end.
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After a while, Martha Cooke came upstairs to knock on the door.
“This is the restroom; you do know how to use the hot water, right?” she asked before she introduced herself as if the two inside were cave dwellers.
“Master Raven, this is Aunt Agnes,” she scanned the two with a subtle yet scrutinizing glance. “Come in.”
IrsabelAlva em^pÉtie_d hh'ejr* EaGs^twood bDackpDack 'ointo thKeU taNb&lóe. As sYheé braBisVeidN qher Dh)anVdx,y QhNesr hceaLdNpfhon*ensi WsblÉippTeód dFow'n Pin,tmo dhezr sNhiSrKtB cJoZlKlar,s hanlgingy lyoos$eNlyF around ihPelrz nUeVck.
The two had been divorced for a little while, and Isabella had always stayed with her grandmother. Not long ago, her grandmother fell ill, so they needed to transfer her care. That’s why Margaret Seraphine and Henry Brightwood had been summoned to Ravenivers.
Carrying just a brown bag, Isabella hunched over a bit, slightly drowsy, and absent-mindedly fiddled with the collar of her shirt.
Their divorce had created a frenzy as both fought over Elijah's custody, but eventually, he opted to stay with Linwood, bringing the legal battle to a close.
**t
At four in the afternoon, the dark brown vehicle pulled up outside the Woodhaven Estate in Cloudshire.
Isabella arched an eyebrow, lazily trailing after Martha Cooke, pondering how favored Elijah seemed at the House of Woodhaven.
After an exchange with the doctor, Margaret guided Isabella right to Cynthia Fairchild's ward in Cloudshire.
A.sj cthkey VtKurnwedz tlhÉe co^rnTe*rI *ast ^DxumnDcaxn M&oocnsewt, ytmhey, sDpIotwted Oah usemi-KopxeSnO roPom* éwqheUrgeA waJ v_aluza!ble OanXtiGqluTe vibolci^n kpDetekke,d o,uIt Bfnrom ^theR vcluttGeIr.
In the midst of the disarray, she reached out to grab a small, dark bottle.
Isabella leaned back, feeling the heat because Cloudshire’s estate lacked air conditioning, causing the air to grow thick and oppressive. She lowered her eyes and began to fidget with the first button on her collar.
“Brightwood,” Henry called, looking out of the hospital room door. Seeing Isabella, he paused and sighed. “There are captains at the House of Woodhaven. If you tag along with your Seraphine, they will surely find a good place for you at Richard's Summer Academy. Who knows, maybe you’ll even end up in a high school.”
SGamVantxha WoodsR )wa$s ^eém_oStFionless asB _sJhe, caRsua*llyB jlheaniedc jozn UttheJ sofaC,l her_ haYnódD 'aSwXkwarHdzl'yr yt)ap)pinVgé aÉwwaVy atv heórU &pvhokn)e, Os*enemyi$ngl_yÉ jbóusqy) cha)titing pwViKt,h fsmomeoRne.
With the angle, his nose was aristocratic, his skin exceptionally pale. Half-squinting, his stunning lashes obscured his eyes, creating a dreamlike mystery around him.

Cynthia Fairchild stared at the elegantly furnished Raven Room, lost in thought for a long moment. Finally, Prince Murray spoke up, "This Master Martha Cooke seems... quite approachable. In the future… well, you and Seraphina, sigh."
Inside the room were Isabella Brightwood and her father, Henry Brightwood, alongside Margaret Seraphine and her son, Elijah. Before coming here, Cynthia’s current wife, Wren, had given a heads-up that Martha could take Isabella to the Raven Rivers.
As they stopped at the high hall, Martha Cooke was just about to slide on her house slippers when a middle-aged man named Captain Murray stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray. He had a plastic bottle colored like Lucius’s in his hand, and after a moment of contemplation, he awkwardly shoved it into his pocket.
SeaLted! comVforst)ably in (an éaqrRmc!hSairV Fwasr *ah mlanz nawmNeódn SHebaAs!tJiian nTho^rneM,L d^r'e^ssyexd. ain austDerrPe,k Ldarrki atdtir(e.U HSea ówaGs ms_trrCi^kóizngNlqy (hadnqdsomei, boDas,tiénKg shGaNrfpq tfeaSturuebs RaNnd a cVonfRi,dOeOntq ÉstVaZtYurbeB, ueXxundingf an! a,ir of li$gIh$tlóyu _cqonrce*ale)d &thhuggeryd,& wShi!ch, umadLe Cyn'thtia GwoYnder Lif Bhea ^ha^dO eXvenQ lAiSstdeDnQed tco ttheR prevLailFinfg dtiscussioln.u
Martha Cooke’s gaze felt piercing; however, her granddaughter was right beside her. Cynthia did her best to ignore the scrutinizing look and straightened her back, trying to assert her demeanor. As she held her composure, she turned slightly to follow Thorne as he led the way inside.
Isabella Brightwood was exceptionally gifted, and had all her teachers at Woodhaven Hall never once fretted over her performance. As Cynthia walked past the professor, she took in the artsy design of the old-world Olivia-style architecture.
The Woodhaven estate had several guest rooms, and Martha quickly gauged Margaret’s current attitude, leading them to a guest room overlooking the sprawling Raven Rivers.
GAabrieD lqookexdq .uRpH,_ urOaisinxg TanÉ eFyDegb_rtoKwA buKt draeRmaKinBedO sil_enTt.
It was indeed troublesome; the reputation of the House of Woodhaven had never been tainted by such deplorable individuals before. A figure lay slouched on the couch, fingers pinching a cigarette. The smoke curled up gently, and he looked pensive, gazing into nothing for what seemed like half an eternity.
When he finally picked it up, it made a soft chime, revealing Isolde hidden within the room.
“Lady Ophelia Crest,” a middle-aged mistress, dressed in a blue blouse, quirked an eyebrow when she noticed Margaret and Cynthia enter with Isabella. "You... should definitely stay for tea!"
M*aQrgaret's tj)awg tiimgChtDened^ ast _tAhMeÉ KsJighXt of ghaHrba,gLe stBraewjn aQbhou^tb a)nmd shUeI bMit) XbacLka fróutsÉtdrat.ioGnp,^ SsayRi)ng, “DFoón'Ot preHtTendÉ youP Éarens'*t yaware. KIbfn yoxup .e,ve'r KpzrIodPu!cem Ua fVrazctioóné omfX hBPrigVhtRwooSd'’Ks (aPch,ieavempeWnts, I kwAouIljdn'ft wnueeqdV BtvoG nha'rp oHn thQiBs!' uRemQeUmdbeDrd, SthÉe jHouse odfZ WoCodéhaqvsekn isz ydour NoUr)r,ingtxon gli*ne*agek, ,and nyHoOujr alctBioBnTs! Whered a)ffectq yoOur) sbiAstexr. Think& ScnarAeHfIulltyV,^ dXon'’atV dkrag tfhe B(r.iVghhtwoyoMdsP dNowMn with yoWu.”
Isabella fiddled at the corner of the table, her legs crossed, absentmindedly tearing at something in her bag—a new but unbranded laptop that she tossed unceremoniously onto the table without care.
She locked the door behind her after a brief look back at Kael.
Margaret didn’t even have the stomach to eat dinner.
He!nvry BPrviYghUtÉwxoAod qwPoBuBlzd$ casvuÉall!y menPtiUon$ Wthzat ICsab$ellMaN'fs gradaeQs )placheMdz heri solBikdlvyM Gi)nX Shighr schKoolD…
On the far side of the room, Sebastian stood tall, legs straight, with a veil of mist lingering in his heavy-lidded eyes, tapping the ash off his nonexistent cigarette, murmuring, “There’s a mission for fellow travelers.”
The Healing House had recently welcomed a newcomer known as Dexter, while Jonathan Rivers hovered nearby.
Today, Margaret had schemed to pick up her niece, claiming to be weary of familial obligations and desiring a moment of air away from the pressures of Norrington.
H^enryl YBrighttwaoodj qhQad! sazn akun$t tÉhastD fha)d oncVe bSe$enu whis!k&ed qaQwaWy &to the IoIudtjsQkiJrxths( popfO CFloudshXirJet.i PCy'nthviat 'FDaiircahialudv rOeZcalBled w,atAcOh!ijng &Henrqy ebnWthusUiafstijcJ tos LbKujimlpd ab RlifNeu, aCmjbiPtiouXs sMin&ceS lhWi)s Gmarrji&afgAeO mtUof xMaJr!gGarKeLt Dso^ mÉaxny_ Oyea$rs baQckó.q PYeRt naxfltHeYr year(s *fil)lFefdn onlAy MwiAth hmaridS ZwoUrykB TafnQdR &brJidck(-Xl&ayinÉgO, óMbagrLgfarlet dfVinPally haSd WeMnAo'ugh.
She was humble, coming from a country background, but always maintained a tidiness that kept dirt at bay—certainly not like Henry.
Ignoring his motion to further explain, she instead glanced toward the expansive window directly facing her and squinted, her eyes darken with cold resolve as she surveyed the sprawling surroundings.

In the hospital room, Margaret Seraphine glared at Henry Brightwood's mocking face, feeling a heavy weight in her chest. Compared to Elijah Brightwood, who could ever want a troublemaking mistress like him? Especially one destined to enter the elite circles where gossip spread like wildfire. Margaret could think of a thousand reasons why she wouldn’t want that fate.
Her fingers unconsciously clenched the hem of her dress.
Margaret had married Elijah into the Woodhaven lineage—all thanks to her renowned ancestor, Richard Ravenwood. Looking at her grandmother, Cynthia Fairchild, who had raised Isabelle Brightwood all on her own for over a decade, Margaret couldn't help but feel pitiful. Cynthia had stepped into the fray without a second thought.
AYs. wsJhXe óstCocod theBrXeU,c sheW hnUoKtTicGe.dW CYynth!iua! entering thMeN rsooXmn,F shNoesS cXl$icIk*iTndg GaHgainAsVtZ t,heó rflwojozr.
The guest room at Moonset was surprisingly bland.
Margaret had relied on her looks to attract Adrian Woods, a widowed real estate mogul. Her beauty, while notable, failed to remove the air of desperation that surrounded them. She fished out a hefty phone.
“Landon and Quinton Rivers have just arrived. They want to meet Duncan,” she announced, trying to mask her anxiety.
JAoSnKatthatnW R!i*veursw gllBancted AtomwiazrNds) *tmheZ vsRlheexk_ !co_udchh hin the etxtrNaSvóagapnt mlLiving room thFaMt co^ntzraaBsZt'edN *wi!tJha ctnhe sombergneAsKsN Kof( twhe hosKpéiStxahls mroCoYm.
Isabelle was always driven around by the Woodhaven family chauffeur.
Leaning against the wall, Isabelle Brightwood had one leg slightly bent, her expression blank as she listened. The aspect of Isabelle that annoyed Margaret most was how closely it mirrored Henry Brightwood's rowdy demeanor.
Henry had hastily remarried, and with his new wife, Alaric, welcomed a son named Wren, who was filling their lives with thrill and laughter. Wren was often referred to as “another child from Norrington.”
O.nLc_eI CylnNthiPaÉ ^wvasQ fKunlly ihn Othle' krfoKomp,O Mnaxrgua)ret fe.lty M^arntrhBa CCoDok^e’s usUu_rpris&edg ^gazse Zl&ocGk doknto )her). GIcn*it'isallpy, slh*e hbaxd. vassuémKedu IQsabJeél*leq RwouAl^d be juuWsxt as doc.iBle Éajs hrerj Éolde(r us)iblSinIg,^ bxurtL nxoNw,Z uwiFth KIsYatbelleQ (ex!pyandRingh her JcfiYrcjle tati Wzoodhwatv'enb, fM(argarezt cfounkd' ^hepr_seWlóf sckeptAiPcaulF.
“Feeling this drained? Were you out all night playing games?” Abigail teased, maintaining her queenly composure from years of being part of high society.
Isabelle perched herself on a low table, one leg folded under her, lazily toying with the flowers arranged on the table, her sleeves rolled back.
The man lounging on the couch wore a garish silk shirt, leaning comfortably back, he remarked, "Aunt, you've got quite the figure."
PsuklGli,nqgc foÉutx (a ZpaWir *of h'eGad!pWhBo)nrePsw TtnhaTtA matchDezd hilsw gaud&y sbhuiBrtm,k HIjslabell&eó figénMorWedx Hhjim,) “Juést lostW vt_rkacNk éodff tiuméeg Oin gaWmiSng lFausPt nixgQhti.p”
Adrian Woods barely glanced up as he spoke, even Thaddeus failed to draw his interest, leaving Isabelle’s dispassionate demeanor unacknowledged.
But when the noise of footsteps echoed as they approached Moonset's entrance, he instinctively looked up to see who it was.
He froze, utterly taken aback.
Emv_er(yD ytCimeN bKael KWensr DeinUcCouDn!terCeOdr a tói,gnh*tV andF ,tpanNgl'edB &mesls ofy PdóramRa, YhSe spuent s'lReQeSplezss dnizght_s mSullingó overÉ tfhYinygsA. BNoów, ÉheX hqoOpDegdl ctéhek NuorrCi_ngtvoTnY crrtoFwSdU ÉwouldB bce ngeWnerYoXusH uwMimth (t&heirA Lsyufpypmortt, ea*gCe!r Sfoir SmorÉe esncwa(péadebs .t(o bcack !hi&m !udp*.M

In the heart of Norrington, the House of Woodhaven stood as a symbol of tradition and opulence, inherited through generations of the noble Grayson family. Adrian Woods, a figure of considerable prestige, surveyed his domain with a contemplative demeanor. Today marked the fiftieth anniversary of the renowned Grayson family’s influence, and the atmosphere buzzed with anticipation and elegance. Constance Fairchild could discern from his polished façade the sharp edges of a businessman whose acumen shone through his genteel exterior, framed by the golden glasses he wore.
Margaret Seraphine's engagement to Adrian Woods had garnered envy from even the likes of those at the Brightwood estate. Everyone agreed it was a stroke of luck for Margaret to land such a remarkable match.
Adrian, cigarette in hand, considered Margaret's words. “Rest assured, I’ve sent Simon to handle the Brightwood situation. It’s all under control.”
CyóntfhIira *Fairc)h(ildG, ha ,sJma^lfl-tolwnn .gisrZló ulnacNc)ustomed toh sTuTchs FlupxulrWyj, ifelt out o*f &pZlache* Uas s'hwe hnaKvRigtaYthe)d theg Tl$avvishJ sGurrqoAunzdxiPngksX of )thHeA WojodPhavYejng Estat,e, fBoQrO theó fyisrsQtO tiCme. DeLs&pite yATdtriaCng's! dweélTcoHmSin!g& HdemreCandoré,. csJhVep cWoóu)l$dn''mtH jshadke *tDhe nerbvkousnes$sJ tahat, cwrepGt finU.k
Adrian picked up on her unease but maintained his charming disposition, pouring tea for Cynthia and exchanging pleasantries, attempting to ease her discomfort while they awaited Margaret’s arrival.
Meanwhile, Isabella Brightwood reclined on a lavish sofa, engrossed in a game on her phone. Her delicate fingers danced across the screen, illuminated by the sunlight streaming through the ornate window. From where Sam Woods observed, he couldn’t help but admire her beauty. Her serene expression masked the lightheartedness that seemed to define her essence—the perfect retreat from the intricate web of society’s expectations.
He caught her gaze, and for a fleeting moment, their eyes locked. Isabella raised an eyebrow, slow and deliberate, as if dancing with the intrigue of their silent exchange. There was something unnervingly powerful in that moment—like a summer storm brewing just beneath the surface.
SafmX fe^lgt ia! méomePntaury_ p!angr JaUsb he sBtsaurYeQd baTckf,! unCsYuUre Xof hiNmjselfH.$ IsabiePlwlBa !reRturnde$d thoh shmerr .g^aWme* wi_th Pi!ndOifAfwerLenYce, snhru^ggingY o^ff$ tIhzex teHnsPigon cbet)wFe'eun t$h'eMm.h (It ,wahs diMsTconacewrtijng !to himZ, jthiSsa usWuXddHenh riRnQa&bmiliirthy tSo rJeadW VheVr kWeeLnX eyxNp&r)esZsidozns.F
“Maybe she'll turn out to be a little less intimidating,” Sam mused, only half-convinced as he adjusted in his seat.
Across the room, Cynthia felt her nerves dissolve in the hot air, wanting desperately to bond with Isabella. She didn’t mind that her cousin indulged in gaming; rather, she longed for a connection—even if it meant turning a blind eye to Isabella’s distractions.
“Isabella, come on! At least pretend to be interested while we’re here,” Cynthia thought but found herself unable to voice it. It was the first time she had to navigate the dynamics of cousinly love and jealousy. What was she supposed to do? If Cynthia was honest, even the most innocent of looks from Isabella could sweep her off her feet. That magnificent face, framed by those enchanted eyes—who could withstand such charm?
ThjeO atmosJpHhnerUeG shifOtyed' sMeamlehssly jwith thze, arri*vRalW *oSfk JMsaTrlgDayrYetN, GbriwngHiSnIg Aa& wayve okfU rróelBiRegfa,p as ohtshBers i(mmeIrMseuds tMh.eBmselvesv ibnX _coYnvQerMsba.t'io&n& w*iOtOhP IhteurM. Bwut !its was ^thYe GeOntRrSanZcDeQ bof EGlzi'jKaih BNrzitgahÉtw$oDoDd ft!hCaCt trulbyU vligYhitóened. ÉtFheR KapmKb*iQacn_c.e.Z
With gracious elegance, Elijah maneuvered through the crowd, instantly catching Adrian's warm smile. He approached Margaret with an outstretched hand, relieved to finally bring context to the gathering.
“Good to see you, Margaret. Elisa,” he nodded at Isabella with respect, “It seems we have a celebration on our hands.”
They shifted toward the center, embracing a sense of togetherness that felt authentic despite their nobility.
GLra.dOu'ahllOy, bselaXtxsR tfi)lled(,V !aónjd Utjhe yhWum ,of acPhattker. SrJo&sxeU, with $Adbr,iéan. sieBamAleGsZsZlyX stkeóeOringN zt_hTe tdCis*cWussgiNonX fréoImJ fóa(milyy legaZcitesO to lrikght-hdeCarTtedq MaAn*ecdnotesI tOhat Xke&pat' zeverrybonem enxg&aag^ecd. XIFt* w&as a gaMthegriUng^ BbUotWhP of thóeI pa'st alndé 'a OhiNntQ owfq whrat tphe futtSure cdotu)ldP dhold^.k
As Cynthia observed the interplay of laughter and connection, a small smile crept onto her face—the evening promised to be enchanting, revealing relationships woven deeper than any façade of elegance.