The car glided down the main avenue with dark-tinted windows and silent wheels. Riven followed on a different bike this time: quieter, sleeker. He kept a full street between them, blending in with the early traffic. His eyes stayed fixed on the black car with its diplomatic plates and quiet power.
He thought he knew who Seren was. Thought she was just another discarded noble wife with good manners and a broken heart. But the way she’d walked out of the Darion estate, head high and back straight, told him there was more. And now, the car wasn’t just crossing city lines. It was crossing something greater.
He slowed as they reached the outer district checkpoint. The guards didn’t hesitate; the gate didn’t creak. It opened the moment the driver rolled down the window.
“Lady Veris,” the soldier said, straightening. Riven froze.
Inside, the car moved through wide lanes flanked by statues and manicured hedges. He kept to the edge, ditching the bike near a tree line and ducking behind the iron fence. His breath caught as he took in the estate beyond—more fortress than mansion. White marble columns, black-glass windows, guards at every post.
Seren stepped out of the car slowly, her robe exchanged for a clean grey coat. A steward greeted her immediately, bowing low.
“My lady,” he said warmly. “Your father is waiting in the north hall.”
She nodded, her voice too soft for Riven to hear from where he crouched. But she walked like someone who belonged there. No hesitation. No fear.
Riven stayed low in the shadow of a trimmed hedge, eyes wide. He ran the name again in his mind. Veris. Magistrate General Allor Veris. Head of Dominion Law. The enforcer of justice across five sectors. Ruthless. Unshakable. Feared.
This estate didn’t just hold wealth—it held real power. Dominion power. Riven exhaled slowly.
“So she was never just a Darion wife,” he whispered. “She’s their undoing.”
Inside, the marble hall rose around Seren like a cathedral. High windows spilled sunlight across polished stone. Tapestries of old battles hung along the walls, and statues of warriors guarded the corners.
At the far end, near the carved hearth, stood a man in a grey uniform with silver bands at his cuffs. His back was straight, his hair peppered with grey, his expression carved from years of discipline.
Allor Veris turned when she entered. His face softened—not much, but enough to see he was no stranger to love, even if he rarely showed it.
He stepped forward, eyes searching hers.
“You’re early.”
“I had nowhere else to be,” she said.
His jaw clenched slightly. “You were never meant to stay there so long.”
“I thought I could make it work,” she replied. “I thought I could matter to them.”
He looked away briefly, hands behind his back. “I told you they’d use you.”
“And they did,” she said, voice tighter now. “They paraded me, silenced me, and cast me aside like a broken vase.”
His eyes returned to her face, noting the faint marks under her eyes, the tightness in her jaw. “Now will you let me help you?”
Seren’s chest rose slowly. She looked at him—not just as a father, but as a man who could bend laws and punish kings. Her voice didn’t shake.
“Yes,” she said. “But I don’t want pity. I want my name back.”