Seraphine looked at him with eyes full of mischief and warmth. She took his hand gently.
"Come," she whispered. "I want to show you something."
Lucien hesitated for half a second. Every time she said that, something in him braced for horror—but this time, her smile was soft. Almost dreamy.
He let her lead.
They moved past the winding halls he'd begun to memorize, past faded portraits and silent candles, deeper into the veins of the house. Her fingers stayed laced with his. She didn't say a word until they stopped in front of a wall he had assumed was simply part of the architecture.
Seraph placed her hand flat on the stone.
The wall groaned. Shifted. And slowly melted away like smoke caught in light.
Lucien's breath caught.
The room was unlike the others—illuminated in a soft golden glow that shimmered from no obvious source. Piled from the black marble floor to the arching ceiling were mountains of treasure. Crowns draped in rubies, golden goblets encrusted in sapphire, chests split open by their own riches. Coins older than empires glittered under glass. Statues carved in obsidian and rose gold stood guard in the corners.
Lucien couldn't move. Couldn't blink.
Seraphine stepped into the room, barefoot and graceful like a queen returning to her throne. She spun slowly, arms out.
"This," she said, "is the Treasure of Soliance."
Lucien swallowed. "Soliance?"
She smiled. "A kingdom lost to time. A cursed place—like this house. They say the last king buried his wealth so no thief, no soldier, no foreign hand would ever claim it."
She turned, her voice softening. "The house guards it. It was built around it, lives for it. And only I can open its doors."
He stepped in, eyes wide, unable to hide the wonder in his face. "Why are you showing me this?"
"Because I trust you, Vale," she said. "And because I want you to see what I protect. What they all wanted."
She looked over her shoulder toward the treasure. "Gold makes monsters out of men."
He nodded slowly, pulse racing. "And you?"
"I've been both monster and girl." She smiled sadly. "But this room never tempts me. Only they did. The ones who pretended to care."
Lucien glanced around once more, eyes sweeping across relics worth more than kingdoms.
"And now?" he asked, voice low. "You think I won't?"
She didn't answer. She only walked toward him and slipped her hand into his again.
"I think you're still deciding," she whispered.
She looked down at their hands. Her expression didn't change.
Then she smiled.
A wide, knowing smile.
And suddenly—she twirled.
Her bare feet danced across the gold coins, scattering jewels with every step. The hem of her dress flared like a ghostly flame, and her laughter echoed through the chamber like a song sung for no one but herself.
"You can't touch me," she giggled, spinning around him. "Not here. Not when I wear the crown. Isn't it beautiful?"
Lucien watched, frozen.
She stopped in front of him, hair wild, eyes sparkling. "You can only have the gold," she said sweetly, brushing a finger along his jaw—but he felt nothing, "if you have me."
He stepped back. "Seraph—"
Her grin widened.
"Those idiots," she said, waving her arms at the graves that now lived in his memory. "They thought they could take it. That they could sneak pieces into their pockets, lie to me, leave me behind."
Her voice dropped to a whisper. "They left empty-handed. They left in pieces."
She tilted her head, examining him like a thing she already owned.
"But you're smarter, aren't you, Vale?" Her voice purred now. "You'll stay. You'll love me. You'll take your treasure the right way."
She tapped her chest with a finger.
"Through me."
Then she slowly removed the crown.
And with a soft shimmer, she was real again. Her fingers slid against his jaw, warm, smooth, alive.
"I know you won't hurt me," she whispered. "Because I'd never let you leave."
They stepped out of the treasure room, the door creaking closed behind them like the ending of some twisted fairy tale.
Lucien's hand caught Seraphine's wrist.
He pulled her close—too close—and backed her into the wall. Her back touched the cold stone, and his body hovered just inches from hers. His eyes searched her face, hungry for a truth he wasn't sure he wanted to hear.
"We both… couldn't leave the house, right?"
Seraphine blinked at him, lips parting slightly before curving into a smile. Not a soft one. A delighted, whimsical one.
"Isn't it fun?" she whispered, as if it were a secret. "We'll live together forever."
Something inside him cracked. His mind went blank, his chest tightened, and his hand twitched at his side—he could kill her. Right now. End this madness.
But instead, he leaned in, his mouth brushing against her ear.
"I'll live with you forever," he murmured, the lie tasting like ash on his tongue. Then he pulled back, offering a smile sharp as glass. "I'm going to my room. Care to join me?"
Seraphine tilted her head, playful as ever. Her fingers danced across his collarbone before she pulled away.
"One day," she said sweetly. "One day I'll invite you to my room."
Then she turned and walked away, humming a quiet melody to herself.
Lucien stood frozen for a while after Seraphine disappeared down the hallway, her soft humming still echoing in the air like a lullaby twisted with menace.
He returned to his room, locked the door behind him, and sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the wooden floor with empty eyes. The silence pressed in around him—loud and suffocating.
His fingers twitched. His mind ran in circles.
Stay here forever?Is that even a choice anymore?The house won't let him go. Seraphine won't let him go.Could he survive here… with her?
He leaned back, staring at the ceiling, one arm slung over his face.
Was she mad… or just lonely? Maybe both.What about him? Did he really hate her? Or was there something under his skin now—something warm, something sharp, something like… love?
He laughed quietly, bitterly.
Love? No. Not yet. Maybe never. But… obsession? Fascination?
That was something he couldn't deny.
He closed his eyes, but his thoughts kept racing.
Do I want to leave? If I could, would I run? Would I stay and take her hand willingly?
Or would I kill her the moment I had the chance?
His hand slowly curled into a fist on the bedspread.
He didn't know the answer.
Not yet.