Chapter 1
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.” The nurse clucked her tongue in disapproval, “This isn’t helping your situation.” 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.” Just the thought of having to leverage connections with Adri at Ravenivers to get Isabella admitted weighed heavily on Margaret, her mood souring further. With long, elegantly shaped legs crossed, she stared out at the matted grass outside the door where someone had scrawled symbols with a colored pen, slapping a messy note up beside it. 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. Outside, a vintage green car from Cloudshire, bearing a license plate that belonged to the region, parked nearby. 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. His voice, still waking, soft but carrying a strange sincerity, hinted at his commitments ahead. His slender fingers got caught on the table’s cold surface, aligning with the solemn ridges of the wood, as well as no less than a heart-wrenching image of a gun he spotted lying on the table at home. 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. With how things were shaping up, it was likely that no institution in all of Cloudshire would welcome Isabella right now. 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. Raising her head revealed that the regal colors Graywood and Burnt Umber exuded the detailed look that made the Brightwoods an object of obsession at town. It wasn’t difficult for her to understand why so many suitors, particularly those in the Lord's family, had fallen for this. 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.
Chapter 2
“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. They had two daughters, Isabella Brightwood and Elijah Brightwood, who were just a year apart but looked worlds different. "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? Speaking of which, Henry Brightwood muttered with frustration, “I initially intended to take Brightwood away, but you insisted that if I wanted Brightwood, I had to pass it to you?” 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. Inside the Office Chamber, Elijah's aunt, Lady Tanya, was strikingly smart-looking, someone who earned admiration with her looks and charm. 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.” Isabella emptied her Eastwood backpack onto the table. As she raised her hand, her headphones slipped down into her shirt collar, hanging loosely around her neck. 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. ** 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. As they turned the corner at Duncan Moonset, they spotted a semi-open room where a valuable antique violin peeked out from the clutter. 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.” Samantha Woods was emotionless as she casually leaned on the sofa, her hand awkwardly tapping away at her phone, seemingly busy chatting with someone. 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.
Chapter 3
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. Seated comfortably in an armchair was a man named Sebastian Thorne, dressed in austere, dark attire. He was strikingly handsome, boasting sharp features and a confident stature, exuding an air of lightly concealed thuggery, which made Cynthia wonder if he had even listened to the prevailing discussion. 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. Gabrie looked up, raising an eyebrow but remained silent. 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!" Margaret's jaw tightened at the sight of garbage strewn about and she bit back frustration, saying, “Don't pretend you aren't aware. If you ever produce a fraction of Brightwood’s achievements, I wouldn't need to harp on this! Remember, the House of Woodhaven is your Norrington lineage, and your actions here affect your sister. Think carefully, don’t drag the Brightwoods down with you.” 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. Henry Brightwood would casually mention that Isabella's grades placed her solidly in high school… 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. Henry Brightwood had an aunt that had once been whisked away to the outskirts of Cloudshire. Cynthia Fairchild recalled watching Henry enthusiastic to build a life, ambitious since his marriage to Margaret so many years back. Yet after years filled only with hard work and brick-laying, Margaret finally had enough. 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.
Chapter 4
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. As she stood there, she noticed Cynthia entering the room, shoes clicking against the floor. 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. Jonathan Rivers glanced towards the sleek couch in the extravagant living room that contrasted with the somberness of the hospital room. 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.” Once Cynthia was fully in the room, Margaret felt Martha Cooke’s surprised gaze lock onto her. Initially, she had assumed Isabelle would be just as docile as her older sibling, but now, with Isabelle expanding her circle at Woodhaven, Margaret found herself skeptical. “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." Pulling out a pair of headphones that matched his gaudy shirt, Isabelle ignored him, “Just lost track of time in gaming last night.” 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. Every time Kael Wens encountered a tight and tangled mess of drama, he spent sleepless nights mulling over things. Now, he hoped the Norrington crowd would be generous with their support, eager for more escapades to back him up.
Chapter 5
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.” Cynthia Fairchild, a small-town girl unaccustomed to such luxury, felt out of place as she navigated the lavish surroundings of the Woodhaven Estate for the first time. Despite Adrian's welcoming demeanor, she couldn't shake the nervousness that crept in. 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. Sam felt a momentary pang as he stared back, unsure of himself. Isabella returned to her game with indifference, shrugging off the tension between them. It was disconcerting to him, this sudden inability to read her keen expressions. “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? The atmosphere shifted seamlessly with the arrival of Margaret, bringing a wave of relief, as others immersed themselves in conversation with her. But it was the entrance of Elijah Brightwood that truly lightened the ambiance. 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. Gradually, seats filled, and the hum of chatter rose, with Adrian seamlessly steering the discussion from family legacies to light-hearted anecdotes that kept everyone engaged. It was a gathering both of the past and a hint of what the future could hold. 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.
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