🕯️ Chapter 8
The perfume hit Seraphina first — violet, musk, and a bitter hint of something citrus. She hadn't smelled it in years, but her skin remembered before her mind did.
It was Evelyn's perfume.
And Evelyn Langley had been dead for half a decade. Burned in the fire that had started Seraphina's downfall. The fire everyone whispered might not have been an accident.
She stood frozen on the edge of the ballroom, the note still clutched in her hand. The music felt far away now — like an echo from another life.
Lucien noticed the change in her face immediately. "What is it?"
She handed him the card.
He read it in silence. No expression. But she saw the shift in his stance — the slight tension in his jaw, the way he subtly moved closer, shielding her from view.
"You think she's alive?" he asked, voice low.
"I don't know," Seraphina whispered. "But that note… only Evelyn ever signed her initials that way. My mother hated it. Said it was 'too theatrical.'"
Lucien's eyes scanned the room. "Then we find out who left it. But quietly. If this is a game, we don't let them know we're playing."
🩸 Ivy's Panic
Elsewhere in the mansion, Ivy locked herself in a powder room. Her breathing was shallow. Her eyes wild. The man in the mirrored hall — the scarred one — his words echoed in her skull.
"Mason says hello."
Mason. Her older brother. The boy who raised her when their mother disappeared. The one who vanished three years ago and sent only one message:
"Don't look for me."
But he wasn't just gone. He was involved. He was here.
A soft knock at the door startled her.
"Ivy?" Seraphina's voice.
Ivy slowly unlocked it, her face pale.
"He's here," she said. "My brother. I think… he's in with them."
Seraphina's eyes didn't widen. She didn't panic. She just stepped forward and hugged her.
Ivy stiffened. Then melted.
"I'm sorry," Ivy whispered. "I didn't mean to drag you into my past."
Seraphina pulled back. "You didn't. We're already deep in mine."
🐺 Lucien's Shadow
Lucien walked the outer corridors alone. His eyes sharp. His phone buzzed twice — a message from a private line.
"You always swore you'd never return to Grangehall."
His fingers tightened around the phone. He typed back:
"And yet here I am."
A reply came almost instantly.
"The sins we bury don't stay buried, Lucien. Welcome back."
No name. No signature.
But he knew who it was.
Dr. Warren Blackwell.His former guardian.The man who built him from rage and precision.The man who raised him not like a son, but like a weapon.
Lucien leaned against the cold wall, breathing through clenched teeth.
Whatever this masquerade was… it wasn't just for Seraphina.
It was for all of them.
A reckoning wearing velvet gloves.
🕯️ The Library of Echoes
Later that night, Seraphina wandered the west wing alone, drawn by instinct more than reason. She found a library — untouched by partygoers, silent and dimly lit.
She moved through the rows of books, trailing fingers across their spines, until she reached the far wall. There, half-hidden behind a heavy curtain, she found a portrait:
Her father. Her mother. And Evelyn.
All three smiling.
Beneath the frame was a plaque:
Langley Legacy: One flame. Three sparks.
Seraphina's hand trembled.
She remembered that day. The photo had been taken before her mother fell ill. Before Evelyn started showing up with cryptic advice and even more cryptic friends. Before everything burned.
A whisper broke the silence behind her.
"I always wondered if you'd find your way back here."
She turned slowly.
A woman stood in the shadows. Slim, poised, a black lace mask covering her face.
But the voice… the voice was unmistakable.
"Hello, little flame," she said. "I told you the ashes wouldn't be the end."
It was Evelyn.
Alive.
🧨 End of Chapter 8